Tag Archives: grief

A letter to my little girl

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Dear Savannah Kate:

Hey Katydid!  It has been a while since I had a chance to write specifically to you.  Just because I don’t write or talk about you, Timothy, and Noah as much as Reed, Sawyer, Erin or Cloie doesn’t mean that I love you any less.  In fact, there are some days that I just plain miss the things that I never got to experience with the babies I carried, but did not hold.

I wanted to write to you because this past weekend I missed you so much that my heart literally ached.  Your oldest cousin, Derek, got married to the love of his life, Jeannette.  When it was time for family pictures, one was taken with the cousins, I had to step away.  Daddy saw me sobbing, and he didn’t have to ask.  He just knew that it was because in my imagination I could picture all seven of my children posing (okay, most likely hamming it up) in that picture.

Katydid, your twin sister was the flower girl.  She looked adorable in her dress, but it was her bouncing curls that had me mesmerized.  I often wonder how similar the two of you would be.  Does your hair curl just like hers? Or do you have red curls like your namesake while Cloie has dark curls like hers? Do you love superheroes and fighting evil villains just like she does?  Would you giggle the same or be as mischievous?  Do you sing as beautifully?  (On that last one, I use my dreams to believe you sparkle and shine in the heavenly chorus.) 

At the wedding reception and dance, the broken places in my heart received some patching as all of us in Daddy’s family pitched in to work, but more importantly to love together.  Simply put, we had fun. Once the dance started, I had to stifle my giggles watching those bouncy curls as Cloie spun, twirled, and shimmied. The best was the ballroom dancing that she and Kimberly performed complete with big finishes at the end of the song.  All the while those curls bounced, I kept thinking what the two of you would be like together.

I don’t really care what other people say because I genuinely miss you.  Tonight is the night that we get to remember you and the boys.  Last year, I asked the other kids if they enjoy going to the October 15th candlelight remembrance or if it was a chore to them.  Their response made me cry.  Not only because it was sweet and humble, but more so that they “got it”.  Their unified response was summed up by Sawyer.  “Mom, we all have birthdays and other special holidays just for us kids.  This is the one day a year that we have special for Noah, Tim, and Savannah; so, no it isn’t a chore, but more so an honor to remember our siblings this day each year.”

So tonight, Katydid, for the annual October 15th National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Candlelight Remembrance we will be lighting candles in memory of you three babies.  Even though we never met you, you and the boys made a difference in this world . . . even if that difference was to change our hearts so that we could help others.

I love you always, sweet girl, and someday in Heaven, I can’t wait to hold you.

Love, Momma

Note: For more information on today, please visit www.october15th.com

My family and I will be remembering at a special service hosted annually at our church.  Please contact me, if you would like more information.

4 days to go: A place where fun still lives

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Early in the first days of grief, I made 2 choices.  Tough, gut-wrenching, deliberate, and much-needed choices.  One choice was to not allow grief be the theme of our house.  We know families where loss has created a darkness in the home that never really allows the light of life to penetrate.  We didn’t want to live in that house.

BC – Before crash, we were the family that:

  • had impromptu dance parties while cleaning the house.
  • got led by pixies in the forest and even got lost in that forest in the dark.
  • drove to Dairy Queen in our pajamas.
  • had sleepovers on the basement floor after family movie night.
  • put paper plates with drops of food coloring on the driveway in rainstorms to create masterpieces.
  • sang to citrus fruit, “Oh my darling, Clementine.”
  • prayed and sang and read together each night.
  • laughed so hard we cried.
  • had an open door policy for any child, pet or wayward friend.
  • made silly home movies.

We were always the family that people called in a pinch for a back-up babysitter or afternoon play-date. Our freezer was never without popsicles, pizzas, or ice cream.  There was always an extra toothbrush, blanket, or swimsuit.

As we sat in the hospital learning more and more about Sawyer’s injuries.  I made a willful choice to not allow our house to be surrounded in sadness.  We would grieve, but we would not give up.  Oh, I wanted to do that.  I wanted to dig a hole and crawl in it.  But if I did that, what would that say about the value of Sawyer, Erin, or Cloie?

Our beginnings were baby steps.  We created a nerf gun fun house while Sawyer was still wheelchair bound.  We threw our Easter egg dye all over a white sheet in the backyard; thus creating a hilarious masterpiece.  Eventually, we invited friends back over for movie nights, and we laughed and giggled again.  The BC list of fun things slowly creeped back into the rhythms of our life.  All, but one that is.  Making movies of our happiness just didn’t happen, because eventually one of us would break into tears.

