I HATE crying in public. I am not sure why, but I really, really hate it. Maybe it's because growing up I often heard the statement "Dry it up, or I'll give you something to cry about!" It could be because it's just easier to put up the wall rather than risk a break down in front of anyone. Perhaps it is because it makes other people uncomfortable if someone is crying because they don't know what to do or say. In the back of my mind maybe I still think it shows a sign of weakness, which I know is not true, but is an underlying thought. Growing up I can only remember a handful of occasions when I witnessed my mother cry and even fewer where I witnessed my father cry. I think my children will probably grow up and say the same thing about us. I rarely cry in front of my husband, family or friends.
Sometimes the feeling of overwhelming loss or even extreme joy cannot be buried, no matter how hard we try. Sometimes we will be moved to tears whether we like it or not. Whether we think we are mentally prepared and no matter how many times we told ourselves we will not cry. Even if we have coached ourselves into believing will be able to make it without a tear drop through a special occasion. Whether it be a wedding, the birth of a child, a funeral or a church service, sometimes we simply cannot keep it buried.
I did not know if I wanted to attend the Christmas Eve service at church this year. I didn't know if I would be able to hold it together, thinking about the traditions and birthday without my dad. I decided to try because Christmas Eve Service is my favorite church service of the year. Silent night is my favorite Christmas Carol. It is Lilly's favorite lullaby (late November babies get Christmas carols for lullabies in my house). Decided that a friend was right, it was alright to cry. It is such a joyous celebration, the birth of Jesus, and many people would be in tears for many different reasons. That if I did shed a few, I would not be alone.
My favorite reading material, as mentioned many times, is Sarah Jones blog. Sarah ends all of her postings with Love Love Love, Always Always Always. From the first time I read her blog, I loved it! How absolutely perfect is her signature closing? Even when her son was so very sick, even when he was taking his last breaths, even now when she is fighting her grief with every ounce of energy in her, she finishes each post with Love Love Love, Always Always Always. Sarah Jones is truly amazing, in her faith, in her beliefs, in her soul.
We opened presents with my mom Christmas Eve before the church service. My mom gave me a shirt that read, in big black letters across the entire shirt, LOVE. Of course, I love it! Other than the ornaments from my friends, the dyson (also from my momma) and the Jan Pugh plate from Marcia, it is my favorite gift this year. It probably only cost her $10, but immediately it made me think of the Jones family, how they and other families that have lost children must be feeling during the holiday season.
How I am not the only one that has a hole in my heart where the empty feeling lives and my hole doesn't even compare the hole they must feel. I thought about how Sarah continues to Love Love Love. I thought about how I was surrounded the night before by so many of my friends that love me and offer me their endless support. How I was surrounded by my immediate family opening the piles of presents as we all tried to enjoy my Dad's birthday and Christmas Eve. How I would be surrounded by my extended family that evening at our annual gathering that everyone looks forward to. I was doing all of these things without letting a tear drop.
When Laine said she was going to attend the service by herself I really thought I could make it through the service without any tears or maybe just a few. I was wrong. I made it almost to the end-I was almost victorious, but the sermon was titled Love. I had decided to wear my new favorite shirt complete with the LOVE slogan. The Pastor at the Methodist Church is my age, we have similar taste in music, both of our dining rooms are red, she writes her sermons to make people feel and believe, she writes her sermons to reach people. I should have known I couldn't make it through her sermon on Christmas Eve and certainly not through Silent Night without a tear.
As I listened to my friend preach about love, the tears flowed freely. I couldn't stop them. I thought about this "first" I was having-my first Christmas Eve without a birthday present under the tree. But also my first Christmas Eve that I truly allowed myself to feel the love of God surrounding me. The love that He sends to me in my children, husband, family and friends each and every day. The thoughtfulness of simply dropping by baked apples or a surprise keepsake that is absolutely perfect arriving in the mail. My Dad's first birthday with Jesus, with God and how happy I was for him to be spending his birthday pain free with them.
I thought of all these wonderful things, but couldn't stop the tears. I looked around the church and I was happy to see so many of the faces that I remember growing up in this church, but so many of their faces also had tears streaming down them. I was happy to be sitting with my sister in law and the Warners who have always been part of our extended family as the love from the congregation surrounded us. It was relieving to be greeted with a big smile from Marci as I entered the church on this "first" as we have talked often about how hard the "firsts" are. Knowing that so many of my friends were thinking of our family and crying with us was an amazing feeling.
I hope the others that have lost also felt the outpouring of love and support. The Harmans sat directly in front of me with their loss so new and heavy in my thoughts, I looked at Marci and thought of her classmate, his tragic death and his young children left without their father. I witnessed the Hammits all holding each other tight in prayer and so many of my friends moved to tears because they are missing their loved ones. I hope they could feel the same love that Pastor Jen was talking about.
"God loves us, God came to be with us, Jesus Christ is born! It’s scandalous, it’s shocking, it’s surprising, it’s life-changing, it’s world-changing, it’s God-sized news. Love is real, love is holy, love is here!" -Jennifer Smith Williamson
I get another whole week to enjoy my friends and family from out of town, but wanted to write how I was feeling down today so that I don't forget. Not just at Christmas time, but always. So that if you are feeling lonely, please know that God's love is real. I don't want to forget the feeling of love that I felt as I was able to stop the tears just in time to sing the last verse of Silent Night. In honor of His birth and resurrection, in honor of my Dad's first heavenly birthday celebration and in honor of the love I felt in my heart. Thank you to all that have continued to extend your love and support to my family. Please continue to pray for the other families as they mourn their loved ones and help them to feel God's love that he is certainly sending to them. Thank you to my church family for welcoming me back with such great big open arms!
