Free shipping on all orders over $75🎄

I have a hundred wishes.
They fly in and out of my mind every day.
Especially when I see someone suffering a loss of a loved one. It brings back memories.
I wish their pain away.
I wish that I didn’t know how hard their path will be.
I wish they didn’t have to suffer.
I wish there was a cure.

And then…

I wish you could see Marin’s smile. It’s completely disarming in the most wonderful way. It makes a hard day easier; it turns a bad mood around in a heartbeat. Her big eyes melt you. They make you want to make this world right.
She is amazing that way – sweet and creative – intuitive – sassy – fiery, even a bit scary.

Oh how you would love the scary part of her.

I wish you could hear Connor’s laugh. It’s contagious, and his deepest laughs are usually because of Marin, who he is so amused by (we all are…) but it’s so uncommon for a big brother to openly appreciate his kid sister this way – it only makes you love him more.

I wish you could see your little man. You would be so impressed.
He is wicked smart, so kind hearted – one of those humans who do not have a bad bone in their body and he’s hilarious.
In a way that most kids his age don’t quite get, yet.
And boy would you get him – you’d be his biggest fan and co-conspirator.
You and him, you would be thick as thieves. Partners-in-crime.
He has your legs, and mannerisms. The way he walks, the way he sits…
It strikes me sometimes – how much of you, is in him.
How he bucks the system. How the rules don’t seem to apply to him.
How he makes me crazy. How he doesn’t smile, he grins.
His heart of gold.

Then I think of you. I think of us – of our talks about life and love and parenting. How our fears were the same.
I think of how much I finally understood you, once Connor came along.

And I’m back to wishing – wishing you were here.
Wishing you knew how much you helped me.
How I trusted you like no other…
Knowing how you’d get it.
Knowing how you got me. Knowing how’d you love how these kids drive me crazy, with their strong will and independence. The irony is not lost on me.

I wish you could see it – your always self-assured and confident middle child, questioning herself trying to raise these kids.
Having kids changes you, it changes everything.
In the most spectacular way.
You knew that, and you were eager to see me in that role.
You wanted me to soften-up, to let my guard down. 
You knew I had walls…

I hope you know, that well before you got sick, well before I knew I was losing you, I forgave you.
Truly, from deep in my heart.
For making me crazy.
For being imperfect.
For hurting me, when you didn’t know better – because once I became a parent, all of those spectacular changes led me to know.

I would do the same.

I would screw up. That I would hurt them, unknowingly.
That they will be marked by my failing good intentions.
That my love will leave scars on them.
Becoming a mom helped me understand you. Understand us. The way we battled. What you were fighting for. 

I told you that day…”if you could undo every time you hurt me, you would.”
You were overcome, and said, so quietly, “Darlin’, in a New York minute.” 
I knew you meant it.

I told you “I forgive you, Dad…” and we talked about how hopefully, someday, my kids would forgive me, for being so imperfect.
I didn’t know then what a gift that moment would be, until you were gone.

I wish you knew how deeply you are missed.
How we are not the same without you.
How much our world has changed, without you in it.
It’s just slightly, off.

I wish you could know…
That we are OK. Its taken time to get there, but you would have us no other way.
Your girls will forever love you, will forever miss you, and forever carry you with us.

I wish you could know…
How far we’ve all come, at all we’ve done, that we are doing exactly as you would want us to do and are as close as we could be, supporting each other, encouraging each other.

The Edkin girls have each other’s back in a big way, and we are still making each other laugh…
Still making each other crazy…
Still quietly wishing you were here.
I wish, I wish, I wish…
I wish you could see us now…

I have a hundred wishes www.herviewfromhome.com

So God Made a Mother book by Leslie Means

If you liked this, you'll love our new book, SO GOD MADE A MOTHER available now!

Order Now

Lori E. Angiel

Lori resides in the suburbia of Western New York with her husband, their 2 children and sweet rescue pup, George Bailey (because, it’s a wonderful life, after all). When not working, she is doing the soccer mom thing on the sidelines of a soccer field, running the local trails and streets (year round in the most obnoxious reflective gear available) with her running (a/k/a support) group while they train for what is always known as the "last race we are ever doing", or shopping at TJ Maxx or Target.  Her favorite things include her training runs, skiing with her family and yoga.  She is also very devoted to drinking wine and spending as much time as possible with her friends and family.  Whenever the opportunity presents itself, you will find her sitting on a beach (applying copious amounts of sunscreen on her kiddos)....all the while writing about the little things in life that occur to her along the way.

6 Things You Can Do Now to Help Kids Remember Their Grandparents

In: Grief, Living, Loss, Motherhood
Grandfather dances with granddaughter in kitchen

A month ago, my mom unexpectedly passed away. She was a vibrant 62-year-old grandma to my 4-year-old son who regularly exercised and ate healthy. Sure, she had some health scares—breast cancer and two previous brain aneurysms that had been operated on successfully—but we never expected her to never come home after her second surgery on a brain aneurysm. It has been devastating, to say the least, and as I comb through pictures and videos, I have gathered some tips for other parents of young kids to do right now in case the unexpected happens, and you’re left scrambling to never...

