The Phone Call

 The first time I almost ran right by the black phone, tucked way into the verdant landscape of "green trail". Ten more steps and a bit of a left turn take you to a cliff overlooking the river. I ran to that cliff, and stopped thinking about what I just read under the phone. 

I was hot, sweat was pouring in my eyes, and so much was springing up in my mind during this already much-needed therapeutic run. I made my way back to the phone, picked up the receiver, and spoke quickly. First to Dan, and then my mom, not hanging up between or even pausing much for breaths. I kept looking around wondering if someone was going to turn the corner. I felt foolish. 

For the rest of the day, the remainder of the evening and the entire next day, I could not stop thinking about the phone. Scratch that, I could not stop thinking about the messages I sent "through" the phone. I didn't speak realness. The element of surprise, fear, and the chance of maybe being a little embarrassed, got in the way of all the words I wanted to say. I decided I needed to go back. Look, I understand that I could speak into the universe any words I want to say to any of my departed loves, at any time. I get it. But there is something special about this phone. Not to mention it's perched on the trails Dan and I ran so many times together. I still hear Marlo and Gunner's collars jingling beside me as I run, so many years later. 

The day I went back, it was with purpose. I ran the green trail first, I ran to the phone. Even heading directly there, it is still about 2 miles in. I was once again, hot, sweaty, eyes stinging, and out of breath. I paused my watch and collected myself. This time I had no fear. I did not care if someone were to come around the corner. I kept my back to the trail and dialed a number. The number that popped in my head was 757-8621. This was our home number when we lived on St. Charles St. in Cape. I have NO IDEA why this is the number that came out of the file, but there it was. In a fleeting thought, I remembered the "rule" for that phone when we got home from school. We were to never answer the phone, unless it was the secret ring. My mom would call and let it ring once and then hang up. She would call back and let it ring 3 times and hang up. Then, on the next first ring, we were allowed to pick it up and quickly tell her about our days, while she was at work. Anywho... I called the number. I immediately began to cry adding to the damp saltiness of my face. 

Mom? Hi. I need you. I need your guidance. There have been so many times lately that I feel I am failing. Why is being a mom so hard? You radiated love, and I worry sometimes that I am nothing like you. I have questions about Lawson. I have worries about Levi. I need your advice. I sing to them every night upon their request, but as I do, I hear your beautiful voice. I see you kneeling by my bed, as I am at theirs, and singing "In the sweet by and by, we shall meet on that beautiful shore..." My voice sucks. I didn't even get that trait!! Anyways, I want to meet you on that shore. Can you tell Him that it's been long enough and it is time to let you come back? He has plenty of angels, just tell Him to roll the stone away. Your absence hurts viscerally. So, any signs, any heavenly peeks, I could use them. When I see the cardinals, I see you. It's never enough. I love you. I miss you. Bye Mom. 

I was out of breath, out of snot, and out of tears, when I hung up. I needed another minute to collect myself prior to running again. I wiped my face on my shirt, restarted my watch and began to put one foot in front of the other, just like I do.  

This time, I didn't restart my audio book. I chose to listen. At first I felt heavy and sad. I didn't really feel like running any more. Then, I heard it. I heard her voice. She was answering me in the form of me positive self-talking myself. I gave myself grace. I gave myself accolades. And above all else, I granted myself some forgiveness. 

Although it felt amazing and freeing to stop for one moment criticizing myself and allow a compliment, a tiny, "thatta girl", it would be so much better to hear the words from her smiling face. 

The emotional strain of that run by far superseded the physical, but after a shower and a nap, I felt ready to dive right back into the trenches of this crazy, always changing, always winding, mostly beautiful journey. As always, thanks for coming along. 

Smiled Again

 "At the end of the day, we can endure much more than we think we can." ~ Frida Kahlo

I can name multiple times in my life in which a smile seemed such an impossible feat that even imagining my mouth making the shape previously, was a foreign concept. Specifically signing the paperwork confirming the text on Dan's granite headstone, I will never smile again. Sitting shotgun next to Nick on our way home from Baltimore after losing Levi's sister, I will never smile again. 

And exactly 10 years ago tomorrow, when the hospice nurse said, "It's time". I knelt on the cold tile, holding her hand, listening to my mother, my world, take her last breath here on Earth. I will never smile again. 

As with every painful anniversary date, Mom's angel date has wreaked havoc on my emotions lately. I am on the verge of tears. When I walk by the fridge, I open it, grab the Pepto out of the door, and swig it straight from the bottle. My stomach is in an uproar. And I am sticking to Netflix and audio books to avoid the tv and radio commercials about Mother's day. It never ceases to amaze me how smells, sounds, and even the way the wind blows petals on a sunny spring day, take me right back to 2012. I drove every day up route 2. Over the bridge, past the busy strip malls, past the Mc-Mansions, and eventually a left down a small hill to Chesapeake Hospice. The weather that April and May were gorgeous. Why was the world not acting like it would never be the same? 

The sun shone brightly still at mom's funeral even through the guttural noises emerging from my soul. We laid her earthly body to rest that day, and I have never been back. The grave is not where I talk to her, like I do Dan. When I visit Dan we have full blown, albeit one-sided, conversations. I talk to my mom in my heart. I talk to my mom in the way I speak to my children. I talk to my mom with every Bud-visit and phone call. I hear my mom, when I talk to my sister. 

Driving yesterday, I had Amazon Music mixing it up for my driving pleasure. Locash popped on with , "I Love This Life." and I couldn't help but sing along. All of a sudden it took me back to being on Blonde John's boat with Jackie, James, Bobby, Travis, and Olivia, smiling and laughing the words, "I LOVE MY LIFE!" over and over again. I thought about those Monday-Funday times and how I had no idea that I would ever endure such tragedy. 

Tragedy, however, did come, but to my surprise....No, not to my surprise, to my grit. To my want. To my hard work. To my faith. To my AMAZING support system...I smiled again. 

I do love this life. Do I miss? OF COURSE. Do I wonder, what if? DUH. But am I grateful? Am I blessed? Am I strong? HELL YES. 

Mom, Even though it feels as though you have missed out on a decade of "this life", I know you haven't. You've been here. Not in the capacity that I crave, but here none the less. I can only imagine what 10 years as an angel looks like on you, I am sure it is magnificent. You will always be here, and you will always live on. I miss you. I love you. ~ Bayba