It took awhile, but eventually, the old camcorder came out from its hibernation. Silly movies happened again that catalogued the current state of zany antics.  That’s exactly what happened last Saturday when we had a passel of kids staying over.

I think that Reed would definitely approve of the silliness in our house – where fun still lives.

13 days to go: the real hope!

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Logo Design by Palmer Tattoo
Marshall, MN

I have been amazed by the comments about my faith or my strength.  In reality, I don’t feel that strong or faith-filled much of the time. Often, I feel overwhelmed, doubtful, worrisome, and plain weak.  But I am always drawn back to the One person who has always been there.  Somehow when I have all of those real human emotions, I get a small something – maybe a song on the radio or a cardinal flying by my window.  I take those “signs” as if God is sending me a message straight from heaven telling you can go just a little farther.  The message almost always seems to be, “Don’t worry.  I know you are hurting, but remember I am right here, loving you forever.”

Every time I get one of those messages, I am also reminded that God knows exactly what it is like to lose a son.  That is very humbling.  He understands the depth of my grief. Every hurt that I have felt, God knows exactly how that feels.  If am angry and need to vent, God is okay with that too. Even the man after God’s own heart lashes out at God in the Psalms when he was hurting, and God still loved him anyway.

The mission of Reed’s Run has always been the 3 R’s: Remembering Reed, Reaching Others for Christ, and Raising funds for students.  The middle R has been a constant theme as we have prepared for the final run.  The truth is that Reed’s Run might be the biggest platform I ever have to do that.  I want to make it count.  I want to have Reed’s Run end with an exclamation point.  If I didn’t have so many grammarian friends, I would declare I wanted a multitude of exclamation points, but they might balk at that.   In all seriousness, I want to share that the faith that I profess has one source – Jesus Christ.

Growing up my grandparents had a fish camp in Ponce De Leon, Florida.  I often romanticized what it was like during the time of the great explorers. Unlike the conquistador who likely never found the fountain of youth, I have found the life giving LIVING well of water, the fount of hope that never runs dry.  For that I am humbled and amazed.  My awe led to the creation of the official logo for the final run.  I was simply the idea person, and God gave the perfect idea on who to contact.

A very special THANK YOU to Tim at Palmer’s Tattoos for listening to my ramblings and “seeing” my vision.  The logo created exceeded my expectations.  You perfectly put into art the very way my heart feels.

15 days to go: the beat goes on

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Many different times I have said that I would give anything to have Reed back, but I wouldn’t give away any of the friendships that have been forged or solidified since his death.  Those type of friendships exist for my children as well.  Some of these friendships have their roots grounded in a commonality of loss.  Sometimes the bonds come from both having connections with Reed, and other times it comes from the shared pain of losing someone close to them.

My kids have bonds with their peers from Faith’s Lodge that will last lifetimes.  And the same goes for a friend of Erin’s.  They were friends before the loss of his grandmother (a dear friend of our family), but they became closer friends after that.  We all knew each other fairly well, but they spent quite a few times just hanging out after her passing.  I believe pain knows pain, and suffering knows suffering.  But healing and refuge also know how to find safe sanctuary.  A safe place to grieve is always a welcome respite.

A by-product of the times they hung out was the discovery that this same friend, Ethon, owns and operates a business with his dad.  During one of o ur visits, he thought it would be a good idea to “pep” things up a bit at Reed’s Run, and he was the man to do it. He was right. As with many of the great ideas at Reed’s Run, we are glad we listened to the kids’ input.   With E&B’s DJ productions, the atmosphere at last year’s Reed’s Run was better than it had ever been.  Again, a friend sees a need and steps up, which is exactly what he did.

Ethon kept the “beat” pumping and by doing so, he kept all of us at the fairgrounds upbeat.  I think it is pretty amazing that through loss, the rhythm of friendship may change patterns, from quiet chimes to a crescendo of tympani, but always it is there keeping a steady beat of love.

We are happy to announce that the beat will continue to go on at this year’s Reed’s Run!

 

 

19 days to go: What in the world is a Reed-A-Cheetah?