Monday, December 27, 2010
Wednesday, December 22, 2010
Happy Birthday in Heaven
Since there isn't a birthday present under our Christmas tree this year, since I can't call you on the telephone to tell you Happy Birthday, since I can't sit on your lap, reflect and watch the kids play at Shrimp Fest this year, I thought I should send my birthday wishes to you in heaven.
You would be 55 this year here on earth! Uncle Paul, Uncle Norm and Aunt Deb would wake up extra early in their attempt to be the first to wish you Happy Birthday. I am sure they will still wake up extra early and you will be the first thing on their minds. I'm sure you will still have a birthday celebration in heaven. I wonder what it consists of-does the angelic choir sing for you? What do you look like-are you eighteen and in flip flops? What do you smell like-do you wear Obsession cologne? I wonder these things often.
"I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable."
I know that when it is my time I will immediately know who you are, but I still wonder what the spirit body is like. Do you get to choose which age your body will appear to be in heaven? Or is it the age you were when you left your earthly body, just free of disease and not perishable? I will probably just know it's you because you will be waiting with open arms to give me a hug. I wish so badly that I could give you a birthday hug. I wish so badly that you would be arriving early at Uncle Paul's to help him make the shrimp or arguing over which market offered the best price. I wish even more that I could have one more conversation with you before your stroke and brain cancer.
Many of the usual suspects aren't coming this year. Sometimes I wish I could just say, no, I'm not coming either. Maybe it would be easier this year just to stay home with my children. I'm sure Heid wouldn't allow it (and would probably bring the entire Shrimp Fest to my house if I tried), but the thought did cross my mind. I doubt I could stay away anyways because I know you'd be yelling at me from there. This is a Runion tradition, we do this every year, get your butt over there and like it. So, I'm going. At least Uncle Paul didn't assign me monkey tators or salmon cheese ball or another one of the traditional dishes that I would have been crying the entire time I was preparing it.
So far the firsts have been easier than thinking about the firsts so maybe it will be ok. Knowing me, I probably won't even cry, well, unless I decide to attempt Christmas Eve service! But you will be in my every thought as you have been all week. I hope this birthday is your best one yet. I hope that you can feel all of our love that we are sending and can hear all of the stories we are telling about you. I am happy that you are not in pain anymore. I am happy that you can speak freely and not struggle to find the correct words. I am happy that you can run without your knees hurting and don't have to rely on anyone to complete daily tasks.
I hope Granny has a present for you wrapped in birthday paper, that Papa is seasoning the heavenly shrimp with beer and you are covering the tables in newspapers. That you are sitting with your friends and loved ones enjoying a big piece of cake in a bowl of milk. I told you that we would be ok, most days we are. We miss you so much and love you even more. Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas Eve Daddy! And yes, Stace, his birthday is on Christmas Eve every year;)
You would be 55 this year here on earth! Uncle Paul, Uncle Norm and Aunt Deb would wake up extra early in their attempt to be the first to wish you Happy Birthday. I am sure they will still wake up extra early and you will be the first thing on their minds. I'm sure you will still have a birthday celebration in heaven. I wonder what it consists of-does the angelic choir sing for you? What do you look like-are you eighteen and in flip flops? What do you smell like-do you wear Obsession cologne? I wonder these things often.
"I declare to you, brothers, that flesh and blood cannot inherit the kingdom of God, nor does the perishable inherit the imperishable."
I know that when it is my time I will immediately know who you are, but I still wonder what the spirit body is like. Do you get to choose which age your body will appear to be in heaven? Or is it the age you were when you left your earthly body, just free of disease and not perishable? I will probably just know it's you because you will be waiting with open arms to give me a hug. I wish so badly that I could give you a birthday hug. I wish so badly that you would be arriving early at Uncle Paul's to help him make the shrimp or arguing over which market offered the best price. I wish even more that I could have one more conversation with you before your stroke and brain cancer.
Many of the usual suspects aren't coming this year. Sometimes I wish I could just say, no, I'm not coming either. Maybe it would be easier this year just to stay home with my children. I'm sure Heid wouldn't allow it (and would probably bring the entire Shrimp Fest to my house if I tried), but the thought did cross my mind. I doubt I could stay away anyways because I know you'd be yelling at me from there. This is a Runion tradition, we do this every year, get your butt over there and like it. So, I'm going. At least Uncle Paul didn't assign me monkey tators or salmon cheese ball or another one of the traditional dishes that I would have been crying the entire time I was preparing it.
So far the firsts have been easier than thinking about the firsts so maybe it will be ok. Knowing me, I probably won't even cry, well, unless I decide to attempt Christmas Eve service! But you will be in my every thought as you have been all week. I hope this birthday is your best one yet. I hope that you can feel all of our love that we are sending and can hear all of the stories we are telling about you. I am happy that you are not in pain anymore. I am happy that you can speak freely and not struggle to find the correct words. I am happy that you can run without your knees hurting and don't have to rely on anyone to complete daily tasks.
