Monday, May 30, 2011


Memorial Day. I can't believe it's here again. Last year we all stood over Julie's head noticing how her hair parted and fell just as yours did. It made us all so sad, but in a silly way.

I took flowers to your grave today, and there were so many! You are truly loved and remembered by more people than we (or you, probably,) will ever know. I love knowing that wherever I go, I can mention your name, and without fail, someone will know you, or remember you, or be related to you! It's amazing this legacy you've left behind. Your grandchildren talk about you every day, as if you're still such a huge part of their lives. Your children talk about you every day, and wish you were still around to answer those important questions, like what kind of soy sauce you used in Nasi, and how we're related to George Brown.

I'm sad to see that these nearly 3 years have gone by so quickly. So much has changed, most of us and our lives would be mere shadows of who we were when you left us. But I think it's mostly good change. Growth. Lots and lots of growth. It hasn't come easy, but it's come regardless, and the strength to endure comes from knowing you have our backs, and you watch over us every day.

Happy Memorial Day, mom. We miss you!

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Happy Birthday

Well, today is your birthday. I think I am more sad on this day than any other day. The anniversary of your death isn't hard, it brings back some great memories. But today, today proves to me that you will no longer celebrate the year ahead. You won't be here to open gifts, to eat cake and ice cream, or to watch your grandchildren play. You won't be here to hand out pencils at Halloween, or to start playing Christmas music far too early. You won't be here when I have questions about how to cook a turkey for Thanksgiving. You won't be here for a lot of questions I'll have.

I miss you.

I've had some realizations over the last little while, though. It's like when I see a picture of you, you look different than I remember. It's almost like the feelings and memories I have of you have transformed your appearance into something different. I mean, I still see you and know it's you, but the feelings aren't as apparent in a photo as they are in my being. I hope this doesn't mean I'm forgetting you. I'm pretty sure I'm not, since every day I think about you, or talk about you, or hear the kids talking about you. You're still a huge part of my life. But now it's just the memories of you, the stories you've told us, and the good times we shared.

I miss you.

I know birthdays aren't a huge deal, but when you're not around to share them with us, it makes them a big deal. I wish I had had you for one more birthday. One more conference turkey. One more Christmas. Even one more day. But I know it was your time. I know the lessons we learned that summer are profound and endless. I know it was part of the plan. But I sure could have used one more hug. One more night of sitting on the edge of your bed talking. One more Sunday evening outside in the shade of the willow tree, talking and laughing.

Happy Birthday, mom.

I miss you.

Sunday, July 25, 2010

Where Has The Time Gone?

I miss you. I miss you more than I ever thought I could. I think of you every day. I talk of you every day. My kids do too. We all miss you.

It was 2 years ago this very night, this very time in fact, that I was lying at your side waiting for what I knew was the end. The veil was thin that night, and you were hovering between the here and there.

My heart was breaking. I was bargaining with God, I was talking to you with my thoughts, telling you all the "I love you's" I could get out, enough to make up for these years of not having you here to hear them.

And then you were gone. You slipped through our fingers and flew as an angel. We sat in stunned silence and prayed with all our hearts that you would forever know how much you were loved. And you still are loved. Not only by us, but by so many.

I miss you. I love you. I can't believe it's been 2 years. And yet it seems like forever has passed since I've seen you. I hope you can see us, and I hope we make you proud. I hope you can feel how much we love you, and that you can somehow show us you're still here.

This night will always be hard, but now we are all together to remember that summer. We laugh a lot, we cry plenty, and we remember with reverent fondness all those miracles and mercies that were ours for those short weeks.

And we remember you. We will never forget you, and all the wonderful things that make you, you. We miss you. We love you.

All of us.

Monday, October 5, 2009

No One Loves You Like Your Mother

It's true. Notice I didn't say 'no one loves you more than your mother', because that just isn't true. But no one can love you the way your Mother does.

As small children, it doesn't take us long to figure out who makes it better when we fall down, or who to go to when we have secrets to tell. When we get a little older, it's our moms who know to ask the important questions; like if our dates were fun, or if we stayed true to the things we've been taught. It's our moms who are there for answers to the tough questions, too. 'Why do I have to go through this now', 'why do trials last so long'. Even from thousands of miles away, the sound of a mom's voice makes everything seem a little better.

As I became an adult, I began to realize how special a mother's relationship is with her children as I saw how she treated my children. Lately, this is what I miss the most. I miss that my kids don't have their special time with their Nunn.

The great thing about having a mom as special as mine is that even more than a year after her passing, I still feel close to her, and I still strive to make her proud in how I conduct myself. Just like those little talks at her bedside, after having to wake her up by tickling the foot she inevitably had sticking out of the covers, I still feel that she has expectations for all of us. Every day I try to exceed those expectations because I know that no one loves me like my mother does.

As another Birthday passes, know this mommy; we all still miss you like crazy. We are stronger kids than even a year ago, anchored in the values you taught us by your example. We still cry when we gather to honor your memory, and I hope we always do. The world is still not quite as bright a place as it was with you in it. We love you. Happy Birthday, Mommy.

Wednesday, September 23, 2009

Dear Cancer

I hate you.

You make me sick to my stomach.

I see what you do to people; to families, to friends, to women, to men, to children, to good, hardworking people, and I want to kill you.

I hate that you took my own mother.

I hate that you will forever be part of me.

I want to be more than that. I want to be better than you, but somehow you bring me down to your level.

If you could just move on and leave me alone, I would be okay with that. But I would know that you still exist, and I would still hate you.

I hate that even though my own mother lost the fight, I know how hard it is to overcome your ruthless invasion.

I hate you. I hate you. I hate you.


All of us.

Sunday, July 26, 2009

Big Day

Today is "The" day. The day one year ago that this indescribable grief was born. The day I have thought about and replayed in my mind at least once every day since. The day that changed our family dynamics forever. Really, the day that changed everything about us. The truth is it's been a hard year. The hardest of our lives. Every holiday, every birthday, every big family event, everyday. There is just someone missing. But there. If that makes sense? Hard for reasons I don't even know. Bad days that just sneak up on us fast, but take weeks to get through. Feelings that we are forgetting who she was and what she sounded like and felt like. But, memories we could never forget. A summer that was her gift to us. The most wonderful gift she could have given us. It's the one thing we long for and wish we could have back.

But, we made it. One long year? Or, one quick year? I guess it depends on how you look at it. Things have changed, we will deal and move on. We will always try to make the best of whatever comes. That's what she taught us to do. The blessings keep coming, and for that I am the most thankful! Most of those blessings come from all of you. The friends, family and loved ones that were there for everything. I'm grateful for the advice. The phone calls. The notes in the mail. The comments on blogs. Cancer still sucks. I don't think I knew how much more it would suck a year later. It still sucks.

Friday, July 10, 2009


We are almost done with the firsts. In a couple weeks it will have been a year since Paula passed away. There have been a lot of trials and blessings along the way. We have been dreading all of the firsts. The first Mothers Day and Christmas and birthdays. The firsts are hard and we have almost made it. I know she is proud of us for doing so well. Good job everybody...we are still a close family and we have grown a lot. There is one thing that remains the same..."CANCER STILL SUCKS!"