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He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others. When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us. 2 Corinthians 1:4 (NLT)

We have always wanted to give back for all the kindnesses shown to us.  Not that we will ever be able to repay all the many blessings bestowed upon us.  We can however pay it forward.  We attempt to do so with the Reed Stevens Legacy Program at Avera McKennan hospital. We wanted to do something at the hospital where Reed died, but we didn’t know how exactly this was going to work. We had already consulted with the staff, and we knew the need existed for siblings who had lost a brother or sister.

We finally came upon an idea, but we would need some help pulling it off.  Thankfully, we have some angels among us in Bruce and Kris Shover and their business Marshall Bowl where they also own a Bear Factory operation.  I called them up in late 2009 with a strange request.  Did they have any cheetahs we could stuff?  Normally, somebody would guffaw, but they didn’t.  However at that time, they did have to tell me that no such animal was available, and they promised as the catalogs change, they would keep their eyes open.

In the meantime, we had formulated an idea of what we would put together if we could ever find cheetahs.  Why the cheetah?  No, it isn’t because Reed-A-Cheetah has a great ring to it – even though it does!  It is because cheetahs were Reed’s favorite animal. We even went to opening day of the cheetah exhibit at the Great Plains Zoo in Sioux Falls.  We made up some professional style baseball cards that have Reed’s picture and read:

Reed Stevens was in 7th grade when he and three friends were killed riding home on their school bus. He was very active in his school, his church, Scouts, and the community. He left behind a family of his dad, his mom, his brother, and two sisters.

Reed’s favorite animal was the cheetah.  Just as cheetahs are extremely rare in nature, so are the relationships that brothers and sisters share.  Recognizing this fact, the Stevens family wanted to remember Reed and to help surviving siblings at Avera McKennan by giving each child a Reed-A-Cheetah. Whenever you snuggle with your cheetah, you will know that 3 other kids know what it is like to miss that special sibling.

We dreamed and we waited.  In late winter 2011, I got a call informing me, indeed, the catalog changed and cheetahs were now available.  But before we could go forward, Bruce and Kris invited us to a Bowling Association event.  We met the most generous people; all of whom helped us pay for the cheetahs. Then for our initial gift of cheetahs, our family along with Bruce and his assistant, Ethan, travelled with 50 cheetahs, stuffing, and Bear Factory; so that we could make the cheetahs in person with these siblings at annual event in memory of children who have passed away at the hospital.  A video of our day is found below.

If our soaring hearts that day were fuel, we all could have flown back to Marshall.  It was an incredible day.  The need still exists, since a friend and I brought down the last shipment at Christmas time.  More are needed.  That is one of the reasons why we have invited (and they have graciously accepted), Marshall Bowl to attend Reed’s Run.  If you purchase a cheetah that day, your loved takes home a cheetah, but a little piece of that purchase goes to a hurting heart receiving a cheetah someday.

Just like cheetahs are rare, so are the friendships who have made this dream a reality. In my heart, I think that is Chee-rrific!

22 Days to go: We’re in the Club. Now what? Make New Memories.

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One of the things you often hear in groups of bereaved parents is “We joined the club that no one wanted to belong to.”  That is the UNDERSTATEMENT of a lifetime.  If it were pledge week, this group would be the one that absolutely no one would attend the social.  But now that I am lifelong card-carrying member, I have discovered that many other “members” share my wishes and desires.

Recently one of those wishes has been to hear Reed’s voice.  I feel like I am forgetting what he sounded like.  So one night I dug out his old MP3 player and listened to all the crazy antics that he and his siblings recorded. Through my tears, I got to hear his unmistakable voice.  Another of those desires is to make new memories with that child.

In recent weeks, one of my grief journey friends shared her discovery.  It was an artwork collection that a teacher found and hand-delivered to their home.  She was practically giddy when she shared with me.  My eyes welled with tears because my friend received the greatest gift – a new memory.

Sometimes the “voice” is revealed at what I believe is the exact time God knows that our hearts are ready to receive it.   One of those moments for me came at Reed’s Celebration of Life service.  At some point, Pastor Don shared a poem written by Reed that he was given just moments before.  I sat there on the gym floor stunned because I had never heard those words.  That new memory of sweet words quickly became a soothing balm for my soul.

This summer I was able to be God’s instrument in finding hidden words of a sweet young man and family friend, AJ Maag.  Following AJ’s death, there were so many questions.  Were we all going to be okay?  Days later, a few of us had the honor of packing up AJ’s apartment.  As I was standing in AJ’s room, there on his bedroom wall right where he would first look when he woke up was a life list.  I stood in that bedroom and bawled. His “creed” was the answer to my question.  AJ’s words, penned on cardboard, were like God’s way of telling me we were all going to be okay.  I had the joy of sharing his precious words – a new memory for his parents – at his memorial service.  They were words to make us all proud and words to remember.