I hope Granny has a present for you wrapped in birthday paper, that Papa is seasoning the heavenly shrimp with beer and you are covering the tables in newspapers. That you are sitting with your friends and loved ones enjoying a big piece of cake in a bowl of milk. I told you that we would be ok, most days we are. We miss you so much and love you even more. Happy Birthday and Merry Christmas Eve Daddy! And yes, Stace, his birthday is on Christmas Eve every year;)
Monday, December 20, 2010
As You Wish
"This is true love, do you think this happens every day?" True love only seems to happen in the story books or movies in this day in age. With nearly 50% of marriages ending in divorce, we don't often hear stories of true love. Even more seldom are we able to witness the "fairy tale" romance or true wedded bliss. Free of pretense behind closed doors and sadness under the smiles.
Saturday night my children picked to watch "The Princess Bride" for movie night. This movie is a long time favorite of Uncle Jake and Aunt Leah. It is probably the movie that I have watched the most times in my life. Already it is one of Lilly's favorites! It is a story of a poor farm boy that worked for a young maiden, giving her everything she desired, always knowing that he loved her. The story continued and their love was tested time and time again, but in the end true love prevailed. Why are we so attracted to stories of true love? Does it really only happen in story books? As we were watching the movie I couldn't help but to think of the fairy tale romance that would soon be reunited.
At play practice the morning before our movie night, I was talking to a friend about the Harmans. I did not know this couple personally, but from the stories and pictures I have heard and seen they were one of these fairy tale couples. The couple was married for what to them I can only imagine seemed like their entire lives. They lived a long and fulfilling life together. As my friend was telling me how Bob had passed a couple days ago and now his dear wife was in the exact same Hospice room awaiting her call home, I felt happy.
I am not happy for their children or grandchildren. Having to loose not one, but BOTH of their loved ones so close together and especially at Christmas time. I am not happy to think about the emotions that they must be feeling deep in their heart. The sadness so new and breath taking. I am not happy for that. I hope they can all take comfort knowing that their dear loved ones are together and their fairy tale did not end here, but will last forever.
Yet, I was happy for Bob and Louise, the fairy tale couple that I did not know. Only three days after her husband was called home, Louise followed him there. Leaving her earthly body in the same place, same room as the love of her life had left his earthly body. She followed her husband, taking the hand of God, because "death cannot stop true love." She didn't want to fight disease or infection without her soul mate.
Although I feel extreme empathy and sadness for their family, I want their story and legacy to be known. Mostly because stories of true love aren't told anymore. The gossip magazines never tell of a marriage that is loving and lasting, but instead focus on the divorces and affairs. I want it to be known because I hope that I get to grow old with Aaron, watch our children and grandchildren grow into loving adults (thank you again Keri for the blanket and support)like the Harmans were able to do. I want it to be known so that people that are thinking of throwing in the towel give it one more chance. That they will try to remember when they were so in love and get back to that place. So that someone else can tell another story of true love, the kind of fairy tale love that we rarely hear of anymore. That sometimes there are happy endings. "True love! You heard him! You could not ask for a more noble cause than that!"
As you remember this fairy tale couple, whether you knew them or not, please pray for their family left here on this side, forced to celebrate this Christmas without them. Keep the Harmans, Cunninghams, Pastor Jens and all of the other families that have lost their loved ones this week in your prayers. Help them remember "Christ claimed victory over death and showed us that God’s love extends beyond the grave. When our bodies weaken, when our hearts slow, our souls live on still. And while we mourn the loss of a loved one here in our midst, we celebrate because we know that they are with God."
Saturday night my children picked to watch "The Princess Bride" for movie night. This movie is a long time favorite of Uncle Jake and Aunt Leah. It is probably the movie that I have watched the most times in my life. Already it is one of Lilly's favorites! It is a story of a poor farm boy that worked for a young maiden, giving her everything she desired, always knowing that he loved her. The story continued and their love was tested time and time again, but in the end true love prevailed. Why are we so attracted to stories of true love? Does it really only happen in story books? As we were watching the movie I couldn't help but to think of the fairy tale romance that would soon be reunited.
At play practice the morning before our movie night, I was talking to a friend about the Harmans. I did not know this couple personally, but from the stories and pictures I have heard and seen they were one of these fairy tale couples. The couple was married for what to them I can only imagine seemed like their entire lives. They lived a long and fulfilling life together. As my friend was telling me how Bob had passed a couple days ago and now his dear wife was in the exact same Hospice room awaiting her call home, I felt happy.
I am not happy for their children or grandchildren. Having to loose not one, but BOTH of their loved ones so close together and especially at Christmas time. I am not happy to think about the emotions that they must be feeling deep in their heart. The sadness so new and breath taking. I am not happy for that. I hope they can all take comfort knowing that their dear loved ones are together and their fairy tale did not end here, but will last forever.
Yet, I was happy for Bob and Louise, the fairy tale couple that I did not know. Only three days after her husband was called home, Louise followed him there. Leaving her earthly body in the same place, same room as the love of her life had left his earthly body. She followed her husband, taking the hand of God, because "death cannot stop true love." She didn't want to fight disease or infection without her soul mate.
Although I feel extreme empathy and sadness for their family, I want their story and legacy to be known. Mostly because stories of true love aren't told anymore. The gossip magazines never tell of a marriage that is loving and lasting, but instead focus on the divorces and affairs. I want it to be known because I hope that I get to grow old with Aaron, watch our children and grandchildren grow into loving adults (thank you again Keri for the blanket and support)like the Harmans were able to do. I want it to be known so that people that are thinking of throwing in the towel give it one more chance. That they will try to remember when they were so in love and get back to that place. So that someone else can tell another story of true love, the kind of fairy tale love that we rarely hear of anymore. That sometimes there are happy endings. "True love! You heard him! You could not ask for a more noble cause than that!"
