woewasmine

Tired. Very, very, tired. But I do have cookies!

[laureninlilly]

So my Dad and brother took separate cars to dinner tonight, and this happened.

[bowlingforwhoop]

they look like they are arguing about who is going to go home and change

[laureninlilly]

Oh, they were.

Jake: You’ve got to be kidding me Dad: You SAW me walk through the kitchen on my way to pick up your sister! Jake: No seriously do you have an extra shirt in your car this is ridiculous

[laureninlilly]

Oh my god they’re gonna kill me they didn’t want to even walk into the restaurant together let alone have this many people reblog this photo

[laureninlilly]

Honestly I’m not deleting my Tumblr solely in the hopes that this post one day hits 1 million notes

[hst3000]

Good news!

[woewasmine]

My daughter and I often showed up at places dressed alike.

[1800disaster98]

“I miss you. Good lord i really miss you. Not in the way you miss people but in the way you miss being home.”

— Shannon Grey

[purplebuddhaproject]

“The greatest weakness of most humans is their hesitancy to tell others how much they love them while they’re alive.”

— Orlando Aloysius Battista (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[woewasmine]

[woewasmine]

I took Amanda to the river and watched the sunset. I was driving northwestish when I got the call that she was dead.

[purplebuddhaproject]

“I remained too much inside my head and ended up losing my mind.”

— Edgar Allan Poe (via purplebuddhaquotes)

[woeismeh-blog-blog]

So, I'm 150 miles from home.

I’m driving by myself and I suddenly got very dizzy and had to pull over. I got sick and am still feeling very nauseous. I’m not even halfway to where I’m going and I’m supposed to turn right around when I get there and come home. Awesome.

[woewasmine]

This. The last thing she wrote.

[woewasmine]

Trigger warning- death

Just about this time, seven years ago, my daughter called me and said she didn’t feel well. She was sitting in a convenience store parking lot, waiting for it to pass. She still had a couple of hours to drive and then drive back home. We talked twice. The second time I told her go inside and have them call an ambulance. I told her I was on my way, that I would be there as soon as I could. I left my 14 year old at home alone, her choice, and started driving. I expected to meet Amanda at the hospital and after treatment for some irritating ailment we would drive back to Huntsville. I started calling people. I asked my boss to stop by and check on Jordan, I called my sister because she was waiting for Amanda to pick her up. I called Amanda back and told her I was on the highway that I loved her and would see her soon. She said “Mom, I can’t breathe, I can’t breathe...”. The call dropped. There’s another phrase frequently used to describe what happens when there is no longer a phone connection but I can’t use it. I can’t.

My pulse quickened.My foot got heavier on the gas. The sky got a little darker, an occasional rain drop hit the windshield. I called my sister back and updated her. She called my aunt, who lived in Ft. Worth closer to where Amanda was located. My aunt started calling convenience stores in the area and finally found one that said an ambulance had just left with a young woman and was en route to Harris Methodist hospital. She called me and let me know that she would meet Amanda at the ER so she wouldn’t be alone. I called my middle child in Oklahoma City and let her know what was going on. I called my brother and other sister. I kept driving. About 45 minutes passed and my phone rang. I answered and heard sobbing, then screaming. My cousin saying that Amanda didn’t make it. That she was dead. To this day I do not know why she called me. I don’t understand why I had to continue to drive knowing that my baby was laying in a hospital bed, lifeless. My foot got heavier and heavier. The raindrops fell harder. I had to stop for gas and to catch my breath. I remember trying to put my debit card in the gas pump. My hands were shaking. I needed to vomit. I wanted to scream. I walked inside, slowly. Rain falling on my head, splattering my glasses. I remember grabbing a Coke Zero and walking to the counter. I remember stammering that I needed gas but I couldn’t get the thing to work. I have no idea how the man understood me. My tongue felt thick and dry. I mumbled that my daughter was dead and I needed gas. The sweet man took my hand and walked me back to my car and pumped my gas for me, asked if I needed someone to drive me. I told him that I didn’t have anyone. That my daughter was dead. I drove away.

The last 30 minutes or so of my drive I talked to my middle child, my brother, my sisters, a friend in Tulsa, my boss. I’m sure there were others. I finally parked in the ER parking lot and ran across the rain soaked street. I was ushered to Family Room #2, where my aunt was waiting. She hugged me, tears in her eyes. I swore I could remember every detail of this day but at this moment I can’t remember the nurse’s name. I have a card from her in a box. A box. All I have of my daughter is in boxes. Boxes and urns. A large one at her sister’s house and a smaller one that sits on a shelf in my apartment.

I’m going to walk across the street and watch the sunset and cry. I’ll finish my story when I return.

[woewasmine]

Just spent 30 minutes describing a morning in the life of my non nuerotypical child and it just disappeared. 🤷🏻‍♀️

[woewasmine]

I’m printing Amanda’s tumblr. It’s taking for fucking ever and I may need a go fund me for ink and paper but I am so afraid of something happening to it. I was never able to hack into it so I have no control over it. I got into her Facebook so I change the password and post from time to time but after almost 7 years I don’t even remember what my stumbling block was with tumblr.

[niebywale]

I love sleeping, you don’t miss anyone and you don’t feel any pain

[woewasmine]

I am in a deep funk. It’s dark and cold and I am hanging on so very tight.

My Medicare finally kicked in and I lost my counselor. I know my well being shouldn’t be so closely tied to this one person but he saved me. Week by week for the last 2 1/2 Years. Now I have to start over. Again. He was my fourth. It took four tries, pouring my story out four times, to find the right fit. I can’t face telling my story again. The initial plan was to transition me to a social worker within the same agency so he could give them a little background and I wouldn’t have to. However, there is no one credentialed to accept the supplemental insurance plan that I picked so I have to find a completely different source. That also means finding a new phsychiatrist.

So totally fucked.

[woewasmine]

Reading your dead kid’s tumblr

Might not be the best way to spend the evening.

[woeismeh-blog-blog]

Visit Original Link

I did a few lines from a book instead: Chuck Palahniuk’s Invisible Monsters.

[woewasmine]

I’ve gone through her tumblr a hundred times and somehow never listened to this. I needed to hear her voice tonight.

[woewasmine]

I feel safe in the car. Not the moving car, just parked. I can see out, watch the world go by, but no one can touch me. I can’t hear anything. I don’t have to interact with anyone. I’ve been sitting here for over an hour, in my apartment parking lot.

[woewasmine]

September is coming

I feel it. Not in the slightly cooler weather, or the beginning of football season. Not in the winding down of baseball or the bright fall displays in my favorite stores. I feel it in my heart. The heavy sadness that covers my soul. September 16. My life changed forever. The world changed.

[woewasmine]

Is it still your birthday if you are dead?

Thirty five years ago I was a scared teenager about to become a mother. I didn't know it then, but in a few hours I was going to push my best friend into the world. Right now I just want to swallow every pill in the house and chase it with a bottle of tequila or two. I'm safe. I'm not alone. I'm hurting and I want the pain to go away.