Tag Archives: grief

Happily ever after and once upon a time

On a flight from Minneapolis to Orlando, the onboard movie kept cutting in and out, much to the frustration of all who were trying to watch it. After many different stops and starts, all viewers were able to finally watch a good chunk of the movie until the pilot announced that it was time for our final descent, thus we would not be able to finish the movie. To hopefully soothe some ruffled feathers, he joyfully announced, “I am sorry ladies and gentlemen that we will be unable to show today’s movie, Dear John, to the end. Let’s just say the boy gets the girl, and they all live happily ever after.” Since I was only half-heartedly watching (or attempting to watch in between praying for my life and squeezing the blood out of my husband’s hand because this was a flight back before Freedom Day), I didn’t care much about the ending, concentrating much more on what survival skills I might need to employ should anything go wrong.

All that energy spent on worrying about nothing. I had already lived through my worst nightmare, and at that point was still daily living with its aftershocks of medications and therapy visits. Sometimes, I look back and wonder why I wasted so much of my energy on all that worrying, often missing the joy of some of the best blessings I have ever received. The greatest of those has been the friends who have come along on our journey and who have loved our family in incredible ways.

One of those dear friends found us through Caring Bridge. She was a two-time survivor of thyroid cancer, a prolific supporter of those battling other illnesses and injuries, a prayer warrior extraordinaire, an avid outdoorswoman, and champion to returning soldiers and their families. Just writing this, I am amazed at all she could accomplish in a day. She befriended our family while Sawyer was still a patient at St. Mary’s hospital in Rochester, a tireless friend and encourager who would daily post our prayer requests on her webpage. Having never met in person, she helped orchestrate for our family to be guests at a Minnesota Twins game. We asked her to join us, because she we really wanted to meet her.

From our first moment together, our kids were smitten with the dynamo, they quickly named their “Auntie Stacy”. Over the years, we had other times we would get together, where she would prove that “auntie” was the perfect title. Very few know this, but it was she who gave us the inspiration for the Reed-A Cheetah program, buying the very first Reed-A Cheetah at the Mall of America’s Build-A-Bear workshop. She encouraged our kiddos’ interests, and even went so far as to ask them to be official photographers of one of the military hunts she helped organize for returning soldiers. Imagine the pride they had at being a part of the official team helping military families.

Shortly, before graduation, I received a message from her saying that she would like to return the favor, by taking pictures at Sawyer’s graduation party. We were ecstatic for such a gift, because we knew our evening would be hustle and bustle. She was so proud of the young man, who called her auntie and for whom she had relentlessly prayed.

Sadly, she wasn’t able to join our party, in the way we had hoped. A couple weeks before our Boy Wonder’s graduation, Auntie Stacy collapsed at work. Although, she was rushed to the hospital, the woman who to all of us was larger than life passed away six days before his big day. Her funeral service was held the day of his commencement, just three hours prior. Due to the distance between our homes, we were unable to attend.

Our hearts were broken. How could this happen? I shared our sadness on Facebook, and another dear friend, who wanted to honor Stacy’s life, stepped up at the last minute to fulfill her wish to photograph our evening. Although her presence was not like the ending of that in-flight movie, tucked quietly into the decorations of his party was one of the photographs our kids took of her on “official” duty. It wasn’t the “happily ever after” moment we would have all wished for. Yet, a love like hers never completely dies, but rather lingers forever, because once upon a time, my children were loved by Auntie Stacy.

Just one of the puppies Auntie Stacy arranged to be given to returning soldiers. She was a dynamo in life and will be missed!

*Special note: The Reed-A-Cheetah program is our family’s way of giving back to the hospital where Reed died. The Reed Stevens Legacy program is available at the Avera McKennan hospital in Sioux Falls, SD. A stuffed cheetah is given to the surviving siblings of any child who passes away at that medical facility. The cheetah (which was Reed’s favorite animal) is extremely rare in nature and so, too are the relationships that siblings share with each other. The cheetahs symbolize three children in Minnesota who understand what it is like to lose a special sibling.

Happy Memories Day, Reed!

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Dear Reed – Today is your 20^th birthday. I don’t know how or when it happened, but this is the first birthday since your passing that I didn’t feel like digging a hole and just lying there until the day was over. I really don’t believe that time heals anything, but I do believe that somehow my heart finally came to terms with what my head knew to be true. Please don’t misunderstand my words, I will miss you with every fiber of my being until the day that I get to see Jesus face-to-face and I get to hug you again. Can I change that? I will see Jesus face-to-face, and I know you will sneak up behind me with one of those great come-from-around-behind-hugs that you were so awesome at giving! Then after that, I am guessing you will introduce me to our babies, and we will have lots to catch up on.

Down here, things have been all sorts of extremes. We have had amazing times. But then, we have had some incredibly painful moments in recent days, but let me tell you something about your family, my sweet boy. We are tough. There are those who have meant to hurt us, but we have learned to forgive. And more importantly, we have learned to get back up. I think our family’s verses should be 2 Corinthians 4: 8-9

We often suffer, but we are never crushed. Even when we don’t know what to do, we never give up. In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again. (CEV)

So let me share a little bit about some of the toughness that will always be a part of our lives. We really know how to get up again because we know the end of the story (Love conquers evil), because it honors Jesus, and because we won’t let sadness rule our lives.

You know how Daddy always wanted us to march in his honor on Veteran’s Day. I know he was being silly, but I learned something very valuable this year about men like him, men of honor and integrity. What I have learned is that there is nothing worse than losing a man’s respect. It was a painful lesson for me to endure, but on the other side of it, I know there is nothing that he wouldn’t do for any of you children. Amazingly, God brought a complete stranger into our lives for a brief moment to acknowledge the honor that only another man could restore. Honor and respect are things our family will always value, and I remember how much they meant to you as well.

