Having A Holly, Melancholy Christmas

Why the holidays are bittersweet for me


The 15th anniversary of Mama's death is approaching, and I find myself even more blue this season than I normally am.  Maybe it is the number of years causing me more melancholia than usual. Maybe it is just the events of this past year catching up with me.  Surgery, weight loss and the inevitable changes that happen as a result might make anyone feel a bit off-balance.  I've also been thinking about the unit of CPE I did in the first half of the year.  I spent a lot of time in the hospital dealing with the stresses and tragedies of other people, remembering other times when it was me and my family who were patients and caregivers.  And of course, my most intimate experience within my own family was with Mama at the end of her life.

She died very early in the wee hours on December 8, 1997.  What follows is a poem I wrote a few weeks after she died.



The World Still Turns

Somewhere between land of the living and domain of the dead
inside this room my world has ground to a screeching halt

A small space littered with soiled gauze, used syringes, bloody linen

Mama's broken, worn-out body

My battered soul in pieces
Beaten black and blue from
worrying, waiting, watching

This place has become my home

Weeks I've spent here
looking on
sickness slowly, meticulously
enveloping her in its cocoon
layer by layer suffocating us all

Her first night here she was terrified
I tried everything, nurses tried everything
the medicine they gave her for panic made her sick

The morning they needed to take blood
Stuck her twice and couldn't get her to bleed
The third time they couldn't get her to stop

Now she's taken no food in over a week

In that time every day the IV has had to be replaced
by angels of mercy who sit patiently at her bedside
and sweat trying to find a usable vein

"Help me, Honey."
"What can I do for you, Mama?"
"I don't know..."

She's been dreaming about Aunt Mary, calling out for Granny
They're both dead

Today her breathing has changed
her face has taken on the look of a corpse
a horrible smell now seeps into every corner of the room
it's coming from her

Old blood
the smell of death

Daddy insists on coming back here
to relieve me

I'm not going
Anywhere

He goes to sleep and I watch

Another breath
and another
and then nothing

her lips turn white
I know the next breath isn't coming

A wave of panic
nausea
alone-ness rises up in me

But not the relief that was supposed to come

I count two minutes on my watch and
go to find the nurse

"I think we're done here, but I
need you to make sure before
I wake Daddy up."

She looks in Mama's eyes
listens all over her chest
shakes her head

"She's gone."

It's 2:40 in the morning
Daddy stirs and asks what's happening
I tell him that it's over

Mama's gone

We cry
He says a prayer
We make phone calls and
gather our things to leave

I stay behind with her until
they tell me that I have to go

I step out into the hallway and
somehow put one foot in front of the other
the walk to my car seems to take forever this time

Inside that little room my world stopped
But out here in the cold hours before daybreak

I feel the chill of December air as it freezes the tears on my cheeks
I smell the aroma of bread from the bakery down the street
I notice the Christmas tree lights twinkling on downtown rooftops

A new day is coming
whether I want it to or not

Out here the world still turns

Somehow

I have to turn with it

Thank You For The World So Sweet...

Thank You for the food we eat

Thank You for the birds that sing

Thank You, Lord, for everything

It's a simple little childhood table grace that has been on my mind a great deal lately.  Sometimes simple prayers are the best ones, and sometimes they are the only kind we can muster.  My prayers this week have been very childlike indeed, often very brief and usually kind of desperate.

"Lord, please help..."

"Please protect..."

"Please grant us peace..."

"Thank You so much..."

Thanksgiving came with an abundance of family, fellowship and, of course, food.  The Hubs and I made it to lunch with a big contingent of my Mama's side of our family, with my beautiful and precious Aunt Ruby as the centerpiece.  My cousins, her kids, some of the grandkids, great-grandkids and even the great-great-grandbaby were there.  As far as the menu was concerned, I had safe food choices and enjoyed my lunch greatly.  Turkey is a great lean protein for weight loss patients if it is not dry, and the turkey we had was moist and flavorful.  

We visited there most of the day until it was time to mosey over to Bonus Brother's house for supper with that branch of family.  Dad, Bonus Mom, Bonus Brother and his family and some friends were in attendance, and we enjoyed a feast there as well, including freshly fried catfish (yes, I ate half a piece and yes, it was delicious!  And yes, I brought home some leftover catfish to enjoy, in small portions.)  Was a fried food in strict keeping with my food plan?  No.  But I kept my portion small and enjoyed what I ate.  

