My favorite malamutes!

In honor of my 100th post, I'd like to introduce you to a couple of my favorite Malamutes (other than Juneau, of course).

 

One of the most wonderful things about the Internet, to me, is the opportunity to meet people all over the world!  Through my sharing photos on the site Flickr, I have met two friends:  Red Stilletto and Julz.  I became acquainted with Red Stilletto (her Flickr user name) over two years ago when I saw a picture of her beautiful long-coated Alaskan Malamute, Lola.  Seeing pictures of her beautiful dog, I was just amazed; I had never seen a dog that beautiful!  I commented on her photos, and she commented on mine.  Before I knew it, we were friends! 

 

About three weeks ago, Flickr brought both of us in contact with Julz, who owns...yes, a long-coated Alaskan Malamute puppy named Sakari.  And, believe it or not, both Red Stilletto and Julz live near each other in Australia.  Lola and Sakari look so much alike in pictures of them at the same age that it's uncanny! 

 

Recently, Red Stilletto was lucky enough to keep Sakari for Julz for a couple of weeks.  Lola and Sakari became best friends.  They played and played, and had the best time together.  They now even have their own Facebook page, Lola and Sakari.  If you want a big smile on your face, go to their page, look at their pictures, and watch their videos.  They are just cuteness personified!  And they have some serious floof going on too! 

The pair are such good friends that, according to their respective owners, when Sakari went home, both she and Lola were miserable without each other.  I foresee playdates in the future!

 

 

For more pictures, check out Red Stilletto's photostream on Flickr:  Red Stilletto, and Julz' photostream:  Thephotogenie.  I promise you'll come away with a grin!  They're two of my favorite Malamutes!  Oh, and their owners aren't bad either! :)

Happy Easter!

Wishing a happy Easter to all my readers!  I hope that you get lots of goodies in your Easter basket, and that you find peace and rest this weekend.

Bunnies I have known and loved

If you've read this post, you know that I carted around a blanket as my security object when I was a child. 

Before I carried the blanket(s), though, I had a stuffed bunny.  Remember The Velveteen Rabbit?  For those of you that haven't read it (And shame on you if you haven't.  It's a wonderful story), it's about a rabbit that was loved so much he became real.  My rabbit was a lot like the rabbit in the story:  he wasn't much to look at, but I loved him.  He was grungy and threadbare and misshapen from being carried around by a little girl all the time. 

 

It looked just like this one, except mine was white--well, it started out white anyway.  The fur got shabby and the satin in the ears wore thin.  Even though my mom washed it, it was no longer white.  I didn't care what it looked like; I just loved it.  I carted it around with me everywhere, until a fateful trip to visit my grandparents in Oklahoma. 

Both sets of my grandparents lived in Oklahoma, so we went to visit as often as we could.  Back in those days, the massive interstate highways didn't exist.  So what is now a four-five hour trip, was then more like a six-seven hour trip.  We stopped at least once on the way up, usually at a cafe in Duncan, Oklahoma.  On this trip, I accidentally left my bunny behind!  Of course, I didn't realize it until we were well on the way.  We stopped on the way back, thinking to pick it up.  This was the 1960s--a kindler, gentler time; someone had surely found the ragged bunny and put it aside realizing that it was obviously a favorite toy.  To my horror (and my parents' too) there was no bunny at the restaurant.  We queried our waitress, who said she hadn't seen the rabbit.  With nothing left to do, we were about to leave.  As we started to walk out the door, another waitress pulled us over and told my mom that she had seen the bus boy throw my rabbit away. 

I was devastated, and my mom was angry!  But there was nothing that could be done about it; the rabbit was long-gone.  My parents bought me a new bunny when we got home, but it wasn't the same.  That's when I switched to carrying around blankets instead.  And we never stopped at that restaurant again! 

I still love stuffed rabbits, though.  Every year around Easter, I find myself adding at least one to my collection.  When I started writing this post, I searched on eBay to see if I could find a 1960s-era rabbit.  Sure enough, I found the one pictured above.  And while it wasn't mine, at least I can give this one a good home! 

Happy Birthday, Daddy!

Daddy's last Dallas County Medical Society photo

 

Today would have been my father's 85th birthday.  I wrote about his story last year in this post, so I won't re-tell the story.  I thought, however, I would share a few small things I remember about him--things that made him, well, him.

1.  Daddy did not like to go barefooted.  I never saw him without shoes, or, at the very least, socks on his feet.  I think he was this way because he often didn't have shoes growing up.