While you watch over three little Stevens there, we will watch over the three (although two are bigger than me) Stevens here.

You would be so proud of Sawyer and all that he has accomplished this year. I think you would have laughed at how much time he spent working hard on his studies and how much the tables have turned from the days he used to tell you to get your nose out of a book. You would have told him, “Well done, faithful sidekick” when he chose to invite all the first responders to his graduation party. Of all the things we have done since the day you died, that was one of the most healing things ever. It just felt perfectly right, and my heart (because of his actions) felt truly content. If we can’t really be superheroes, that night made me feel like we secretly had capes underneath our party clothes.

Erin joined the league of superheroes that we adore (organ and tissue donors). She chose to have a donor ligament instead of using her own in her recent knee surgery. We were so hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, because she would have to miss a whole year of basketball. Sadly, the worst scenario played out, and the donor tissue was needed. We were devastated and we thought she would be too. But this is where toughness and HONOR really sparkle like crazy. In the recovery room, we asked her if the doctor and nurses had told her which surgery was necessary. She told us she knew because she saw the clock and knew that it was five hours later. We thought she would cry and worry about basketball and ALL that she was missing. But your amazing sister did none of that. Nope! The very first thing she asked was if she could write her donor’s family and thank them for the gift of a lifetime and for giving her a second chance. I had to look away, Reed, because in that moment, my eyes poured out what my melted heart felt. In a year from now, on your birthday, she will be representing the great state of Minnesota as an athlete in the Transplant Games, and you better believe that she will be talking about you (her superhero) and her donor to every person she meets!

And Clo! Oh, Reed you would absolutely love her! She is just as much a fan of the underdog as you were. She loves superheroes as much as you and Sawyer ever have, and she has a flair for sarcasm, corny jokes, and just plain wit. This year one of her parent-teacher conferences, the teacher confessed she didn’t really have anything to say academically because she was doing great, but instead the teacher focused on how she would help others in the class. Again, melt my heart for a girl who has a heart just like yours. I wish that the two of you had more time to share together, because she misses you, and there are times that she grieves that she doesn’t really remember you. But I promise, we regularly tell her stories so that she will know the brother we all love and miss.

You share a birthday with a couple of my friends, just like you did in the picture below with an elderly neighbor. One of those friends wanted to check in and see if I was doing okay today. I told her the day was going well, and we were going to keep it that way if nothing else than by sheer determination and a WHOLE LOT OF GRACE. Then several other friends started referring to today as a day filled with happy memories. I really like that. So if it is okay with you, in heaven it will be “Happy Birthday” and here at home and in our hearts, it will be “Happy Memories Day”! Every day has a little bit of that, but today, your birthday, we remembered a lot of stories and shared a lot of memories of the boy who was the smiling sunshine of our world. No matter what we call it, today will always be very special to all of us.

Missing you always, but thankful for the grace that gives me the confidence to know I will see you again. Until that day, I will love you always.

Love, Momma

I think this smile from your first birthday says it all!

Roses from Heaven

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In the days while we were waiting for the phone call that could change EVERYTHING for our family – again, I was preparing for an amazing speaking opportunity. My local newspaper hosts an annual event, Exceptional Women of Southwest Minnesota, and I was asked to be the speaker for the evening. After working with the organizers, I chose taking care of you as the theme of my address. I shared I was downright giddy at being asked because I was very familiar with last year’s speaker. I follow her work, and it felt like big shoes to follow. To say the least, it was a huge honor for me. I will confess I wasn’t quite ready for the marketing campaign for the event as every other day the paper had my picture and just about every business I went into had a poster with me staring back at myself.

Some days I just felt unworthy of all that attention because the beautiful polished photograph of me looked back at the no make-up, hair pulled into a ponytail, clad in workout clothes version of me. Many friends and neighbors gave me such positive encouragement, even despite my efforts to deflect all the attention. I was consistently asked one question before, during, and after the event, “Do you get nervous when speaking?”.

The honest and simple answer is I don’t, but for this event, I poured my heart into my thoughts and preparations because of the significance of the evening. Our small town paper, the Marshall Independent, not only hosts this event, but they also share with their subscribers and readers excerpts of the nomination letters as well as thoughts from the nominees themselves. I was truly humbled to read what these amazing, incredible, and well . . . EXCEPTIONAL women were doing in our community. Their stories made me smile, brought me to tears, and generally inspired me to learn of all the ways they were giving back. Every nominee’s story touched my heart profoundly. For these women, I prayed in the days leading up to the event. I prayed God would give me the right blend of wisdom and stories to encourage them to invest in themselves because without them there would be huge holes left in our communities.

As usual with every time I go off (or stay home) and speak, following the event there was a big line of those who want to hug me. I savor every word of their story, relish in every smidgeon of encouragement, and covet every prayer. Telling our family’s story in an honest, raw, and, at times, humorous way, is draining, but if sharing helps one person do anything better, I will do it every chance I get.

After all the hugging and story swapping, I went home to take a day or two to reflect on all that goodness and let’s be honest, worry that the phone call I was waiting on might not be the one I wanted to hear. When the call finally came in, I hit my knees in praise and adoration, before I cried for all those who wouldn’t receive good news. Then I got up to tackle some cleaning in preparation for our upcoming graduation party. Only the girls and I were home when the doorbell rang.

As soon as I opened the door, I had a huge smile on my face (which for the record was not made-up and my hair in a messy bun). On the front step was one of the nominees, holding a vase with some roses. I quickly invited her in and was completely blown away with the message she came to share.

