One year. Still wish you were here.

9/8/13 One year. In theory it seems like a long time; one whole year.  Truth is, once one year is gone, it seems to have flashed by in an instant. It seems so recent, yet I have gone an entire year without you.  One year without sitting on the front porch drinking Dr. Pepper, or a cup of coffee.  One year since I have been able to take you to a garage sale, and brag with you about the bargains we found.   One year since I have been able to wrap my arms around you, or hold your hand.  Today, one year ago, you celebrated your heavenly birthday, and we mourned our earthly loss.  I can’t believe just how fast this year has gone.

To say I miss you would be an understatement.  I find solace talking to the sky; talking to you.  I can’t pick up the phone anymore.  I have finally stopped dialing your number inadvertently and out of habit, to tell you a funny story.  There are so many times I seek your advice.  So many times I have to reach back into my memory bank to remember what you would tell me to do.  You’re always there, in my memory. I pray I never lose that.

You wouldn’t believe how much the girls have grown.  You would be so proud of the young lady Charissa has become.  I am sure you are watching her from heaven.  She misses you so very much.   She is turning into such a beautiful, strong, loving, caring and stubborn young woman.  Just like you and me, she runs her mouth, even when it would serve her better to shut up.  I know you are bragging and showing her picture off in heaven.  After all, she is your baby angel. Can you believe she’s in high school?  She’s growing up whether we want her to or not. 

Carlee is such a character.  She always made you laugh, well, some things never change.  She is growing up too. She misses you and cries with me sometimes.   Sometimes, all three of us just stand in the kitchen, holding each other and crying because the hole in our hearts feels bottomless, and void of all happiness. She has such a tender heart, and very much like you, a tough outer shell.  She reminds me so much of myself at that age. Sometimes I just wish you could see her. See them both.   I will keep your legacy alive, in myself, so hopefully it will live on through them.

Pops.  He misses you so much.  He tries to be strong. Every time I talk to him he perks up and tries to sound upbeat.  I know better.  There is sadness in the back of his voice.  It is undeniable and heartbreaking.  He misses having your laughter. We all do.  He can’t bring himself to move any of your things.  He really, deeply misses you.  But he is working hard, trying to pay the bills, and keep busy.  He doesn’t want to let you down, even now he feels that by taking care of the house, bills, dogs and cooking is in some way still taking care of you.  He loved you deeper than I have ever seen a man love a woman.  You should be proud you had that while you were here.  You were and still are his everything; His baby doll.

As for me, I am reminiscing today about the best friend I have ever known.  There is a part of you that inspired every part of who I am today.  You reside in my laughter, my tears, may anger and fears.  You live on through my compassion, my drive, and my stubbornness.  You are the biggest part of my sense of humor, and my character.  Mostly though, you live on in my love.  That was, after all, your final message to me.  You taught me how to love, wholly; and I will continue your legacy, so others may know exactly the wonderful loving person; Betty Donham Radtke.

I can’t believe it has been a year.  It has gone by so quickly, even though part of my life stopped entirely.  Strange, how we expect time to stop and allow us to grieve. But time is ruthless and relentless and monotonous.  I miss you like it was yesterday. 9/8/14 

 

Bloody Mary

6 months ago today I had the last conversation I would ever have again with my grandmother, Betty Lou Radtke.  She knew that it was her time to go. She was scared, but she said she knew this was exactly how her parents felt.  I told her, “Don’t say that.” “They’re going to take great care of you here.” I said “In a few weeks we will be going to garage sales.”  She knew though, a reality that I still have trouble facing; she was being called up.  We spoke for a while I could see sympathy in her eyes because I think that she knew just how very sad I would be.  I knew she wanted to see Charissa, Carlee and Charlie.  And I praise God that she was able to speak to them before they had to incubate her.  I could see knowledge in her eyes.  I tried hard to deny it to myself, but she already knew she had an appointment to meet the Lord. 

She was the one dying and she was trying to comfort me.  Other family members came in and talked to her, and tried to comfort her.   And soon she got to a point where the doctors had to incubate her just to give her fighting chance.  Before they did that they had to run a central IV line in her neck because they were not able to do a regular one in her arm.  The sweet ER doctor asked me if I would stay in there to help her stay calm for this procedure.  And of course I wanted to.  I held her hand and talked her through this painful procedure.  She told me I better take care of my girls and Charlie and I told her not to worry, that she was going to be just fine.  In efforts to make the young Doctor blush, she said, “Krissy, doesn’t he have the prettiest red hair and isn’t he good looking?” And I think the young Doctor and I both turned a shade redder than his hair.  “Yes Ma’am” was about all I could say, laughing to myself.  The pain of the procedure was getting pretty bad, and I told her, “It’ll be over soon, and they will give you pain meds when they get it in there. “  Her response was, “screw that, I want a bloody Mary.” 

This was our last actual conversation.   There were times over the next few days that I knew by looking in her eyes that she was trying to tell me just how much she loved me, even though she couldn’t speak because of the tube in her throat.  She passed away a day and a half later. There are times that I hear her voice as clearly as I would if she were standing next to me.  And there are times when I talk to her.  There is not a day that goes by that she is not on my mind.  I miss her beyond words.   So tonight, in her honor, I will sip on a bloody Mary, and reminisce of all the life and love she gave to ensure my happiness and success in life.  I miss you Maw Maw.  

Knife

I'm fine.  A lot of the time.  I am. But there are those times when I'm not. Rise times where the pain takes over and I just allow it to.  Tonight is one of those times. 
I guess the only way to really explain it would be to say it feels like I had my arm amputated. And just as it starts to heal the scab is ripped off and scraped down with sandpaper,  and then doused with rubbing alcohol,  and then set on fire, and the fire put out with a bucket of acid.  Yea,  that's about how much it hurts. 

So,  I cry,  and scream,  and sob, and weep,  and mope, and sing your songs as loud as I can,  yelling them at the sky. I'm not really sure why.  Maybe I think you can hear.  Maybe I think God can hear.  Maybe I want you and God to hear. I want to tell you how bad it hurts to not have you here. But that's quite the conundrum.  Cause if you were here for me to tell this to,  I wouldn't feel this way. 

The tears take on a mind of their own.  Literally they just start and stop when ever they damn well feel like it.

So I suppose, I will make it through this re amputation,  I just wish someone would sharpen the knife.

love,

Krissy