 

2.  He could not swim, and was afraid of water. 

 

3.  He cared nothing about sports of any kind, and only watched the Cowboys in order to have something to talk about in the doctor's lounge on Monday mornings.

 

4.  Daddy loved to shop as much as any woman ever did!

 

5.  He occasionally played guitar in a band with his brother Wayne. 

 

6.  He was a self-taught musician who could not read music. 

 

7.  He was kind of afraid of big dogs.

 

8.  While in college and medical school, he worked as a mechanic.  Later, he loved to tinker with his RV, although he didn't generally work on cars.

 

9.  He never, ever forgot a birthday or an anniversary--and never failed to give wonderful presents!

 

10.  In one year, he spent more on clothes than I will in a lifetime.  He was quite the clothes horse.  Again, I imagine it was because he didn't have many clothes growing up.

 

11.  Daddy had a terrible temper!

 

12.  He loved to read--mostly westerns, but he would read anything.

 

13.  Daddy developed diabetes a couple of years before he died.  He was always dieting, even though he wasn't heavy.

 

14.  He was an accomplished wood carver.  He took lessons several times, but had natural artistic talent!

 

15.  He was hopelessly in love with my mother! 



A 1970s church picture (the only church picture we ever had made)

My dad, me, and my grandfather on our Alaskan cruise in 1978

 

My dad, mom, and me at my wedding in 1988

The Princess of Naughtiness and General Mayhem

Can guess who, at my house, holds this "distinguished" title?  If you said "Sitka," you're correct. 

 



The Princess had another little "adventure" last night after someone left my back gate open.  I can't decide who to blame for this incident:  the lawn crew, the meter reader, or some other unknown person who traipsed through my backyard and left the back gate wide open.  Whoever they are--they are on my s**t list! 

 

Since I'm working 14-hour days right now, the dogs are so eager to go outside when I get home that they nearly bowl me over when I open the door.  So, last night, as usual, they went out when I came in.  I changed clothes, got the mail, and got their dinner ready.  I was looking forward to eating my nice burrito bowl from Chipotle, too! 

 

I opened the door and called, "Dinner!"  Those words always work like a magic charm to get them inside.  One dog in, two dogs in...wait!  Where's the third dog?  I walked out into the back yard--no Sitka.  I checked the front gate--secure as can be.  With a growing sense of dread, I headed out back, and sure enough, the back gate was wide open!  It's a wonder both Juneau and Sitka weren't on the loose.  I guess Juneau was just so interested in dinner that he didn't notice the opportunity for freedom.

 

Immediately, I grabbed my clothes and my phone and jumped in the car to go look for her.  Of course, it's after 9 pm and completely dark.  Luckily (one would think), I found her right away, one street over.  Problem was, I couldn't catch her!  After nearly an hour of "herding" her up and down the street, jumping in and out of my car, I still couldn't grab her.  Every time I'd get near her, she'd dart off.  She kept running into people's open backyards.  I wasn't about to go back into someone's yard to get her, especially in the dark.  That's a good way to get shot as a prowler.

 

 

I chased her down to the end of the street, and then she just disappeared between two houses.  That end of the street doesn't have any lights, and by then the houses were dark.  I was angry and scared, and I didn't know what else to do other than give up.

 

I went home and tried to eat, but wasn't hungry.  After a little while, I went to look for her again.  No sign of her at all anywhere.  I even drove over to my old house to see if she had gone there.  Nope!  With a heavy heart I gave up and went home.  At home, I even tried opening the door and yelling, "Treats!"  and "Dinner" to see if she'd come home.  No such luck.  I left the gates open in the hopes that she would come back into the yard.

 

I laid down on the couch, and finally fell asleep around midnight.  I woke at 1 am--no Sitka.  I woke up at 3 am--and, voila!  There she was; curled up in her mudpile in the back yard.  Like any parent whose child has come home after running away, I couldn't decide whether to hug her or yell at her.  I hugged her, but scolded also!!!

 

 

Thank God she came home on her own!  I don't know what I would have done if she still weren't home by this morning.  These kids--they're going to be the death of me!  She's limping today; she must have pulled something when she was running.  I don't like for her to be in pain, but a part of me thinks she earned it! 



Juneau and the Wubba Wubba

The weather has been nice, but chilly, the last few days here in Dallas.  It's my week off, so the dogs and I have been spending a little time outside. 