As you remember this fairy tale couple, whether you knew them or not, please pray for their family left here on this side, forced to celebrate this Christmas without them. Keep the Harmans, Cunninghams, Pastor Jens and all of the other families that have lost their loved ones this week in your prayers. Help them remember "Christ claimed victory over death and showed us that God’s love extends beyond the grave. When our bodies weaken, when our hearts slow, our souls live on still. And while we mourn the loss of a loved one here in our midst, we celebrate because we know that they are with God."
Thursday, December 9, 2010
Angels
I started this post the day before my dad died, but couldn't complete it. Originally the post started like this: "A new day is upon us. The sun started rising shortly after I woke up and checked on my dad...I should have went out to watch it! How I should have embraced it this morning as it started to shine."
I started the post then thinking I was going to force myself to let the light shine on me, force myself to believe that our Creator was with us as we all witnessed this. That was more the "fake it until it's real" mindset (which I do often try). I wanted to concentrate on the love that constantly filled my dads room, on the indescribable feeling that everyone that was present the night prior could not help but to feel as the choir of angels astonished us with their beautiful melodies. Yet, the last couple days of my dads life here on earth were not sunshine and rainbows. I couldn't get past the feeling of abandonment. We were praying for peace, but he continued to suffer. We were praying for rest, but at that time I didn't think it would ever come. I could not finish the post as he was taking his last breaths, not even if I was faking it.
Last night I was laying in bed and unable to sleep. The memory of the angel choir flooded my mind. This time, even though the tears flowed freely, I remembered the singing fondly. I remember a room full of my dearest loved ones gathered around my Dad. I remember the director of the choir walking into the room and immediately recognizing my mother as a childhood friend. I remember watching her gently hug her and tell her that she was sorry that she was forced to deal with this at her young age. Was it a coincidence that she decided to come to my Dads room on this Tuesday, when my mother and most of the people closest to my Dad were there? The two Tuesdays prior the choir did not offer to come to his room. I heard them both times as they harmonized perfectly for other patients while my Dad was at Hospice, but they did not come to his room.
Were they drawn to his room on the Tuesday before his passing because God WAS surrounding us and his light WAS shining bright on us, but at the time I just couldn't feel it? Were they drawn to the energy of LOVE that filled his room as we cried together, held hands together, prayed together? When the choir entered the room my Aunt Con was reading from the Bible, but I was still mad at Him. Even as we were listening to His word I was angry that He was making my Daddy suffer in this way. At the time I thought to myself, God is supposed to be merciful and loving, how is He allowing my Dad to suffer in this way?
Last night it dawned on me that He was TRYING to ease our suffering when He sent the choir of angels. While we listened to the angelic voices I couldn't shake the chills running down my spine. I couldn't help but to feel the love that was surrounding me, lifting up my heart. Lifting my mothers spirits in song when she was so tired. I remember looking around the room at my loved ones, all of the women of the family present (and the men close by in the hall). All of us holding hands with each other, holding hands with the angel singers, holding hands with my dad, holding hands with God. My Dad could certainly feel the love that He was sending to him.
I am sorry that I did not feel His hand in mine at the time, but I do know that He was there. Holding my hand ever so gently and He has not left me. I feel and see His presence often: in my children, in my tears, in my memories, in Christmas lights, in my husband. He is making me stronger than even I could imagine. I hope the wonderful ladies that are part of the Tuesday night Hospice choir understand the amazing gift they bring as they sing to the patients and families. I hope they continue to follow the light that was most certainly shining down on my family during my Dads final hours and days. The choir of angels is permanently embedded in my memory and not because of the suffering that I was witnessing, but because of the love and togetherness of family that is attached to it. Because I know now that He sent them to us to give us just a glimpse of what the real choir of angels will sound like. To persuade my Dad to join Him for the next concert.
I started the post then thinking I was going to force myself to let the light shine on me, force myself to believe that our Creator was with us as we all witnessed this. That was more the "fake it until it's real" mindset (which I do often try). I wanted to concentrate on the love that constantly filled my dads room, on the indescribable feeling that everyone that was present the night prior could not help but to feel as the choir of angels astonished us with their beautiful melodies. Yet, the last couple days of my dads life here on earth were not sunshine and rainbows. I couldn't get past the feeling of abandonment. We were praying for peace, but he continued to suffer. We were praying for rest, but at that time I didn't think it would ever come. I could not finish the post as he was taking his last breaths, not even if I was faking it.
Last night I was laying in bed and unable to sleep. The memory of the angel choir flooded my mind. This time, even though the tears flowed freely, I remembered the singing fondly. I remember a room full of my dearest loved ones gathered around my Dad. I remember the director of the choir walking into the room and immediately recognizing my mother as a childhood friend. I remember watching her gently hug her and tell her that she was sorry that she was forced to deal with this at her young age. Was it a coincidence that she decided to come to my Dads room on this Tuesday, when my mother and most of the people closest to my Dad were there? The two Tuesdays prior the choir did not offer to come to his room. I heard them both times as they harmonized perfectly for other patients while my Dad was at Hospice, but they did not come to his room.
Were they drawn to his room on the Tuesday before his passing because God WAS surrounding us and his light WAS shining bright on us, but at the time I just couldn't feel it? Were they drawn to the energy of LOVE that filled his room as we cried together, held hands together, prayed together? When the choir entered the room my Aunt Con was reading from the Bible, but I was still mad at Him. Even as we were listening to His word I was angry that He was making my Daddy suffer in this way. At the time I thought to myself, God is supposed to be merciful and loving, how is He allowing my Dad to suffer in this way?