Thanksgiving came and went this year without a single bite of any kind of potato passing my lips, which is a minor miracle.  No cake or pie or cookies, either.  I had 4 yogurt-covered pretzels, but not all at the same time, and a very few bites of dressing.  So while I was not 100% adherent to my program, I am claiming a victory for the holiday because I managed to eat sensible amounts and didn't even really feel like I was missing much of anything.  I will advance to phase 4 diet in a week and a half, when I will be allowed starches in small quantities.  Thanksgiving was just practice!

Changes are coming in my extended family which have us all doing a lot of soul-searching and, for those of us who pray, a lot of praying.  The time has come for my Aunt Ruby to move to an assisted living facility.  She is 87 years of age, nearly blind from diabetes that has become brittle, and needs a walker to get around.  Her kids, my cousins, are sad that this decision needed to be made, but they've done their research and this is truly the best option they found.  My prayers are that peace and comfort will attend all of us, that God's protection will be strong where it is needed most, that Aunt Ruby finds friends, engagement and companionship in her new surroundings, and that the adjustment will be a smooth one.  

Every family has someone like Aunt Ruby...or at least, every family should have someone like Aunt Ruby.  She has always been the even-keel, placid soul who brought stability to everyone else.  I don't know how my Mama would have survived raising us without Aunt Ruby's calm influence!  When my brother was very little and fussy/colicky/crying and Mama was at her wits' end, she would ask Aunt Ruby what to do.  Aunt Ruby's solution was a simple one that always seemed to help:  give the baby a warm bath.  There was nothing magical about the bath, as it turned out, except that it helped calm Mama as much as it calmed the fussy baby, and they both ended up feeling a lot better.  For years and to this day, when I am stressed, upset or needing come peace, I often find it in the bathtub (sometimes with bubbles, a book or a beverage, non-alcoholic of course).  When we were little and Mama needed a break, we'd often load up in the car and "go to Aunt Ruby's for a glass of tea".  Mama and Aunt Ruby would have their tea and their talk, and we had time to play with our cousins and whichever other neighborhood kids happened to be around.  

For many years, Aunt Ruby was a plus-sized lady as well.  When she became diabetic, she managed her condition for years by controlling her diet, and lost a lot of weight in the process.  She told me once a long time ago, after her diabetes had begun to steal her eyesight, that she would starve herself before going to the doctor in hopes of getting a good checkup, then leave the doctor's office and go get a donut on the way home.  She said she would do differently if she could go back, if it could give her a few more years of decent vision.  She made most of my clothes when I was a kid, and lots of them even through my college years, including the red satin dress I wore for my senior voice recital.  She was an avid quilter as well, often spending hours around the quilting frames with Mama and Aunt Martha and "Mamaw" Allred, our next-door neighbor until I was almost 17 years old.  Those quilts grace many of our beds, surrounding us with love and memories.  And Aunt Ruby loved to read, often devouring books into the wee hours after her family had gone to sleep.  Diabetes gradually stole her eyesight and her ability to enjoy doing the things she loved the most.

Aunt Ruby is philosophical about the coming transition and trying to see it in a positive light, as we all are.  I've been very close to her all my life and we've talked about a lot of things over the years.  In her moments of deepest sorrow and heartbreak, when she lost Uncle John, when she has had her own health problems, as she has watched her siblings die one by one, when she has agonized over the troubles of her beloved children, her response has always been the same.  She has always said, "God will take care of me."  Since I learned that she will be moving to assisted living, the old hymns have been playing in my mind and heart...the ones that assure me that God will take care of us all, that we will understand it all by and by, that His eye is on the sparrow.  That Jesus cares.  

"Does Jesus care?  I know He cares.

His heart is touched with my grief.

When the days grow weary, the long nights dreary,

I know my Savior cares."

  

Wonderful Words Of Life

Why I Read The Bible


If I have not mentioned it before, I should state that I graduated with a music degree from a Christian college.  My college choir has long observed a tradition of awarding a graduating senior a very special gift every spring.  Seniors must meet certain criteria to be eligible for the award, and then a vote is taken to determine the recipient.  The award is known as the Choir Bible.  My senior year, the Choir Bible was presented to me at the annual spring picnic.  I cried tears of joy and gratitude as I accepted this meaningful gift, humbled and overwhelmed…and ashamed.