 

During one of our trips outside, Juneau dragged out his wubba wubba so that he could play with it.  He's such a goober--every time he chews on the toy, it squeaks.  And when it squeaks, he cries! 

 

Dogs are so entertaining! 

Question of the day

Do you think there's a difference between happiness and contentment?  Is one a subset of the other? 

 

I would say that I am content, although not necessarily happy.  But is it really possible to be content without being happy? 

 

To me, happiness indicates lightness of heart, joyfulness.  When I think of myself, "lightness of heart" doesn't really comes to mind! 

 

Is it possible that I am happy and don't even realize it? 

Pretty puppies

The Big "C"

"You have cancer"--three of the scariest words a doctor can say.  Three years ago, my doctor said those words.  Well, being a doctor, he was more specific:  "You have chronic lymphocytic leukemia," were his exact words.

 

My journey with cancer had really started a year earlier, unbeknownst to me.  I had gone to my internist for my annual check-up.  When the results from my blood work came back, they showed that I had anemia and my white blood count was abnormally high--about 17,000 (normal is 4500-10000).  The doctor told me to repeat the blood test in a month to see if the results had changed.

 

I'm not exactly doctor-phobic, but I don't really like going to the doctor all that much and I don't always pay enough attention to my own health.  The only reason I even go for semi-regular check-ups is that the doctor won't refill my thyroid medication without them (and I feel pretty badly if I don't take it)!  So, of course, I thought I would solve everything by taking some iron pills.  I was busy at work and didn't go back to have my blood retested.  A year later when I went in for my check-up, my doctor asked what I had done about the results.  "Nothing," I said.  He immediately ordered a retest. 

 

Not only was my white blood count not lower, it was higher--now it was 23,000.  The one small bright spot was that I was no longer anemic, thanks to my taking iron.  My internist immediately referred me to an oncologist.  I was horrified!  Why was he sending me to an oncologist? Surely a high white blood count didn't necessarily signify cancer!

 

Now terrified, I went to the doctor's appointment, where they took an alarming amount of blood right off the bat. Then I met with the doctor; he wasn't really encouraging.  The two options that he gave me were leukemia or lymphoma--in other words, bad or worse!  He would send my blood to a lab to have a test called a flow syometry done.  Then, depending on what that test showed, I might need a CT scan. 

 

It had taken two weeks to get the appointment, and it took another two weeks to find out the results.  Those were the longest weeks of my life.  The two weeks after meeting with the doctor were awful.  All I could do was cry.  To make matters worse, none of my best friends were in town.  Martha was in Seattle, Nicolas was in China (and didn't even have phone service), and Kris was in Oklahoma.  Thank God mother was still alive!  Because she was a registered medical technologist, I had her go with me to the appointments so that she could translate any medical jargon I didn't understand. 

 

The doctor called and told me to schedule a CT scan--so then I truly panicked!  The blood test had obviously showed something!  Two days after having the CT scan, mom and I went to meet with the doctor again.  I remember sitting in the examination room thinking that my life would change irrevocably, no matter what the diagnosis was. 

 

Honestly, when the doctor told me I had CLL, I was so relieved I almost fainted.  CLL was definitely the better of two not-so-great choices.  According to the  National Cancer Institute, CLL is when "too many blood stem cells become abnormal lymphocytes and do not become healthy white blood cells. The abnormal lymphocytes may also be called leukemia cells. The lymphocytes are not able to fight infection very well. Also, as the number of lymphocytes increases in the blood and bone marrow, there is less room for healthy white blood cells, red blood cells, and platelets. This may cause infection, anemia, and easy bleeding."  This definition explains why I had anemia, as well as a high white blood count.  The doctor told me that I would need to come in every three months to have my blood tested and get checked.  When I told my friend Martha, she shouted "Yay, you have leukemia."  Her husband Greg said that was the weirdest thing he'd ever heard anyone say.  It's all about perspective!

 

In the three years since, I have been extremely lucky in my diagnosis.  The worst side effect of this disease is that I cannot fight off infections (when I get sick, I get really sick, and whatever it is won't go away--hence the pneumonia of several weeks ago).  I also get really tired.  I can work and go and bustle about, but then I'll pay for it.  Five hour naps are not uncommon.  I have since learned that it is good to be informed about your medical conditions, but the Internet is the devil.  After learning my diagnosis, I did some reasearch on the Internet and learned that they average life expectancy after a CLL diagnosis is six years.  Of course, what I failed to take into account is that most people who get CLL are 60+.  My white blood count has ranged from 21,000 to 33,000--meaning it's still way high.  You know how yucky you feel when you're sick.  Part of that is your body fighting the infection by raising your white blood count.  I feel that way all the time.

