Before and After

There have been plenty of times in my life where there has been a clear division of before and after.

Before high school graduation and leaving home and after.
Before meeting RB and after.
Before having B and after.

These - and many more - have been defining milestones in my life, where old gave way to new. Things changed, mostly for the better, and they shaped who I am today.

None of those, though, can even begin to compare to the loss of my mom and the new reality that has created. Those landmark divisions seem to have bled into one another. Sure, I left home for college but there were still Christmas visits, daily phone calls to my parents, the same friends I had had since early childhood. There was the sadness of moving on but so much joy and anticipation for the new experiences that lay ahead.

This new division, though, is so much more severe. There was the before and now there is the after. Everything that happens now is immediately summed up in my head as before or after. Was it before the stroke or after? Were things hard but ultimately there was a feeling that all would end up right in our little world? Or were the happiest of moments colored with an almost overbearing sense of sadness and longing? Was it before or after the world came crashing down?

Easter 2013 - Ganma and B (sporting a holiday themed outfit
from Ganma, of course) 

A year ago today was Easter Sunday 2013. It was miserably wet and cold. We couldn't make it to church because B was teething and slept too long. But it was perfect. My parents were here, excited to spend Spring Break with us (mostly B, but us too). Momma and I took B grocery shopping so we could ensure my dad had his Easter ham. We all took naps. We cuddled, hiding from the rain and watched as B opened her Easter basket (twice, because the pictures weren't good the first time). We introduced my parents to Game of Thrones and laughed at the scenes where both Mom and I covered our eyes. It was the before.

Today, a year later, the sun is shining and the cherry blossoms are in full bloom. The temperature is in the 70's and the weather seems to be ready for a new chapter after the dark and coldness of this harsher than normal winter. Yet, today the gloom and coldness feels much more present than last year. The cloudless blue sky and warm breeze seem to be hiding how I actually feel. The chirping birds and joyful new blooms seem almost offensive to me. Doesn't spring know this is the after?

Easter 2013: Dad got his ham. B got cottage cheese. And four bibs.

Spring marches in, though, unaware that we aren't ready to let go of the winter. Let go of our last sense of the before. So, we move forward with the changing seasons. We love one another and celebrate those small moments that seem all the more precious now. We cry. We reminisce. And, in many ways, we function like November 2013. Like the before. RB goes to work. B and I go to play group. We pay bills and grocery shop and Molls and I text movie quotes back and forth at inappropriate hours.

Thanksgiving 2013: Moments after Facetiming Ganma
for the last time. We were all so excited about new Christmas
pjs, movies, and the joy of the season that lay ahead of us. 

But unlike other big life changes, nothing about this seems familiar. None of the before seems to have crossed over with us into the after. We go through the motions of our before selves, but those people seem unrecognizable to me. It is painful for me to look at pictures from Thanksgiving last year. Our smiling faces. Our silly poses. Carefree and happy for the day off of work and the chance to celebrate with family. We had no idea what awaited us 12 hours later. No idea that this was the last day of the before.

As we did every day (sometimes twice if either my mom or I was feeling especially homesick for one another), we Facetimed my parents Thanksgiving night. Momma cried because we were in Georgia. I remember vividly - painfully - laughing. "Don't cry! Maybe we can come next year! It just didn't work with our schedules this year - it was too hard, Momma. B hates long car trips right now. Next year, she will be older. Plus, we will see you tomorrow!"

By the time I saw her the next day, she was eight hours post stroke and in the ICU room where she would spend the last 10 days of her life. I thought we had plenty of before left. Little did I know, we were already starting the after.

So, now we all navigate these new waters. Molly, Albert, and I as motherless children. My dad without his love of the past 40+ years. Her friends missing their rock. The grandbabies grieving the loss of their second mom. An entire school community moves forward without their biggest supporter. We all have new identities to find in this after.

Our whole lives when things were bad, my mom would just look us in the eye and say "Nobody is dead. We are going to get through this." It always took the drama and intensity out of a situation. Nobody is dead. My mom is still here for support and has my back. We will get through this. We will get through this together.

But now, she is gone. And we find ourselves grasping with what that means and the extraordinary sorrow that follows the loss of extraordinary love. This is the after, whether we want it to be or not.