Grief has no rules. No timeline.

You grieve for things you lost.

You grieve for things you never had.

You grieve for people you knew.

You grieve for people that loved you.

You grieve for people you loved dearly.

You grieve for people who should have loved you.

You grieve for people you tried to love.

You grieve for people who didn’t fulfill a role that they should have.

Your grieve for ones who are in grief.

You grieve for relationships you cannot heal.

You grieve for events and relationships that are over.

Grief is not a stranger here.

To mom:

Those moments between asleep and awake…you are present and I want to tell you something. But I then remember… you are gone. You slip back into my dreams as I slip into reality.

To my dear friend:

My God… why? Why did you leave this world without telling me you were going? So much was left unsaid. You cannot leave me without allowing me to say what I never said!

To my grandma:

You were so harsh so often….and I miss it. I miss our talks about mom. About things that really mattered. About your life. About what I needed to do to stay strong. I still try to call you. You….my surprise support. Our conversations were so raw. The generation between us missing and bridging us at the same time.

To my cousin:

I’ll never forget our childhood. Your call as you were off to war. Our road trip. Our laughter. The silence. THE call. I wish you would have told someone. We wanted you here. Your sister needs you.

To you:

You refused to see anything good in me. You spoke ill of me to others. You hurt the relationship I value the most. Your words made me question my faith. You missed out on an amazing family.

To you:

You can do no more harm to them. The last time I saw you I hugged you and told you I loved you. You recoiled. But I saw her eyes in your eyes. You are gone. May you reunite with your son and make peace. Rest, this journey is over.

Grief has many forms. Abandonment. Extreme loss. Hurt. Anger. Remorse. Emptiness. Relief. There is no right or wrong. There just is. Some visit us daily. Some are brought back to the surface by another loss. News of ones journey home always makes me pause.

JGC

It started as a whisper or a gentle breeze. Perhaps it was from the sigh that escaped late Tuesday night. The embers that wear barely glowing started to flicker. And then flame. Until the warmth had surrounded my whole being and all I could feel was pure joy. By the end of the night Friday, I remembered the phrase, “Not this time Satan” from the shirt of a voter. And I was ready.

I went to work numb on Wednesday and Thursday. There was no school Friday so I went grocery shopping by myself. I do a lot of deep thinking in the car. As I drove it hit me. It felt like I had experienced another death. The majority of people who have the same faith as me voted for a man who speaks hate. I felt lost, empty, and alone. And then the fanning of flames slowly started to happen. It started with several private messages from people all over the country standing together. Messages from college friends, high school friends, past church friends, direct sales friends. Messages came from literally every part of my life past and present from men and women. Then an invite to get together and have fellowship and pray. I could feel the warmth and the love start to take over the lonely fear.

I decided to post on a site I’ve never posted on (I only post to my fb page) to help other moms who might have explaining to do and not just about the hate. We have to explain the fact that a clearly qualified WOMAN ran and an unqualified man who speaks disrespectfully towards women ran and…he won.

So on a whim I posted this:

And within ten seconds my fb notifications were on full speed. Other women and men giving encouraging words to my daughter! Telling her she is smart, she isn’t alone, our country respects women! My tears finally arrived. Over 4 thousand people giving my girl encouragement and over 150 comments offering love and support. Some posted pictures of their daughters. One suggested we start calling our daughters “President” instead of “Princess”. Comments from both men and women filled my post. I showed it to my girl. I told her that more people in our country voted for HRK than for him. I told her that hate did not win. Did I need all that support? Did my daughter? No- we have a strong family and a strong sense of worth. Did it help? It sure did. It takes a village my friends. And when you are afraid your village isn’t speaking the love you are speaking at home, it’s a little scary. Our village filled up our buckets with love and compassion.

Friday night I arrived at my friends house. It was dark. I wasn’t sure what to expect. We just needed a place to express our hurt. All Christians, all feeling the same things. We ate, we talked, we got mad, we prayed, we fanned the flame. I left knowing that we are not alone. I left knowing we have each other’s back. We won’t sit by and watch hate win. When we see it, we will stand up to it. When we hear it, we will call it out. When women get together, great things happen. When communities seek to build bridges instead of walls, great things happen. Our nation is already great, we are going to keep it great. 
So to all you fellow “nasty women” keep on encouraging each other. Get together. Offer ideas on how we can change things for the better. Remember a quote from Bush that applies still now, “The resolve of our great nation is being tested. But make no mistake we will show the world that we will pass the test.” 

In Solidarity,

J.

PS: Thank you for all the comments, messages and support the past year. It’s been a doozy!

