And the Crazy Mom of the Year Award Goes to...

FYI: This blog is written in a wholly sincere tone. Please don't read it in a sarcasm filled, defiant, sassy tone. I can see how it might be perceived that way, but it's definitely not written that way. Thanks... :)

Dear Nice Lady at My Kids' School:

Maybe I'm paranoid, but I'm pretty sure I saw the look of judgement that passed over your face when I dropped my kids off late for their last day of school and they were marked absent for the day since it was past the official tardy cut-off time. I want you to know I get it. I know I'm not mom of the year. I know they've missed more than their fair share of days from school this school year because there were some times I just did not wake up when my alarm went off and I let them stay home to save them and myself the embarrassment of facing school staff in a situation like today's. 

I can understand your raised eyebrow at my hair thrown up in a sloppy attempt at appearing human with my beloved giant hair clip that has saved my life on more than one occasion. I know I'm not the mom who appears at every school function with a batch of homemade cupcakes in  a proper Tupperware poised on my hip. And I realize with a shake of my head that I forgot to run by the store and buy the chips that my son was told to bring for their last day of school spread which I didn't find out about until bedtime 2 nights ago.

I know you're the one who called me twice this year when I didn't show to pick my kids up after school because I slept through my alarm at 3:00 in the afternoon. You know I work nights but I agree it still doesn't make sense that I seem to have selective hearing loss when it comes to my 3 or more alarms I set to get myself up in time to take my kids' to and from school. I don't get it either.

What you might not know is that even though it's one and a half years later, I am still in mourning for the husband that I lost at the far too young age of 42. That although I am doing much better, I still have days that I am unable to function on a normal level because the night before I was struggling to breathe between and during phone calls about passengers' seating misfortunes. That in those moments of sheer terror filled panic I am chanting a mantra of sorts in my head to get myself through each second: "I'm okay. I'm going to be fine. God, please help me. I can do this. Jesus, I need you! Breathe in, breathe out. I'm not dying. Lord, help me. I'm okay. I'm going to be fine."

You may not realize that even though I was able to give away a little time last night and was off work an hour early and went straight to bed because I knew I was exhausted and needed to sleep so I could get the kids up for their last day of school, that when my head hit my pillow, my heart started racing in anxiety yet again and the prickly grasp of panic clawed at my chest and it was all I could do not to scream and wake up my children in the next room at 4:13 in the morning. You don't know that I lied in bed for the next I don't know how long praying, crying, begging God and texting friends 'Are you up yet?' before 5:00 in the morning just so I could hear a human voice and talk myself down from the insanity ledge I found myself dangling from so suddenly.

You and I both have no idea what time I finally cried and prayed myself to sleep. And you don't know the dread and disappoint that filled me when I woke up in a sad sleepy stupor to see it was two hours past the time my children should have been at school for their last day. You didn't see my son crying in the doorway when I told him we were late and he only had an hour or so left with his friends at school if we hurried to get ready and know the reason he was crying is because you failed, again.

You shook your head a little when you asked if I was staying at the school for the awards program and I half laughed to myself and said "No". You don't realize that I've only slept for a few hours and the crazy woman hasn't quite left me yet and sitting through an assembly with other teachers or moms that might look at me the same way you have, terrifies me and my imagination is out of control in one of those thankfully now rare moments of reliving my husband's death and I might end up running out screaming and embarrass my children even further.

Although it has been a whole year and a half since my world turned upside down and you would think I'd be drawing near to the end of my grieving and mourning season, I'm not. I still have these days that overwhelm me and cause me to wonder how I will ever grow beyond the onslaught of emotions that stop me in my tracks and turn me into an inner lunatic that I do my best to push down into a dark little crevice in my heart.  

You see, the truth is there are days that mad woman walks with me everywhere I go. It disturbs me that I can't seem to break away from her. She whispers in my ear when I am laughing with my children. She points at happy couples in ridicule and disgust when she sees them. She pushes against my chest with all her strength until I am gasping for breath and doesn't give me any relief. She rocks herself during songs at church that I led with Donnie and causes me to sometimes clamp my hand over my mouth to keep from loudly wailing in the middle of a worship service. So to take the chance of unleashing her during a school program is for me, absolutely a laughable, 'NO'.

