John Michael

Grief has this way of sneaking up on you. There is nothing linear about it. In the weeks after I started taking baby steps out in to the world again, I would find myself confused by the world around me. How did it go on? Didn't anyone know I just lost my Mom? I was viewing all things through glass. Nothing was clear. I wasn't an active participant. In the days following her funeral, my body was depleted. She gave out on me and I finally let myself succumb to the sickness and all I wanted was for her white Prius to pull up with a home made soup delivery. It didn't matter what kind, all of her soups were winners, and I never took the time to learn how. I always assumed we had more time. . .and then we didn't.

My birthday was six days after she passed away. I woke up to the smell of smoke which I automatically assumed was her barbecue. It flickered comfort for a second. I also hadn't listened to my voice mails, hoping I had one of her singing Happy Birthday to me. I always tried to answer those calls. If she wasn't the first call of the day, I was disappointed. I had come to expect the woman who brought me into the world, would also sing and welcome me to the gift of another year first and foremost. I cried my eyes out when the very first message I played was her singing. While family and friends showed up that night to celebrate, it is a blur. 

Twenty-four days later, I would venture out to a friend's house to celebrate with an intimate dinner with five of my friends from church. I had Ernie drop me off that night. Driving took energy I didn't want to waste. I remember I walked through her door, and the candles were lit, the food smelled delicious, the environment was warm and calming. I had an instant feeling of relief instead of anxiety. This felt almost normal. I felt so loved. My friends were arriving. There were hugs and check ins with each other, and then my phone rang. It had barely been a few minutes since I was dropped off, but my husband was calling, so I answered it.

He told me that he didn't want me to worry, and immediately my heart dropped. My voice raised. My friend's voices got quiet as everyone watched me. I remember that clearly. I think someone put their hands on my back. All I know is my hands were on my mouth, as my husband told me my 44-year-old brother who had taken his boys on a hunting trip had been in an accident. I was trying to remember to breathe. I wanted to go home, but he told me I was in the best place and to stay and pray. We did. I remember clearly thinking, "There is no way God would do this to my family." I then called my sister in law who was crying, but who also told me my brother was moving and talking, and I know I felt some peace. He was going to be okay. I just knew it. We sat around the table, I tried to eat. We talked a bit...about what I can not even remember. But then the hosts face changed as she noticed someone coming up to the door. She asked if we were expecting anyone.

It was my husband, and I knew in my heart before he even said, "We had to go." I don't remember if I crumpled under the weight of his words, but even today it still feels like it, so I expect I did. I could not cry. My friends cried for me. I could not breathe. I fell apart. I could not comprehend that this could even happen. How in only twenty-four days did my life as I knew it, cease to exist?  My brother, my first friend.  Polar opposites, but the only one who shared our growing up experience with me. Simply gone.

If Only. . .

If I want to write, I have to write. . .even if it means I have nothing to write about. With the ending of 2022, it would appear I have much to write, but just as I felt I was experiencing life in a fog like vapor, the night she passed away, the fog hasn't lifted. . .yet. I am however plotting my course, digging into the tools that provide me with the roadmap to dissect my grief, deal with it, and move through it, albeit slowly. The bible, my gratitude journal, therapy-these are the tools I tuck away in my tool box that I carry with me around the clock now. These tools are my safety net in a world that feels anything but.

Going back to that night, October 1st isn't something I am ready to do. My hands start to shake, my heart races, the dread of that night returns with just a thought. A single flicker is all it takes to take me backwards, and I am determined to heal whole. My husband and kids deserve the best parts of me, not a shell of the person I was before mom died. Looking back, I was already moved out of the house when my mom's mom died. Her struggle with cancer was swift. My grandma knew what she was saying yes to when she refused treatment and six weeks later, December 27th she went home to heaven. Even the night before she died, my memories of my mom losing her mom were stoic. She did all the things a loving caregiver would do. They had said all that needed to be said. There was a very evident peace between them. I remember so clearly crawling on to my grandma's bed reading aloud from, Love You Forever,  by Robert Munsch. I choked through the ending bringing both my mom and I to tears. It was a moment I will treasure forever. Three generations on one bed, together one last time. I always envisioned having the long good bye with my Mom. I was so very, very wrong.

My mom is one of the strongest women I have ever known, especially in the area of caregiving. She cared for both her parents and father in law up until their deaths. The emotional and physical toll that would have on her body was not evident at first. There were many times  in her life that I would watch her and think to myself, "I could never. . ." I actually feared her getting older because of the responsibilities that might one day come. She would joke back, "That's why we have long term health care," and that crutch made me feel a little bit better.  I have always known what a gift her level of care was, but now I see how she willingly sacrificed pieces of herself to care for each of our loved ones. 

