I’ve been counting down the hours.
We’ve hit literal rock bottom.
At 1:30 they begin our last option.
I’m not trembling. I’m not shaking with fear. I’m not a crumbling weeping mess. My Nana is of course, but I’m not.
How I’m not, I’ll never understand.
This is the most important thing to me. This Is mom. This is the person who made me who I am, my best friend, the person who was there in every stage and phase. She bought my first pair of tap shoes and let me dance in her bathroom for hours; she taught me how to make dinner and let me mess up so many meals. She didn’t get mad when I used 11 and 1/2 tsp (instead of 1 1/2 tsp) of baking soda in the pancake mix. When money was tight and I burned all of the food. She’d let me use her makeup and nail polishes even though I stained her bedding multiple times. She drove me to my first gymnastics class and surprised me with a sparkly pink leotard. I felt like the prettiest little girl and it was because of her, even when I was throwing up uncontrollably, she told me I was the most beautiful and graceful. She even sounded believable. When Dad was mean or I was reminded of Richard, she made me feel loved and wanted. As I got older and friends came and went in my life, she was the person I’d talk about life, relationships, and boys with. We repainted my room dozens of times and rearranged my furniture hundreds. She crawled into my bed when I cried over something stupid and she’d brush my hair until I calmed down. She picked out my formal dresses and even though she can’t do hair, she tried. She was the only person I felt truly comfortable with for a long, long time. The person I’d call when I was so overwhelmed with anxiety. She’d drive me hours and hours for state dance comps, and she became friends with all of the dance moms just so I’d feel comfortable with everyone. She spent so many weekends fundraising with me for school or dance, letting me borrow her car whenever I asked for it. If I had a bad day she was the one I’d get coffee with.
This is the whole world to me. She is the most valuable thing and in the next few hours, Dr. Johnson will be holding all of it in his hands.
What do you hold onto when you don’t believe in Jesus? Seriously. What keeps you intact? Because if I didn’t have Him, I think I would have died multiple times by now, just from the stress.
Elaine Kate 