Cubed

 I was digging through a bin, looking for the jewelry tools so I could fix my necklace. Your red rosary was sitting there and it jingled in a way that caught my attention. I picked it up and saw "St Therese" on it. I remember when you asked me to fix it. I remember that I thought I had the right supplies. You wanted to take it with you to college, but I didn't have the right supplies. You left, and here it sat. I fixed it tonight. 

Raising children is like holding water in your hands. You cup them together and do your best to keep all of the water safe and sound. It trickles down the cracks or evaporates away until one day, you look down at your hands, and all that is there are the remnants of water that remind you of how full of water your hands once were. 

Every moment that I got to hold you was fantastic. Every time I got to listen to your beautiful mind or experience the intensity of your fabulous heart, there was a sparkle in my mind. It was like a star glowing in the sky or like jewelry sparkling in the sun. It's bizarre that I am sitting in your old room writing this entry. It's shitty that I don't get to see you every day anymore. I miss you. I've said a thousand times how angry I would be at you if you didn't go, and that remains true. I would be so sad if you stopped growing, thriving, and developing your identity on your own. But I remember when you were the tiniest creature and I could hold you close to my chest. I remember when you would say silly things and giggle like crazy. I remember watching you battle a body that was breaking and being terrified that God was going to take you to heaven before me. I remember when you cried because your best friend liked you, but you didn't like him back, and you hated hurting and disappointing him. I remember being helpless while a chemical broke your body and your mind, making me so absolutely angry that words can't even describe it. I remember when you hugged me in Bismarck and walked away. I remember sobbing because I knew that from that point forward, you and I would never have the same relationship we once had (not for the better or the worse, just different). 

I was never a mom before you. My journey of parenting is changing, and that is beautiful. It's funny what a broken rosary will do...