This sweet new friend is a business owner and when she woke up to start her day at her family owned operation, she noticed something amiss in the parking lot. She rises really early to make sure that all her customers’ needs are met. When she ducked out in the darkness to check on the odd sight, he husband accompanied her for safety. They discovered a broken vase of roses that had been left on the pavement. Quickly cleaning up the glass and retrieving the roses, they returned to the busyness of their morning routine. Finding a replacement vase, she placed the flowers by her kitchen sink and got busy doing the dishes. As she finished that chore and went on to tackle others, her eyes kept being drawn to various words of inspiration. Two in particular kept drawing her in. Those words were “peace” and “family”. Eventually, she felt that God was bringing her close to those words. After a few hours of this repeated drawing near, she knew that God’s message was persistent. She announced to her husband, “those flowers aren’t for me, but I know who they are for”.

I can only imagine his perplexed look as she shared that she thought they were from a red-headed boy. Now here she stood on my doorstep, long-distance roses in hand. Tears quickly pooled in my eyes as she lovingly showed me how the one rose had to have fallen from quite a height in order to have the small indentation that it had on its side.

She couldn’t stay long, but her thoughtfulness and caring lingered for days. I did need that message more than she could have ever known. The sweet messenger was simply God’s instrument of love that day, and for that I love her. I don’t really know how the flowers ended up in the parking lot, but for me they will always be the roses from heaven.

The waiting room

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It was a long and agonizing wait when the Boy Wonder was in the MRI machine to determine the correct diagnosis for the lump on his leg. I refused to sit and search on my phone for all the statistics and logistics regarding sarcoma, because I knew that would do nothing but stir up my heart even more than it already was. Having had an acquaintance battle sarcoma, I already knew some details – none of which were good.

I did what any person trying to avoid her feelings would do when sitting in the lobby area of a hospital or clinic. I picked up a magazine and tried to redirect my horse galloping heart to slow down, peruse the pages of a battered and worn Better Homes and Gardens, and attempt to calm down. For a little while it worked. I did text a friend who had asked me to apprise her of the situation, and I prayed for a while. She joined me in those prayers, her heart echoing my own fear.

After a short while, another friend and mom of a schoolmate of my children came in with one of her sons. We chatted about all sorts of things, before she asked why I was there. When I said my son was in the diagnostic machine, she grew a little concerned. All I could comfortably share was “it may not be good”.

She smartly changed the subject to prom and graduation, inquiring how planning was going on the latter. We talked for quite some time about my worries (and hers for next year) and getting everything just so, noting that not one of our guests would ever know the difference. I shared what another friend had said to me, and she quickly breathed a sigh of relief.

“I have been sitting here thinking exactly that.”

The sentiment was one of finally getting to have a graduation party. In all the ways that counted, the day was all about Sawyer, but in some inner recesses of my heart the day would also be for Reed and all the ways he and his classmate were not celebrated two years ago. This sadness going all the way back to the e-mail we received from the school stating that our “student” would have been graduating. The caged agony had been brewing. Come on! Are you serious? He was in a class just shy of 40 and no one had the decency to use his actual name? Did you forget that he died as a part of the normal school routine, riding the bus home? I would be lying if I said that shocking correspondence doesn’t still hurt, because it deeply and profoundly does.

The friend sitting there knew nothing of that nor the agonizing months we waited to hear if our son would be remembered at all, but what she did know was how much we love our children and how incredibly difficult it had to have been to not have a party for Reed. Her words of acknowledgement of that hurt soaked deep into the pores of my soul like the soothing balm of Gilead. Her words were healing, as if she had scooped me into her arms and we rocked together on a peaceful front porch, wiping away locked up tears, and sipping some iced tea for good measure. Her words so simple, so sweet, began to cover the ingrained scars on my heart for a loss of something I didn’t realize I was grieving until I was confronted with it for my second son.

In this world, we have the opportunity to do the right thing. I am learning as life goes on not as many people as I would have hoped choose to do that. For those who love out loud, please know your gifts of encouraging words, calls, texts, e-mails, prayers, unending love and support matter. Without those two women speaking truth into my heart, I don’t know how well I would have made it through the ensuing days – waiting for the phone call, preparing for graduation day, and surviving the party we had while thinking about the one we didn’t.

Maya Angelou once said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Whether it is the ravishing scars of grief or a possible cancer diagnosis or anything that brings hurt to your heart, keeping such things locked inside is an anguish that I wish on no one, but one I intimately know.

For one small moment, in a sterile clinic waiting room, battered magazine in my lap, I was incredibly thankful for a friend who let me open the cage for the bird, hiding in there, to fly away. The gentle flutter of the wings of sadness passing by the crevices of my heart created a feeling of being beautifully lighter once released.

photo by Laauraa found at http://sgsushant.blogspot.com

photo by Laura Kok found at http://sgsushant.blogspot.com

I couldn’t help but imagine that is how God’s heart feels when he is waiting in the throne room for me to bring the hurt to him. Sadly, more often than not, I embrace the hurt before I carry it to him. I think he often uses friends, family, and yes, even strangers to speak the words I need to hear to relinquish the hurt for which he is so much larger and his grace is more than sufficient to cover. He is waiting with his bottle to collect my tears, a lap big enough for my hurts, and a promise to love me through it all. A perfect reminder: I will always be his child, the one worth waiting for.

Here’s to you . . .

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Yesterday, I came home to a surprise sitting on my kitchen island, which will always be called “the buffet” because that is what it was for 15 years at my house and about hundred years before that until last fall we converted it into its new state. There was a bouquet of roses along with a card. The Boy Wonder was home most of the morning so I thought they were from him. Tears immediately pooled in my eyes when I realized that the gift was from a classmate of Reed’s, whom I have the honor of calling one of my other sons. His own mother is a woman I adore and every moment I share with him is one that I thank God for her and her willingness to share. Throughout the day, my thoughts wondered to all the types of moms in the world.

Today I am thankful for each of thoses mom. So here’s to you . . .

