Most Wonderful Time

My heart is happiest during the holiday seasons. I love the breaks from school and getting to be home with my kids. I love hearing Christmas Carols on the radio. I love buying presents for my kids and my niece and nephew and all the people that I love. I love the traditions we’ve made. It is indeed the most wonderful time of the year. 

It’s also my hardest time of year. The pain and emotion stings my soul every once in a while and I’m caught off guard, even all these years later. Walking through Target and finding the perfect stocking stuffers. Browsing Amazon for just the right outfit for Amelia. Even the driving through the insane crowds trying to make it to get that one last prize for my Emmy. The elation and joy of this season makes my heart soar, and in one brief glimpse it can shatter into a million pieces. Tonight’s catalyst for this blog post was watching the girls excitedly open their gifts. Such joy and thankfulness beam from their little faces. I am so happy that they are so happy. 

And yet underneath for me, my heart hurts just a little. Brian should be here. He should be here to help pick out gifts. He should be here to pack bags as we get ready to head out to my sister’s. Brian should be the one I get to text when I find the perfect gift. He should be here to sit at the table with Amelia as she builds her LEGO set. Or helps Emerson learn how to use a baseball mitt 

And then, in the next mood swing, I’m so thankful that he isn’t. I get them all to myself. They are safe and loved and happy being a family of three. And we truly get to enjoy the holiday season. There’s no stress. No tears. No anxiety. There’s only peace and joy and love. 

Father God knew exactly what He was doing in our mess. He knew that victory was His and that we are part of His kingdom. His plan. We are strong and resilient and have a profound love for each other. And I am so very grateful. 

So I will use those moments in my next swing. It’s usually when I’m standing in the closet on Christmas Eve, praying the girls don’t wake up and hear me and spoil the magic and surprise. The tears fall then because it makes me sad to be doing these moments alone. To not have a helper, my husband. And then it shifts to Christmas morning when I get their little arms wrapped around me all to myself. And we get to celebrate the birth of our Lord and Savior and know that Brian is with Him. And we will be too someday. 

It truly is the most wonderful time of the year. And I wouldn’t trade any of these moments for anything. Enjoy your magic moments! Every single one of them. Don’t take them for granted. Hug and hold and honor. Love and laugh. Enjoy each second. Don’t rush through! Take it all in. Every smile. Every tear. Every single moment and memory. And check on your friends who are struggling. Even the ones that are eight years out and should be fine. They are fine. But they need love and extra check-ins too. 

Merry Christmas! Happy New Year! And may God bless us every one! 

Boulevard of Broken Dreams...

There are certain days that hurt worse than others. Doughnuts with Dad day at school often causes us to pause. The daddy-daughter dance that is incessantly advertised and then published about as daddies get to take their daughters out on a date is a bit hard, probably mostly for me rather than Emerson and Amelia. And today, also probably more for me. 

This last Sunday was a new one. The memory verse at Sunday School for this week is the Fourth Commandment. After class we were in the car on the way home and Emerson asked what we were supposed to do with that? We don’t have a dad! Amelia without missing a beat recited, “Honor your mother. Period.” We all broke out in fits of laughter and then talked about how our sense of humor is a bit warped perhaps. We cope a bit differently than others maybe. 

That situation was brought up again today by Amelia. Marilyn started my day with a hug. She said she knew what today was and wanted me to know she loved me, loved us. I quickly left knowing that the tears were on the surface. When I picked the girls up from school Amelia asked why Marilyn hugged me. I took a deep breath and told them that eight years ago today was the day their dad died. 

“Today?” Emerson sounded exasperated. “Why would be pick today?”

“I don’t know why he picked today, Em. He just did.”

“He should have picked 9/11. That’s already a sad day. Why did he have to ruin another one?”

Then the questions started from both of them. Questions that give my momma heart pause and sends aching pains through to my core. What were you doing when he died? Why did you call him? What do you mean he left a note? Did he do it in our house? Where was he? How did they find him?

