Tag: my story

Life Sucks

stephaniemoorewrites

The last couple of weeks have been “life sucks” weeks.

Okay. It’s probably the last eight months. But like I said before, some days, some weeks, are worse than others.

So these have been worse weeks.

We have this huge hole, this huge sadness in our lives. Everything else should just fall into place, right? Right?

Nope.

There’s still crappiness.

Big decisions still have to be made.

Life doesn’t stop. It just keeps coming.

I take deep breaths and just try to roll with it.

But there are days that I’m hitting my steering wheel in anger.

And some that I’m curled up in my closet in tears.

This is what I hate.

Each of the boys have, in different ways, asked me if I’m sad the last few days.

I hate that.

I don’t want the boys to think of me as a sad mom.

I didn’t used to be.

I hate that it takes so much energy for me to be “normal.”

I hate that this is my life. Their life.

A Memory— The List

stephaniemoorewrites

Rory was, by far, my pickiest eater. The boys couldn’t get away with it. There were too many of them, close together. I needed them to eat what I put in front of them.

Rory, well, she had a list.

When it started there were five things she would eat:

Corn dogs

French fries

Chicken nuggets

Fruit snacks

Goldfish.

Luckily, the list did expand. But I’d be lying if I said it got much healthier.

I’d have her eat broccoli. She’d gag it down. Literally, the entire time she was eating, she was gagging.

Every once in a while I’d ask her to try something and she would, with a smile, tell me that wasn’t on her list.

She was so dang cute saying that, I’d totally let it go.

Because of her “restrictive list”, I would always have her favorites on hand.

Buying those things are hard. Still.

But they’re on the boys’ list too.

Eight Months

stephaniemoorewrites

Time is weird.

I remember thinking in hours. Then days. Now months.

Eight of them.

Rory has been gone eight months today.

There are times I still count her to get tickets.

There are times I actually think she’s going to come around a corner.

Then there are times that being with her was a different life entirely.

Man, eight months.

I miss her.

Every minute.

Every hour.

Every day.

Every month.

New Van

stephaniemoorewrites

I told Lance on July 3rd, “If I ever say that we should get a new van, we need to go get it.” Because one minute I’ll be ready for a new van. The next I’m hyperventilating.

So on the morning of July 4th, we were out getting sodas and I said, “Let’s get a new van.”

Lance practically drove straight there. We’ve been talking for a couple of years about what our next van would be so while it was kind of an impulse buy. It totally wasn’t.

So here’s our new Chrysler Pacifica Hybrid. It’s a pretty blue and way fancy.

We couldn’t quite get rid of our old van though. She’s part of the family. The twins will learn to drive with her in a year.

Side note story:

When we were in the Chrysler dealership there was this beautiful purple Jeep. Rory’s dream car! Sitting right show room!

I think it’s easy to see signs in things when you’re hoping for them. Other times it just seems too coincidental. What are the chances there would be a purple Jeep in the showroom?!?

That Feeling. She’s Here.

stephaniemoorewrites

I’ve stated a few times that I’ve had experiences that tell me Rory still exists and that she’s still around.

I haven’t specifically shared them because they’re personal and some are sacred to me.

But I want to share the one I had today.

I’ve had something weighty hanging over my head the last few days. I keep thinking, where does this leave me and what am I going to do next?

That’s what I was doing at church today. I had my eyes closed and I was partially praying, partially thinking those questions. What am I going to do?

Then out of no where.

She was there.

In my mind.

Sitting in the pew in front of me, turning around smiling at me. Her beautiful red hair framing her face. Fingers gripping the back of the pew.

I opened my eyes.

I couldn’t see her.

But for a moment she let me know that she’s still here.

She loves me.