Moms of newborns who are just starting your journey. Welcome to the best and hardest job of your life. There will be moments of doubt and fear, but every time you look in your child’s eyes you will know whatever heartache you face will be worth it.
Mommas of little ones running around. The faster you pick up toys, wipe dirty faces and hands, and clean up spills, the faster it seems that they appear. I promise you, exhausted ladies, that someday they will pick up after themselves, and you will wonder how are you going to spend your time.
Moms of school agers who are starting to form the beginnings of their wings. Teach them to fly, sweet ladies – even when sometimes they pretend they don’t know what nest is home.
Mothers of teenagers and beyond – These are the bittersweet moments when you realize just how sturdy your knees really are. These are the times when you watch your children soar . . . until they don’t, and then you help them pick up the pieces and soar again.
Moms of babies who died in utero. There is no pain like the pain of never meeting your child, counting fingers and toes, or smelling your baby’s hair. I am sorry that often the world doesn’t recognize your motherhood. Please know I do and always will.
Mamas whose arms ache for a child carried in their womb, but that day has never come. I wish I could magically make that happen for you. Every friend’s child is a reminder of the hole in your heart. I am so sorry for the pain you face.
Mothers who have to lie about how many children they have because it is just too darn complicated to explain that one of your children has passed away. I know your pain. I have walked in your shoes. We close on houses and business deals, but never our children. A mother is not defined by the children you count, but by the ones we hold in our hearts.
Moms of children who are ill from disease or addiction or who are dying. Thank you for your steadfast love and encouragement. Your prayers and presence are guiding lights in so many lives.
Mommas who only recently learned that their child has a terminal diagnosis. You have every right to ache with every fiber of your being. Please know that there are legions of moms and friends who stand with you to lift you up for the days ahead.
Mamas whose own mothers had their own struggles and left holes in your childhood. Thank you for your forgiveness and for persevering and for being a voice of change for the next generation in your dedication to mothering your own children.
Mothers who work two and three jobs just to keep ahead of the bills and yet exhausted, still find time to be the best mom in the world to your kiddos. You inspire me.

May God cradle all of you mothers in safely under his wings.

Here’s to you . . .

Grandmothers who due to life circumstances stand in the gap to mother their grandchildren. You are an incredible gift to mother not one but two generations. Thank you for giving so selflessly from your heart and years of experience.
Mothers who have answered freedom’s call. You stand on every shore, soar high in the sky, and walk your boots on every continent on earth. Thank you for the sacrifices you make so we can sleep in peace. To your husbands and families who do all the “mothering” in your absence – May God grant them peace every day you are away.
Mommas who are holding down the fort while your soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine is far away on deployment. You are mother, father, counselor, comforter all while trying to hold yourself to together. Yours is a sacrifice often forgotten. Your family endures, every second your loved one is gone is a deep longing ache of terror and worry, mixed with pride. In my book, you are saints.
Birth mothers who have given the name of mom to another woman with the gift of life. Life – precious life. Thank you for courageously giving a priceless gift. To the moms who have adopted or fostered the children loved beyond measure, thank you for being an earthly example of our charge to love the widows and the orphans.
Moms who are absent from their children due to circumstances they could have never imagined. Whatever your story, I can only believe that you never wanted to spend a day away from your children. Please know that wherever you are, I know you carry your sweet babies in your heart if not in your arms.
Divorced moms who “share” their children with another “mom”. Thank you for being full of grace and love and mercy to show your children that love comes in many diverse ways. Your gift is one that will free your children some of the pain of their life’s story.
Teacher, counselor, social work or nursing mommas who love children in the hours that they are in their presence. What you do is hard work to love on a child in their darkest moments when often they are often struggling to learn or dealing with life’s curveballs. Thank you for giving from your heart and often generously from your wallets as well.
Mamas of influence. No, I am not talking about the amount of dollars in a bank account, but rather the amount room in a mother’s heart to love all the children and sometimes adults within her corner of the world. You pour out love in ways that may not always be recognized, but what you do matters. Someday, you might be surprised to find flowers on your kitchen counter too!
The spiritual mommas who love on those in their churches, houses of faith, neighborhoods, and communities. You are a rare gem. You give of your time to love others because you can, because it is the right thing to do, and because you have a gift to share. Yours is a commitment far beyond a blood relation but you love anyways in many amazing ways. Thank you for being the stitches that hold together the fabric of our society.

To the moms, mothers, mommas, mamas, mas, grandmas, nannies, grammies, grandmothers, and mom figures –

You are rocking this thing called motherhood!

I know there are long days. There are days that you make a thousand selfless sacrifices in a hour, let alone in a day. You worth could never be paid. Your love could never be measured. Your value could never be assessed. Without you, this world would be a really dark place.

You are important. What you do matters. Simply put, you are AMAZING!

And I am proud to stand among you!

Happy Mother’s Day for all the ways you love the world and its people.

To those who have lost their moms, my heart aches with you. I wish I could hug you all and whisper “a mother’s love never fades away”. Each of you are an echo of your momma’s dreams and hopes for the world.

For good measure, this is my own sweet momma as a little girl.

Sackcloth and ashes

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Yesterday, our family was dealt another blow in what seems to be a never ending litany of challenges. A little over a week ago, Sister had a one year check in (on a partial tear of her left ACL) with the orthopedic surgeon. I was unable to go, but I was not expecting the phone call I got afterward from my husband. Our doctor did not like the pain she described, ordered a second MRI, and asked us to return in a week.

For the entire week, I prayed desperately not to let fear rule my days. We only told a handful of people, until the night before our visit when I rallied the prayer warriors to flood heaven’s gates. Their response was immediate, bringing tears to my eyes. If you get nothing else from today’s blog, know that we are loved and know that we know it.