None of this is in the parent manuals. I didn’t read anything about this in any What to Expect books. I answered their questions and choked back tears. I watched Amelia closely in the rear view mirror as she scrunched her little face up, her signal that she is done and doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

Emerson, after taking it all in, asked, “So, what are we going to do?”

Amelia once again without missing a beat said “Honor our mother. Period.” We laughed hysterically again. And moved on with our busy routine. 

Except my heart hurts. It hurts for me. It hurts for my kids. So many things that we were supposed to do as a family. Like daddy-daughter dances and doughnuts with dads and being able to recite the Fourth Commandment without a caveat. So many broken dreams just lying by the wayside. 

The Message translation of Jeremiah 17:14 says “God, pick up the pieces.  Put me back together again. You are my praise!” The pieces of our dreams were broken and shattered, along with our hearts. And those pieces sometimes break lose and the tears flow and the questions fly around. But God will pick up all of those pieces. He will put us back together. He will mend the broken parts and present us with new plans, new boulevards, new dreams. And every time we find ourselves falling apart, He will wait patiently for us to call out to Him in our times of trouble and He will pick up the pieces and put us back together. 

Who Is That Girl I See...

When you spend most of your life inventing and reinventing yourself, the image you see can feel skewed. Some days I forget who I used to be. Some days I want to forget who I used to be. Some days I forget who I am. Some days I want to forget who I am. And some days I just desperately want to be anyone other than who I see in the mirror. 

October is weird and angsty. There are so many emotions that swirl around me during this time that some days the best I can do is close my eyes and hope the ride stops soon. I am fairly certain it was October about four years ago that I sat on the couch of the second therapist I tried to get to fix me, looked into her eyes, and said, “Do you think I’m bipolar? I feel bipolar.” She smiled, informed me that I was not bipolar and then stamped PTSD into my chart and into my life. Bipolar is how I was feeling then. And that’s how I’m feeling now. I’m feeling lost and hurt and euphoric and happy and depressed and anxious and stubborn and brand new and broken all at the same time. 

And then, a friend posted what today is. Today is World Mental Health Day. I didn’t know, but sitting at the head of my bed feeling like a swirling ocean of emotions and trying to breathe and discovering this makes me laugh out loud. Is it mental health awareness day where we want to promote mental health? Is it fight for a cure day for those of us suffering from some form of mental unhealth? Is it a day we should celebrate with no work and being with people we love and doing something to take care of our mental health? Should I celebrate myself? Or should I feel badly that I’m a statistic and am diagnosed with PTSD? How does this work?

I find it interesting that September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day and then October 10th is World Mental Health Day. Seems like that should maybe be the other way around. Maybe if World Mental Health Day was more than just a day, we wouldn’t need to even have a World Suicide Prevention Day. And it’s obviously not publicized very well. I didn’t know. I haven’t heard anything except for one Facebook friend that posted about it. But I can tell you that this month is Breast Cancer Awareness month. It’s plastered all over. Wear pink. Think pink. Raise money. Find the cure. And trust me, I am NOT trying to take away from the breast cancer cause at all. We need research in ALL areas of cancer to eradicate these horrible diseases. Breast cancer incidence rates are currently 20 deaths for every 100,000 women. I have grieved and have worried about and have lost more than my share of people from brain cancer, prostate cancer, lung cancer. It’s all terrible. 

But did you know that the suicide rate in males is 21.3 for every 100,000 and for females is 6.0 for every 100,000. Suicide is now the second leading cause of death in 10-34 year olds just behind unintentional injuries. But we are still not talking about it. They give it a day. And then a month later we talk about mental health. For a day. It’s not enough. It’s not saving enough people. It didn’t save my husband. 

I am eight days away from the eight-year anniversary of my husband’s suicide. Eight years has flown by and part of the invention and reinvention of myself that I talked about at the beginning of this post is directly linked to that incident. I suddenly found myself a young single mother with a three year old and a six month old. I had to learn to be strong and do it all and balance life without being “Brian’s wife.” So I have changed immensely. For the better, I feel, but it has still be a process that has changed me into a person I don’t recognize sometimes. Who am I? Who do I see in the mirror? I work hard to see an image that is positive. I work hard to make sure my girls see a mom who is involved and strong and a good provider. I work hard to feel and appear ok. And most of the time, that works. 