I felt ashamed because I was not much of a Bible reader.  I felt undeserving of such an honor because, at that point in my life, although I had been a Christian for years, the Bible was something I grabbed on my way out the door either to church or to one of my religion classes.  I knew that there were seniors in my choir who managed to have a personal quiet time and devotions every day and would have really benefited from a new Bible.  The irony of the situation was not lost on me.  I don’t know what made me think to do it, but I brought that Bible in the following week, requesting that my choir-mates sign it, and those signatures and notes mean more to me with every passing year.  I began my adult exploration of God’s Word with this Bible, and years ago when I worked in Christian radio, I wagged it to work with me every day, marking passages to use in my on-air devotions.  The cover got so shabby that I sent it to be re-bound a number of years ago.

Over the years, I have become much more of a Bible reader, generally reading through it yearly.  In 2010, I joined a Bible in 90 Days Challenge group on Facebook that my college roomie was doing, (the roomie who, during our college/dorm years, read her Bible daily, first thing in the morning, without fail) and since then I have read the Bible through twice yearly, doing the 90 Day Challenge from June through August and my regular daily reading through the rest of the year (knock wood and Lord willing I will finish this year’s chosen version as well!).  Long ago I discovered that there are many Bibles formatted to be read through in a year.  Some give daily sections of Old Testament, New Testament, Psalms and Proverbs, while others go straight through.  Some have a devotion included with each day’s reading.  In 2011, I read a chronological version which divides the text up into the order that the events occurred.  I enjoyed the new perspective of the chronological version a great deal and passed it along to Bonus Mom to read this year when she expressed interest in doing it.
 
I have learned that in about 15 minutes a day, I can read through the entire Bible in a year’s time.  And I have learned that it is the single most worthwhile investment of time I can make.  Over the years that I’ve been reading regularly, gradual differences have started to show up in my life.  I find that I am a much more peaceful person now, less twitchy and obsessive about a lot of the things that used to make me crazy.  I still spin my wheels from time to time, but way less than I used to.  My prayers are different as well, taking little moments more often just to speak to God and try to listen to Him.

I have always been a re-reader, going back to revisit books that I have loved, and it always seems like when I read something for a second (or third, or fourth…) time, I pick up details that I did not catch the previous time.  The Bible is like that, too, more than any other reading I have ever done.  Every time I go through it, I glean more bits of truth than I did the time before.  Maybe my life situation is different and now a verse comes alive in a new way.  Maybe I have experienced a loss or a joy that God speaks to in a fresh way through a familiar passage.  I understand much better now why the older people in my family reached for the Bible in times of sorrow, because I find myself following their lead.  When I need comfort, God has given it in His Word.

I need to make a few disclaimers here, because I am no goody-two-shoes and I don’t claim to be.  I know I’m a black-hearted varmint.  My Bible reading doesn’t make me any less of a varmint.  It makes me conscious of how blessed I am to love the God Who loved me first, and Who loves me still, in spite of my many faults and failings, forgiving me and giving me new chances, new mercies and new blessings without ceasing.

I have unbelieving friends, and I have believing friends who don’t read the Bible.  I don’t use my Bible to beat them over the head.  What I hope to learn from my Bible is how to love them better.    

Nobody Knows But Jesus

Sometimes I'm Up, Sometimes I'm Down


It has been an up-and-down week, another roller-coaster ride.  Tuesday, as I mentioned in my last post, was my 5-month surgery anniversary and I was able to have lunch with a wonderful longtime friend.  Definitely an up day.

Thursday after work I grabbed a quick meal and went to the first rehearsal with instruments for the premiere concert of a major new choral work being presented by the chorus I sing with.  It was a long day, but the rehearsal actually energized me.  Hearing the music for the first time with the orchestra and soloists made the work come alive in a whole new way for me.  "Chronicles of Blue and Gray" for chorus and orchestra is the first major choral work commemorating the Civil War.  It includes texts from Abraham Lincoln's speeches, the Emancipation Proclamation, Walt Whitman and a heartbreaking letter from a soldier to his wife.  It also includes a medley of spirituals, one of which I stole for the title of this post.  It seemed fitting for the week I experienced.