It’s taken me all day to write this. I am without words today. Just heavy sighs.
I have no more tears left to shed this year. I thought I would cry if America chose hate. But I didn’t. My shoulders just dropped and I literally laughed. 
I have lost a lot this year: the death of very dear friend, the closing of my business, the closing of my college, a few one sided friendships, my maternal grandmother, and today the loss of the America I believed existed. The loss that I have experienced in the last nine months, along with the struggle of regular every day life with work and parenting has made me not as chipper as I normally am.   And that’s okay. And that is normal. We all grieve loss in our own unique way. There is no right or wrong to it. 

Today, someone tried to insult me for standing up for the LGBT community. For standing up for people who do not share my faith. For standing up for people who have no home to go home to. For accepting and loving people who choose differently than I do. I am constantly reminded that my greatest gift is also my greatest hurt. I am taking the “insult” as a “well done good and faithful servant”. 

While we talk about “making America great again” can we also start talking about “making our faith about love again”? Because that seems to be a major part of the problem.

Looking for the joy in the mourning, again.

J.

PS: if you missed it- we wore white on Election Day. The color of women’s suffrage. 

Dear Nine Year Old Jennifer,

You are about to be part of history. It’s really happening. I know dad told you it would never happen. I know you were devastated when you realized the world thought less of you because you were a girl. I know what it felt like to hear someone tell you – not in your lifetime. Guess what? You are 40, and it is possible. Ignore the gross way women are still treated and focus on the strength of the women who have gotten us this far. 

Love,

Me
PS: I’m gonna miss the call from grandma making sure I voted democrat. 

Dear Grandma Bulson,

I will not be there this week, and I’m so sorry. You know why I can’t come and I know you understand. If I were to be there I would take a moment to tell you these things. And yes- I know it’s not “you” anymore, but for my own sake I would still want to tell your earthly body these things:

Grandma- I get it now. Sometimes as a child and an adult, I didn’t. Sometimes you just made me crazy. For example…

I hated it when you took the comb out of your purse when I got into your big yellow car. You were not good at combing hair. It hurt like hell. Guess what? I’m not good at it either. Ava  hates it when I comb her hair. I always tell her, “Better me than Grandma B!” And that’s not a joke. You were terrible with that comb. And all of us are seriously self-conscious about our hair as adults because we have constantly been told how “turrable” we look.

I seriously hated getting clothes for every Christmas. Especially when they matched Jill’s. I swear you thought we were twins. And yes, on November 4th every year I will remind her that we are the same age for almost two months. I’ll also buy Suzanne a red sweater this Christmas. Just for you.

I hated being introduced to strangers. I swear you knew everyone and everyone’s business. And as an adult getting the reports on who died and who made the paper always made me cringe. I had no clue who you were talking about most of the time. Who is going to tell me when Sara’s kids are in the paper now? 

I hated getting messages from you saying I never called you. Oh my gosh- the worst! Are you sure you weren’t Catholic? Because the guilt was so thick! But even better was when people went from answering machines to voicemail and you didn’t get it yet so you would talk thinking I could hear you, “Jennifer? Jennifer? Hello?……hello? It’s grandma!” You’ve been gone a little over 24 hours and I’ve re-listened to every voicemail I have from you- twice. But I still don’t want you’re pots and pans even three messages later. 

I hated it when I had a day to sleep in and you would call at 5am. You would claim to never remember the time change as my heart pounded in my chest because I thought there was an emergency. May I remember this trick when my kids move away.  

But I really hated it when mom died, and everyday I had to relive it with you on the phone on my way into work. We worked through it toghether you and I. We walked a path where the space between us was empty too soon. You without another child, me too young to be without a mom. But we did it. Almost everyday. You helped build a bridge between my pain and my heart. I think I helped you do the same. Sometimes when I drive that road I can still hear your words.

I hated that circumstances left me unable to come home often. I would have visited more if I were able. I am so thankful for the week Ava and I spent with you. You were a terrible patient. You thought I was someone named Linda. But watching you and Ava talk together was really what gave me peace about things. We both will treasure it forever. 

For as much as you made me crazy, you made me laugh. We all knew we were loved by you. Your unconventional ways of showing it did not go unnoticed. 

I’m going to miss hearing you say, “Grandma loves ya’!” The last time we talked you just nodded when I said it. But I know. I’m glad you finally felt like we were going to be okay without you. We will do our best. We will make jokes about each other’s hair and appearance. We will use the word “aacky” and say “shush” when it feels appropriate. We will be as strong as you because you taught us to be. We will miss you. None of us really believe you are gone. We love you.

Love,

Jennifer (Jenaser)

Ps: Tony has something to tell you.

PPS: We all knew who your favorite was, and we didn’t care. 

Often there are moments in time where the world around us stands still. Sometimes only for a second. It’s like a pause. A pause to take in an event that will alter your life forever. 