It doesn’t work as well in October. I miss my husband. I miss his goofy laugh and his mischievous grin. I miss his smelly fire fighter bunkers in his closet. I miss ironing his State Patrol shirts. I miss the scanner on the counter. I miss making him rum and coke and watching him mow the lawn. I’m sad that he ruined his career and his volunteerism and his family in one fell swoop because of his choices. I’m sad that the good he did in his life is sucked away by the bad that he ended on. I’m sad that rather than just focusing on grieving him I have to be angry and hate him. I’m sad that I feel like I can’t honor and remember my husband that way most widows honor and remember their husbands because he became a monster and I have to balance how I feel about him. So many emotions. I need a mental health day. 

So, there are days that I look in the mirror and don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I fit in this world. I don’t k ow what purpose I have on this journey. And then I remember that God is walking me along this path. He is helping me to discover the message in my mess. 2 Corinthians 12:9 says “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” I know that God has already used our story to shine through to others. I know that the hills and the valleys are just pieces to the journey that Father God is walking us through and that looking back, we will see His power and His glory and His grace and mercy. He has a plan for us. He has a plan for me. He has a plan for all of us!

Who is that girl I see? Some days I don’t recognize myself. But, I can smile with confidence and know that that girl is a daughter of the Most High King. That girl is chosen and precious and a princess in God’s kingdom. That girl is more than her struggles, more than her pain, more than PTSD, more than the sum of all of her experiences. She is strong and amazing and beautiful and will rise above the statistics. It doesn’t matter who I see, it’s all about who my Heavenly Father sees. And I know that I’m precious in His sight. 

Fix A Heart...

How do you fix a heart? Many people say time. Right? Doesn’t the saying go “Time heals all wounds.” Sure it does. I’m not sure the person who wrote that knew what they were talking about. Besides, how much time are we talking here? A few days? A few weeks? Try eight years...Is my heart fixed? I really can’t answer that question for you tonight. 

Fall is my favorite season. I think it always has been. I love football and cooler weather. I love rain storms and Halloween candy. I love fog and pumpkin patches. I love fires and hoodies and cozy sweatpants. But, the beginning of the school year always brings stress. Don’t get me wrong; I love my job. But the stress is there nonetheless. Add in the extra stresses this year of new bosses, new reporting systems, uncertainty of how the people and programs work. It’s a lot. And then there’s the fact that it’s been a stress for me for the last eight years in an extraordinary way.  The anxiety and panic that a simple turn of the calendar page brings amazes me each year. Every year I vow this will be the year that I can make it through without remembering what happened.  This will be the year that seeing October 1st on my calendar doesn’t bring me to my knees at some point in the day. This year has to be the year that my heart is fixed. Well...not yet. 

It’s always been a point of contention for me that my husband chose to unravel our lives on October 1st. We were just heading into the Halloween season when he came home and admitted he had done something so heinous that I knew life as we knew it was over. I remember the room spinning and pieces of my memories of our family crumbling in front of my eyes. My heart was broken beyond recognition. Why would he do this? Why did he choose this path for himself and our family? I still don’t have answers and I still don’t understand. My heart still hurts if I dwell too long in the whys and what ifs. 

