Jamuary 19, 2010

Mom — Tue, 19 January 2010 20:13:31 -0500

If you were to go back on past posts, you would notice that 4 years ago today, Hannah posted her first blog on Hannah’s Journey about her relapse. Bill and I were so frightened about what the future would hold for her, but she always went on with life, living each day and talking about the future. I, with the help of the nurses at the hospital, had her convinced that as the only daughter, it would be her responsibility to take care of me when I was old and feeble. Believe it or not, she couldn’t wait until she had the chance to care for me, as we had cared for her. She talked about it all the time. I think she thought it would be a big slumber party. What a girl! I also remember how, even at 11 years old, she use to tell me that God had just put a little obstacle in her path for her to go around. It is amazing the strength that God gives when it is needed.

We had a very quiet Christmas this year. Nathan was in Zambia, so it was only 4 of us. I went to Zambia to visit Nathan after Christmas, and had a wonderful time. Zambia is an amazing country, and the people are so friendly. I can see why Nathan likes it so much! Of course, it was strange watching my son fix my dinner from scratch, starting with a chicken that was still alive when I saw it. Hard to believe that less than a year ago he was such a city boy, enjoying life in Manhattan. I would love to be able to take the rest of the family to visit if the opportunity arises.

Colin, Austin and I are back at school. School started for Austin and I in the beginning of January, and Colin started today. Colin will continue to live at home this semester and go back in the fall to a 4 year University. He no longer serenades me all the time, instead has taken to leaving me little notes to read in the morning before work.

In exactly 3 months, it will be 2 years since Hannah went to Heaven. I have been told it takes at least 3 years to get over the deepest sorrow, but somehow, I don’t see how that is possible. For the rest of our lives, there will always be that feeling that something elusive is missing - a smile, a laugh, and of course, my retirement home.