At first, our doctor was very happy to see her ACL was unchanged. It had not gotten worse which could have happened. All was looking really good until he spotted a small tear in her medial meniscus. His suggestion was to repair the tear which will require a six month over all recovery and rehabilitation process. What pushed me over the edge were his thoughts that while he was in there he should just make sure the ACL is not really in need of repair or reconstruction. If it is, then an additional surgery will take place and her recovery will be twelve months.

I cried. The doctor cried because he knows our story. My tough girl held back her tears. And my husband asked a bunch of questions.

For as long as I can remember, this sweet girl has loved the game of basketball, attending her first clinic at the age of three – just to be with her boys. Now once again, she will have to sit out while her peers are getting to play. To add insult to injury (no pun was intended there), she loved swimming, but due to a severe allergy had to give up swimming competitively. Because of the injuries she received to her shoulder in the bus crash, she was forced to choose between softball and basketball.

My heart was broken for my girl, who didn’t do anything to cause any of this. She has the heart of a competitor and a love for the game. My spirit was crushed because I know the uphill battle she is climbing, chasing a what now feels like an elusive dream to play at the college level. My soul was searching, pouring my heart out to God asking “Why can’t you just fix this?” For the record, this will push us over thirty surgical procedures in seven years for our children. I am thankful that my children are still here, but in my book that is about twenty-nine too many surgeries.

Outside of brokenhearted and crushed, I was simply mad. A WHOLE LOT OF MAD! Mad because this keeps happening to us. Mad because instead of support last year, what she had to deal with was a lot of rumors about her faking her injury to get attention. Mad because those rumors persist today. Mad because my children have to continue settle, because disappointment is a part of their vernacular. Mad because our big family vacation will have to deal with a child who cannot bear weight on her leg or our dates will have to be changed altogether. Mad because I now have to cancel all of the camps and clinics she had signed up to attend. I am sick and tired of dealing with plans B, C, and D. I just want to get up in the morning and not have to deal with changing every aspect of our lives because once again, we are in hospital and rehabilitation mode, where making plans and moving forward are really just plain tough.

Oh, we can do tough. If it isn’t in our DNA, it certainly is in our collective experience. Some days, I just want to do easy. I want to get up and not have the hurts of our story be so blasted time-consuming. I want to get up and fly by the seat of our pants, not worrying about medications, crutches, braces, and appointments. Yesterday was the first time I wanted to just simply quit. I wanted to jump on a plane, land anywhere there was a beach, and add my salty tears to the briny water.

When the doctor was crying, I said I remember when Sawyer was two and diagnosed with severe asthma after we found him blue and nonresponsive in the backyard. I thought that was the worst possible news we could ever receive. I COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG! All the days I played momma as a little girl never once did my imagination think I would encounter all of this.

But I won’t quit. My children deserve better than a momma who throws in the towel. I will resolutely stand on the sidelines cheering them on and working to help her get better. I am not promising what might happen to the next person who tells me that my children are faking it, but I will remember that pledge when I hear someone else talk about anyone with a hidden hurt. Trust me, there are millions of people who look absolutely fine on the outside, but who are dealing with invisible pain or loss every day. EVERY. DAY. I will figure out how to balance the needs of a surgery of one child mixed in with the graduation of another one. I will cry because that’s what mommas sometimes do when we know that there isn’t a single thing we can do to make any of this better outside of praying. I will pray A LOT, even when my prayers are ones of anguish, despair, rage, and bitterness, because even though I don’t FEEL it right now, I KNOW God has a plan for all of this. I will beseech everyone to pray that the lesser surgery is all that is needed, and I will cling to that hope. I will do my best not to let tomorrow’s challenge rob today’s joy, but that will take every last ounce of energy I have to do it.

But first, I will have to change out of my sackcloth and wipe away the ashes. Along the way, a big glass of sweet tea with extra ice probably won’t hurt either. Taking a little liberty here, it would help to remember that perhaps I was chosen to be their momma for such a time as this. (The book of Esther, chapter 4)

My little baller in one of her first basketball t-shirts (which of course, she had to wait until her brothers outgrew it).

To my Sunshine . . .

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Dear Reed:

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreading this day. My friends all know it, and they do their very best to love me through it. There are extra hugs, more texts just checking in, and offers to “sock ‘em in the nose” for the people who seem to get great joy inflicting wounds when we are down. The first two warm my heart, and the last one just makes me laugh. As January draws to an end, I don’t want to flip the calendar to February. Just the name of the month is too painful to bear.

For the last few weeks, I have struggled to eat and sleep, and have felt I was one tear drop away from releasing Niagara Falls. If I let one drop fall, a gusher was going to follow and I might not be able to stop. I knew this day – the day that changed my life forever – would come again.

I decided to avoid thinking about it, other than planning a date with a Kleenex box. I knew your siblings would be going to school; so aside from ~~being~~ trying to be strong and available for them, my plan was to do nothing but be kind and gentle to myself. Daddy chose to spend the day with me, taking a day off from work. You know how difficult that is for him to do; so, the tears leaked a little at his decision.

All that tossing and turning through sleepless nights resulted in a big neck ache. As I walked past the kitchen table on my way to the hot tub, I saw a beautiful jar I recently won. Emblazoned on the side are the words, “There is hope”. Today I clung to that promise. As I let my thoughts soak away in the steamy waters, my sadness was carried to God’s ears on the melodic notes of birdsong. More tears leaked out as I realized your garden was full of beautiful little birds singing the songs of hope to me. God knew what I needed to help me smile through my watery eyes.

Throughout the day, the tears came off and on like when the lady at doctor’s office realized who I was and said, “Oh this has to be a hard day for you.” Ma’am, you have no idea. More tears after the doctor saw my shirt (the last Reed’s Run one that both Erin and I chose to wear today) and in the middle of his explanation of my lab tests exclaimed, “you are truly a woman who loves her God. Romans 8:38 – 39 on your shirt. It just caught my eye.” and then just shook his head. I try, Doctor. I really, really try. I just don’t know any other way. The leaking just kept on coming when an unexpected text came asking how someone could support Sister. Even more came after the love ambush this afternoon.

