three years without you

On Saturday it will be three years without you. I so badly want to slow down. To stop my mind from racing and be quiet. To really feel and disconnect from the world. I took a mental health day from work today. I'm taking the time to write this while Henry naps. I'm trying. But I need your help. And you're not here. 

Over a year into motherhood and all that it entails, I find myself struggling with how to take care of my family and also take care of myself. What does time to myself look like now? How do I give myself permission to take a break? I know I'm not alone in these feelings but that doesn't make it easier. I wish I had a hobby like gardening that could help me disconnect from everything else. I know that helped you. But I haven't found mine yet. I need to keep looking. 

Henry took his first real steps yesterday. He isn't full on walking yet but now he knows he can do it. It's only a matter of time before he's 100% mobile. I still remember the night Elizabeth learned to walk in the little house living room. And how we would clap after taking steps as she fell down on her bum so she just started standing up and falling back down. Then she'd look at all of us and be like, why didn't you clap? 

Last week I hemmed Dale's baptism jumpsuit after it took me 45 minutes and multiple YouTube videos to figure out how to thread my darn machine. I felt like you were probably having a good chuckle up in heaven. If only I'd been more patient when you tried to teach me and not wanted to make such complicated projects.   

I want to do things to my house but don't know where to start. You seemed fearless in that department. You painted our living room and dining room pink and made curtains out of bed sheets. You had us haul bricks you found for free so you could make a backyard patio. Until your fibromyalgia took hold, your projects were endless. And even when your fibro got bad, you fought back and adjusted your expectations on how much you could do. You were frustrated but you didn't stop. 

My path looks so different from yours. I'm learning how to channel your essence into my life. I don't have to be you or do the same things to honor you or feel you here. I'm good enough the way I am. I know you'd be proud of me and who I'm becoming, but I wish I could hear it from your lips. I wish you could hold me like a tiny baby and tell me I'm doing a good job. 

I wish you were only a phone call away. It's been three years and I still can't take you out of the top position of my favorites even though I know you're not on the other end of the line. 

This post is jumbled and all over the place but that's how I feel right now. I know my grief will continue to evolve and change as time progresses. It already has. But more than anything I still can't believe you're gone. That we watched you take your last breath. That your journey on earth came to a close so much sooner than any of us expected. 

So I'll sing Henry to sleep with Kacey Musgraves songs and try to pick out the perfect shade of white paint because I prefer a neutral color palette to your rainbow dreams. And in the beautiful and hard moments, I'll wish you were here. I miss you, mom. 


  1. Beautiful tribute to your mom, Clarissa. I know the pain never goes away, especially for you who lost your mom at such an early age. Take time to pamper yourself. Your mom would want that. ❤️

  2. I love you Clarissa ❤️ I Love your Mom.
    You are so much like her. This is a Beautiful tribute❤️ Auntie