Today, with the sun on my face, my heart beating hard in my chest, I felt a pause. The pumpkin patch stood still. I couldn’t even hear the kids in my class. I saw fall colors all around me and heard only my uncle’s voice on the other end of the phone. I will never forget it. It hit hard, though I knew it was coming. She is gone. She has left her earthly home. As the call and the pause ended I gathered my tears, stood up straight, fixed my clothes and headed back to where my students were waiting with their families to get on the hay ride to pick out their pumpkins. You can be surrounded by people smaller than you and still feel so small and alone in moments like that. 

I don’t have many words today. Just jumbled up feelings that are sitting on my chest. My oldest plays his trumpet in band for the first time tonight for a football game and it seems very fitting to me. Grandma Bulson loved sitting next to the marching band at high school football games. Good memories and new memories being made. 

An honest post about my life at this moment.

This is a picture from a little over a year ago. Probably the last time I’ll see my grandma this side of heaven. She is something. And if you know her, you know what I mean. Born and raised in Alabama she has a certain ability to tell you she loves you by telling you how “turrable” your hair is. Looking your best is important to her. 

She was a hard worker. She worked at Hormel. Her coworkers called her “Alabam” because of her accent. And I grew up hearing that I was one of “Alabam’s” grandkids She has not had an easy life. She lost her son. Her husband. And then her daughter, my mother. She has been sick countless times. Including lung cancer. She is tough. She is a fighter. She has a hard exterior. 

She is the matriarch of our family and my last connection to my mother. She sees it as her job to take care of us…but it seems she is ready for her journey home soon. And bless her southern heart, she is likely going to make sure we are all okay before she leaves us. 

Pray for her journey to be without pain. Pray she feels ready, even though I don’t know that we are. Pray she isn’t scared. Pray for my aunt and uncle who have taken care of her for as long as I can remember. Pray for the joy in the mourning. We don’t know when God will call anyone home. And it never feels like the right time. But if it’s His will it is the right time. 
We love you gma. And I promise not a single strand of hair will be out of place when my kids leave the house every day.

Something amazing started to happen this last year, and then when I turned 40- BAM…it hit big time. I no longer have time for things that used to bother me. What a gift. I have heard about this before from friends, but it wasn’t until it happened to me that I really believed it. Man- this could have been helpful the last like…well, my whole life. It’s like this amazing Superpower you get when you turn forty.

Here are a few examples of things I don’t give a toot about anymore. I am sure other mamas in their 40’s can add to it. Please do.

1. My thighs. I mean, I am annoyed that they have gotten bigger this last year and a half but it really doesn’t matter. Why? Because thass. That’s right. No matter how great my thighs are there is thass. If you don’t know what that is, you are too young. Do not read the next sentence. It means your ass and thighs have met and become one. I swear this is true.
2. My face without makeup. I look terrible. I look old and tired.Guess what? I am old and tired. I need to drink more water, eat way healthier than I do, work out again, and get more sleep. My thighs and my face would thank me for it. But at the end of the day after work I want comfort food, a glass of wine, and tv. Reality tv. (Dance Moms to make me feel better about myself as a mom and Sister Wives to make me smile. Don’t judge.) Speaking of work…
3. I am physically not the teacher I once was. First of all, I cannot, I tell you, I cannot get down on the floor the same way I used to. I can do it, but it’s different. The popping and creaking my joints make scare me and probably the kids I work with. Second, if I do get down on the floor the kids pig pile me because they are in desperate need of another hug. Usually I am in a squatting position because I know it will happen and I need to get up fast before it does. Here is the thing, if ten kids try to get on your back and you are in the squatting position you really can’t hold yourself up very well. (See #1 about bigger thighs, and #2 about not working out.) If this happens you will have a hard time for the next few days getting on and off the toilette. My physical abilities as a teacher have gone downhill- but my patience as a teacher has gone up. So be it.
4. Rude people. This falls under the, “I don’t have time for crap” category because Sister Wives is on. I used to mull over in my head rude remarks or behaviors of coworkers, people in customer service, or the random driver that flipped me off.  It would literally bother me for days if someone was rude. Now I just walk away. I do utter a silent prayer for them (mostly nice, depending on if I have had my coffee or not) but I walk away. Do NOT engage. I repeat, do not engage.
5. Offending people when I stand up for myself. I used to think standing up for myself was a “no no” in certain situations. Then I realized, duh, I am not a doormat. Don’t confuse this with #4 where I walk away from the random rude person. For the love of all things holy, we all know I am opinionated, passionate, and one who speaks with conviction. You don’t have to agree with me. And you don’t have to like what I say. And you don’t have to like me. I am okay with that. But if you attack my integrity, my faith, my work ethic, my children (heaven help you) I will say something and probably not back down until you appear to understand. Most of the time I can stand up for myself in a kind way. Sometimes, the last straw happens and the “Gorvin” comes out. It happens… I might have the “superpower forty” but I am still human.

Forty is fabulous. It is freeing. It is not as bad as they tell you. Clearly there are benefits.