Last night it dawned on me that He was TRYING to ease our suffering when He sent the choir of angels. While we listened to the angelic voices I couldn't shake the chills running down my spine. I couldn't help but to feel the love that was surrounding me, lifting up my heart. Lifting my mothers spirits in song when she was so tired. I remember looking around the room at my loved ones, all of the women of the family present (and the men close by in the hall). All of us holding hands with each other, holding hands with the angel singers, holding hands with my dad, holding hands with God. My Dad could certainly feel the love that He was sending to him.
I am sorry that I did not feel His hand in mine at the time, but I do know that He was there. Holding my hand ever so gently and He has not left me. I feel and see His presence often: in my children, in my tears, in my memories, in Christmas lights, in my husband. He is making me stronger than even I could imagine. I hope the wonderful ladies that are part of the Tuesday night Hospice choir understand the amazing gift they bring as they sing to the patients and families. I hope they continue to follow the light that was most certainly shining down on my family during my Dads final hours and days. The choir of angels is permanently embedded in my memory and not because of the suffering that I was witnessing, but because of the love and togetherness of family that is attached to it. Because I know now that He sent them to us to give us just a glimpse of what the real choir of angels will sound like. To persuade my Dad to join Him for the next concert.
Friday, December 3, 2010
Ornaments
Some days I feel like the character, Cooper, in Private Practice did tonight. Like I have to hold it all together so that my Mom is alright. So that my family of five will continue on and the kids will remain carefree and not feel my burden of loss. So that my Uncle Paul doesn't immediately associate sadness, grief and loss with seeing me. So that maybe someday soon we could talk about something besides how my mom and Jake are doing when we do the dishes. I don't know what, but something besides that. So that my friends can have another example of someone that dealt with grief gracefully. So that Aaron doesn't have to deal with a train wreck, like me not moving from my bed all day long, as I have wanted to do on quite a few occasions, but managed to pull it together. He has already done more than most husbands would ever do. So that I can be present in each moment of my life, trying to feel and remember each day, yet still make it through the holiday season this year.
And then I read one of the blogs that I follow and I am humbled. Humbled to the point of speechlessness and tears and we all know that rarely happens. My heart aches for the writer of this blog often. I have never met her, never talked to her, I just silently follow her blog. I pray for her and her family each night. Sarah Jones lost her first born child this year to a horrific, painful death. This is her first Christmas without her little man.
I miss my Dad like crazy. I see things that remind me of him and my eyes swell with tears. We decorated our tree on Wednesday night. Each ornament has a meaning. A special memory of when we received it, a story or a reason behind the ornament is attached to each of them. I unwrapped a few and smiled. I unwrapped a few and cried. Christmas gives us all such a reason to celebrate and I am clinging to this belief pretty tightly right now so that I am able to hold it together. I unwrapped memory after memory and tears full of love dropped like a steady rain. An ornament that I had specially made for my Granny of me and Jake and the one my mom and dad gave to me with their picture on it are my two favorite this year. After we were done hanging the ornaments the kids and I sang Christmas songs in front of our beautiful, memory filled tree. I couldn't think of any other songs that we had not sung. Lilly chimes in, well we can sing Happy Birthday since it's Jesus birthday! Yes, babe we can certainly sing Happy Birthday for Jesus. We sing the song and she asks me, "Can we sing it for Pipi on his birthday?" I can't bear to think about his upcoming birthday. It puts knots in my stomach and tears in my eyes. "Of course honey, we can sing Happy Birthday to Pipi the day before we sing Happy Birthday to Jesus."
I read this blog a few days ago, but read it again tonight because I'm thinking about Sarah's family. How she has to continue on with out her sweet baby boy. How she has to sing Christmas carols and Happy Birthdays with out her seven year old angel. I feel bad for feeling my loss because her loss is so much greater. This weekend I am going to make a red lego ornament to remember Connor. I am going to find an ornament with a gymnast on it because I remember teaching Carly gymnastics and will drop off a matching one to Justin. I will find an ornament with a few choir girls because I remember Shannon the most talking (instead of singing) to me and Laura and I will buy a matching one for Laura and Shawnee. And oh my, I can't believe I forgot "Big Mike"! Except I can't think of an ornament to buy for Philip! At first thought I think of one of big smiley faces because Michael was always so happy and fun to be around, but that's kind of corny...I'll have to think of something better than a corny smiley face to remember Mike! I will have 6 favorite ornaments this year.
I pray for my family and always the Jones family as our losses are so new and hurt so very bad. Tonight though I also pray for Stacy, Gary, Justin, Shawnee, Shay, Shans Dad, Bob, Gatha, Becky, Philip, Ashley, Kristen and the Jones family because the loss of a child is even more unimaginable to me than the loss of my father. I pray that everyone holds their memories of their lost loved ones close, not just as Christmas approaches, but always. I hope that the stories that I keep reading of people "paying it forward" continue to be posted often on my facebook newsfeed. I hope and pray that everyone has a safe and happy holiday season.
Sarah Jones Blog
http://notsobrightandshiny.blogspot.com/2010/11/christmas-tree.html
And then I read one of the blogs that I follow and I am humbled. Humbled to the point of speechlessness and tears and we all know that rarely happens. My heart aches for the writer of this blog often. I have never met her, never talked to her, I just silently follow her blog. I pray for her and her family each night. Sarah Jones lost her first born child this year to a horrific, painful death. This is her first Christmas without her little man.
