A year ago today, I posted this.
She's been gone 9 months now. Nine months and 6 days.
I think back to that day.
We left the house because I wanted to see my kids. Because they had to be picked up from the sitter. Because I didn't want to watch my mother, the once beautiful, vibrant, never still woman who raised me, take her last breath.
The call came while we were inside getting the kids.
I knew it was coming.
We drove the 10 minutes home.
I opened the door to the car and got out.
Thank goodness John was there to catch me.
I sobbed, outside the car, in the arms of my husband, while my children watched me from inside.
Maggie probably didn't get it.
But PJ did.
He knew I was sad.
When we finally went in the house, he said "Mommy, are you sad because Grandma is sick?"
"Yes, baby. Grandma was very sick and now she's in heaven."
"You miss her mommy?"
"Don't be sad Mommy."
And my then nearly three year old son wipe my tears away and hugged me.
For a long time, I tried to hide my tears from them. But after that?
I didn't. Because crying isn't a sign of weakness. It's a sign of trying too hard to be too strong for too long.
I was strong enough.