Time does fix a heart. Partly. The pain doesn’t last as long. The beats that are skipped don’t happen as often. My gut doesn’t hurt for quite as long as it used to. I don’t make the same “dealing with it” choices I made in the past few years. But it’s a roller coaster for sure. I don’t feel like this is my best “fixed” year. The stress and fatigue of this school year mixed with too many “sure I’ll do that” moments and a frantic dance and school schedule have left me feeling like I can’t breathe. I am feeling the heaviness in my gut and the drive to want to run away and never return is something I fight every minute of every day. I cry myself to half sleep at night and drag myself out of bed in the mornings to punch and kick a bag at kickboxing to try and deal with the pain and the emotions of this time of year. I over schedule and over book and over plan just trying to float through the days and ignore the fact that there are days in October that are forever etched into my soul. Amelia and I are reading Mockingjay and just finished watching Catching Fire. There are scenes in those books and movies where the pain gets too overwhelming for Katniss and they just sedate her. I have joked to a few people that I would sign up for that in a heartbeat. Just knock me out for a while and bring me back when some time as passed, only it isn’t really a joke. There are seconds in the day that get so overwhelming that a shot of morphling sounds like heaven on earth. 

And then in the middle of my wallowing, I get messages from Father God. Reminders that I have come so far, thanks to God. Glimpses of how I used to be. Flashes of how I used to deal with things. There was the year I got drunk and sat in church and cried for hours. I ran away one year and scared all of my people. I ignored everything completely one year and declared how great I felt. It’s been a Jekyll and Hyde journey for certain. This year is no different. I smile and schedule myself and my girls to death and have fun and laugh and push through. Once in a while I reach out to someone, anyone, wanting them to ask how I’m doing. Or ask if I need anything. Or just even remember that today is October 1st and the beginning of eighteen days of memories that tear me from the inside out. But then I don’t want them to remember all at the same time. Ignore it and move on. Fix my heart? Sometimes I feel like there’s no way to fix my heart. Sometimes I feel so broken that I don’t know if I’ll ever feel normal again. 

And then I remember Psalms 46:1 and these words: “God is our refuge and our strength. A very present help in trouble.” So I close my eyes, and fold my hands, and remember that God is the one that gets to take it all. He gets to hold my pain and my angst and my emotions and tears. He gets to carry my burdens and my struggles. He gets to take my heart and all of the shards from the broken pieces and gently place them back together, fixing my heart one piece at a time. He has already gently persuaded so many of the most broken pieces back together. My heart, which was once joyful and happy and light, is starting to slowly take shape in His hands. He is making me whole. He is fixing me. So I trust. And I grieve. And I ask Him to fix my heart, one piece at a time. And I will come back more healed, more whole, more joyful than ever before. 

I thank God each and every day for the journey He has me on. For no matter how painful, no matter how broken I feel, I know He is fixing my heart. One piece at a time. One prayer at a time. One step at a time. My story will help fix others too. And as rough as things are right now, I know that I just need to fall into His arms, press deeper into Him, and wait in anticipation for the healing He has for me. He will fix my heart. I’m so glad I’m not in charge of that part. 

In the End...

As a widow of a man who killed himself, I am painfully aware of suicide. Today is National Suicide Awareness Day. I’m aware...

I’m aware of the lonely nights where all I wait for is to hear the door squeaking open as he tries to sneak in after his shift...

I’m aware that I cannot walk down the beer aisle without glancing at the Blue Moon and fighting back the sinking feeling in my chest...

I’m aware at the days where I am so exhausted that I would like nothing more than my husband to be home so that I could hand the kids or dinner or laundry off to him...

I’m aware that my house and my yard are disasters because I am only one person and I cannot keep up with everything...

I’m aware that I have one daughter who is angry and doesn’t want anything to do with his memory and another who is crushingly sad that she doesn’t have a daddy and is the only one in her class that doesn’t have one...

I’m aware that I wasn’t aware of what was going on in my own household in the months leading up to his suicide...

I’m aware that I blame myself for a lot of things that happened and still have a hard time letting go of my guilt...

I’m aware that September and October get really hard to breathe and I fight to walk through those calendar turns every year, even though it’ll be eight years next month...

I’m aware that he will miss so many events in our lives and that my heart fractures if only for a second with each milestone we check off the list that he wasn’t here for...

I’m aware that I lie in bed at night, silently sobbing because the dream for our lives has been shattered and sometimes the pain in my soul is overwhelming...