Friday, November 9, would have been Mama and Dad's 55th wedding anniversary.  I thought about the last anniversary Mama was here for, their 40th, all day long.  We celebrated their 40th in the hospital where Mama had been for a couple of weeks.  It was a Sunday, and very cold as I remember.  Aunt Helen was in town and came by the hospital to visit with Mama.  There are a lot of things about the day that I just don't seem to be able to remember any more.  My parents exchanged gifts there in that little hospital room, gifts that they had chosen and I had gone to pick up for them.  The 40th is the ruby anniversary.  I now own the gold and channel-set ruby heart pendant that Mama put on that day.  I wear it often.  The Hubs gave me an emerald one just like it the following Valentine's Day, since emerald is my birthstone.  I've been known to wear them together sometimes, especially around Christmas.  The red and green are so pretty.

The Cramp Fairy decided to visit me on Friday as well.  Talk about kicking a Diva when she's down!  I was already weepy and withdrawn, remembering Mama in the hospital and missing her more than usual.  Once again I experienced a minor weight plateau prior to the Cramp Fairy's arrival, and once again I seem to have broken through it.  Maybe it's good that I entered the Hormone Zone on a day when I was feeling sad anyway.  At least it didn't ruin a wonderful mood.

Yesterday, November 10, was the world premiere performance of  "Chronicles of Blue and Gray", and I have to say, I think it was a triumph on every level.  We performed attentively and energetically, to a packed house filled with a very appreciative audience.  This work was commissioned by our chorus in honor of our esteemed conductor and artistic director, who also happens to be one of my choir directors from college, a longtime friend and now, a fellow weight loss surgery patient.  He had his operation last December, about 5 1/2 months before I had mine.  He has been a constant source of encouragement to me, both before and after surgery, and watching his progress has been an inspiration.  At chorus practice one evening last spring, before I had undergone surgery, I approached him during a break with a personal question, saying that it was none of my business and if he didn't want to answer me, that was fine.  He smiled and patted me on the shoulder and said, "Don't you know there's nothing you can't ask me?"  It's a moment I'll always remember and treasure.  So often we don't realize how important those seemingly small kindnesses can be.

At last year's fall concert, when he and I both knew we were each planning surgery, but not many other people knew, we posed backstage for a  picture together, one that I now refer to as The Before Picture.  It was a good photograph, big smiles and pleasant expressions.  We were just both a lot larger.  Last night before the concert started, we posed for The After Picture.  I printed and Facebooked them today, and the difference is definitely profound, especially in his case.  He's ahead of me on the path and a lot closer to his goal weight, but there is a noticeable difference in my size as well.  Between the two of us we have lost in the neighborhood of 250 pounds.

So the emotional course of the week has definitely been up and down.  I am thankful for so many things...memories of Mama, even the ones from the hospital.  I am thankful for the gift of music in my life and the many people who share it.  I am thankful to have had people ahead of me on the weight loss surgery path to offer encouragement, guidance and concern.  I am thankful that when I am up or down, when nobody in the world seems able to understand, when I can't even put my feelings into words, the Lord knows.

"Nobody knows the trouble I've seen,
Nobody knows but Jesus.
Nobody knows the trouble I've seen,
Glory Hallelujah!

Sometimes I'm up, sometimes I'm down,
Yes, my Lord.
Sometimes I'm almost to the ground,
Oh yes, Lord."  

Five Months Since Surgery

Election Day


Five months ago today I had my weight loss surgery.  It's hard to believe it's been so long, and yet so short, a time.  My total weight loss is 86 pounds, with 64 more to go until I reach goal weight.  Aside from a nagging headache today, I have felt great lately and I continue to notice improvements in how my joints feel and function.

Today I had several things on the agenda.  First and most fun, I met a longtime friend for lunch.  It had been several years since we had seen each other face to face, although we've been in touch through e-mail, texts and Facebook.  Our old favorite spot to meet was at a buffet restaurant, and that's where we met today as well.  Weight loss patients are generally warned about the possible dangers that await us at buffet places because of the chance we have to overstuff ourselves.  I am happy and relieved to report that I stayed with safe food choices (meat and beans) and I didn't overindulge.  We sat there for 2 hours talking, laughing and catching up on each other's lives.  I left the restaurant pleasantly filled, with both food and conversation.  My lunch companion told me that, not only could he get his arms all the way around me for a hug, but that he could  touch his elbows!  I never really thought about it before, but those are some of the nicest parts about getting smaller... tighter hugs and getting closer to people.

