In Memory of Amy
Sunday September 23, 2018 4:23am
Conder Home Elizabethtown
We hadn't been asleep long, Anthony's phone rang. My eyes opened immediately in the darkness of our room. I looked at my clock across the room. The red numbers glowed 423am. I could only hear Anthony's voice.
"Hello?"
"WHAT?!"
"Oh Mom."
"Oh Mom."
"Oh Mom."
I could hear the other person's voice, loud, but not the words. My heart began to race.
"Okay. Yeah. I love you."
Anthony's arm searched for me in the darkness.
"Honey."
Me, "Hmmmm?"
"Amy
Conder
Is
Dead."
It came out of his mouth at normal speed. But that's how I heard it. Slow.
I sat up. Sat on the side of my bed. Staring at the clock. Thinking. Of her. Alive. Smiling. A rush of our first meeting came to memory.
Summer 1998
Conder Home Elizabethtown
Chris brought a girl someone at our church at the time introduced him to over to our house to meet her. I was very early in my pregnancy with our first baby. I was delighted to hear she was a registered nurse and had experience in labor and delivery.
Our air conditioner was out and it was uncomfortably hot. I apologized for the hot house- this sweet, jeans and sneakers clad girl said, "Well, I came to see y'all, not your house!" She made herself at home, sitting on our couch, sort of sideways, with her legs tucked under her. She stroked Chris' hair, his arm, somehow having contact most of the visit. I'd just told Anthony a few weeks prior to this meeting that the past Christmas would be Chris' last one alone. Chris and Amy were united in marriage November 28, 1998.
Amy and I became as close as true sisters. And we stayed that way for a while. But over the years we drifted apart. This is the evolution of relationships in families. This is the evolution of relationships, period. Differences and distance make their way into a relationship and ours had both. But she *always* had a hug for you regardless the relationship status.
Amy's Hugs
My sister-in-law could have revenge on you in the form of her hugs. I swear I would check myself sometimes after a hug from Amy. "Oh my gosh, what did I do now?" They were hugs to make you remember to take a breath before she got to you. She could press all the air out of my body with one of her hugs. Or she could pour all her love into you as she embraced you. I'm not a real hugger. With family, it's different though. You MUST hug family. And asking Amy to skip a hug by sitting in the corner, was a challenge she gladly rose to. She'd clear a path to get to you. I'd give anything to hug her one more time. And tell her I loved her. I'm embarassed to say that I wonder if she knew that for sure. Because I'm sure I didn't show it as much as I wish I had.
Amy was a lot more sick than some us realized. She spent lots of time in and out of the hospital. More time than I was aware of. Amy could shop, plan a get together, cook for an army and bake beautiful cakes. As long as she was doing those things, I felt like she'd be alright. She didn't broadcast her pain. Not to those of us that only saw her on holidays and special occasions, anyway. She, to use Chris' words, "kept to herself".
I know *now* how very sick she was. How very broken down her body was. But her heart was always reaching out to others. As evidenced by the many, many posts in her name on social media. She made her life about loving others. In our early years, we had gossipy girl talks, but don't we all have those conversations with our best girlfriends? She was never malicious and never public about feelings she had. She was always a lady that way. Except for love...she made sure you knew she loved you.
I love telling this part.
Amy was pregnant twice during the pregnancy of my youngest son. She was having Madalyn when we first became pregnant with Javan. And as I was in the hospital having Javan in July of 2002, she was pregnant with Jace. That part has no real place in this post, I have always found it cute. If a circumstace such as ours could be deemed as 'cute'.
Since last Sunday, my social media presence has been minimal. And that's been very much on purpose.
What could I possibly say?
I felt that funny posts would be inappropriate.
I felt like a feelings post or update didn't belong to me. What could I possibly say? What right do I have to post such a post, when her husband has been suddenly seperated from his help mate? How could I possibly feel any pain comparable to that of her children?!
I can't say anything of value to this. We are all grieving.
I am grieving for her children's loss of their mother. And every moment to come that they must endure as a reminder that she is not here to talk to, yell for, hear pray, and to grab them up in one of her all emcompassing embraces.
I'm grieving for Chris' loss. His loss is a loss of such great magnitude, I can not fathom his pain. I dread his coming days of feeling lost without his wife. I can hope he never reads this, as I don't want to know that this made him sad. But I am thinking of him and the kids constantly.
