God Missed the Memo

I've been looking over old writings of mine since New Years, and decided to recycle this one, being as I don't actually have time to write a post. I wrote this soon after my mom's accident. 

Life. fragile. fleeting. too short.
On Friday, May 30, I got a call from my dad that ended my life as I knew it. My mom had been killed in a car accident, and my baby brother was in a coma in the hospital. I was in Edmonton, over 3000 kms from my family.

This isn't how it was supposed to be. My mom was vibrant, kind, and a pain in my butt. I suppose because we are were so alike.. we fought all the time.. she was supposed to live to be 115, with all of us going, "geez woman.. would you go already?!" and still poking her nose into our lives.

But God missed the memo.

I flew home on the red eye that nite. In the process, I lost my cell phone, and a piece of luggage. I stopped at the hospital to see the baby. He was unconscious, was bruised, with all these tubes poking out of him. he'd been through so much already, I just wanted to pick him up and hold him.. but all I could do was hold his hand and cry.

He was supposed to be home with us, with my mom, making us all smile.. trying to grab the phone when mom put me on speakerphone with him, doing his signs for please and up and more, and just being a baby.

But God missed the memo.

I came home, and my house was, as usual, full.. except this time with suffering and pain. A cloud hung over the house, and everyone's faces. I went to my dad, and cried with him, holding him, telling him we'd make it through, when I myself don't know how.

Dad should have been picking me up at the airport, bringing me home to a crazy busy house with everyone going everywhere at once, my mom holding everything together. I'd walk in the door, and hug each of the kids, and mom.. and we'd talk about the flight.. and how much I don't like Air Canada compared to WestJet..

But God missed the memo.

Then came memorial plans. My dad was not exactly ready to deal with all that.. so I started making plans. I arranged for the band, for the center. for the food. for the wine. I had to talk to OPP about the accident, and make decisions about what next.

I should have been arguing with mom about borrowing the car, and who was making dinner that night. I should have been planning nights out with friends, shopping in London, dinner with the girls...

But God missed the memo.

Then we had to bury my mom. We said goodbye, and they lowered the casket. I'll never forget the sound..

I was waiting till the day I was old enough to call my mom "Ronalee" when I was exasperated.. like she does with her mom..

I was waiting for the day that we'd live in the same town and have the kind of relationship where we'd go to each others houses for coffee.

I was waiting for the day that we'd make the transition to friends, instead of the mother-daughter stress.

I was waiting for the day that I'd get married, and mom would be there to tell me that my bra strap is sticking out..

I was waiting for the day that shed spoil my kids, and then send them home to me, like my grama did with us..

I was waiting for the day we'd both be at FH, me with my kids in a trailer with hubby, and mom down the circle, waiting for her grandkids to come over for a hug.. and junk food that I don't allow before dinner.

I was waiting for the day that I could sing her my part of the song...

and I'll continue waiting...

Because God didn't get my memo...

Now I move home, and pack up my life in Edmonton, to help raise my baby brother, not as a mother mind you, but as a loving big sister. Its something that is hard, but something I want to do with all of my heart.. I now attempt to sorta step into my mothers shoes, and realize what big shoes they are. and as I do, I wonder... why?? why?? why did this happen? why to her? why to me? why to my family?

Why didn't He get the memo??
Matt asked me wasn't I excited to see where God was taking this?
My answer? I wish I didn't have to see where God was taking this. I wish my mom was here. I would give anything to have her back.

I love you mom.. as for the rest of my life.. you know. Can you give Him the memo?