Socks

It has been 10 months since my mom went home to be with Jesus. I don't always think I have been handling my grief the best. I don't really talk about it much unless you are my husband or 1 of 2 of my close girl friends. So, I am trying a different approach. Maybe if I write about it, it could become like a cathartic outlet. I don't want your pity or sympathies. I just need to find something that works for me and since I am generally fairly private...let's just say this is between me and the vast nothingness that is the Internet.

Eric and I came home for a summer visit. I had the last conversation with mom on that visit. We were sitting on the couch at my parents. It was right before Eric and I left for the airport. I knew it was going to be the last time I was going to get to really talk to her. It was hard for both of us because it was the unspoken truth. She was having a hard time talking with all the coughing, and we were emotional. My mom did not let people know how bad stuff was, but to put it in perspective, my mom died 10 days after this conversation.

Anyway, she was trying to tell me what a good mom I was going to be, and that she was sorry she wouldn't be there to see our first baby and how much she loved me. I wouldn't let her finish. I didn't want to hear it. She was trying to say good bye to me and I wasn't having it. I was really uncomfortable. Emotion freaks me out. I wanted to get out of there as quick as I could because I couldn't deal with the reality of what was happening. Somehow, I was hoping if I ran away from it, it wouldn't happen. Now, I wish I would've stayed longer and not run away because I will never get that moment back. I regret that a lot.

My mom had started knitting these socks for our baby. She only had finished one and was too weak to finish the other one. She gave me the sock and yarn during our last talk. Eric and I never found out if it was a boy or a girl so she thought these were gender neutral enough. She kept rubbing her hands over the little sock and crying. She kept apologizing for not being strong enough to finish them for us. Wishing she we would be able to give them to the baby herself, but knowing she wouldn't.

My dad had brought the socks to a yarn shop and they finished them for him. For the longest time I couldn't bring myself to putting them on Emmett. They were the one thing my mom was able to do for him and I couldn't use them. I guess I thought they were too special or afraid something would happen to them too and I couldn't deal with that. I picked them up a lot and sometimes cried just looking at them, but then I would just put them away. And then one day in February, I was doing something and I thought of my mom and how pissed she would be if she knew I wasn't using those socks. She always thought it was stupid to buy stuff, and then save it and never use it. That was her big sell for Longaberger dishes. I could hear her in my head. So, from that day on I started putting Emmett in the socks. Now they're my favorite. It's like she's with Emmett when he wears them. I hope he is still able to fit into them when it gets cold enough for socks again. We call them his Grandma Karen socks. Not only are they cute but they are beyond special. I guess then that last conversation hasn't ended.

So, it has taken my two days and a lot of Kleenex to write this. However, it may have helped. Maybe just a touch.