The waiting is the hardest part.

Today Dad and I went to a funeral viewing at the same church Mom's services were in. This happens to be the first one I've been to at the church since Mom's services. The sense of smell has a strong correlation to memory. There's a certain smell associated with death and funerals. It's very distinct, very somber. The moment we walked into the sanctuary I felt all the emotions rush back and it was so very familiar.

One of the family member mentioned something about today being one of the hardest days of their lives. Having so recently been there, I have to say that the blur of days from the time Mom died until she was buried were not easy, but have, by no means, been the hardest days. Initially, the body is numb to almost everything that is happening, and you're in such a whirlwind of emotions that you don't even begin to process everything that is going on. You are surrounded by family and friends, and every waking moment you find yourself within someone else's embrace. You feel comfort. You have experienced a loss, but you have yet to feel it. It's the days, weeks, and months that follow that people begin to forget and you just being to realize what has actually happened to you. There isn't a single day that goes by that you don't remember. The empty place at every meal is a reminder. Mother's Day is a reminder. Songs on the radio. Restaurants. Everything... You sometimes feel as if you're suffocating within your own body. You become an experienced pretender, sometimes almost fooling yourself. You yearn for sleep because that's the only time your mind isn't thinking, and yet even then the thinking sometimes happens. You take a shower and put on clean clothes, hoping that you can convince yourself of something you know just isn't true, or that maybe just going through the motions will bring about some miracle of peace. There is a huge hole in your soul, a void that cannot be filled, not matter how hard you try. There's a hurt so painful and so deep within yourself that nothing soothes it. You strive to remember what "normal" feels like, but then realize how ridiculous that is. The "normal" that you once knew is no more. People politely ask how you're getting along, but you think that most of them don't really want to know the truth, so you smile, and lie. It's the same lie you tell yourself, "I'm doing okay," hoping that maybe this time you'll believe it. The more you long to be "okay" the further away "okay" seems to be. It's a trip you don't get to take, a destination that you just can't quite reach. The great philosopher, Tom Petty, wrote, "The waiting is the hardest part." Today, I believe that. Waiting to feel whole again. Waiting to be "okay." Waiting to be better than okay. Waiting for normal. The waiting is the hardest part.

July 11, 2011

It's been quite a while since I've posted anything and I suppose it's mainly because I haven't had much worth talking about. We completed the cookbooks, sold the first 348, and have already ordered and received 341 more copies. They turned out really well and I'm sure Mom would have been pleased. The first Susi Miller Memorial Scholarships were awarded in May. Here is a picture of the recipients, William Bolinger, III and Emily Barger. Billy will be attending WVU and Emily will be attending Fairmont State.Mom's headstone was set at the cemetery sometime last week. It looks very nice, but was much harder for me to see than I expected. For some reason the reality of losing her surfaced again, maybe actually seeing the stone with her name on it. I've had a little more down time this summer, not having to go to work, so that makes it a little harder, as well.

As time passes, people say that this will get easier. Some days are easier than others, but there are still times when the hurt is as fresh as it was in the beginning, maybe worse. We've now each had a birthday, Mother's Day, and Father's Day. I'm not sure Mother's Day will ever get any easier.

We're now in the midst of planning a benefit dinner that will take place on August 28. Dad chose this date close to what would have been Mom's 50th birthday on August 30. It is our hope that this will become a yearly event this time each August.

COOKBOOKS!!!

We have completed our compilation of the cookbook and submitted it to the publisher. We anticipate it being back by mid-May. Reserve your belated Mother's Day or early Christmas gifts today! The books are hardcovered, 3-ring, with 300 recipes for a $15 donation to the Susi Miller Memorial Scholarship. You can reserve your copy today, if you're interested in pre-paying, send cash or check (to Misty or Jeff Miller) to 106 N. Price St. Kingwood, WV 26537. We're so grateful to all of you who contributed, helping the project fall together perfectly! We have ordered 300 cookbooks and already have 112 reserved!

February 21, 2011

The scholarship is up and running! We've submitted our application and we'll wait for the candidate to submit their completed applications now. This has been a great way for our family to grieve our loss while honoring the memory of Mom. If you're interested in contributing to the scholarship fund, you can make a check payable to the Mt. Moriah Church with "Susi Scholarship" in the memo. You can mail your checks to me (106 N. Price St. Kingwood, WV 26537) and I will see that they are taken care of. The church has agreed to work with us to allow for contributions to be tax deductible without us forming our own foundation. They have created a separate account and will take care of collecting and distributing the scholarship to the recipient(s) we select each year. Thanks to those of you who have already contributed. You've helped us quickly make this dream a reality.

