I am so far behind in writing to you, but was drawn to do so today as I reflected on so many parts of the life we have built.
In a few blinks of the eye, it seems like time has marched on so quickly. Hudson will be in Kindergarten in the fall, Taylor in middle school, and Anna in 4th grade. You are busy with your activities, finding your passions, navigating friendships, school, and everything else. While there is so much here to cover, I'll have to do that another day.
Since returning to work, I have found that I rarely make time to read, which is one of my favorite things to do. Yesterday, I dove into "When Breath becomes Air" by a Stanford Neurosurgeon who wrote about life, death, and through this, he figured out what was most important to him- taking one day at a time.
In reading this, I had such a profound sense of grief that Grandpa is not here to see the amazing things each of you does every day. The magic shows you do would bring her more joy than you can each imagine. Grandpa LOVED magic tricks, and so often would cheer up a sad face by pulling a quarter out of an ear, or splitting his thumb in two, or hiding a penny under a sugar packet to make it magically move from one to another. I am not sure if a child found more joy in each trick, or if my dad did in performing the trick.
One thing that was remarkable about Grandpa was that he lived without regret. Maybe it is ironic, but I have so many regrets about Grandpa. I so wish I had called him more often, recorded his stories about his time growing up, or saved more of his notes and letters with his signature handwriting, which was deliberate, practiced and thoughtful.
I imagine some of the things Grandpa would have said as we traversed this past weekend and he would have thought you were each phenomenal in everything you did, an thought it was all bat s*@t crazy at the same time
There is nothing I would not give for one more phone call, to hear his voice one more time. All of it is heartbreaking. A favorite quote is “Grief is like the ocean; it comes on waves ebbing and flowing. Sometimes the water is calm, and sometimes it is overwhelming. All we can do is learn to swim.”
― Vicki Harrison
So, with this, while I can't promise to write more often, I promise to be more deliberate in my effort.
You three continue to be my greatest joy in this life. I often reflect on how much happiness I garner from mothering, or trying to mother, each of you, every day. Some days are not my best, but each day, I try to do better.
With all my heart.
xoxo
mom