You don't know that this week I've begun two HUGE steps in my recovery. That just last night I met with some people who I am working with to help put on a Night of Worship and that this is one of THE BIGGEST and hardest things I've done to begin to bring myself back to who I am or who I was or who I might be or who I might become or that I'm still iffy about what my future holds and I'm still testing the waters on what God wants for me and trying to learn to trust Him again. 

You don't know that I've had to learn how to worship again when it was second nature to me before. That part of me has been severed and it's like learning how to walk again. That the future I had envisioned was a shared one with dreams that I thought could only be fulfilled with the inclusion of my husband. That I'm terrified of doing this without him because we were such an amazing and powerful team and it's all I have ever known and that leading up to last night's meeting I was such a nervous wreck. Or that sitting there hashing out songs with people I've never worked with felt strange but good and I realized I CAN DO THIS. Or that as I drove home from the rehearsal I realized that I can do this, WITHOUT DONNIE, and that realization hit me with a devastating blow of sadness that I am moving forward without him. WITHOUT HIM. And it feels as if I'm leaving part of him behind instead of him leaving me and that hurts.

You don't know that in just 2 days we are driving back to the area we lived in happily together for five years to the last places I saw him, to go sit in a congregation and look again at a platform without him and hear someone other than him singing and leading worship in that sanctuary where we had experienced such total freedom and liberty as we had never known before. You don't know how nervous I am about seeing people I haven't seen since the few weeks following his funeral. Or that my daughter, who has been so excited about returning there, broke down in my arms the night before last and told me momentarily that she didn't want to go now because daddy won't be there. Or how important it is that we actually return to replace the memories we left with on a sad note, so we can leave on a good note instead, full of fond memories and moments with people we love and who love us.

And you don't understand what it's like to hold your child in your arms not more than a week ago, as waves of grief overwhelm him and he clings to you as tightly as possible pulling back only to stare at you and cry "Mommy!" in desperation and say "It feels like you're not here!" and understand that feeling of void inside of him as the sobs rack his body and he wails and moans and weeps and continues crying "Mommy! ... Mommy!" and you feel helpless as you hold him tighter and closer and repeat over and over "I'm here, mommy's here, I'm right here with you baby, mommy's here.", for hours.

You don't know that after we leave our last home-place together, we'll be driving to Louisiana and the one thing on my mind is through all the fun and enjoyment we will have while we are there, we will also be going to visit his tomb in the quiet sanctuary of the cemetery where his ashes remain. We will somberly stand in front of his tomb reading over his mis-spelled name that they still haven't corrected on the hard marble door that will separate us from him. You don't know how tempted I am to bring a camping chair and just park it and hang out there with him for a while, just to feel close to him again and hear the birds singing while I'm smelling the thick bayou-scented air and watching my kids run their fingertips over his engraved name as I look over all the chalky-white painted tombs.

So I'm not angry with you. Not at all. And maybe I'd judge the same way if our roles were reversed. Maybe I wouldn't understand either how some moms just can't seem to get it together. But the funny part is 'this IS together' for me. I am doing so much better than I was a year ago. I have come so much farther. I am taking huge steps that tend to knock me off balance and push me backwards but the important thing is that I get up and keep pushing myself and keep moving forward, even when it hurts, even when it's painful or becomes tormentive. 

Even when I have to watch my children endure the stages of grief and continue to gently push them forward. Even when people look at me like you looked at me with reasonable disapproval and judgment, I have to keep moving forward. Because even if it doesn't look like it from the outside looking in, we're making progress. So I'll take that Crazy Mom of the Year award or the looks of disapproval like a badge of honor. I've earned it. And I'm proud of it. 

Oh, and I forgot to tell you when I left because I was still wiping the sleep out of my eyes and also being a bit self-obsessive, but I really do hope you have a great summer. ;)