 

After learning what I had--after the euphoria of not having lymphoma wore off--I got depressed.  I worked through it to some degree, and now I try not to overthink things, although CLL is a constant presence.  I still panic when I have to have my blood tested.  I wait for the results every time.  When the doctor asks me if I have night sweats, I panic.  Of course, I'm nearly 50, so I can think of at least one other reason to have night sweats, but I still worry. 

 

I will never be free of the disease, but I am finding that I can live with it!

Adventure time!

Today's adventure features the inimitable Sitka and Juneau, as well as my hapless friend, Joann Clifton. 

 

The day started out normally.  My fellow Relay for Life (check out our team page here) team members came over to make items to raise funds that will go to the American Cancer Society.  I was showing some of the ladies one of my mom's quilts when the doorbell rang.  Joann went to let the new arrival in.

 

Unfortunately, she didn't realize what consumate escape artists huskies are.  I learned a long time ago to always have two doors in between Sitka, Juneau, and freedom.  As she went to open the front door, Sitka simply opened the inner doors somehow and barrelled past Joann right out the front door.

 

I flew to my car and started driving around looking for them.  Of course, in the two minutes it took for me to back my car out of the driveway, the dogs had vanished.  I did a quick search of the surrounding streets...not one sign of either of them.

 

Over the next hour, we recruited my two neighbors, the mailman, two of my team members, and a random lady from a neighborhood I was driving through, to look for my two goobers! 

 

Sitka, strangely enough, was the first to be apprehended.  Usually, between Juneau and Sitka, she's the hardest to catch.  Juneau usually tires out first and then just comes once I open my car door.  For once, when I saw her and got out of the car, she came right to me.  Juneau, however, was nowhere to be found.  I looked and looked and looked, and I didn't see him anywhere.

 

Thank goodness for the random lady!  She found my wayward child on the other side of Shiloh Road, where some nice construction workers were giving him some water since he was tired from his "travels."  How he and Sitka kept from getting hit while crossing both Miller Road and Shiloh Road, I'll never know.  God was truly watching out for them. 

 

 

My sweet, innocent babies are now exhausted from their adventure.  They crawled on the sofa, and haven't moved since!  I, on the other hand, feel like I've aged about a hundred years.  Having children is stressful!!!

Happy Valentine's Day

Happy Valentine's Day to the three best valentines ever:

January recap

I can't believe it's already February!  They say time flies when you're having fun; I think it flies no matter what!  Unless you're stuck at home, sick--then it drags.

 

So, here's what January held for me: 

• I kept up with my 365 photography project.  If you haven't checked in recently, go read about the ongoing adventures of Plaid here.
• I went to see the Dead Sea Scrolls on exhibit at the Southwestern Baptist Theological Seminary.
• I ate at a haunted restaurant, and had a close encounter of some sort!
• I contracted pneumonia, and was sick for two weeks.  Yuck--not one of my favorite things!
• I joined a Relay for Life team.  If you aren't familiar with Relay for Life, go check it out here.  It's a great cause.  I participate not just for myself, but for those who I love that have had or do have cancer.
• I watched five movies:  Pitch Perfect, Thor, Conan the Barbarian (2011), Iron Man, and The Last Airbender.
• I read five books:  Trapped (The Iron Druid Chronicles), Death's Rival:  A Jane Yellowrock Novel, Infinity:  Chronicles of Nick, Cum Laude, Gossip Girl:  It Had to Be You.  Let me just say that Cum Laude is one of the worst books I've ever read.  Normally, I like the escapism that Cecily Von Ziegesar provides in her Gossip Girl series, but Cum Laude and It Had to Be You were off-shoots and early works not published until her other books became hits.  I see why now.  Oh well, win some, lose some.
• I met with my CPA and financial advisor and all of mom's investments are now dissolved and/or transferred into my name.
• I kept up with reading the Bible.  I am now in the new testament!
• I've actually done a fair job of eating at home (of course, the two weeks of being sick helped!).
• And, I've done pretty well saving money too!

I admit that I haven't gotten very far in finishing up decorating and organizing my house, or selling the other house.  I haven't organized my financial paperwork yet, and I haven't even been keeping my house particularly neat or clean.  But--I still have 11 months left of 2013 to make good on my resolutions, right?

