I Love You

My family has never been good at expressing their feelings to one another. Growing up I’m pretty sure my mom said I love you, I just can’t actually remember. But as my sister and I got older the I love yous got lost in teenage angst and, as far as I can remember, it was rarely said in our teenage years.

It was of course always implied. We knew we were loved but it just never got said out loud. I also never heard I’m proud of you or really any other verbal praises.

Then one day, after I moved out and got married, I started thinking about never seeing my mom again. Or my sister or my grandma. That thought terrified me. So much that it became an obsession. An irrational fear – if you will.

I remember this clearly although I can’t tell you the exact day. I decided that they needed to know that I love them. It was a very out-of-the-box thing for me to do but after visiting my mom, before I left, I turned and said “I love you mom”. I remember the look of shock on her face. She hesitated for a moment and then said it back.

The same thing happened when I said it too my sister. We were never close as kids and still aren’t “besties” now, although we are way closer than we ever were growing up. So saying it to her was way weird. But it was a good weird.

Now every time I see or talk to any of my family I always tell them I love them. Even some of my friends.

Part of me does it out of habit now, but it is a good habit to have. I never want them to have to guess how I feel. It’s still hard for us to express things to each  other but at least in the end they know I love them.



This is My Life

I have made some pretty big choices in my life.


  •     I got engaged at a young age. Because of this I drifted from my best friend.


  •   I didn’t go to college even though I got accepted.


  •     I stayed in my small town that I swore I would get out of as soon as possible.


  •     I didn’t pursue writing like I always wanted to do.




        Looking at each choice and where I am now because of it, I don’t think I would change anything.


          I drifted from my best friend. I got engaged when I was still in high school. While she was still going to concerts and hanging in her parent’s basement after we graduated I was getting an apartment, getting a full time job, and thinking about my future with my husband. We were in two different places. Our relationship became strained because our priorities had changed. Even though I miss her and miss the times we had we are now two completely different people. It was best for both of us that we grew apart and did our own thing.


          My husband and I got accepted into a mission’s college about a year after we got married. We were so excited to go on adventures and help people. But we were doing it for the wrong reasons. I had recently lost a child and I think we were using school as a chance to run away from our grief. I am so glad we didn’t go because even though being a missionary is a great thing, if we weren’t really called to be missionaries we could have done more harm then good. God definitely intervened in this situation. He blessed me with another child and our window for attending the school had closed. If we would have gone I wouldn’t have my wonderful Spunky Boy.


          In high school my biggest dream was leaving this small town. As a teenager this town was boring, small, and in my eyes nothing happened here. I thought that I couldn’t amount to anything if I stayed. But if I would have left I would not have the great support system I have. Both mine and my husband’s families have been great with our kids by offering baby sitting and support when we needed it. If we had moved I never would have met one of my best friends. And even though she ended up moving 12 hours away we are still as close as ever. If we would have moved I would not have been able to care for my mother when she was diagnosed with cancer. If we had moved I would not be apart of my wonderful church family. So many things would be different.


          I never pursued my writing but if I was being really honest with myself, looking at the things I wrote, I wasn’t that good. Now by pursuing it I might have improved and become great. Who knows? I lost my passion for writing sometime after high school and I am just now wanting to get back into it. Maybe I wasn’t meant to write at that time. Maybe the time is now. Who knows?


          So in conclusion, I may not have done things as once planned. But I have a wonderful husband, two amazing children, great friends, family that live close, and a great church. I live in this great small town that I appreciate now that I am an adult. There is a great sense of community, fun festivals, and great small businesses to support. I am pleased with the way my life turned out. Yes I may have liked my life that “would have been” had I made different decisions, but I will never know so why dwell on it?



*This post is in response to The Daily Post Daily Writing Prompt:  I Did it My Way.*

Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door

“Pick a stranger, family member, or friend. Imagine a day in their life. Give us insight. Give us detail. Don’t just tell us about the other perspective, make us forget that you don’t live it every day. How does the homeless man on the street corner see you? What’s on your mother’s mind minutes before you visit? Does your boss like her office chair, or does the squeaking sound drive her crazy, too? Aim for two or three paragraphs.”


My Last Session


I shiver as the liquid goes through my veins. It’s just a flush but it reminds me that I have three more hours to go. The nurse smiles at me slightly as she attaches the first bag to my IV. It’s the same smile every time, no matter which nurse it is. That “I’m sorry but I hope this little smile will help you feel better even though your life sucks right now” smile. I give her a polite one back.


“Just two bags today,” she says sweetly and then walks to the young girl sitting next to me. The girl, who couldn’t be older than twenty-five, giggles at a text she just received. I notice that she is handling the treatments much better than me. Her skin still has a little color and she looks very fit. You might not even know she was sick if not for the blue and pink scarf she wore and the slightly dark circles under her eyes.


I lean back in my chair and close my eyes, listening to the sounds in the room. The quiet pumping of nine IV machines, the soft patter of the rubber soled shoes of the four nurses on staff today. I like all of them today. The mean one seems to have the day off. It’s a nice reprieve to have friendly faces. Why she chose to work in this field if she can’t be gentle and nice is beyond me. I think there is nothing worse than someone treating a cancer patient while donning a cranky attitude. I shift in my seat and reach for my sweater. The man on the other side of me coughs and asks the nurse for a bag. The smell of fresh vomit fills the air. I turn and hold my breath as to be polite. The young girl to my left crinkles her nose but continues to text as if nothing is happening.


I close my eyes again and try to think of something else. My Grandson just turned two this week. The look on his face as he blew out his candles was priceless. I try to recall his giggle of excitement as the fire went out. I want to engrave that into my memories. The beeping of my IV interrupts my thoughts. The nurse comes over right away to put on my last bag of medicine for the day. Once it’s on and dripping I decide to call my daughter, hoping that I am not interrupting something. When she answers I let her know that I will be done at three so she can give me a ride home.


“I love you,” I say. I put the phone back in my purse. I hate that I feel like such a burden to my family. I hate that they have to stop what they are doing to take care of me, take me to my appointments, and even drive me to the grocery store. At only fifty-two years old I never thought I would have to depend on others so early on in life. Today is my last treatment. I am so looking forward to the day that I can drive myself somewhere and watch my grandchildren again. I glance over at my IV. The bag is almost empty. I reach over for my purse and gather up my things. When the nurse arrives at my side I am all ready to leave. She gives me that smile again and unhooks me. She hands me my prescriptions for the week and I get my self up and head to the waiting room.


I  just reach the door when I see my daughter’s car pull up. I walk out and open the car door. She turns down the loud music and moves her purse off the passenger seat.


“How are you feeling?” There’s that question again. I realize that people ask that because they really want to know but when you hear it several times a day for over three months you get kind of sick of getting asked.

“I’m ok. Just tired,” I say trying not to sound too shaky. As we drive off she tells me of the funny and ridiculous things her children have done today. I laugh as I try to picture them in my head.


“Thank you,” I say as she walks me inside the house.


“You’re welcome. I love you mom.”



(This is my first response to a writing prompt from The Daily Post. Weekly Writing Challenge: Leave Your Shoes at the Door.)