After lunch I went to the weight loss surgeon's to pick up vitamins and protein supplements, then to a local mall for some girly-makeup-type stuff I had run out of.  I haven't power-shopped in a long time, and I didn't today, either.  But I noticed how much easier it was to navigate the mall now that I take up less space.  I am still way large, but less large than I was before surgery.  My CPE peer group met one night last week for supper and one of my peers told me that my arms have become "stick-like".  That's OK by me!

In a couple of weeks I will go to get my first big labs done to check my nutrient levels and make sure I'm within desirable ranges prior to my 6-month post-op checkup.  I will admit that I am a little nervous about my labs and hoping everything will be OK with my bloodwork.  I feel good most of the time, so I hope that's an indication that my levels are all good.

After my other stops were done, I returned to my neighborhood polling place to vote.  It was encouraging to see a decent crowd there.  I gave thanks for the chance I have to cast my ballot.  I didn't even mind standing and waiting in line for the privilege of voting, partly because it didn't hurt my feet and legs to do so!  I don't know who is going to be President in the morning, but I know that I carried out my civic duty today.  In much the same way I approached weight loss surgery, I committed to give myself wholeheartedly to doing what I can do, and trusting God to do what I can't.

     

FrankenPants, Kissy Shirts and Argyle Sweaters

The Results Of Surgical Alterations...To Clothing and To Me


My Bonus Mom is awesome.  She volunteered to help me stretch my wardrobe while I am shrinking by altering things as they became too big.  I took her up on the offer for several reasons: to save money by not replacing items for a while; to save my sanity by not doing a lot of shopping just yet, as I still have a long way yet to go; to save some still perfectly good jeans that I've worn and loved for a long time before I have to give them up to the "donate" basket.  It's strange how sentimental I can be about certain items of clothing, but the jeans I'm talking about in this case also have pockets, so they are practical.  I can be sentimental about practicality as well!

After several fittings, Bonus Mom called last week to tell me that my jeans were all done and I could come and pick them up anytime.  Hallelujah, my beloved jeans and their pockets would soon be back on my frame and fitting me better since their surgical alterations, necessitated by my surgical alterations.  The last time she did a fitting, she asked if I wanted her to cut out the excess fabric from the seams inside where she took them in, and I said that wouldn't be necessary since the pair I tried on felt fine without it removed.

I am so glad I had her leave the excess fabric there!  If I turn the pants inside out, I can see exactly how much she took the waist in, both front and back, as well as the inches taken in on each leg.  Turned inside out, they look like FrankenPants!  But in a wonderful way.  It is one more bit of tangible evidence of the progress made since this whole weight loss adventure began.

As I think about my wardrobe, there are some items that I'll never part with no matter how much too big they are, just because I love them, because of their history.  I have a ginormous red sweatshirt with "St. Simons Island" emblazoned on the front.  It was too big when I bought it, so it's really too big now.  But I'll never get rid of it.  I bought it on my first trip there with The Hubs.  We usually took vacations in Destin, Florida, but that particular year, our favorite place had experienced hurricane damage.  I had been to St. Simons as a teenager with my church youth group and suggested we might try going there for a change.  Our first trip to the island was magical, and was not our last.  It has become another favorite vacation spot for us. My sweatshirt is like a warm hug reminding me of every wonderful time we've enjoyed there.  No, I won't be donating it.

I have a white shirt with bright pink and red lipstick prints on it that swirls around on me now, but I won't be getting rid of it, either.  Too much history and too many good memories.  It's been with me on every trip with The Hubs ever since I bought it a hundred years ago.  I've had strange ladies yell at me in shopping malls in other states to say my shirt was cool.  At the end of a trip to Las Vegas, as we were leaving our hotel around 4 in the morning, we stopped in the hotel restaurant to get some pre-airport breakfast and I was wearing The Shirt.  There were a couple of inebriated and clearly sleep-deprived young male gamblers in the breakfast line behind us, flirting with me and saying how much they liked my shirt.  On a different Vegas trip, we were having dinner in Quark's (the Star Trek-themed restaurant that used to be in The Star Trek Experience at the Hilton, DON'T JUDGE ME, I KNOW I'M A GEEK!) and the resident Klingon stopped at our table and commented on my shirt, expressing concern that numerous small creatures had been biting me and left their marks behind.  I've worn it to work pretty often, but one day, on a dare or something, I ended up taking photos of a bunch of my male coworkers posing in the "kissy" shirt.  Dudes in that shirt were just too funny.  Those pictures died several computers ago, unfortunately.  I'd love to be able to Facebook them now!