I miss my Dad like crazy. I see things that remind me of him and my eyes swell with tears. We decorated our tree on Wednesday night. Each ornament has a meaning. A special memory of when we received it, a story or a reason behind the ornament is attached to each of them. I unwrapped a few and smiled. I unwrapped a few and cried. Christmas gives us all such a reason to celebrate and I am clinging to this belief pretty tightly right now so that I am able to hold it together. I unwrapped memory after memory and tears full of love dropped like a steady rain. An ornament that I had specially made for my Granny of me and Jake and the one my mom and dad gave to me with their picture on it are my two favorite this year. After we were done hanging the ornaments the kids and I sang Christmas songs in front of our beautiful, memory filled tree. I couldn't think of any other songs that we had not sung. Lilly chimes in, well we can sing Happy Birthday since it's Jesus birthday! Yes, babe we can certainly sing Happy Birthday for Jesus. We sing the song and she asks me, "Can we sing it for Pipi on his birthday?" I can't bear to think about his upcoming birthday. It puts knots in my stomach and tears in my eyes. "Of course honey, we can sing Happy Birthday to Pipi the day before we sing Happy Birthday to Jesus."
I read this blog a few days ago, but read it again tonight because I'm thinking about Sarah's family. How she has to continue on with out her sweet baby boy. How she has to sing Christmas carols and Happy Birthdays with out her seven year old angel. I feel bad for feeling my loss because her loss is so much greater. This weekend I am going to make a red lego ornament to remember Connor. I am going to find an ornament with a gymnast on it because I remember teaching Carly gymnastics and will drop off a matching one to Justin. I will find an ornament with a few choir girls because I remember Shannon the most talking (instead of singing) to me and Laura and I will buy a matching one for Laura and Shawnee. And oh my, I can't believe I forgot "Big Mike"! Except I can't think of an ornament to buy for Philip! At first thought I think of one of big smiley faces because Michael was always so happy and fun to be around, but that's kind of corny...I'll have to think of something better than a corny smiley face to remember Mike! I will have 6 favorite ornaments this year.
I pray for my family and always the Jones family as our losses are so new and hurt so very bad. Tonight though I also pray for Stacy, Gary, Justin, Shawnee, Shay, Shans Dad, Bob, Gatha, Becky, Philip, Ashley, Kristen and the Jones family because the loss of a child is even more unimaginable to me than the loss of my father. I pray that everyone holds their memories of their lost loved ones close, not just as Christmas approaches, but always. I hope that the stories that I keep reading of people "paying it forward" continue to be posted often on my facebook newsfeed. I hope and pray that everyone has a safe and happy holiday season.
Sarah Jones Blog
http://notsobrightandshiny.blogspot.com/2010/11/christmas-tree.html
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
Humble in the Heart
Tuesday, October 19, 2010
It is odd for me to feel as if I am the one carrying the burden. It is strange and rather uncomfortable for me to ask for help. Thankfully, in nearly all times of trial and tribulation thus far in my life, I have always been the one to offer support. I have always been the one that holds it together.
When I was only seventeen, heaven gained a beautiful, energetic, opinionated, loving teen-angel. An angel that so many people loved. An angel that could light up a room with her smile or clear it out with a simple expression on her face. An angel with a laugh that was infectious, one that even on your worst days and even if you tried to remain in a bad mood, you would have to succumb to her smile and join her in laughter. An angel that was a daughter, sister and friend. Though I still look back and think it's unfair, that she was supposed to be a teenager, not a teen-angel, I was able to find comfort in my beliefs about Heaven.
Her mother asked me to sing at her funeral and told me how much her angel baby loved to hear me sing. How could I say no to a grieving mother who lost her daughter so tragically? Even after calling my best friend and telling her that her best friend had been part of a deadly accident. After listening to her scream and drop the phone. After a long night of holding my closest friends as they sobbed and sobbed. After witnessing every single one of my teachers line up with tears running down their face as they said their goodbyes to my sweet friend. After walking past her mother and watching her heart breaking in front of me.
I walked to the balcony of the standing room only church, held the hand of the friend ready to sing with me, looked at our music teacher that was so respected by our angel friend and the music started. We belted the high parts because that's what Shannon would have wanted. I made it through the entire song in memory of Heavens Newest Angel. When the song was over, I leaned over the balcony. I could see my friends, classmates, teachers and her family trying to simply make it through this day. This day that nobody wants to imagine or experience and all I could think of was their sorrow, their pain.
Only months and years after the accident did I allow myself to feel the pain. The rush of emotions flooding my mind when I least expected them- when I heard a song that she liked, or witnessed another families worst nightmare coming true, or hearing the news that her mother had been diagnosed with the dreaded C word. I have always been the one to hold it together until I can find the time and place to mourn my loss alone.
I do not like to carry my burden where people can see it, but right now I can feel it. I find myself comforting others and feeling their pain as they look at my Daddy and think of my family. When my parents' friends stop by to drop off food or visit, they are usually the ones that leave in tears.
The character traits that I possess are a mixture of my mother, father, family and friends, but this rock-like trait is from my momma. She has asked me many times recently if she is (or if we) are heartless. We rarely breakdown and cry. We continue to laugh and enjoy each others company. We give my Dad sips of water in a medicine dropper like it's normal. We change his clothes like we have done it our entire lives.