Keep Reading

I’m Not Ready for Life Without My Mom

In: Grief, Loss
Woman sad sitting by a window looking out

I’m not ready. Not ready for time to just keep trudging forward without her. Four years have gone by, and I still think about her every day. When that awful third day of October rules around every year it’s like a tidal wave comes and sweeps me up tossing me this way and that. The rest of the year I can bob up and down with the occasional waves of grief. But the week before October 3rd the waves pick up, and I can’t see over the crest of one before the next is already upon me. I find myself...

Keep Reading

Since She Left

In: Grief, Loss
Older, color photo of mother and young daughter blowing out birthday candles

It’s been 14 years since she left. It’s like a lifetime ago and yesterday at the same time. The loss of my mother was indescribable. We never had a traditional relationship. As I grew older, our roles were very much reversed, but even still, missing one’s mother (for lack of a better word) is hard . . . plain and simple. Sometimes I wonder, what is it exactly that I miss? Of course, I miss talking to her. I miss how she drove me crazy. I miss her baking. I miss hearing about her newest needlepoint. I miss when she...

Keep Reading

I Carried You for Just 17 Weeks but I’ll Hold You in My Heart Forever

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Ultrasound image of baby in second trimester

September 11 will be a date that is forever etched in my heart, not only because of its historical significance but because it’s the day I saw your lifeless little body on the ultrasound screen. I couldn’t hold back the sobs. My chest suddenly felt heavier than a ton of bricks. I’ve been here before. I’ve had losses, but none this late. I didn’t feel their movements or hear so many strong heartbeats at my checkups. Your siblings felt you move and squealed with utter excitement. I want to wake from this nightmare, but it seems it’s my new reality....

Keep Reading

To the Woman Longing to Become a Mother

In: Faith, Grief, Motherhood
Woman looking at pregnancy test with hand on her head and sad expression

To the woman who is struggling with infertility. To the woman who is staring at another pregnancy test with your flashlight or holding it up in the light, praying so hard that there will be even the faintest line. To the woman whose period showed up right on time. To the woman who is just ready to quit. I don’t know the details of your story. I don’t know what doctors have told you. I don’t know how long you have been trying. I don’t know how many tears you have shed. I don’t know if you have lost a...

Keep Reading

I Was There to Walk My Mother to Heaven

In: Faith, Grief, Loss
Hand holding older woman's hand

I prayed to see my momma die. Please don’t click away yet or judge me harshly after five seconds. I prayed to see, to experience, to be in the room, to be a part of every last millisecond of my momma’s final days, final hours, and final moments here on Earth. You see, as a wife of a military man, I have always lived away from my family. I have missed many birthdays, celebrations, dinners, and important things. But my heart couldn’t miss this important moment. I live 12 hours away from the room in the house where my momma...

Keep Reading

To the Loss Mom Whose Tears Keep Her Company Tonight

In: Grief, Loss, Motherhood
Sad woman sitting up in bed with head in hands

Three pregnancies in one year. Three first trimesters. Three moments of celebration . . . until they turned to moments of sorrow. I’m sure every woman who experiences pregnancy loss has the thought, “I never thought this would happen to me.” I truly never thought this would happen to me. I have two healthy boys—conceived easily, uncomplicated pregnancies, by-the-book deliveries. We even thought we were done having kids . . . until the pregnancy test was positive. That’s when my heart opened up to more children, and I realized I ached to carry more life. Raise more littles. Nurse more babies....

Keep Reading

Cowgirls Don’t Cry Unless the Horse They Loved Is Gone

In: Grief, Kids, Loss
Little girls Toy Story Jessie costume, color photo

The knee of my pants is wet and dirty. My yellow ring lays by the sink—it’s been my favorite ring for months. I bought it to match Bigfoot’s halter and the sunflowers by his pasture. Bigfoot is my daughter’s pony, and I loved him the most. The afternoon is so sunny. His hooves make the same calming rhythm I’ve come to love as I walk him out back. A strong wind blows through the barn. A stall labeled “Bigfoot,” adorned with a sunflower, hangs open and I feel sick. I kneel down by his side as he munches the grass....

Keep Reading

Supporting the Grievers in the Aftermath of Suicide

In: Grief, Living, Loss
Two people walking down tunnel with arms around each other

She was a devoted mother of two boys with her husband of 26 years.  With him, she owned a metallurgy company, ran a household, and in her spare time, produced tons of crafts by hand, most of which she sold. When her younger son was diagnosed with autism, she read everything she could find on the subject, volunteered, advocated for the autism community, and developed programs for autistic children. She spoke at the National Autism Conference and was co-authoring a book to help parents navigate an autism diagnosis. We marveled at her energy and enthusiasm. She was at every family...

Keep Reading

My Dad Remarried after My Mom Died, and as a Daughter It’s Bittersweet

In: Grief, Grown Children, Loss
Older couple walking on beach holding hands

My dad ran off with a woman from California. When you put it like that, it sounds salacious and a faux pax, but the reality is a lot less interesting. My mom died of cancer at the cusp of my adulthood, leaving me and a gaggle of siblings behind. Six months later, my dad met a widow in California, connected with her, fell in love, and decided to move our family to California to be with her. Two years almost to the day after my mother died, my father married my stepmother. (I have photographic evidence of the event, I...

Keep Reading