Thanks Morrie

"Morrie honked loudly into the tissue. "This is okay with you, isn't it? Men crying?"

Sure, I said, too quickly.

He grinned. "Ah, Mitch, I'm gonna loosen you up. One day, I'm gonna show you it's okay to cry."

Yeah, yeah, I said.

"Yeah, yeah," he said."

These past couple of posts have been quotes have been quotes from Tuesdays with Morrie. Morrie. I never met Morrie. But I know him. Every time I have read this book I tear up when Morrie's ALS finally got the best of him. His courage, his ability to look at the glass half full, his willingness to accept the cards life dealt. But I have never read through the eyes of someone who has lost someone close to them. When I lost Morrie this time, I wept. I cried in the arms of my wife, I cried like I haven't in a long time.

At the end it Mitch mentions talking to his younger self and what he would tell him to do differently, that's the part that really got me. I couldn't take it. I set the book down, I wasn't able to finish it later in the day. We all live our lives with that guilt, the what ifs, and what might have beens. There isn't a day that doesn't go by that I don't something I might have done differently.

Mitch says something, "I know I cannot do this. None of us can undo what we've done, or relive a life already recorded. but if Professor Morris Schwartz taught me anything at all, it was this: there is no such thing as "too lat" in life. He was changing until the day he said good-bye."

I want to quit beating myself up over the past and look to the brightness of the future. For every time I cry when I miss Amber I hope I can laugh aloud at the crazy good times we had together. This is to they moments she gave us, I know I will never forget them.

"he had finally made me cry."

Thanks Morrie for reminding me its ok to cry. . .

Experience them as well

"How we feel lonely, sometimes to the point of tears, but we don't let those tears come because we are not supposed to cry. Or how we feel a surge of love for a partner but we don't say anything because we're frozen with the fear of what those words might do to the relationship.

Morrie's approach was exactly the opposite. Turn on the faucet. Wash yourself with the emotion. It won't hurt you. It will only help. If you let fear inside, if you will pull it on like a familiar shirt, then you can say to yourself, "All right, it's just fear, I don't have to let it control me. I see it for what it is."

Same for loneliness: you let go, let the tears flow, feel it completely - but eventually be able to say, "All right, the was my moment with loneliness. I'm not afraid of feeling lonely, but now I'm going to put that loneliness aside and know that there are other emotions in the world, and I'm going to experience them as well."

The pain still goes on?

"Before the show ended, Morrie read Koppel one of the letters he'd received. Since the first "Nightline" program, there had been a great deal of mail. One particular letter came from a schoolteacher in Pennsylvania who taught a special class of nine children; every child in the class had suffered the death of a parent.

"Here's what I sent her back," Morrie told Koppel, perching his glasses gingerly on his nose and ears. "Dear Barbara. . . I was very moved by your letter. I feel the work you have done with the children who have lost a parent at an early age . . .'"

Suddenly, the cameras still humming, Morrie adjusted the glasses. He stopped, bit his lip, and began to choke up. Tears fell down his nose. "'I lost my mother when I was a child . . . and it was quite a blow to me . . . I wish I'd had a group like yours where I would have been able to talk about my sorrows. I wouls have joined your group because . . .'"

His voice cracked.

"'. . . because I was lonely. . .'"

"Morrie," Koppel said, "that was seventy years ago when your mother died. The pain still goes on?"

"You bet," Morrie whispered."

Some mornings. . .

"There are some mornings when I cry and cry and mourn for myself. Some mornings, I'm so angry and bitter. But it doesn't last too long. Then I get up and say, 'I want t love...'"

Now What?

"My old professor, meanwhile, was stunned by the normalcy of the day around him. Shouldn't the world stop? Don't they know what has happened to me?

But the world did not stop, it took no notice at all, and as Morrie pulled weakly on the car door, he felt as if he were dropping into a hole.

Now what? he thought."

Year 1

It's been one year. I went to bed last night thinking about Amber and woke up thinking about her, but something was different this morning. I woke up smiling. Not because I love her any less, but because I still love her. I realized something, for this past year I have literally been obsessed with our loss and doing so I have completely overlooked her life.

When we focus on that one tragic day where she was taken away we miss the thousands of days that we were blessed to have her by our side, the millions of memories that she left us with, the smile that we will never be forgotten. I want this to be my new norm. I want to love more and grieve less. I want to remember what it feels like to laugh and not feel guilty.

Life is full of ups and downs. We are fooling ourselves if we think that downs aren't around the corner; when we think we have found some immunity to pain. But we aren't doing any better when become so focused on downs that we no longer see the ups. The new norm has taught me many things. I want to be able to look at days like today and accept the good with bad. Smile if your happy, cry if your sad, but never quit living she would have never wanted that.

time

One year, 12 months, 365 days, 8760 hours, 525600 minutes without her.

There is something daunting about this "anniversary." Our lives are based around time lines, i.e. we've dated for 3 years, we've known each other for 10 years, i graduate in 1 year, I've worked there for 2 years, and she has been gone 1 year. Your supposed to stop counting after a year right? It wouldn't be normal to say, "she's been gone 16 months." That to everyone else would be weird. But really, when you think about someone every single day you don't lose track of time. In fact time is all you have. The time you had with them and the time you will no longer get to spend with them.

In some respect I feel like I've been feeling this way forever, but it also feels like it was just yesterday I received the phone call. In fact, life for me now is known as before Amber died and life after Amber died because they are totally different things. And those who are grieving or have ever grieved know what I am talking about.

I have gotten used to this new normal, but that doesn't mean i like it. I have just learned to live with it. She is gone, I get that, but I don't accept it. So once again, time is the only thing that heals. But how much time are we talking? No one has the answer to that.

What I can tell you is that the void doesn't get smaller, the hurt doesn't lessen, and the love doesn't stop. Some days are better than others. Some days you can find the good in the situation, some you're angry and depressed, and some days you just don't get it. So the stages of grief must fluctuate.

One year isn't long enough to get over her, but its long enough to make her voice harder to hear, her hug harder to feel, and her smell harder to smell.. all of those little things we take for granted in everyday life. But everyday I try to picture her from head to toe to make sure I never forget. I dont think I could ever forget her, but I think its a common fear of those who have lost someone. We have our memories to hold on too and tight we will hold them.

Some things I remember...
1. her laugh
2. chewing her lip
3. her high ponytails and buns
4. jeans and flip flops
4. her tan
5. afrosheen for tanning lotion!
6. cherry chapstick
7. writing on her bedroom walls
8. texting
9. her made bed 24/7
10. putting on makeup together

I could go on and on and on. What a wonderful person she was and what a blessing she was to my life and everyone elses. She was the first to laugh and smile and the last to cry. She loved every story you told her (or at least pretended to) Everything was a big deal to her. She was ALWAYS right. She was amazing.

In time we will get adjusted to life without her, but NEVER will she be forgotten. Everyday there is a reminder of what happiness she brought into our lives. You can only pray and trust in God that he knows what he is doing. My girl made it to heaven in 23 years. If you ask me that's impressive as much as it hurts to be without her. She made it to where we all are trying to get.

Gosh