Grief is a messy thing, Reed. Some of those tears were of sadness. Others were of joy and relief for the amazing grace-filled love that comes from the best friends I could have never imagined, let alone ever dreamed of asking for. Without their love and the grace of our Lord, I don’t know that we would have ever made it this far. We are far from through it. How could we ever get over you?

You were our sunshine. Even though you are not here, your spirit’s light still shines brightly. You are still here – just like the lyrics of the song shared with us today. We carry you in our hearts, our memories, and our stories. We share those stories over and over because we want every memory to still be alive in Sally’s mind. She was so tiny when you had to go home with Jesus, but there are so many times that I stare at her because she sounds just like you. She loves learning and reading and math and superheroes and Legos and animals – all the things you loved. You would bubble over with excitement as she is reading some of your old books, whipping right through them like you did. She has the same reactions when she watches the movies too! But the thing that most reminds me of you happened at her parent-teacher conference; her teacher shared how incredibly kind she is. More tears leaked out on that February day.

Then there are Sister and Sawyer. You would be so proud. Your light, that today basks in the glory of heaven, shines so brightly in them. They hold true to the values that our family holds dear, even when it isn’t cool or popular. They root for the underdog, and they give back in the best of ways. They hit rough patches, but time and time again, they have proven they are resilient. Remember that time when Erin got hurt on her bike, and you picked her up and carried her down the block back home to my loving arms. There are so many times they both wish they could have done the same for you on that awful February day. If it is true that the angels pray on our behalf (and I believe it is), always, always ask them to hold your brother and sisters close to their hearts. Where you live, there are no tears, no sadness, but trust me, Reedy, there is plenty of that to go around back here on earth. Sadness doesn’t define our days, but there are the moments when it engulfs us.

Maybe, just maybe, tears bring us closer to God, who reminds us this is not our forever home. Homesickness has a completely different meaning when we look through that lens. Another thing about those tears is they clear our myopic vision to truly see the blessings and as much as there is sadness, there blessings to infinity and beyond we encounter every day. Tears have also removed scales from our eyes so that we more easily see when someone else is hurting, and perhaps that is what God had planned for all of us for now. What if blessings come through raindrops and healing comes through tears are more than just song lyrics; they are truly the reminders of hope that keeps our eyes looking to heaven and our ears listening to the birds, who are whispering God’s love in every note.

Through my tears, I see the blessings – including the time God shared you with us. Always wishing it was for a lot longer and always loving you until I can hug you again!

Momma

You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

you’ll never know, Reed, how much I love you

Choosing one word . . .

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As a science teacher, more than once I have performed demonstrations for my students explaining how when given the chance air will rush into a vacuum. Recently, I have come to terms that a similar phenomenon occurred in our home to attempt to fill the deep, aching, empty hole left in our hearts by our darkest day. The hurt so profound, so full of void, we allowed many different things (often material but sometimes time wasters) to rush into that dark emptiness. Much like the wonder of gravitational attraction between objects, our hearts’ songs were so mournful they had a pull on the people around us who also tried to help us fill the hole with gifts of love. The resultant aftermath was a lot of clutter – physical and emotional – which simply created chaos in our home and in my heart.

Almost three years ago now, we began a long and perilous journey to reclaim our space which meant remodeling projects throughout our house, but more importantly having real conversations regarding what we really wanted out of life. The last of those projects is nearing completion. As we finished each room, gut-wrenching conversations were required to determine what would stay and what we could allow someone else to love.

As that process unfolded, we realized things and thought-numbing activities consumed our life, in more ways than one, and even worse, we were missing out on living. There I said it. In an effort to fill the hole, we allowed unsubstantial things to fill the broken fissures of our hearts. The one thing we didn’t want to do after Reed passed – which was stop living because there is no way no how he would have ever wanted us to do that – was slowly happening, and we needed to take drastic measures to stop it.

When your heart hurts, it is so easy to find something – anything that will stop the hurt even for a fleeting moment. Leaning into our grief by letting go of artificial hole-fillers, we were deliberate in our pursuit for joy. JOY – our one word theme for last year! In tiny incremental steps, we began our search. We soon found all sorts of sources, in the most unexpected of places – the impromptu gathering with friends, the snowstorm safe at home, the taste of wonderful new recipe, the prayers of friends, the laughter of our kids, a shooting star while sitting in the hot tub, the nuzzle by wet nose of an old dog, meeting for lunch and realizing you are still at the restaurant at supper. Joy was hidden right under noses, but previously we were too encumbered to notice it. As a natural off-shoot, we uncovered joy hidden in verses as God continued to minister to us, almost like wiping our eyes with divine spittle. Our broken hearts began to feel lighter.

As the year unfolded, we began to pray about our next theme word; although I don’t believe the search for joy will leave us for quite some time. We wanted a new word which would continue to bring us closer to God and enable Him to still mend our broken places.

Music stirs my soul and next to creation, it is the place where I often get lost in God’s beauty. Last week was a rough one, filled with doctor and therapy appointments. On my drive back from dropping the Girl Awesome at school, I heard this song on Christian radio.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YtXwX4Gt1Pc

From the artists’ lips to my soul, it was too much for me. I had to pull over to the side of the road, my vision too clouded by the gigantic tears falling down. The new word had been dancing into my thoughts for weeks. Hearing the lyrics was the confirmation I needed that “content” was exactly the word for us. I simply want to soak in the grace, love, mercy, and beauty that God has provided for me. I never want to fill my days, my thoughts, my heart with anything other than that.