I grieve for her friends. The ones she was close to, the ones she saw on occasion, the aquaintences, the cashiers at her favorite stores, the nurses who knew her from her many stays there. Everyone she touched, in any way.
I'm standing in the corner, watching and not knowing what to do now. How can I help? How can I possibly make a difference? How can I possibly receive any sympathy from her passing? I loved her. But I feel undeserving of sympathy as her husband of what would have been 20 years in November draws breath on this Earth without his life partner. As her children think constantly of missing their mother.
I don't want your sympathy. I want her back. I want to feel dizzy from loss of oxygen because she hugs too tight. I want my brother-in-law to have his best friend back. I want my niece and nephews to have their mother here to see them graduate, get married, have babies, grow up.
I
Want
Her
Back.
But so did our Father in Heaven. And she is rocking her little Angel Baby and singing songs to her as her Papaw sits close by, I'm sure. This offers some peace, but I am not ashamed to admit, like a bratty spoiled child of a King, not much. I'm selfish. I'd rather have her here for her family.
I didn't know where this post would take me, and I'm not going to edit or spell check it, as I want it to be raw and honest. I needed to break my silence, though. And beg of all who read this. As soon as you're done reading, please whisper a prayer for those she left behind.
I haven't mentioned her sister or her mother, not on purpose, but because my heart is with Amy's immediate family. The pain her mother and sister are going through is equally unimaginable. We aren't suppose to outlive our kids. And I don't want to think about going through losing one of my brothers.
Pray. Please just pray for her family.
And pray for yours.
Love yours.
Reach out. Write letters. Text. Call.
But don't wait til you have regrets.
This is Amy and Matty. This has always been one of my favorite photos of her. He was having trouble falling asleep during breastfeeding, so Amy gave him formula with a syringe to keep him eating. (no bottle because of breastfeeding) I couldn't do it, my heart was shattered that he was having trouble nursing. But his Aunt Amy came to my rescue and made sure he stayed fed.
I love you, Amy. And I DO have regrets. And I'm so sorry for those.
Til we meet again...
Conder Home Elizabethtown
We hadn't been asleep long, Anthony's phone rang. My eyes opened immediately in the darkness of our room. I looked at my clock across the room. The red numbers glowed 423am. I could only hear Anthony's voice.
"Hello?"
"WHAT?!"
"Oh Mom."
"Oh Mom."
"Oh Mom."
I could hear the other person's voice, loud, but not the words. My heart began to race.
"Okay. Yeah. I love you."
Anthony's arm searched for me in the darkness.
"Honey."
Me, "Hmmmm?"
"Amy
Conder
Is
Dead."
It came out of his mouth at normal speed. But that's how I heard it. Slow.
I sat up. Sat on the side of my bed. Staring at the clock. Thinking. Of her. Alive. Smiling. A rush of our first meeting came to memory.
Summer 1998
Conder Home Elizabethtown
Chris brought a girl someone at our church at the time introduced him to over to our house to meet her. I was very early in my pregnancy with our first baby. I was delighted to hear she was a registered nurse and had experience in labor and delivery.
Our air conditioner was out and it was uncomfortably hot. I apologized for the hot house- this sweet, jeans and sneakers clad girl said, "Well, I came to see y'all, not your house!" She made herself at home, sitting on our couch, sort of sideways, with her legs tucked under her. She stroked Chris' hair, his arm, somehow having contact most of the visit. I'd just told Anthony a few weeks prior to this meeting that the past Christmas would be Chris' last one alone. Chris and Amy were united in marriage November 28, 1998.
Amy and I became as close as true sisters. And we stayed that way for a while. But over the years we drifted apart. This is the evolution of relationships in families. This is the evolution of relationships, period. Differences and distance make their way into a relationship and ours had both. But she *always* had a hug for you regardless the relationship status.