Tonight as I read passages from The Bible I relate most to Matthew 11:25-30
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
I read it and feel renewed. I understand that the way I mourn, or my coping mechanism I suppose, is to feel the sorrow of others. I understand that in my time I will feel my sorrow when I least expect it, it will come rushing in like the tide. Just as it has so many times before. When I turn on the radio, or look at a scrapbook, or watch one of my children turn into a monster when they have not eaten. I find comfort knowing that when this time comes, He will give me rest. Today I feel gentle and humble in my heart.
As I proof this post it is around noon on October 19th, my Mom called in with the update. There is nothing new to report. His pulse remains steady and he only had a couple bites for breakfast this morning. I continue to pray for his peace and comfort and feel overly grateful for the support you have all given.
It is odd for me to feel as if I am the one carrying the burden. It is strange and rather uncomfortable for me to ask for help. Thankfully, in nearly all times of trial and tribulation thus far in my life, I have always been the one to offer support. I have always been the one that holds it together.
When I was only seventeen, heaven gained a beautiful, energetic, opinionated, loving teen-angel. An angel that so many people loved. An angel that could light up a room with her smile or clear it out with a simple expression on her face. An angel with a laugh that was infectious, one that even on your worst days and even if you tried to remain in a bad mood, you would have to succumb to her smile and join her in laughter. An angel that was a daughter, sister and friend. Though I still look back and think it's unfair, that she was supposed to be a teenager, not a teen-angel, I was able to find comfort in my beliefs about Heaven.
Her mother asked me to sing at her funeral and told me how much her angel baby loved to hear me sing. How could I say no to a grieving mother who lost her daughter so tragically? Even after calling my best friend and telling her that her best friend had been part of a deadly accident. After listening to her scream and drop the phone. After a long night of holding my closest friends as they sobbed and sobbed. After witnessing every single one of my teachers line up with tears running down their face as they said their goodbyes to my sweet friend. After walking past her mother and watching her heart breaking in front of me.
I walked to the balcony of the standing room only church, held the hand of the friend ready to sing with me, looked at our music teacher that was so respected by our angel friend and the music started. We belted the high parts because that's what Shannon would have wanted. I made it through the entire song in memory of Heavens Newest Angel. When the song was over, I leaned over the balcony. I could see my friends, classmates, teachers and her family trying to simply make it through this day. This day that nobody wants to imagine or experience and all I could think of was their sorrow, their pain.
Only months and years after the accident did I allow myself to feel the pain. The rush of emotions flooding my mind when I least expected them- when I heard a song that she liked, or witnessed another families worst nightmare coming true, or hearing the news that her mother had been diagnosed with the dreaded C word. I have always been the one to hold it together until I can find the time and place to mourn my loss alone.
I do not like to carry my burden where people can see it, but right now I can feel it. I find myself comforting others and feeling their pain as they look at my Daddy and think of my family. When my parents' friends stop by to drop off food or visit, they are usually the ones that leave in tears.
The character traits that I possess are a mixture of my mother, father, family and friends, but this rock-like trait is from my momma. She has asked me many times recently if she is (or if we) are heartless. We rarely breakdown and cry. We continue to laugh and enjoy each others company. We give my Dad sips of water in a medicine dropper like it's normal. We change his clothes like we have done it our entire lives.
Tonight as I read passages from The Bible I relate most to Matthew 11:25-30
"Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For my yoke is easy and my burden is light."
I read it and feel renewed. I understand that the way I mourn, or my coping mechanism I suppose, is to feel the sorrow of others. I understand that in my time I will feel my sorrow when I least expect it, it will come rushing in like the tide. Just as it has so many times before. When I turn on the radio, or look at a scrapbook, or watch one of my children turn into a monster when they have not eaten. I find comfort knowing that when this time comes, He will give me rest. Today I feel gentle and humble in my heart.
As I proof this post it is around noon on October 19th, my Mom called in with the update. There is nothing new to report. His pulse remains steady and he only had a couple bites for breakfast this morning. I continue to pray for his peace and comfort and feel overly grateful for the support you have all given.
Monday, October 11, 2010
Daddy's Girl
Daddy's Girl
Today I am feeling exceptionally calm considering the tornado that is swirling around my head. Usually this means "the calm before the storm", but my shoulders are aching with tension so I'm going to take the moment to be thankful.
We went on vacation with our friends this weekend. We went to a quaint little cottage on a lake that didn't have much to do but relax. I had been looking forward to spending time with my children, Ron and some of our best friends since we scheduled the trip. We haven't had much time with just our family recently and we were all anxiously awaiting the getaway.
I knew that the trip would not go as planned. Lately nothing seems to. I told a couple of my friends that I was looking forward to it; therefore, something would happen to prevent me from going. We planned to leave after school on Thursday. My dad fell and broke his other hip Thursday afternoon. Once I loaded the van and kids, I assisted my Mom and Uncle Paul in getting my Dad back to our house and comfortable. I did not know that his hip was broken, but had strong notion that something was.
My brother was already planning to come home the following day so we decided to go ahead with our planned vacation. We had already planned to take two vehicles so that I could come home if necessary. Now it would certainly be necessary. I ended my vacation early to see my dad before surgery and be there to support my mom before during and after, but not before I relearned a very important lesson.