God I run into your arms, unashamed because of your mercy . . . some day that is going to be me. A full out arms open wide dash similar to the time I ran into the arms of my Granddaddy while being chased by a goat which escaped the circus, I plan on hugging Jesus and his Daddy. I want to hug Reed and rock my babies. I am truly overwhelmed by how much He has given my family. Finding joy was a journey, and now, I am choosing to not get caught up in racing thoughts of details, worries, doubts, or fears (behaviors of which if am not a pro, then I am definitely an Olympic medalist) and simply be content with what God has provided.

Content in every avenue of my life will take a big effort. Choosing to be present in whatever path God lays my feet will be the first step. My initial search for Bible verses proved to be fruitful. We are using this verse to guide us as we search to be content in what we eat and wear, we decide to purchase, we choose to spend our time, in how we fill our moments and our days, and most importantly, in how we accept what God provides in plenty and in want. All the while hoping and praying contentment draws us closer to God.

Friends, this world is not your home, so don’t make yourselves cozy in it. Don’t indulge your ego at the expense of your soul. 1 Peter 2:11 (MSG)

Wherever God finds you today, may it be wrapped in the arms of his love! True contentment!

*Special note: Somehow sitting on the side of the highway, praising my heavenly Father, I knew this song had something to do with Africa. Honestly, I don’t know how or why I knew that – other than the children’s voices at the end of the song. I have two special connections to that continent. One is to an orphanage in Uganda (more on that at a future date), and the other is to our first adopted college student, James from Kenya. Although he is back home now with his family (and our adopted grandchildren), he is never far from our hearts. When I got home and saw the video, more tears easily fell as I praised God for our loves a world away.

To laugh again . . .

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The first time I saw Sawyer the night of the bus crash was most the surreal moment of that evening. I already knew that Reed was gone, as did Daniel, but neither thought the other knew, as we were trying to protect the other one and deal with the horrors right in front of us. Wrapped in warm blankets to keep him from going into shock and barely lucid as medications were keeping him in a state of medically induced numbness, all that was exposed when I leaned over to kiss him were his face and ears, every inch wrapped tight. Before my lips reached his forehead, my eyes saw his ears filled with glass and bright yellow bus paint. This was much worse than the broken leg I had been told at the school. When I arrived at the hospital with my pastor and his wife along with two teacher friends, all I wanted to do was see Reed. I didn’t love Sawyer any less, but shattered bones heal. My heart longed to prove the news of our redheaded boy wrong, a case of mistaken identity. The hospital staff would not let me see Reed until I saw Sawyer because there were decisions we needed to make to save his life. When I saw the horrors of the day filling his precious ears, ones that look exactly like his grandfather’s, all the remaining joy from my world was sucked away.

The next morning when the nurses came to give Sawyer his first “bath”, they wanted to wash away the very visual reminders that still lingered. A tray full of glass fell out of his thick hair, and when they turned him over, other than those chubby, signature cheeks, there wasn’t a spot not covered in bruises, cuts, or stitches. For over a day, we were able to keep the news of Reed’s death away from him. Then an incident that I share more in depth in my upcoming book happened, and we knew that we were not going to be able to hold our secret much longer. The rest of the world was going on as we were suspended in some kind of distorted reality. He was in so much pain, and we wanted to insulate him from more.

Meeting with the grief counselor before we talked with him, I remember very distinctly saying that someday our family would laugh again. Our counselor, Mark, wiped away tears as he remarked we were incredibly strong people (I felt anything but strong) and how he was moved by our faith. We had some choices to make about our next steps, along with the words we would use to explain Reed’s absence, and our determination focused on how we would not ever let this define us, we would not allow our house (whenever we could return there) become a place of overwhelming sadness, and we would always let our love of Jesus carry us through. Visual images of Jesus laughing with little children became a real driving force in the days we endured. This could not have been more real than at the conclusion of Reed’s Celebration of Life. As the casket containing his earthly body was wheeled away, we had asked for the Star Wars theme to be played. Tears of sadness turned to tears of laughter as those present recognized the familiar tune, while our three pastors presided over the whole affair with light sabers. We could only imagine that Reed and Jesus laughed.

The first month, very little laughing, especially purposeful belly chuckling, occurred. As much as I wanted to crawl in a hole and lay next to Reed, I knew what that would say to our other children. No matter how badly we hurt, I did not want them to ever feel that they were second best, and there would be nothing worth living for now that our oldest was gone. While convalescing at home, we watched many movies to fill our minutes, the very minutes we were living through one by one. Although there were probably many opportunities to laugh, it didn’t come as naturally as it once did.

I remember very distinctly the first belly chuckle laugh that came bubbling out, despite my wanting it to. Even though we had made those promises to our future at the hospital, I wasn’t ready to live again when I really did laugh. I felt almost guilty doing so, because Reed would never laugh again. Sawyer was hurting so much we were willing to loosen our parental veto to let him watch a television show that I would not normally approve, and even Grandma said nothing about the show’s snarky sass. If you like The Simpson’s, this is not meant as a judgment, it simply wasn’t the type of show I wanted my eleven-year-old watching. He, however, found it amusing in his swirling cloud of pain medications.

I have a really bad habit of zeroing in on things that tickle my funny bone about the same time I am drinking something. Not very lady-like, but more than once, I have snorted sweet tea through my nose because of this unfortunate timing. Somehow this very thing would have produced rolling on the floor giggles from both my boys. This was no exception during the opening for the cartoon which snuck right up on me. As Marge flips through the mail containing a postcard from some exotic place, she reads the penned words while the audience sees the picture on the front featuring a voluptuous bikini-clad brunette with the words, “Wish you were her”. No that is not a typo on my part, nor is the humor all that funny, but at that moment a tea-snorting chuckle came bursting forth despite my best efforts to hold it in.

Until that moment, our nights had been sleepless, filled with agonizing pain-induced screams and night terrors and our days with sadness, grief, being overwhelmed, and bitterness. I did not want to laugh because I wasn’t ready to replace those things with something as ridiculous as base humor.

