paintedpinkmountains

I've not been a fan of football for quite some time.  As a child, I remember watching the Steelers play with my grandfather.  The game was always on during Thanksgiving dinner at my grandparents house.  My dad and my uncle would usually fall asleep on the floor, a result of a good, filling meal. I never usually paid much attention to it, but the sounds are imbedded in my memories deeply.  My grandfathers voice responding to a bad play, muffling the sound of the dishes clinking in the sink as my mom and grandmother would clean up. In high school I got into it a little.  The boy I was dating and some of our friends at the time were pretty into it.  I remember a couple we spent time with; one was a serious 49er fan and her boyfriend was a die-hard Cowboys fan.  The year I graduated, the Cowboys defeated the Bills, and I remember watching it at their house, and falling asleep before it was over. I have a photo of me asleep against the edge of the couc...

My mother was in the Neuro ICU for more than a week.  She was not conscious at all for any of it. Or at least not that I felt.  I spent the majority of twelve days with her.  A few of those days I left for a couple hours while my cousin stayed with her.  Two of those nights I went home and slept in my bed, but immediately went back to sleeping by her side the minute I knew my time with her physical presence was limited. I always have at least one knitting project with me.  During the hospital stay I had two or three in my bag, but I probably only worked on a pair of socks for a total of half an hour in all over the course of those twelve days.  Somehow, every single minute that passed, I was unable to focus on anything other than just sitting there, with my mother, holding her hand, being in her presence.  Walking with her as we both navigated the process of her death. I've found it hard to pick up any knitting lately.  I usually do go thro...

"I'm sorry." "I don't know what to say." "There really aren't any words." "It must be really hard." "I can't imagine." "I wish I knew what to say." "What can I do to help?" "I'm here if you need anything." Some people have a hard time with these things, but I don't, so it's totally okay to say them to me. "She's in a better place." "She is no longer suffering." "She is still here with you." "She will always be here with you." She will always be a part of me, for sure. And I also find myself in the same place of not really knowing what to say when others go through this too. It is always okay to hug me. And hug me again. And call me. And text me. A million times. Every day. It's also okay to not say anything. It's totally okay to break down in tears. It's okay to look at me with hurt in your eye...