Until spoken about at his services, very few knew that this quiet, personable young man was the one who built the four benches around the Lakeview pond.  One bench was made in memory of Jesse, Hunter, Emilee, and Reed.  That’s just how AJ was, generous and unassuming.  The one thing I never understood was he didn’t want any recognition for the benches, because in his words, “It’s not about me”.

But for two moms, making new memories is just one of those things we really want to do.  We want to remember AJ’s gift and memorialize those he remembered as well as himself.  We have copies of AJ’s creed which will be available for a free will donation at Reed’s Run. The proceeds of which will go to make bronze markers for each of those four benches that will have each child’s name right alongside the name of the builder.

This time it is a new shared memory.  Somehow it just seems fitting.

23 days to go: Let their little lights shine

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Some of our ideas come from the heart, but come to our minds in all kinds of places.  So it was with the “Let their little lights shine” luminary service that we have each year.  If you aren’t familiar with the luminaries or the remembrance, then you have missed my most favorite part of the evening.  My heart soars when the luminaries are lit.  The bags are in remembrance of any child who has died.  Each name is said aloud followed by a family member or volunteer placing the bags in the designated area for the evening.

Last year the bags twinkled throughout the outdoor movie.  When I look out at a field of faces at the movie, I am always moved by the faces that are not there, because I know what the bags mean.  Each flicker is a loved one that isn’t here with us enjoying this time.  Our family alone has four of those bags – one for each of our children (Reed and our 3 babies) in heaven.  But also represented by those bags are friends and friends’ children.  Some of those are for children that I deeply miss having at our  lives.

So it was in the summer of 2009 (a few months before the first Reed’s Run) when Erin and I were running in the hospital’s 5k race.  At some point I connected with a mom of young lady who had passed away about 7 months before Reed.  That young lady was Erin’s swim coach who made her feel like she was the most important swimmer in the world.  She encouraged her, challenged her, and supported her.   Erin was only seven years old when she died, and she still has her pictures in her room/  She still dedicates swims for her each year.  She brought so much light to my little girl’s world.

During the race, the mom and I chatted only briefly. All I could think about was how her daughter’s light was extinguished much too early. It hit me that while Reed’s name might be on the event, I wanted it to be a place where all children could be remembered.  I wanted to remember her daughter who meant so much to mine. I know how much candlelight services mean to our family, and that was the idea that popped into my head as I jogged along.  As the concept mulled over in my head, I was committed to having each name read aloud.  Mostly I felt so passionately because after losing a child, one of the greatest fears is no one saying their name again.  I ran across a poem last year that succinctly said what my heart feels regarding Reed.

The mention of my child’s name may bring tears to my eyes,
But it never fails to bring music to my ears.
If you are really my friend,
let me hear the music of her name!
It soothes my broken heart and sings to my soul!
~Author Unknown ~

It also explains why the luminaries are my favorite part of the night.  I get to sing to someone else’s soul, and by doing so, it helps my own heal.  In that healing, I carry a little piece of each of their lights with me. With that remembrance, they are never truly forgotten.

Special note: We always have extra bags, candles, and room to add another child to our list.  If you would like a child added to our list, please contact us or come to Reed’s Run where we can provide one for you.  If you would like a child remembered but are unable to attend, simply forward the information to www.reedsrun.com and we will make a luminary for you.

27 days to go: Who let the dogs out?

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Photo taken by Lulu Bell (evidence that she was NOT the one on the couch)
That’s Me, Hiccup, and Andy
(No, we don’t have laser eyes. This place has gone to the dogs.)

Mom has left the computer open.  She doesn’t know that the remote isn’t the only thing I can operate around here.  I will say it’s a good thing she is gone because this typing without thumbs is NOT easy. I see why she always says, “Huck-y if only you had thumbs you could help out around here.”  Well, I am going to help her out and pound out today’s blog.   (Do you know that she reads all of her work out loud; so, I have been an editor more than once.)

I don’t think they realize how much I notice when they think no one is looking.  Like I know what happens to all the missing cups and glasses, and I know why some people’s laundry baskets never seem full in this family. I also know which person to sit next to at the table for a little snack.  But I am like my buddy, Duke, I’m not saying anything.