Some items of clothing are irreplaceable, either because they are no longer made or because of the history and memories attached to them.  Some things, however, can be replaced, in the smaller sizes I can now fit into.  As I write this, I have just received a little gift from the UPS man.  It was a package containing smaller versions of my favorite flannel pajamas and a slightly different version of my favorite black and red argyle sweater.  I am meeting some friends for dinner in a couple of days, people who have not seen me since surgery.  I may wear the new sweater and take the old one with me, to show them, and myself, how far this journey has brought me to this point.

Fifteen Years Ago Today...

...The Beginning Of The End


This day 15 years ago, Mama went into the hospital.  I remember it vividly even now.  It was a Tuesday, cool and very autumn-y.  I worked that day and then went to an appointment after work, returning home a little after 6 pm.  It was still daylight and I remember the maple leaves were so brightly colored that I stopped before I went into the house to pick up a handful from under the tree where they had fallen.  I was watching a lot of Martha Stewart back then because the TV station I worked at aired her show, and she had just done a segment about preserving leaves and using them in decorative projects, and I was going to preserve them to frame as wall art.

When I got inside the house I checked the answering machine.  I heard Dad's voice saying that he had taken Mama to the hospital that afternoon and that she had been admitted.  My pager had never gone off during the day and I remember being annoyed that he had not paged me, and that hours had gone by without me knowing Mama was in the hospital.  I was also very scared.  Mama's COPD (chronic obstructive pulmonary disease, usually emphysema or chronic bronchitis, or both) had been getting steadily worse that year.  In fact, the appointment I had been to that afternoon after work was to see my therapist, an insightful woman I had been seeing for months in part due to Mama's worsening condition and my emotional issues stemming from my fears that she was dying.  There were other issues that spurred me to seek counseling, private things that I won't discuss here.  (As wide-open as I am and as transparent as I've been with this blog, even I have limits, and some things don't need to be rehashed for public consumption.)  We had just gotten Mom-In-Law out of that same hospital where she had been for colon cancer surgery, and I had been in there a few months before that, in May, because I had fallen and broken my leg and both sides of my ankle and needed emergency surgery to repair the damage.  It felt like, by the end of 1997, I and my family, either as patients or caregivers, had spent half the year inside those walls.

I had a minor meltdown in my kitchen, railing at God in anger, crying out in fear and desperation.  Then I rushed to pack a bag so I could get to the hospital to spend the night with Mama.  That first night was rough for her, and for me.  She was agitated and the Ativan administered upset her stomach but didn't do much to calm her nerves.  That day and night were the beginning of the end of a lot of things, for all of us.

She was in the hospital for several weeks, released for about a week and then had to return for the final time.  I was writing a lot then, as I had been doing throughout that year, because my emotions were overwhelming and needed to come out in some way.  Journaling, LOTS of bad poetry, stream of consciousness, whatever came from my heart to my pen to the page to help me survive.  My spiritual life and my relationship with God were at an all-time low, due to my own stubbornness and bad choices, and the time I spent with Mama in the hospital was the first time in forever that I had actually wanted to do the right thing.  There is an old saying about when we feel like God is far away, He's not the one who moved.  That's where I was.  But He never left me, and looking back, I can see so many times when He was so close, His heart breaking with mine as I watched Mama get sicker.  He sent a nurse to comfort me on Mama's last day, one whose name and face I cannot recall, but I remember the feeling of her arm around my shoulder, her voice telling me that I could talk to Mama and hold her hand and pet her if I wanted, that nothing was bothering her now and she didn't believe Mama was in any pain.  I know now that Mama was actively dying.  I think that nurse might have been an angel, because I don't remember seeing her before that day.  He sent lots of comfort to us during our time in the hospital, comfort I needed but felt like I didn't deserve.  I am so thankful that God loved me in spite of my failures, and that He still does.  

I'll probably share more about this in the weeks to come, but for now I think this is about all you and I can stand!  Mama and God are together in Heaven, and I have learned to live my life without her physical presence in it.  She is always with me, in my heart, my memories and my family who also loved her so very much.  "It is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all."