Happy Easter

What a different Easter this one is.

Last year I had Robert and Mom for here for Easter. I remember trying to find things that Mom would want to eat (picky eater) and listening to her remember back when we colored dozens of eggs for the kids to hide ... Easters on the farm, Easters back in Newkirk.

This year it's just Jon and myself. This is my first holiday without Mom. Yes that sounds strange but Mom never had husbands -- or inlaws -- for very long so holidays revolved around making her feel welcome and not alone. Especially as an adult, holidays were held at my house and yes Mom was always in attendence.

Jon did suggest going out to eat but I need to see who/what I am when I'm not tayloring holiday meals around someone who doesn't like pasta, doesn't like scalopped potatoes, doesn't like ham . This year for Easter it's ham, macaroni and cheese (homemade thankyouverymuch), green beans, salad, and carrot cake and to be very strange, part of this morning will be spent at the gym.

OK so it's different - yes I realize that - but it *is* a start.

**the picutre was taken last year @ Easter and you'll notice we had a bit of a snowstorm. This year it's forecasted for flurries but I don't see that happening ......

The mist of dreams

or perhaps in the midst of dreams?

In coming to grips with my mother's passing, I find at times I'm coping so much better than expected and at other times not coping at all.

Yes it's difficult to write that even now.

For the first week I felt so very fragile that Jon was basically concerned about leaving me alone for more than a few moments. It was a new feeling to me. Fragile. I'm never fragile nor have I ever been.

Thankfully that feeling has passed.

In its wake though are the strangest forms of dreams. Most revolve around me having to convince my mother she truly is dead. Her reply is always the same "Stephanie you are so full of shit your eyes should've been brown." Tacky tacky but a favorite phrase she used to use on me when I was a child. So I tell her repeatedly that no I held her hand while she slipped away and I watched her stop breathing and I even checked her carotid pulse to see if/when it stopped. At that point she always (in my dream) tells me "You just don't know what you're talking about." (said quite sarcastically - again another favorite of hers). So I argue with her and finally tell her she's in a box on her dresser in her room and I'll just take her in there to show her.

And -- in the dream -- I do. And when I see the box her reflection in the mirror is gone.

Then I wake up.

They're not quite as startling as one would think -- especially from a veteran of nightmares and night terrors. Typically one would also think that this means she's still roaming about ... I don't think so.

I think this is really *me* trying to convince myself she's gone. For one thing most of the sarcasm wasn't directed at me at the last --- she was quite frightened and I was literally her life preserver. That meant she tempered her temper with me. Also the Mom of my dreams is the visage from about 3 years ago ... right about the time she moved out here. Back when she was vibrant and full of life.

Maybe I want so very badly to remember that time that my dreamworld is reminding me it's not the case.

Maybe I'm just not quite ready to let go - even though I know I should, even though I know it's time, even though I know she is finally at peace.

the photo above was taken spring of 2006 from the Clipper City Clipper Ship cruise Jon and I took. It's of the lights in Baltimore Inner Harbor as we returned back. Mom didn't go on that cruise because she was afraid of being that long without extra oxygen and by the time the next one came around she was too ill to go anymore.