I’m aware that I’m still paying for his choices, mentally, emotionally, physically, financially...

I’m aware that I’m alone and lonely and wish I had a partner, but that I want nothing to do with relationships or men or marriage...

I’m so so painfully aware of suicide. And I wish that I wasn’t. I wish no one was aware of it. But, we have got to do better! We have got to talk about suicide and mental illness and PTSD and loneliness and anxiety and depression. But we have also got to talk about God. And prayer. And faith. And loving each other. And being kind and understanding and supporting each other. We do need to increase awareness. We need to be aware of the risk factors and the signs and symptoms. We need to be aware of programs that are designed to help. We need to be aware of counselors and therapists and mental health providers. We do need to increase awareness. We need to be aware of the pain and the aftermath of suicide and the gaping hole it leaves in families. 

1 Corinthians 13:13 says this: “And now these three remain: faith, hope and love. But the greatest of these is love.” Love. We all need love. And we all need to know that God loves us. Even when the whole world has turned their backs on us, we can still know and be confident that God loves us. The greatest single life-changing force is love. Please be aware of those around you that need love! Share love! Let’s love people with everything we’ve got so that the cycle is broken and suicide is no more. 

In the end, we all need love. And in the end we all need God. We have the power to end suicide. We have the power to increase awareness. Let’s turn a single day of awareness in to lifetime of love and compassion and understanding. We don’t need to carry things on our own. In the end...

I’ll Fly Away...

Our whole lives we are taught to run away from danger. Our parents teach us about stranger danger from an early age. They tell us if someone we don’t know tries to get us into their car, or give us candy, or lure us away that we are to scream and run. In schools we practice locking down and running away from intruders. We are to put as much distance between us and the bad guy that we safely can. Run away. Get away. One large portion of the adrenal mechanism that we are created with is flight. Running away in moments of life-threatening danger. Run! Get away! 

Often in this journey that I am on, I have wanted to run away. To get in my car and leave. Drive for hours. Start over. Don’t tell anyone where I’m going and just begin again. I don’t. Well, I don’t anymore. There were some points in my journey that it just got to be too much and I did “run away.” One time I went to the office of the school where I worked and told them I needed a half day of sick leave. I needed to go home and I wasn’t feeling well. But I really just needed to run away. To get away. To get in my car and go sit on a beach for a few hours and just forget the world. 

We all run away in our own way. Brian used to drive to SeaTac and sit and watch the planes taking off and landing. This thought occurred to me while I was at one of my favorite “run away” methods - in the middle of the Zac Brown Band concert with my friend. Music is one of my run aways. And in the middle of the concert time froze for just a second as I watched the airplanes flying over the top of Safeco Field one after another. For one moment my husband’s “flight plan” intersected with my “flight plan” and time stood still. Tears filled my eyes as I remembered him in his moments in the middle of mine. We all need to just run away. Get away. The pressure of dealing with it all can be so crushing. It’s hard to breathe. It’s hard to see the path. It’s tough to find the message in the mess. So we run away. Whether it be in music. Or movies. Or watching airplanes. Or sports. Or diving. Whatever our method is for hiding from it all when it all gets to be too much. 

Except my husband couldn’t find solace in the airplanes anymore. His running away got to the point where the only relief he saw was in suicide. Exiting this world became his plan. Leaving the wife and the children that were his family and his world was the only option. The planes weren’t enough. Why on earth weren’t the planes enough? 

Well, they should have never been enough. Hope has to be built on more than airplanes or music or movies. Those things are good temporary escapes from the responsibilities and emotions of life. But they are not enough to pull us up and out of the yuck. There’s only one thing that offers permanent hope, a permanent fix, a permanent solution to the pain or sadness or grief or chaos that we find ourselves in. We have to be anchored to our Creator. To God. To the one who knows us inside and out. Deuteronomy 31:8 says “It is the Lord who goes before you. He will be with you; he will not leave you or forsake you. Do not fear or be dismayed.”

