seasons

The weather is changing. … the time changed. All these things signaling a new time approaching is hard for me… because I both remember this time with her and because I know another season is coming.. another one without her.

We have this amazing walking path right behind our house.. so many evenings I spent with Jennifer and Jonathan.. then Nicholas and then Charlotte, walking and talking and exploring on the levy path. Sometimes they were in the stroller and we tried to go far.. sometimes they walked and we seemed to barely move. But we always had fun .. and made memories.. Not so much of individual moments but more of the essence I wanted their childhood to imprint on their memories and mine.

I want to still be able to do that with my surviving children. I still want that to be .. at least a piece of what they remember their childhood being.

seasons
he was so proud

So I try. And it although it hard it feels good.. it feels right. .kinda like coming home again. Nicholas noticed something spray painted on the ground and he was so sure it was from her.. something special for him. He even asked me to take a picture for him. I think he struggles.. with finding his place in grieving and missing his sister. So much of us goes towards Jonathan.. so we are trying to make time for Nicholas too. The date he asked to have with me.. Costco. He is so innocent in that sense. He is just happy to get to be with me. He makes me feel special.. he makes me feel loved. And he always makes me laugh.

We wandered our way down off the paved path to the dirt trail. We were taking our time. Just exploring slowly. And then I heard her.. a girl… calling Mommy.. Mommy. It sounded so much like Jennifer. A chill ran up my spine. I felt myself harden against the memories and the impossible hope taking over me.

So often that happened. Walking those same paths I got to hear my daughter call for me. . That sticky sweet sing sing voice she had when she was happy.

I tried not to look. Tried myself to keep looking ahead on the path … She was getting closer and I heard her call again.. Mommy… mommy.. This time I couldn’t help it.. it was like I had to answer her. . So I whispered her name into the wind.. Yes Jennifer. 

It was kuje the air was somehow sucked out of me.. out of everything around me. A equal mis of euphoria and my memories of the past. . A total vortex of emotions.. and nothing felt real. Just a simple thing that completely took over me.

I was dizzy with it. Literally. And then she passed us. On the upper path .. I watched her.. willing her to be Jennifer.. to even just look back at me. She didn’t.

So I took my 3 year olds hand to help steady me against the emotions threatening to overtake me and we walked home.

 i miss your voice

the way you called for me

the way it felt

hearing you say my name.

seasons2

…until there is a cure..

8 Responses to “seasons”

  1. Libby, I get chills reading your posts. I so believe Jennifer was communicating with you through that little girl. No words can heal your pain or loss. God Bless.

  2. She still calls for you, just in new ways now. I am sure some days you dont feel like it (I know I dont somedays) but you are an amazing mother, Libby. Its clear in the way you speak about your children and the way you do things. Thank you again for being that example.

    Sending love to Jennifer, as with her guidence you became the mother you are. <3

  3. She is still calling for you and sending you angel signs. What sweet photos you take Libby. Cant wait for SHE IS BEAUTIFUL…..LOVE4JLK always-sweet baby girl

  4. In the last six months of my mother’s life, she needed help getting out of bed or off the sofa, and often in the middle of the night I would hear her calling me through the closed door of my bedroom. Not my ‘real’ name…my nickname. After she died, I moved out of the family home, and eventually into an apartment. One night, after falling asleep crying, missing her, I woke up suddenly, and heard her call me. “Missy!” I never could explain it, but I know it was her voice. Believe in the signs, Libby. Jennifer is there.

  5. I just stumbled upon your blog through another friend. I have barely scratched the surface of your posts, but the feelings are very similar to my own. I am 10 months out. 10 months since my daughter died suddenly of cancer. I get further and further from the last time I touched her and it fills me with unbelievable sorrow. Thanks for sharing your pain.

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