As much as I envisioned the long good bye, maybe it simply wasn't long enough because in some ways I guess I had it. I just didn't realize that is what it was. Shortly after losing her dad in 2004, my Mom was diagnosed with stage three breast cancer. I was pregnant with my second child at twenty-nine years old. I remember clearly calling out to the Lord to save my Mom, to heal her, and give us all the gift of more time. At barely fifty-one years old, having cared for and losing both her parents, working in the dark environment of a prison, and a marriage that was struggling, I wanted her to experience joy and the fullness of life that I thought she deserved. Selfishly, I needed her here. My kids needed to know her love as their grandma because there would be nothing else like it. She went on to survive cancer, but the journey was an arduous one, and the fear of its return was always tucked away in the back of her mind. She never wanted to endure a cancer journey again. This we did talk about from time to time. We received seventeen extra years: years that would bring about the things of life: Love, saddness, divorce, change, and lastly growth.

If only I had known that day would be her last.

If only I had asked all the questions.

If only I had fully appreciated who she was in life.

If only I could hear that laugh and see her smile again.

If only. . .

If only. . .

If only. . .

Wednesday Wishes. . .

Wednesdays are for making wishes. . .

“May Light always surround you;
Hope kindle and rebound you.
May your Hurts turn to Healing;
Your Heart embrace Feeling.
May Wounds become Wisdom;
Every Kindness a Prism.
May Laughter infect you;
Your Passion resurrect you.
May Goodness inspire 
your Deepest Desires.
Through all that you Reach For, 
May your arms Never Tire.” 
― D. Simone

Last Daddy/Daughter Dance of Her Elementary Years

Another last for her elementary years. . .It has flown by.  So sad but so blessed by the relationship that has developed with this daughter.  The future is wide open and she will always be a daddy's girl.

It's in The Details

A friend complimented my house the other day and what stood out was, "it's in the small details."  I love this house.  I have said it before and I will say it again.  As a twenty-one year old home owner, I would have never thought that sixteen years later I would still be here.  But I've realized this space has become more than a house.  It has become our home.  There are six family members that add to its charm and character.  Loud footsteps run up and down stairs, my sacred spaces bloom with scented flowers and organized shelves.  My closet under the stairs hides a place to escape and burn some calories, and the rest are all details that have been fostered by my desire for the kids to know they are loved by an almighty God.

I believe Sally Clarkson first inspired that part of me to tear down walls and build up pretty.  Lemondade Makin Mama   shared her skills for signs that spoke to my heart and established this space was all about Him.  And over time the details started taking care of themselves.  When it truly became about honoring and praising God by the beauty of our surroundings, He took care of the rest.  He has a way of doing things like that. . .in case you were wondering.  He just does.

Little pieces of a past that was simpler and solid scream out to me by way of Pyrex dishes, spools of thread and blue mason jars.  Free printables have adorned spray painted Ninety-Nine Cent Store frames because that's what I could afford then and they are still in good shape now.  A heavy, impatient hand at times has had a vision for Nana's old coffee table or a yard sale find.  And all these separate, seemingly unrelated pieces just fit.  They fit into the shape of who we are as a family and they breathe life into us throughout the day.  They forge us together into the beautiful, creative, lovely space that is our own.

And my daughters?  Surround yourself with loveliness.  A flower picked by the hands of a child.  Art projects strewn across bulletin boards.  Verses and quotes that have value and meaning in any shape or form to you.  Pretty mason jars to use for drinking, great grandma's tea cups for a sip of tea.  Patterns and textures that remind you of home in the most positive of ways.  Let your outer walls reflect the beauty that is your heart.  Display pictures of those you hold most dear.  And those things you love so much?  Never let their value or worth detract from little hands that can enjoy and find pleasure with them too.  If it's out, it's not to impress people.  It's to play.  Play often.  Let others be inspired by what your walls say.

But daughters?  Please know that when you craft and build your home with your eyes turned on Him, He will be the only one you need to fill in the "details."

It's in the details.  Only He knows what those details are and only He can provide them for your viewing and living pleasure.  He is the details, daughters. 

Happy, Heart-Filled Home

You know the days that are so full to the brim of splendid?  I think I just experienced one of them.  Helping in both kid's classrooms, trekking to the doctors for a mysterious rash on a daughter, a play date/lunch with a friend who catered to our hungry tummies and opened her home to us. . .Not even the tantrum that followed when it was time to leave, cast a shadow of gray upon the stay.  She was fast asleep by the time we reached home. . and soon kids raced home to do homework and their Daily Ten list before they could go out and play. . .Overheard in the bathroom, as I actually sat in my sacred place with a book in hand, contemplating whether or not I would go to book club tonight:  "We might as well clean the shower while we are at it."  They happily, eagerly, helped this mama out and went above and beyond their "chore" list.  I felt so happy.

A brother stopped by to pick up the dogs that were visiting in the yard.  His visit was brief but he did help out the fourth grader with a rounding worksheet that I was getting frustrated over.  He saved the day.  God sent him at just the right time to intervene and my warm, happy, fuzzy feeling was not lost.  Did I mention an hour and a half wait at the doctors, or a temper tantrum by the three -year-old?

