heal

six months ago today i broke my ankle hiking in the mountains.

you can re-live it all here.

it was me embarking on a more active lifestyle.

i was changing, and this hike was the beginning.

i wanted to run the honolulu marathon in 2010, and a friend of mine was going to help train me.

the hike was on a wednesday. the marathon training started monday.

addi still talks about it, and how she doesn't want to "hide in the mountains" ever again.

i still can't run, jump, etc...

i haven't regained my full range of motion.

it still hurts.

somedays a lot, somedays a little.

basically my busted ankle has become a part of my life.

it goes where i go.

in the mornings when i try to spring out of bed it hits me...

it still hurts.

when i'm wrapping up the day, walking from the living room to the bedroom, it slows me...

it still hurts.

but really, and i do mean really, it is nothing...

because

six months ago today my friend nat was starting day 2 at the hospital.

you can re-live it all here.

she was embarking on a new life.

their family was changing, growing, and she was in utah showing off her little gavin.

she came to the hospital on a tuesday. she didn't leave the hospital until thursday week.

her boys still talk about it.

sometimes she just wants to run.

she's still regaining "normal".

it still hurts.

somedays a lot, somedays a little.

because now she is the mother of a child she can no longer hold.

and that grief goes where she goes.

in the mornings, before she gets out of bed

it still hurts.

and at the end of a long day.

it still hurts.

time passes differently when one is grieving. certain dates on a calendar hurt. time is marked in days, then weeks, then months... eventually years, since the life-changing event.

and 6 months is a big marker. i'm sure it's a hard marker.

i don't know nat's pain. i only know my own grief in her behalf.

and i do know this...

healing takes time.

physically.

spiritually.

emotionally.

and nat still needs our support.

our prayers.

our thoughts.

our comments, emails, texts, phone calls...

our service.

and our participation.

in her owns words...

GET YOUR FREAKING

ADULT PERTUSSIS VACCINATION.

because one was enough.

via

t w o

dear gwen,

you're 2. and i'm 27. and addi's 3. and dad was 26 but now he's 27. (this is our age mantra... the three of us girls go through this 'how old are you?' routine at least 2 dozen times a day. no, seriously.)

you won't remember being 2.

you won't remember waking up at 2 am asking for momma.

you won't remember scrubbing walls and floors with me,

or how today i let you pick whatever you wanted for breakfast and you picked strawberry yogurt and a banana.

or how you wanted to take a bath at 10am and i said sure, cause it's your birthday.

you won't remember how i bundled you in a towel afterwards and we all snuggled on the couch watching veggie tales. you won't remember how addi peeled an orange for you and called it your birthday orange.

or that this is the birthday you got your first tricycle... you knew i got it for you. you were there when i bought it, and i told you you couldn't have it until your birthday. so this morning when i said, 'gwen, today's your BIRTHDAY!!' the first thing you said was 'happy birthday bike!'

you won't remember how i don't exist on the weekends, or after 5 pm. if dad is there, you are his. you snuggle up in the crook of his arm and say, 'dada, awuvoo' and just stare at him. you adore your father. he adores you.

you won't remember how you and addi bring out every blanket and pillow you can find in our zip code and lay them on the living room floor to play 'night night'. and how the 'night night' game almost always ends with death-defying stunts off the couch onto the pile of bed things.

but i will. i will remember every last bit of it all. i love you squeaker bot. so much so that that little word 'love' just doesn't cut it. you are my happy.

love,

mom