Who are my parents?
My parents are Glen and Betty Weaver.
I see them smiling sweetly in the pictures I have looked at many times since their deaths. It has been so long ago since my mother died, that I don't have very many memories of her alive. Of her live smile. I have seen her smile on pictures - those last favorites we have of her - those last favorites which have somehow become my memory of her.
I have been told many things about my mother. But I will try to think of the live memories I have - not the recreated stories.
I remember lying on the sofa - the one right beside the kitchen door - she would wrap up in a blanket - and I would snuggle next to her - much like my 8 year old daughter Corina does now. Corina says she likes to snuggle with me because I am soft an fluffy, like a marshmallow. Sweet snuggly times.
But I also remember learning about words like platelets and blood counts and knowing it was not a good thing when the platelets were low. Mommy was very sick. I remember going to the hospital to visit her - and yet for the length of time she spent in the hospital, we weren't there very much.
She never said Good Bye. But how could you? If I was laying in a hospital bed, sick as can be, seeing the innocent, trusting faces of my young children looking at me with adoration, and I knew I may not see them again- how could I say good bye?
Death is a horrible thing.
It rips families apart, leaving gaping holes that really are never filled. You try to fill them. You try eating to comfort yourself in grief, you try loving your babies and protecting them from pain and loss. You try worrying and fearing and holding on when the ocean waves knock your children down, afraid the ocean will swallow up your babies just like the dirt swallowed up your mama and never gave her back.
You know you have to move on with life. You know you can't live in the past - since there is a present occuring before your very eyes - but the hole - the void left because the theif of death has come knocking - is never filled.
It is when I sing songs like "You're all I want. You're all I ever needed. You're all I want - help me know you are near." that I sing with the memory of death in my mind - knowing that the heartache abounds on this earth and only He can satisfy me.
And there are times when I simply don't feel anything at all. Times I am dry. I am emotionless. I am longing for completeness - restoration.
I hear myself telling my kids - when God takes something away, he usually gives us back something better. Is that true? Or is it just a clique that I came up with to try and comfort myself?
"His plans are not our plans, His ways are higher than our ways."
I see them smiling sweetly in the pictures I have looked at many times since their deaths. It has been so long ago since my mother died, that I don't have very many memories of her alive. Of her live smile. I have seen her smile on pictures - those last favorites we have of her - those last favorites which have somehow become my memory of her.
I have been told many things about my mother. But I will try to think of the live memories I have - not the recreated stories.
I remember lying on the sofa - the one right beside the kitchen door - she would wrap up in a blanket - and I would snuggle next to her - much like my 8 year old daughter Corina does now. Corina says she likes to snuggle with me because I am soft an fluffy, like a marshmallow. Sweet snuggly times.
But I also remember learning about words like platelets and blood counts and knowing it was not a good thing when the platelets were low. Mommy was very sick. I remember going to the hospital to visit her - and yet for the length of time she spent in the hospital, we weren't there very much.
She never said Good Bye. But how could you? If I was laying in a hospital bed, sick as can be, seeing the innocent, trusting faces of my young children looking at me with adoration, and I knew I may not see them again- how could I say good bye?
Death is a horrible thing.
It rips families apart, leaving gaping holes that really are never filled. You try to fill them. You try eating to comfort yourself in grief, you try loving your babies and protecting them from pain and loss. You try worrying and fearing and holding on when the ocean waves knock your children down, afraid the ocean will swallow up your babies just like the dirt swallowed up your mama and never gave her back.
You know you have to move on with life. You know you can't live in the past - since there is a present occuring before your very eyes - but the hole - the void left because the theif of death has come knocking - is never filled.
It is when I sing songs like "You're all I want. You're all I ever needed. You're all I want - help me know you are near." that I sing with the memory of death in my mind - knowing that the heartache abounds on this earth and only He can satisfy me.
And there are times when I simply don't feel anything at all. Times I am dry. I am emotionless. I am longing for completeness - restoration.
I hear myself telling my kids - when God takes something away, he usually gives us back something better. Is that true? Or is it just a clique that I came up with to try and comfort myself?
"His plans are not our plans, His ways are higher than our ways."
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