Dinner was simple: prepared while on the phone talking to my best friend, about our daily happenings.  Earlier that morning, I text her to let her know we had prayed for her daughter who was having teeth pulled that day.  A sweet text message followed and now we were checking in.  Two moms, two friends.  Blessed.  A dinner together, where we talked life and love and all things in between.  We focused on Way number 1:  Loving our Lord with whole hearted devotion.  Thank you Clay Clarkson for the plan--now I pray we really strive to implement it into our nightly routine.

Cookies were placed in the oven for dessert and I made the call to stay home: to inhale their loveliness, this peaceful space of home.  I praised God that even in the chaos of the day, I was constantly looking for the joy.  I kept it together, calm, cool, collected.  Focused and intentional.  All that remains tonight is a read aloud--we're aiming for two chapters while the kids inhale their fresh from the oven cookies.  I love today.  I love its simpleness. I love its splendor.  I love that I am here to live it with these people who matter most to me. 

Today was a very good day.

October 4, 2012

I've been spending a lot of time with the little one lately. . .It has only taken six weeks for the great awakening, groove getting into and all the jazz that accompanies my staying home.  The past couple days have been filled with sudden change, missing parts, and a lot of activity in an effort to see what life looks like without a nap.  Bounce houses equal not bored.  The park equals not bored.  A box in the backyard equal not bored.  Bed equals exhaustion by seven o'clock.  I'm not sure if this is our new rhythm; not sure what it will look like on the weekend but feeling a big exhale as I head on up to bed by  nine o'clock. Day two of no nap, nor huge meltdown either--maybe we're heading into the down slide of the terrible two's.  Maybe?  A girl can hope. . .Here's hoping to another great day tomorrow.  imoms awaits us and we both enjoy that!

May 24, 2012

Dear Daughter,

I know how much you heart is set on summer camp with the dance team you used to love, but dance camp isn't the issue--it's the bigger dance commitment that is.  I just don't want to share you with that competitive dance team again this year!  Having you back in our hearts and home this year has been such a tremendous JOY!

 I don't want them to have you at least five hours a week.  I don't want to not be able to schedule any fun family weekend outings between both you and your dad's crazy schedules.  Competitions were long days filled with lots of dancing, and make up, and frilly clothes...and sitting there and sitting there and sitting there.  All day long.  During dance season, I always felt I was battling for your heart.  I didn't have enough time with you to instill His truth, our guidance, and love.  I was tired. You were tired. Your siblings were tired because we were always on the go. . .up early, home late and what to do with your brother and sister during such full days focused on you--and your ten minutes of routines?  Ten minutes, love bug. All day long and hours of practice each week for ten minutes.

Now, if this was truly what your heart desired, we would consider it.  It would be extremely difficult to make it happen, but we would try again. . .or we can try again later when you're a little older.  But now?  You've been able to participate in two other shows since you didn't have the dance commitment--you were able to do what you love up there on a stage and perform.  You even had speaking parts this year, bug.  Being your mama, who doesn't want to see you get hurt, I recommended being a narrator so you would in fact be able to speak.  However, you had other plans.  Dorothy.  You won the role over eleven other lovely girls.  You wanted it, and you went after it and He blessed you with the part.  Finally, your voice was heard.

You blessed others with your beautiful voice when you sang at mass on Sunday.  If you were to join dance again, you would have to give this up too--as practice times conflict.  And, what about those plans we had for you to be my helper in Bubba's second year CCD class?  You were so excited to share your newest found faith in the consumption of bread and wine at mass this year. . .so excited to teach younger ones about the journey. 

But daughter dearest, if this is something your heart is set on,  I promise you it can be yours again in the future, just not yet.  Not this year.  What you might see as being mean, I simply see as not being ready yet.  You're not ready to get out there into the world with such little direction and  I'm not ready to send you.  We need more time here.  In this place, our home to guide you and grow you and to let you be little for as long as you can be!  You deserve the best from us--and although I know your dance teachers love you, it's different and we need you here.  Not the bustle and hustle of drop offs, and dinner away from our table, and late nights with no time for books and barely uttered prayers before you fall asleep exhausted.

I'm sorry love bug.  Dance team is not in the cards for this year.  A dance class, sure.  We can look into that--but the team?  Not happening again. . . yet.  I hope you can understand that this is not the end, but a beautiful beginning of what God can do when we intentionally lay the foundation at home first: spending quality time together, loving each other first, building His kingdom in our hearts, and shining His light to those we meet. 

I can't wait to see you on stage next week in the Wizard of Oz. . .and in November as part of the You're a Good Man, Charlie Brown cast. Keep shining His light and pursuing your passion!  Promise we will revisit the dance discussion another year.

Love Always,
Mom