It’s pretty obvious why my family chose to have a dog walk for Reed’s Run, but it is doubtful that anybody understands how much my boy meant to me.  Very few know that I came into Reed’s life because he had been diagnosed with an eye condition causing him to go blind.  My puppy energy helped him remember he was still a little boy.  Soon he forgot all about those big medical words that I couldn’t understand anyway.  All I know is that I would sit at the end of the driveway waiting until my boy got home from school every day, and then the two of us would be off on adventures.  Those adventures were everything to me, and eventually it got to where Reed talked Mom & Dad into to taking me everywhere.  (Just don’t ask the rest of them about our first camping trip.  Let’s just say Reed & I were seriously in the dog house!)

This weekend Mom invited over two of my good friends to hang out with my little puppy brother, Hiccup, and myself.  One of those dogs is my buddy Andy.  Andy is younger but I get it. He has a big heart too.  Somehow I think he understands that we have a bigger role than just friend now.  We carry a piece of our boys (Reed & AJ) in everything we do. Mom has met lots of nice people who have told her similar stories about their canine friends. Believe me, our Mom can talk.

Simply put dogs matter! Maybe not to all people, but we really do to grieving people. I feel when their hearts are hurting because I miss Reed as much as they do.  When I see them down, I try my best to snuggle up, but that is getting harder for me to do these days.  I know this is the last Reed’s Run, and even though I have had a few bouts of being down this year, I am going to make one last trip to the place where Reed and I earned those purple ribbons to remember my boy.

I am not sure that Mom is going to like that Hiccup and Andy just  licked her keyboard.  Pups! When will they ever learn to cover up the evidence? Trust me, I will act like I was never here.

PAWS OUT – Huck

The comfort in the words of a song

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For the book contest, please see the February 15 blog.

My sweet pastor often tells of how he does his best thinking in the car. I have never really confessed to him that my most ardent grieving happens in my van as  I  really listen to the words of songs on Christian radio. Sometimes the songs remind me so much of someone or some situation that I have to pull over and simply cry. I am not so self-centered to believe that God gave those folks the lyrics for me, but often, it does feel that way.  Such is what happened one day when I heard the words to Aaron Schust’s My Hope is In You. 

I love God and I am humbled to know His ways are so much higher than my own.  This time, he knocked it out of the park for this little girl.  The first time I heard this song was shortly after receiving some not so pleasant news from the Mayo Clinic.  Even though many believe that Sawyer is completely healed, the Mayo doctors know differently (and so does our checkbook).  We ran into some complications, and it hit me so hard.

“God, why this? Why now? They told us four years, and now, they are telling me possibly many more. Hasn’t he been through enough?”  If you aren’t sure that God is big enough to take my questions, read Psalms 88.  He didn’t answer right away, but a few more miles down the road, on came My Hope is in You.  “Okay, God, I get it.  Yes, I will wait for you! I won’t be shaken by drought or storm.  And thank you for sending me the peace that passes understanding.”

My second thoughts reminded me when I heard the story of the origin of the song, It is well with my soul.  Horatio Spafford’s faith is one that amazes me, and to think he wrote a song that has timelessly comforted grieving people is a blessing straight from God.

As preparations for the last Reed’s Run begin, we have really wanted to have a theme that won’t be easily forgotten.  A theme that leaves people with the memories of what the event was all about for the four years.  As a family, we chose, “To rise from tragedy, cling to hope.”  Then another one of those van cruising days (of which I have plenty) happened, and again, God gave me this song.  Cue the big light bulb above my head, “How about not only theme words, but a theme song?  And THIS song is it!” 

It defines Team Stevens.  If quit isn’t in our vocabulary, HOPE definitely is!  And one of the goals of Reed’s Run has always been to “Reach Others for Christ”.  Sometimes what a hurting world needs is the knowledge that there is a colossal hand that is reaching out to grab yours before you fall. 

Later that evening after the epiphany moment, I went home and searched for the music video.  What I saw brought my eyes to tears and my knees to reverence of God’s love.  We are not alone.  Others have walked our path through the valley of the shadow of death.  And others too want people to know that only God knows the ending of the story if we just reach out and hold on. 

So even though I am certain that Aaron Schust, the artist, or his videography team know absolutely nothing about Team Stevens, I am equally certain that God does! 

If you would like to see for yourself, you can find the video at http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ugD0i5Y3cw8 It is now the official song of the 2012 Reed’s Run.  Personally, I cannot think of a better send-off reminder.