How was your January?

Superbowl Commercials

Okay, I'm a little late to the party--all right, the party is actually long over--but...what were your favorite Superbowl commercials?

These were my two favorites:

I don't have any great love for Dodge trucks or beer, but these are great!  They really tugged at my heart, especially the Clydesdale one! 

Remember this Clydesdale advertisement?

Loved it too!  So clever!  I'm glad I'm not the one responsible for creating advertisements!

Fond memories, part 2

For part 1, see this post

In 1967, we moved into the house mom lived in until she passed away (and the one in which I now live). This house also had a field behind it (still does), and the wonderful addition of a creek. I played in that creek until I was in high school! It had its own share of wildlife, but the main attraction was the water. I loved playing in the water. At the time we moved in, the creek was shallow and easy to get to; now it is much deeper and the banks have eroded over time so that you can't get down to the water without a lot more effort and agility than I have. I was lucky that it was so accessible when I was young enough to play in it.  When it rained, and the water was flowing swiftly, I'd run outside and wade in, just to feel the strong pull of the water on my legs. Sometime in middle school, I cut my foot badly on a beer bottle someone had thrown down into the creek.  That sort of ended my romance with the creek! 
 

When we moved in, the playhouse that daddy built came with us.  I vividly remember seeing the truck come for it.  Mom, dad, and several men hoisted it by hand up onto the truck.  It was a three-year old's version of Mega Movers.  The new backyard wasn't as large as the old one, but the playhouse was situated on its own permanent foundation.  My parents put in brick steps, and when they had wrought iron bars placed on all the windows of the house, my playhouse got them too!  That house stood in the back yard until after my dad passed away.  It was rotting and rather than tear it down, mom gave it to one of the workers who worked on the yard from time to time.  He had kids who would give it a new life.  He came and took it (in one piece again) to his house.  For a long time, I'd see it when I drove past his house.  I drove by there the other day, and my little pink house was gone.  I miss it!

In the 60s and early 70s, as my dad's medical practice was growing, we stayed pretty close to home.  Mom and daddy both had a lot of hobbies that kept them busy.  We frequented local flea markets and antique stores, mom started painting again--this time tole painting and oils, and daddy started building musical instruments. When I was in kindergarten, my parents turned the garage into a gameroom and built a new detached garage and workshop for daddy. He spent many hours out in that workshop tinkering around, building things.  When I was young, it was musical instruments.  I think daddy tackled just about every instrument that he liked to play at one time or another:  guitars, banjos, dulcimers, and violins. 

At some point, daddy found a new hobby--motorhomes!  Call them what you will--campers, houses on wheels, RVs--daddy bought one and was hooked!  After that, most of our vacations were of the rolling sort.  My only beef was that motorhomes have to be cleaned just like real homes, not something teenagers really want to do on vacation!  All joking aside, we took great vacations every summer, and lots of shorter trips in between.  Daddy loved nothing more than taking off in our RV and getting away from it all (mostly from the phone!). 

I always went on vacation with my parents, something most teens would never have considered.  Honestly, I never even realized as I was growing up that some kids didn't go on vacation with their parents.  I was lucky to get to go a lot of different places and learn a lot of different things.  And, besides, my parents were pretty cool people to hang out with.  I'm glad I realized that when I was young, and didn't have to wait until I got older to understand how valuable a good relationship with your parents can be.

 

Feeling human again!

I wrote earlier that I had come down with the "creeping crud."  Actually, it turned out to be more than that--it turned out to be pneumonia.  Well, maybe it didn't start out as that, but when I was finally so sick that I dragged myself to the emergency room last Sunday, it had turned into pneumonia.  I was so sick I couldn't breathe, I couldn't talk, I couldn't sleep, I couldn't eat--I was miserable!

 

After an evening enjoying the hospitality of Baylor Medical Center, I was released to go home.  I missed three days of work, and now, after a week of antibiotics, I feel human again. 

 

I have a new rule--if I'm sick for four days without feeling better, I must go to the doctor!  I forget that my immune system isn't as robust since I have CLL.  I feel as though I'm still 30 years old and can just ignore anything and it'll go away eventually.  Yep, I'm 49 (gulp!) and my body doesn't work like that anymore. 

 

I'm definitely glad to be back in the swing of things!

 

 

They were happy to have me home for a little while!

 

Angel from heaven

Is that not the sweetest little face you've ever seen?  The very picture of innocence!