Two of my best friends have deadbeat dads. Honestly, this is the very best term I can use (I would describe them with much more disgust, but the fact remains that they are still their fathers and I am not entitled to write the things I really feel for them). Luckily, both of them have absolutely wonderful, strong and caring mothers that raised them to be truly unmatched friends, sisters, daughters and mothers. Both of my friends mothers were very fortunate to eventually find a good man to share their lives with and contribute to raising their wonderful daughters, but not before they struggled to support their children and comfort them for many years all alone.
To this day my friends have so many questions. How can someone leave their children? Did they really forget my birthday? Why doesn't my dad care about me? All of my friends fathers are teaching them how to ride a bike, why isn't my dad? How can they not want to watch me cheer at a football game? Why don't they want to see me all dressed up for homecoming? Why are his adopted children listed as his children, but not me or my sister?
Knowing that my heart is breaking right now, knowing that I can barely catch my breath these days, knowing that I am worried sick about my father laying in the hospital bed in agony, my friend thinks about all of these things. With tear-filled eyes she tells me how lucky I am. How lucky I am that I can say proudly that I am a Daddy's Girl. That I can remember him teaching me to ride a bike. I can remember him sitting in the stands, swollen with pride as he watched all my sporting events. I can remember him picking me up at two in the morning when my prom date failed me. I can remember when he bailed me out. I can remember when he brought me flowers when I delivered Lilly and how he called me crying because he was out of town when I had Camille. He couldn't wait to meet my children. I can remember how excited Keegan is to sit in Pipi's lap or how he used to tickle torture Lilly before he was too sick.
Today and always, so much love and my endless support to my dear friends for reteaching me this lesson when it was so needed. So very sorry that your sperm donors made you feel inadequate because you are not. It is truly their loss. So very thankful that your mothers are so wonderful and were able to raise you all to be such strong women.
I have a lifetime of memories that my father will leave me with. I am blessed to be married to someone that offers my children the same love and support that I received. Always willing to read them a book or tickle torture them. I am very fortunate to say the least.
So, today I am choosing to be thankful that I am a Daddy's Girl. I am thankful to have such wonderful friends that are willing to teach me from the pain they have endured. Even though I can feel my heart breaking as the cancer continues to take over my Dads body, I am thankful.
Today I am feeling exceptionally calm considering the tornado that is swirling around my head. Usually this means "the calm before the storm", but my shoulders are aching with tension so I'm going to take the moment to be thankful.
We went on vacation with our friends this weekend. We went to a quaint little cottage on a lake that didn't have much to do but relax. I had been looking forward to spending time with my children, Ron and some of our best friends since we scheduled the trip. We haven't had much time with just our family recently and we were all anxiously awaiting the getaway.
I knew that the trip would not go as planned. Lately nothing seems to. I told a couple of my friends that I was looking forward to it; therefore, something would happen to prevent me from going. We planned to leave after school on Thursday. My dad fell and broke his other hip Thursday afternoon. Once I loaded the van and kids, I assisted my Mom and Uncle Paul in getting my Dad back to our house and comfortable. I did not know that his hip was broken, but had strong notion that something was.
My brother was already planning to come home the following day so we decided to go ahead with our planned vacation. We had already planned to take two vehicles so that I could come home if necessary. Now it would certainly be necessary. I ended my vacation early to see my dad before surgery and be there to support my mom before during and after, but not before I relearned a very important lesson.
Two of my best friends have deadbeat dads. Honestly, this is the very best term I can use (I would describe them with much more disgust, but the fact remains that they are still their fathers and I am not entitled to write the things I really feel for them). Luckily, both of them have absolutely wonderful, strong and caring mothers that raised them to be truly unmatched friends, sisters, daughters and mothers. Both of my friends mothers were very fortunate to eventually find a good man to share their lives with and contribute to raising their wonderful daughters, but not before they struggled to support their children and comfort them for many years all alone.
To this day my friends have so many questions. How can someone leave their children? Did they really forget my birthday? Why doesn't my dad care about me? All of my friends fathers are teaching them how to ride a bike, why isn't my dad? How can they not want to watch me cheer at a football game? Why don't they want to see me all dressed up for homecoming? Why are his adopted children listed as his children, but not me or my sister?
Knowing that my heart is breaking right now, knowing that I can barely catch my breath these days, knowing that I am worried sick about my father laying in the hospital bed in agony, my friend thinks about all of these things. With tear-filled eyes she tells me how lucky I am. How lucky I am that I can say proudly that I am a Daddy's Girl. That I can remember him teaching me to ride a bike. I can remember him sitting in the stands, swollen with pride as he watched all my sporting events. I can remember him picking me up at two in the morning when my prom date failed me. I can remember when he bailed me out. I can remember when he brought me flowers when I delivered Lilly and how he called me crying because he was out of town when I had Camille. He couldn't wait to meet my children. I can remember how excited Keegan is to sit in Pipi's lap or how he used to tickle torture Lilly before he was too sick.
Today and always, so much love and my endless support to my dear friends for reteaching me this lesson when it was so needed. So very sorry that your sperm donors made you feel inadequate because you are not. It is truly their loss. So very thankful that your mothers are so wonderful and were able to raise you all to be such strong women.
I have a lifetime of memories that my father will leave me with. I am blessed to be married to someone that offers my children the same love and support that I received. Always willing to read them a book or tickle torture them. I am very fortunate to say the least.
So, today I am choosing to be thankful that I am a Daddy's Girl. I am thankful to have such wonderful friends that are willing to teach me from the pain they have endured. Even though I can feel my heart breaking as the cancer continues to take over my Dads body, I am thankful.
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