I Hope You Dance

@LindseyHouchin: "Gonna need some help, y'all."

One year after I posted the above tweet, I can think of no better words to say than thank you. To those of you near and far who have made the past year the best it could have been, thank you for answering my cry. While losing one of the most important people in my life was one of the most difficult things to do, there have been plenty of silver linings. In the year following my Momma's death, I've been reminded of the love I'm surrounded by, even when one of my life's most reliable sources of love has expired.

As I've said time and time again, my Momma loved Lee Ann Womack's "I Hope You Dance" and quoted it more times than I could even estimate. A few weeks ago, it crept into my headphones while I was working out. All it would have taken to wave away the sentimental song was a quick shake-to-shuffle, but I let it linger. Before long, I was the goofy-looking girl grinning ear to ear on the elliptical machine. Take a look at these lyrics:

I hope you never lose your sense of wonder
You get your fill to eat, but always keep that hunger

My "sense of wonder" was enough to cause Momma's heart attack. She couldn't ever quite understand why I was endlessly curious about what else there was, where else I could go, and who else I might meet. I couldn't tell you how many times she asked if I really wanted to go to South Africa, but I also couldn't tell you how many times I'd be greeted with a text message after turning my phone back on after a flight that read, "Who'd you meet this time? Any good stories?" I've made it through another adventure with stories to tell, but I'm already looking forward to new ones. And Momma, these extra kilograms (pounds) I'll come back with prove that I've gotten more than my fill to eat!

May you never take one single breath for granted
God forbid love ever leave you empty handed

If there's anything the sudden death of a loved one teaches you, it's to be present in every moment. Take advantage of every moment, and seek out moments that leave you astounded. Then tell someone about them. Get lost in the wonder of the world, and get caught up in overwhelming feelings for the people you're surrounded by. I've always been lucky to have incredible people - strangers, acquaintances, friends, family - in my life, and they've shown me that when one person is taken from your circle, many others reflect the love that was lost. Empty handed is the last phrase I'd use to describe myself.

I hope you still feel small when you stand beside the ocean
Whenever one door closes, I hope one more opens 

I hope you never fear those mountains in the distance
Never settle for the path of least resistance

There are few places in the world that are blessed with mountains and the ocean and urban city life, and Cape Town knows how lucky it is. On many occasions during my time here at the bottom of Africa, I've overflowed with joy when standing between the ocean and the mountains. Breathtaking views are an everyday occurrence in this majestic city, and they always leave me humming these lyrics. I've never felt more humbled than when standing on the top of Table Mountain and gazing into an endless horizon of ocean. And from the foot of the mountain, what I call "home" here in the City Bowl, reverence best describes my feeling for the mountains. They keep me from settling in too much, from forgetting what else might be out there, and from forgetting to look up and away every now and then.

My Momma did everything (and I mean everything) she could to talk me out of coming to South Africa, not because she didn't support me, but because she wasn't sure she could handle being so far away from her "baby" - the one who'd depended on her so much for so long. In 2012, without my Momma, I wasn't sure this was the right decision. It wasn't the path of least resistance that led me here, but the reward is reassuring. From the end of my adventure, though, I can confidently say that this is just what I needed. And I think she'd agree today.

This quote landed in my inbox on the day my Momma died.
Thanks for the reminder then and now, daily email.

Without the help of friends and family in all corners of the world, and even strangers along the way, I wouldn't have been grinning ear to ear on the elliptical that day. I cried for help, and you answered. Abundantly. To those of you who came to my rescue one year ago, to those of you who helped me find my footing when my world shook, to those of you who crawled into bed with me when it was all I could do, to those of you who encouraged me when I was unsure, to those of you who listened when I talked in circles, to those of you who sent me encouraging messages, to those of you who hugged me tight before I adventured on, to those of you who planted yourselves in my life as my Momma's spirit, and to those of you who were patient with me every step of the way, thank you. You'll never know how much it has meant to me.

Now, let's have a good day, shall we?

A New September (in Memory of My Momma)

I've loathed the month of September for years. So much so, in fact, that the "Over It October" celebration I kicked off with one of my best friends in college has become an annual month-long holiday we look forward to for eleven months of the year.

September hasn't established the best reputation for itself in my lifetime, and last year was no exception in its poor performances. I, along with her many other admirers, said goodbye to one of the most outstanding people I've ever known: my Momma. 

A date that will be marked on my
calendar for many years to come.

When September snuck into my peripheral vision this year, I immediately started dreading it. After all, I'm very far away from home and anyone who even knew my Momma, yet I'll have to watch two significant dates come and go: September 9th and September 20th. 

September 9th is my Momma's birthday.
September 20th marks the commemoration of her death.

Heavy, right? It's really easy for me to chalk September up as a loss for my morale, but in the spirit of the woman behind those two dates, I'm determined to turn September around. Rather than focusing on the dates that bookend her life, I hope to celebrate the many days between them. This year, I'll be making extra effort to celebrate my Momma's outstanding life - beginning to end - from  Monday, September 9th to Friday, September 20th. That's twelve days. Two weeks. One weekend.    

My Momma was the kind of person who radiated sunshine on the cloudiest of days, believed in you when you didn't believe in yourself, and celebrated the smallest tidbits of joy. In her honor, I'm challenging myself to mindfully make decisions that perpetuate her warm spirit as often as possible. 

If you knew my Momma, or even if you didn't, I'd love for you to join me. I'm not asking for extravagant and elaborate; she didn't have much taste for such things anyway. She was a fan of the everyday, of the simple, and of the thoughtful. 

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From September 9th to September 20th, you can help me make sure her legacy lives on long after she did. It can be as simple as choosing to be patient, sharing your favorite memory of my Momma, deciding to listen rather than talk, catching up with an old friend, planting flowers for someone else to enjoy for years to come, saying hello to a stranger, sending a post card, posting an encouraging Tweet or Facebook status update, leaving a small note, sharing your cupcake or umbrella or optimism, letting your kids stay up 15 minutes later than usual, doing your roommate's least favorite chore, or offering someone a ride.

Looking for inspiration? A lovely lady took on a similar challenge for a whole year, and she's got this project to show for it. And if you're really wanting to go the extra mile, I'd love for you to share some of the ways you're remembering my Momma in a comment below!

Together, we might manage to turn September around.