However, through the prayers of many and the determination to not merely survive, laugh I did! It was a pivotal point of new beginnings, replacing all those negative things with love filled ones. More chuckles and laughs came (as did more tears), until eventually the day came when we laughed so hard we cried. After that came the point where we looked for ways to make other people laugh, something for a while I never fathomed possible. I am incredibly thankful God had other plans as those moments of joy did finally come.

Hoping laughter finds you in your corner of the world today.

On a recent girl’s trip, Cloie with her American Girl doll, Kit, got a little carried away with the window washing equipment. That experience proved to be too much for the poor doll.

Even the workers at Chicago 360 chuckled at our antics. Poor Kit passed out from the height.

Under the sea

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Although the sun is shining bright on the prairie today, the scene outside my picture window is a little more than fantasy of a beautiful day. The weatherman says the temperature outside feels like 30 below due to the windchill. Morning chores done, I sit wrapped in a blanket surrounded by the glow of candles for a hygge-like trip down memory lane. I need this journey because after reading the letter from the mom of the sweet courageous, selfless young lady who passed on the bus in North Dakota, I am clinging to God’s promises of showers of blessings even in the midst of great trial.

There will be showers of blessings. Ezekiel 34:26

Last August, I embarked on the most amazing trip with my son. In reality, I only spent one day with him because he was attending the National Flight Academy. For me, this trip was one of desiring to place my feet deep within the roots of my childhood, hoping to get tangled there for a while.

After spending a few days with my grandmother, I drove from Opelika to Pensacola to simply hang out with my parents for the rest of the week. I don’t know why, but it was the most magical time I have had in a long run. Truth be told, I haven’t had my parents to myself in forty-two years. I am nothing if not patient, but that was a long time to wait. It was worth it, because we had a blast! (Although, I thought they were trying to kill me when they took this Southern-transplanted Minnesota girl to clean out their storage shed on a 110 degree day.)

My parents have just about everything they could want in terms of material goods; so, a few years ago, I started giving them gifts of trips and adventures. Before I arrived, my dad called and asked if I would want to go with them on one such adventure – a day of snorkeling and kayaking in the Gulf of Mexico. Would I? That was about like asking me if I wanted sweet tea to go with my meal.

I was so excited! A day on my beloved Emerald Coast with just my mom and dad where I didn’t have to worry about anything or anybody! I believe everyone has a place on earth that brings them great joy. Those white sand beaches (and my vegetable garden) are mine.

My happy place!

Driving over to the pier and settling onboard the vessel were fairly uneventful. Although, we did meet a lovely Minnesota born and raised server at the What-A-Burger for breakfast. This will not be much of a shocker but yours truly won a little game called, “Who travelled the farthest to be on our little excursion today!” The prize wasn’t much other than a little repartee with the ship’s captain who happened to hale from the Upper Peninsula of Michigan. A free beverage would have been much more appreciated!

The trip to the man-made reef was a surprise all in itself as there were dolphins that escorted us along the way. They are absolutely the most amazing and entertaining hosts. We snorkeled for an hour or so until the tide came in. The fish were as diverse in their beauty as in their number. Even the moon jellies were captivating to watch float by!

Everything’s better down where its wetter . . . under the sea.

The last leg of our trip we journeyed over to the sound side of the island. We set anchor just mere yards away from my sweetie’s retirement village, where boaters anchor and have a floating city all day. Counting the days until that dream becomes a reality – especially on days like this one!

Where we hope to retire!

I will admit that on the way over there I was thinking they really should do this trip in reverse. The sound side is much less adventuresome than the gulf side. I could not have been more wrong in my thinking.

At this point, my mom had more than enough adventure; so it was just my dad and I exploring. I don’t know if it was the adventure part or true to her Southern roots she didn’t want to mess up her hair. (Sorry mom – it was a toss up!) My dad and I soon discovered there was just enough current that you could get in a good work-out without leaving your spot. Like cartoon characters who spin their “wheels” without going anywhere, here we were a mom and grandpa frolicking like we were Neptune’s children, uninhibited without a care in the world.

During that crazy moment was when I uncovered my greatest memento of the day. I reached down and found a complete shell (okay if I was going to get all science teacher on you, I would tell you it was an intact, minus its former inhabitant, bivalve shell). In all my years, I have never found one that still hinged and lined up perfectly like when it was someone’s home. I cradled that sweet treasure in my hands as I ran (I seriously did not care what I looked like) to my sweet mom’s shady spot on the banks of the sound.

At that moment, I wasn’t a forty-something momma and wife, I was transported back to the days of when I put flowers behind my ears for earrings and was the little mermaid I have always believed myself to be. Pure bliss washed over me as I showed her my discovery. It was truly one of my most magical moments!

Today, that little gem of the sea sits on my night stand to remind me of the day when my roots transported me back to a time I had long since forgotten. I might have gotten more tangled in seaweed and less in roots, but it was more than worth it. That tiny little shell is like an Ebenezer stone reminding that joy does come after the storm. Because even though, the Boy Wonder still had another surgery upcoming and the Girl Awesome is still healing, for one day I was simply God’s and my parents’ girl. That is not something to take lightly. If not today, may someday soon will be one where a joy-filled moment finds you!

My version of the Ebenezer stone.

God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble.
²Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
³though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.^[c]

Psalm 46: 1- 3 (NIV)

Music, like the sound of the waves lapping at the shore, always soothes my soul. This song has brought me comfort in many tear-laden hours wrapped under that quilt. If you are hurting today, may it bring you peace.

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Tag Archives: grief

Happily ever after and once upon a time

Happy Memories Day, Reed!

Roses from Heaven

The waiting room

Here’s to you . . .

Sackcloth and ashes

To my Sunshine . . .

Choosing one word . . .

To laugh again . . .

Under the sea