Her Name was Violet

It was a week before I turned 13 that my Mom went to live with Jesus. I can’t believe it’s been 27 years. That seems like such a lifetime ago. I had just lost my Dad the year before and every since he went to live with Jesus I was running scared.  I was scared of everything, like a bundle of exposed nerves.

It took a long time to feel normal after my parents died, especially after Mom’s death. But, I made it, it can happen. If anyone is reading this that feels like life will never be the same after you lose someone so close to you, someone that felt like you shared the same heart beat. You will, I promise…but it will take time. Allow yourself to take the time. Don’t get wrapped up in the anger so long that it causes you to be a bitter, nasty person that cares about nothing and no one. I know a little bit about that. Even a little girl will go through the same process a 50 year old person would. Talk about it and surround yourself with people who love you. People who want what’s best for you. I didn’t have that when I was little.  I was surrounded by people who wanted to hurt me and abuse me.

After the reveal of my Husband’s addiction and going through extensive therapy my eyes have been opened to the damage that was done to me.  That the lack of support, therapy, love and just being able to work through my emotions regarding my childhood has caused me to build walls around me so tall that I couldn’t see the damage going on outside those walls.  The damage to myself, my kids and even the secret life my Husband was living so dangerously.
Every year since adulthood I become anxious a few weeks before Easter. Sometimes it’s worse then others. The past few years though I have tried very hard to stay positive. I want to celebrate her life, not grieve the loss of her. After 27 years I’m finally able to do this. I’m able to appreciate the time I did have with her.  Mom was very sick, I basically watched her slowly die for 2+ years. So, I knew she was in a better place. She had left the pain behind her. But, the problem was I picked up that pain unfortunately where she left it. Sounds crazy I know. But I have done a ton of soul searching over the years. Lot’s of personal therapy, journaling, EMDR, you name it…I’ve done it.   As a child and young adult I was all alone with my emotions, my fears, my pain. It was as though I became trapped in the fear, pain and worries of those last few years. Reliving it over and over, but involving the current life situations that was around me. Because life goes on….it will not stop just because you need it to do so. And time will never rewind, trust me I have tried to. I have begged and pleaded with God for it to happen, just once.  
Since I was 12 I have been on medication for being Bipolar…..now I know that I was never Bipolar.  I have Post Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD).  After all these years I am finally working on me and learning why I deal with life the way I deal with life.  Unlocking past trauma and actually working through it instead of stuffing it in a closet. 
Her name was Violet, it’s a Beautiful name. It’s the name of a flower and the prettiest color I know. The evening sky can be Violet and early morning before even the birds want to peak their little heads up out of their beds. Most importantly Violet was my Mom, she gave me life. She carried me in the warmth of her belly and nourished my soul with every deep breath she took. She held me tight when I was scared and chased away the monsters that hid in my closet. She kissed my forehead when I was sick in bed and let me stay up late when her and Daddy played cards. She laughed wildly I guess like I do now. Even though I can’t remember the sound of her voice or the smell of her perfume I know that she was beautiful with a heart of an Angel. She was so kind hearted, always doing for others and giving of herself.
She will always be in my heart. And I want her to be in the hearts of my kids too. Which is why this year I am going to share some stories with the kids and look through pictures of her with them. I want them to know about her bravery as she fought for her life. I want them to know how kind her heart was and how generous she was. I want them to never forget the person who I called Momma.

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