In order to raise money to support our scholarship we've decided to compile a cookbook. This was something Mom wanted to do when she recovered and so I'm going to take care of this for her. Her idea was to collect recipes from those of you who cooked meals for us while she was sick. I want to extend this to all of our family and friends, so the recipes will be apart of the people who have been important in all of our lives. I'm hoping to collect at least 150 recipes, so look through your favorites and send along anything you'd be willing to share. I'm hoping to have it ready this summer, depending on the response I get, so let me know if you're willing to participate.

Dad is also wanting to organize a benefit dinner that will take place some time in August. Mom would have celebrated her 50th birthday on August 30th, so this may become a yearly event that serves as a means of supporting the scholarship and also as a reminder of the wonderful person she was. I hope to have the cookbooks ready by then, as well as have a raffle or auction of some sort. Lindsay Jenkins has already donated a coupon for teeth whitening and Tammy Light made a beautiful homemade WVU afghan for us to raffle off. We're still in the early planning phases of this endeavor and would appreciate any and all help available. Please feel free to contact me via a comment on the blog, or by email mistydmiller13@gmail.com.

February 6, 2011

It has nearly been a month since we lost Mom. I thought about her a lot today. We've been working on the application for the scholarship and it is just about ready. I have to put some finishing touches on it and then we'll send it on its way. After church today we went out to eat at Applebees. Just before we left I made a stop in the restroom. Mom and I always had this "game" we played in public restrooms--she always seemed to end up in the stall next to me and before I could finish, there would be a streamer of toilet paper come flying over the side of the stall. I would generally laugh quietly and throw a streamer back over to her. It was a game that we never talked about, but always smiled about, a special secret, just between the two of us. Anyway, I suppose today was the first time since Mom's been gone that we've eaten out and I've used the restroom and I wanted so badly to see that streamer of toilet paper come flying over the side of the stall. So there I was, tearing up in the bathroom, wishing for flying toilet paper...

The reality of her absence is setting in in small ways like this more and more each day. I haven't dried a load of laundry without cleaning out the lint filter, a chore that she nagged me incessantly about, "You're going to catch the house on fire if you don't keep the lint filter cleaned out." As I climb the stairs from the basement, I almost feel the need to say out loud, "Yes, Mom, I remembered to clean out the lint filter..." I haven't pre-heated the oven without first checking for the pots and pans she routinely stored inside, even though I know they won't be there. I believe I only look now, hoping to find the pots and pans hiding in the oven just like I longed for that toilet paper to come floating through the air today. Sometimes I call her phone, knowing she isn't going to answer, just to hear the sound of her voice on her voicemail message.

Several times a day I will catch myself thinking, "Mom would have loved to have done this," or "That's something Mom would have liked." Just yesterday I saw someone I hadn't seen for years and though, "I can't wait to tell Mom how much he's changed since the last time we saw him..." I'm not sure that these thoughts will ever disappear. And then again, I'm not sure that I want them to.

February 1, 2011

It's hard to believe that it's nearly been a month since Mom passed away. We've started the process for the Susi Miller Memorial Scholarship and have already collected over $1000! It's very exciting and I'm so proud that we'll be able to honor her memory for years to come with this scholarship. If you are interested in contributing, let me know and I'll give you all the necessary information.

As promised, here's the tribute that I read at the funeral.

My Mother loved me. She loved my brother and his wife. She really loved my Dad. She loved our dogs. She loved John Denver and John Wayne. She loved nature. She loved music. She loved stamping. She loved life. But most importantly she loved God. She lived her life in a way that radiated her love for Him with every thought and action. She was the ideal mother and wife. She taught many lessons over the years, and her actions spoke so much louder than her words. Galatians 5:22-23 read, The fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control; against these things there is no law. Those were also the fruit of her spirit, as she fully embodied these characteristics.