Everybody's comfy around here (except me)

 

Everyone's snuggled in and cozy, except for me.  I can't stop coughing long enough to rest--and that's with the help of extra-strength Robitussin. 

 

Doesn't Sitka look like the Queen of the Manor up there on the sofa, snuggled in the pillows?

The creeping crud!

I thought that maybe--just maybe--I'd escape getting sick this winter.  I was a good girl and got my flu shot early! 

 

Since Christmas, everyone's been coming down with the flu and colds.  I can't tell you how many of the students at school, professors, and administrators have come down with the "ick."  I was feeling pretty good (literally), until Sunday night.  All of a sudden, I had a tickle in my throat.  By Monday, I knew I was in for it!  By Tuesday, I had a raging fever, a sore throat, a hacking cough, and body aches galore. 

 

I feel marginally better today, but I have almost no voice and a persistant, annoying cough! 

 

Why?  Why?  Just once, couldn't I escape? 

Do you cry at movies?

I was watching NCIS the other night; it happens to be one of my favorite shows, but I rarely get to see it because I work late on Tuesday night.  Since I am eating at home more these days (!), I was home in time to see the second half of that night's show.  During the show, two of the peripheral (but regular) characters were killed.  Surprisingly, I didn't cry--maybe because I just haven't watched the show enough lately to be invested. 

 

Usually, I cry at every sad movie, commercial, and book!  Back in the 1970's, I couldn't even get through Little House on the Prairie without boohoo-ing.  And, heaven forbid I should watch a sad story involving an animal!  Guaranteed waterworks! 

 

I came by it honestly, as they say.  My mom did the same thing.  We'd sit on either side of the room, watching and sniffling.  At first, we tried to hide it from each other, but then when we each realized that we were crying over a sad show, we gave up and just handed each other the box of tissues.  What a mess we were! 

 

I know that most people don't cry at sad movies or when they read sad books; what I wonder is, "How can they keep from it?  Perhaps people have a better rein on their emotions than I do.  Even as a little girl, I was very soft and my feelings rode right on the surface.  I haven't gotten any harder as I've gotten older.  It is still very easy for me to cry, even over silly things (like television shows) and to get my feelings hurt.  At this age, I don't suppose I'm going to change.

 

So, what about you?  Do you cry at sad movies?

The Last First

After have a small epiphany this morning, I edited the title of this post.  Yesterday was "the last first"--I have now gone a whole year without my mom, completing the cycle.  There will be no more "firsts."  Thank goodness!  The post below is unchanged.

Today marks the sad occasion of the one-year anniversary of my mom's death.  I simply cannot believe that it's already been a year since the events of January 2012.  Those events are so indelibly and vividly imprinted in my mind that it seems as though they just happened a couple of months ago.

 

The morning of her death, the doctors had ordered some type of abdominal scan since she seemed to be bleeding internally.  The nurse called me at five am to say that they were going to take her down to do the test.  I planned to get up and go over to the hospital, but I guess I fell back asleep.  The next thing I knew, the phone was ringing again.  It was just after six, and, with sleep still clouding my head, I heard the nurse say, "I'm very sorry to tell you that the patient expired." 

 

My very first thought was that someone needed to give the nurse a lesson on how to tell someone that their loved one had passed away.  Who says "expired" anyway?  For a brief moment, I thought that I might not have understood her correctly, but then she was saying something about what I needed to do next and asking if knew what funeral home I wanted to use--so I knew that I had indeed heard her correctly.

 

My first thought after hanging up the phone was to thank God for giving my mom well-deserved peace.  I knew that she would not have wanted to live the way she was after her stroke.  She had already been miserably ill before the stroke, and I think she may have been ready to go.  The night before she died, I talked to her, not knowing if she was able to hear or understand me.  I told her that if she needed to go I would be fine--not to stay just for me.  Maybe she did hear and understand.  I like to think so.

 

The next week was a blur of arrangements and funerals, traveling to and from Oklahoma.  And then it was all over.  I was left by myself.  All the while I congratulated myself on how well I was handling the whole situation.  Of course, if you know me--or if you've read this blog--you know that grief hit me hard.

 

I've spent the last year grieving and trying to assimilate two households into one.  For some strange reason, this anniversary, while sad, seems to be a turning point.  I feel as though now that I have gone through my year of "firsts" (first Mother's Day without her, first birthday without her, first Christmas without her), I can move on. 

 

I hope that she is proud of me--even though I haven't dealt with everything perfectly.  I can finally look forward to what's ahead!