Amy's Hugs
My sister-in-law could have revenge on you in the form of her hugs. I swear I would check myself sometimes after a hug from Amy. "Oh my gosh, what did I do now?" They were hugs to make you remember to take a breath before she got to you. She could press all the air out of my body with one of her hugs. Or she could pour all her love into you as she embraced you. I'm not a real hugger. With family, it's different though. You MUST hug family. And asking Amy to skip a hug by sitting in the corner, was a challenge she gladly rose to. She'd clear a path to get to you. I'd give anything to hug her one more time. And tell her I loved her. I'm embarassed to say that I wonder if she knew that for sure. Because I'm sure I didn't show it as much as I wish I had.
Amy was a lot more sick than some us realized. She spent lots of time in and out of the hospital. More time than I was aware of. Amy could shop, plan a get together, cook for an army and bake beautiful cakes. As long as she was doing those things, I felt like she'd be alright. She didn't broadcast her pain. Not to those of us that only saw her on holidays and special occasions, anyway. She, to use Chris' words, "kept to herself".
I know *now* how very sick she was. How very broken down her body was. But her heart was always reaching out to others. As evidenced by the many, many posts in her name on social media. She made her life about loving others. In our early years, we had gossipy girl talks, but don't we all have those conversations with our best girlfriends? She was never malicious and never public about feelings she had. She was always a lady that way. Except for love...she made sure you knew she loved you.
I love telling this part.
Amy was pregnant twice during the pregnancy of my youngest son. She was having Madalyn when we first became pregnant with Javan. And as I was in the hospital having Javan in July of 2002, she was pregnant with Jace. That part has no real place in this post, I have always found it cute. If a circumstace such as ours could be deemed as 'cute'.
Since last Sunday, my social media presence has been minimal. And that's been very much on purpose.
What could I possibly say?
I felt that funny posts would be inappropriate.
I felt like a feelings post or update didn't belong to me. What could I possibly say? What right do I have to post such a post, when her husband has been suddenly seperated from his help mate? How could I possibly feel any pain comparable to that of her children?!
I can't say anything of value to this. We are all grieving.
I am grieving for her children's loss of their mother. And every moment to come that they must endure as a reminder that she is not here to talk to, yell for, hear pray, and to grab them up in one of her all emcompassing embraces.
I'm grieving for Chris' loss. His loss is a loss of such great magnitude, I can not fathom his pain. I dread his coming days of feeling lost without his wife. I can hope he never reads this, as I don't want to know that this made him sad. But I am thinking of him and the kids constantly.
I grieve for her friends. The ones she was close to, the ones she saw on occasion, the aquaintences, the cashiers at her favorite stores, the nurses who knew her from her many stays there. Everyone she touched, in any way.
I'm standing in the corner, watching and not knowing what to do now. How can I help? How can I possibly make a difference? How can I possibly receive any sympathy from her passing? I loved her. But I feel undeserving of sympathy as her husband of what would have been 20 years in November draws breath on this Earth without his life partner. As her children think constantly of missing their mother.
I don't want your sympathy. I want her back. I want to feel dizzy from loss of oxygen because she hugs too tight. I want my brother-in-law to have his best friend back. I want my niece and nephews to have their mother here to see them graduate, get married, have babies, grow up.
I
Want
Her
Back.
But so did our Father in Heaven. And she is rocking her little Angel Baby and singing songs to her as her Papaw sits close by, I'm sure. This offers some peace, but I am not ashamed to admit, like a bratty spoiled child of a King, not much. I'm selfish. I'd rather have her here for her family.
I didn't know where this post would take me, and I'm not going to edit or spell check it, as I want it to be raw and honest. I needed to break my silence, though. And beg of all who read this. As soon as you're done reading, please whisper a prayer for those she left behind.
I haven't mentioned her sister or her mother, not on purpose, but because my heart is with Amy's immediate family. The pain her mother and sister are going through is equally unimaginable. We aren't suppose to outlive our kids. And I don't want to think about going through losing one of my brothers.
Pray. Please just pray for her family.
And pray for yours.
Love yours.
Reach out. Write letters. Text. Call.
But don't wait til you have regrets.
This is Amy and Matty. This has always been one of my favorite photos of her. He was having trouble falling asleep during breastfeeding, so Amy gave him formula with a syringe to keep him eating. (no bottle because of breastfeeding) I couldn't do it, my heart was shattered that he was having trouble nursing. But his Aunt Amy came to my rescue and made sure he stayed fed.
I love you, Amy. And I DO have regrets. And I'm so sorry for those.
Til we meet again...
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