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I’ve been through every winding road of the stages of grief. 3 years and counting on April 20th. (Longer if you count back to August 8th, 2020 when we lost Gannie.)

Denial? Sure

Anger? I spend longer there than I would have liked.

Acceptance? Eh. Well, I don’t think I ever had a choice.

For me, acceptance has been more of a consequence of fighting every emotion to the point of giving up.

In the first little bit of time after Mom left us for heaven, I was a mess. I had been functioning on very little sleep for about 3 weeks in a row. I was done. Ka-put.

I needed sleep so badly that I took 3 melatonin and nearly drown myself in the tub.

I washed a load of jeans, only to hang them up soaking wet in my husband’s closet.

The following summer I took my child to work with me everyday because I couldn’t handle finding childcare for him. I still owe former co-workers for that one.

Now looking back, I can’t believe how far this journey has brought me.

I have learned to prioritize being where God has placed me. I focus more on being intentional in what I say. I love more.

This grief journey won’t end until I reach my final home and that’s okay.

3 years ago today my then 6 year old hugged and kissed his Meme goodbye for the last time.

She left us a few days later but he didn’t see her after this day. Not until her viewing.

I can’t help but tear up at the pictures I took. Remembering how I didn’t know that was the last time but feeling pretty sure this was going to be it.

I don’t know how I have survived the past 3 years without her. Without her jokes, her love, her just being there regardless of what else was happening.

I pray my sweet boy remembers her. Not just from what he’s been told but from the relationship they had. She loved him so.

“Hello Margaret. It’s me again, Margaret.” – Ray Stevens

As a child, I remember my Papa joking on the phone and quoting Ray Stevens’s song. If you have had the opportunity to meet my Papa, you’d know he likes to “cut up”. Rarely is anything too serious to not crack a joke.

Maybe that’s why that line came to my mind. You see, right now it feels that way. Like a season of my life is back saying, it’s me again!

We’re back at the hospital.

Its the first time I’ve had to take someone to the ER since I took my Mom the last time. Or maybe not. Honestly, I don’t know but the set up was the same. Something was wrong and I was eating at Papa’s house because I was there because someone was bad sick.

I didn’t know the last time I took her would be the LAST time.

When I needed to bring Papa today, I couldn’t help to recall every detail of taking Mom. I teared up, pulled myself together and here we are.

Circumstances are different. It’s his kidneys, not her liver. He’s almost 93, she was 61. I took him to Nashville’s new ER, I took Mom to Tifton’s new ER.

So much is different but its similar. Still bloodwork. Still EKGs, X-rays. Still CT scans.

I don’t know the outcome of this visit, but I know our Creator who does.

I somehow survived the last 2 years, 9 months, and few days with her in Heaven. I’m privileged to have the opportunity to love my family in much of the same way I believe she would.

Whatever happens here, I know it will be okay.

Years before I became a mother, I knew God had a plan for me. I knew God would provide and I didn’t know if I would have one or 19. Not that I wanted 19, but that I wanted whatever God saw fit to give me. What I didn’t know was that God’s plan was to only give me one. One perfect child for me.

In the year and a half before becoming pregnant, I craved having a child. I dreamed of him and knew where he would be, what he would look like, etc. Because this process took a toll emotionally and lasted longer then I hoped, I found my self praying as Hannah did in 1 Samuel. I even had my very own loving Elkanah in Andrew.

As I prayed as Hannah did, I felt God saying okay, but just one. Just one? I was one of 3. Andrew was one of 3. If anything, we should have 3, but again, the answer was just one.

I questioned it a little but mostly was so grateful because this life I had been longing for was coming to fruition. Up until 32 weeks, my pregnancy had been normal and healthy. My baby was perfect and had the sweetest little disposition. I knew he was happy when listening to good music, especially classic rock. He was excited when his Daddy and I would read devotions and the Bible. He would freeze when his Aunt Kate would startled him by yelling and hugging my belly.

At 32 weeks, I began having contractions. Thankfully, they subsided. At 33 weeks I began to swell. We aren’t just talking about a good year blimp here. Folks, this was the whole fleet! I developed Pre-eclampsia but was able to carry Beau for another 4 weeks and 2 days! The delivery and weeks following were scary, not for his health but for mine.

Fast forward 4 and a half years later and Beau is healthy, sweet and to be perfectly frank, exhausting! He didn’t sleep through the night for his first 2 years and barely does that now. He has a sleep disorder that should be able to resolve soon. Because God said just one, we were able to focus on just him. We can see his needs easier as our attention isn’t divided among other children. There are days when I would love to have another but he’s a joy and I’m glad if I am a mother of just one, it’s this one.