this is why...

My dear beautiful boys,

Do you know how much I love you? I know I say it every day--but I hope you know I never just say it out of habit. I mean it every time. I am so in awe of each of you. How you have grown from such tiny babies into these smart, energetic, talented, handsome mini-men. Regularly, I still come into your rooms after you're asleep and get down on my knees in front of you so I can look at your precious sleeping faces, and I ask God for the strength to bring you up right, for Him to make up all my shortcomings and weaknesses and inabilities. That may creep you out a little bit now to think, Mom watches up while we sleep?! But trust me...you'll understand when you're older :)

When my mom was still alive, I loved listening to her stories. I wanted to hear them all the time. I wanted to know what it was like when she was little--what she wore, what games she played, what music she listened to, who her friends were, what it was like to be the only girl with four brothers. She liked to tell those stories.


As I got older, I wanted to know more about who she was as a grown up. How did she live through the death of her mother, then her step mother, then a divorce, then the death of her second husband? How did she figure everything out? And when my brother's friend, at age 11, was hit by a car while spending the night at our house,  and his parents--in their desperate grief--yelled in her face that it was all her fault that he died.... How did she survive that? How, despite all the grief and trial that she went through, was she remembered most by everyone for her constant smile, her optimistic attitude, her sense of adventure, and her tender, always thoughtful actions towards "the least of these" ?

I was afraid to ask though. I don't think she had many answers as to how or why except that it was the best option. Also, a lot of those stories made her cry. And I didn't like her to cry.

When we found out that she had cancer and was going to die quickly, I gave her a book to record some of her memories in for me. She filled out a little of it, but by then she was weak and all her memories became good, peaceful--she would leave this life soon, she knew, what was the point in writing any of the pain? I don't think you think of your life quite the same when your days are numbered.

So while I write to help those in my situation whom I think could benefit from knowing they're not alone in their struggles or weaknesses or even humorous situations--  I also write this blog for you, my sons. This, and all those boxes of journals accumulating in the garage that I have written almost daily for the last 30 years--for you, for your children. I want you to understand who your mother is and was, all along the way. What I have passed through, and how I have done it, or failed at it. Things I love. Things that make me laugh. Things that have made me angry. Precious moments we have spent together. I want you to know how much I loved your father, despite our marriage ending in a way I never dreamt it would.  I want you to know how very imperfect I am, but also the deep faith I have attained in my struggles.

I never set out to be so candid. I take about as much open or silent criticism for it as I do praise, but I would not have continued to write in this manner if it didn't feel right--divinely appointed---somehow. It's not been easy to crack my soul open, and a lot of sacred things I have allowed to remain private. Part of the reason I blog things is so you can read the comments from other people. So you will have a record of what others thought of your mom--good and bad. I don't want you ever to put me on a pedestal, but rather to say--If Mom , as human as she was, could manage to do it, so can we.

I want you  all to go do wonderful things in your lives. Grow into good, faithful, kind men. Remember always who you are--children of God. Love one another. Love the Lord. Be smart. Go find sweet wives one day and love them, cling to them with all your hearts. Get down and wrestle with your kids, read to them, try and remember what you felt at their age, and always be patient and attentive toward them.

Boys, I don't know what's going to happen to us. This is a hard, hard time. I'm so sorry to ask you to do the amount of sacrificing we will all need to. I know it doesn't seem fair, that most of your friends will have more and get more than you do. I hope you will understand that I will still always protect you and bless you in every way I can, in ways money has no bearing on. Those things that are most important can never be taken away from us. Grandma Delores and other angels will be  helping us from heaven, doing things for us they couldn't do here. Somehow, somehow, we will find our way and we will do it together, and be pretty proud of ourselves for doing it, too.


Thank you for loving me. Thank you for giving me a reason to get up and smile every day, for making me laugh. Thank you for needing me. And being grateful for even the simple things I do for you. Thank you for thinking that socks are as neat a Christmas gift as electronics. Thank you for thinking frozen burritos are the best dinner ever. Thank you for being my family at times I feel I have none. I am so spoiled as to have gotten the four best boys Heaven had to offer.

I pray I never let you down. And if , in my weakness I do, that you forgive me and know I would never, ever do it on purpose. That I'm here in this life, struggling along just like you--just a few years ahead is all.  And I hope when you think back on me, in these my younger-ish years--you see me with a smile on my face, in my silly fur covered boots and too red hair, riding my longboard while you came along on scooters and bikes, baking cookies and pancakes in the shapes you request while singing along to Doris Day songs, all our great years homeschooling. Not that tired lady in her gray sweat pants who cried all the time. She's part of me, too...but not the one I want you to recall.

Thank you again for all you do and are, for being my only sunshines. I love you all a bushel and a peck and some hugs around your neck,

~ Mom