Mom never got mad. She never complained. Even while playing out the hand she was dealt with cancer, she didn’t blame God or question Him. She fought her battle with dignity and remained courageous and strong until the end, and called for us to be strong, as well; not for ourselves, but for one another. Cancer was not a death sentence to my Mom—it was a life sentence—for all of us. She lived each and every day to it’s fullest, giving thanks to God for each and every blessing. Because of her courage and faith, everyone that knew her lived a little more in each and every day. I once read that there are just as many stars in the sky at noon as at midnight, although we cannot see them because of the sun’s light. Our lives are like this, as we often miss the radiance and beauty of something so wonderful during the good times, and it is not until times of darkness and trouble that we are able to see how God truly takes care of us. Mom saw the stars at night, and rejoiced. Then she, in turn, allowed us all to see her radiance and beauty as she shown through her darkest days.

Even after her diagnosis, she spent many hours in the room above the garage, carefully creating her cards. She diligently worked on handmade birthday and Christmas gifts for her Sunday School class. She shared her gift of song to soothe loved ones at the funeral of strangers, but also to help celebrate joyous occasions.

Music played a very important role in Mom’s life and she has passed her love of music on to us. Seldom a day went by in our house or car that the radio, cd player, or ipod wasn’t playing. And if the music was playing she was singing—even if she didn’t know the words. Every birthday, for as long as I can remember, was initiated with “Birthday” by the Beatles, not just for me, but for all of us. Even after Justin and I moved away, the phone would ring on our respective birthdays and our hello was answered by that same familiar song. Our lives had a soundtrack, every event had a song, and if she didn’t know one that fit, she made it up. Dad, Justin, and I were fortunate because we were showered with her love to an infinite degree. She packed more life into her forty-nine years than others could in five lifetimes. It almost seems unfair to the rest of you that we got to have so much of her, leaving less to share with everyone else.

She continually put the needs of others before herself. I think that’s what made her such a great wife, mother, and friend. I am sure that nothing would delight her heart more, or better honor her kind spirit, than to put into action the lessons she lived by. We should continually strive to jump at the opportunity to serve others. Aesop said, "No act of kindness, however small, is ever wasted." My Mother never wasted an opportunity to show God's love and kindness to someone else. She believed that anything worth doing was worth doing well, and that she did. There is nothing I can think of that Mom couldn’t do, and in addition to doing it well, she did it joyfully. Mom was blessed with so many talents and she used them so selflessly.

My Mom is an example of what we all should strive to be. I consider it a true blessing from God to have known her and been fortunate enough to call her “Mom”. And as Dad and I decided, She was perfect, and now she is more perfect.

January 27, 2011

Tomorrow will be 3 weeks since we've lost Mom. It's hard for me to describe the feelings I feel. Actually, it's harder to explain the way I don't feel anything. There is currently no happy, no sad, just going through the motions trying to make some sense of what's going on. Maybe that's just the body's natural protection mechanism to avoid grief overload. I think we're all dealing with things in our own ways and we're doing alright. This post if for Stevie since you've been missing my updates, and someday soon I'll post my tribute from Mom's funeral.

Dad is still camped out here in town with me. It's nice to have someone around and to not just come home to a cold, empty house. We've been trying to stay busy with basketball games and regular trips to Wal-Mart. He's been back to work almost 2 weeks now and that has been a way to resume some new normalcy to our lives. I can't think that we'll ever have "normal" again. It seems that Axle is making it his duty to ensure that Dad doesn't get too lonely at night, and therefore alternates spending the night with Dad and me. Tonight is Dad's night.

I apologize to those of you who have called, emailed, sent texts, or any other attempt to contact me that I have not returned. I'm trying to sort things out for myself and while I appreciate your concern, I just haven't felt much like talking. I'm sure this will pass with time, but for now I'm just doing my own thing and I appreciate your understanding. It's difficult to try to resume your life when a huge part is no longer present and I have an easier time with everything when I don't have to talk about it.

Anyway, the main purpose of this post is to let everyone know that we've decided to set up a scholarship in memory of Mom. We're hustling to get things arranged quickly so we can issue it this spring at the awards ceremony at Preston High. Dad has put a lot of thought into this and we're all on board to hopefully provide a student with an opportunity that Mom never had. We haven't ironed out all the details, but I'm sure that things will just fall into place as they're supposed to and it will be as it is meant to be. If you'd like more information or are interested in contributing, send me an email and I'll get you the information.