Read that again. The first part especially. “It is the Lord who goes BEFORE you.” He’s there, waiting. Any situation you may find yourself in, He will be right there from the very beginning. Ready to catch you when you fall. Ready to wipe your tears. Ready to pick you up and dust you off and set you on the right path again. He will never leave us or forsake us. In our darkest hours, on the darkest path, He is right there in front of us, simply waiting for us to finally admit we can’t run away, we can’t do it alone, and we need to take His hand and walk through it all. 

September is National Suicide Prevention Month. I am painfully aware of the need for awareness to be brought to this topic. There isn’t a day, isn’t a moment that goes by that I don’t sink back to 2010 and think about Brian. The increasing absences. The frequent visits to the airport. He was running away. Trying to find the solace in his airplanes. When that didn’t work, instead of turning to God and crying out for help, he chose to slip into a forever sleep. My heart breaks when I think about Brian, and the countless others who couldn’t run away far enough from their pain. There’s a fine line, I think, between running away for a while and running away forever. We need conversations around suicide. We need to talk about it. We need to be willing to speak with a friend or a family member or a coworker and let them know that you care, that there is help, that you are there to listen when the running away doesn’t work. And the other side of that coin too! We need to find a person, a friend, a prayer partner, to turn to when running away stops working and the darkness seems to be taking over. 

So, stop running away and instead choose to run into Heavenly Father’s open arms. He’s ahead of you, waiting in the mess, patient in the trials, pausing to scoop you up, hold you close, and carry you back to where you belong. So, I’ll run away to my concerts, or run away to the beach, but I always know that when I get there, my God is waiting and watching, filling me with His grace and mercy. He will never leave me nor forsake me, and I hope each and every one of you accepts this truth for yourselves too. 

Stand By You...

Revelation 21:4 - “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

Tahlequah, or J35 as she is known to researchers, has released her baby into the deep. This heart-breaking story has been in the headlines of Pacific Northwest papers and news channels and Facebook feeds for 17 days. The killer whale named Tahlequah birthed her baby 17 days ago. The baby lived for only a brief time before succumbing to death. Her momma carried her, pushed her, through the ocean for 17 days at the expense of her own health. The debates have ensued with a lot of theories from people about animal behavior. Some say that she didn’t realize her baby was deceased. Others say that there must be something wrong with the whale, that it must be intellectually or cognitively impaired to be carrying her dead baby for so many days. And others theorize that she is making a statement about the pollution and the people that have ruined their environment and this was her own protest. 

As I’ve watched the news and watched this poor whale pushing her baby to the surface with her snout, I see pain. I see gut-wrenching sadness. I see grief. 

I haven’t lost a child. Many would say that I have no authority to speak on the grief of losing a child. And they would be correct. I don’t know what it’s like to lose a child. But I do know what it’s like to grieve. I do know what it’s like to have people say that I should be over that already. Why am I still sad after all these years? There must be something wrong with me. I’m just looking for sympathy. In my eyes seventeen days is only the beginning for this momma whale. Just because she let go of her baby’s body doesn’t mean she has let go of her sadness, her pain, her kicked in the gut sobs. It’s just the beginning of her grief journey. 

Death can be consuming. Overwhelming. When Brian killed himself my head immediately started swimming. They hadn’t even found his body yet and my grief was starting. There’s panic and sadness. Fight or flight kicks in and in my case stayed on for a long time, and still rears it’s head from time to time. There’s the feeling like your heart is going to explode. Loneliness. Anger. Helplessness. Panic. Depression. Worry. Lack of sleep.  Feeling like you’ve been kicked in the gut.  Feeling sick and tired. Grief is hard, even when you’re not pushing around a 300 pound baby. 

One remarkable piece of Tahlequah’s grief journey was watching her pod respond. They gave her space to grieve but also stayed silently near her for when she needed them. They grieved with her. They fed her. They helped when they could. Her pod stepped in the help carry her burden for her and with her. Just like humans. My pod, my people, rallied around me. They watched my kids. They let me cry and scream and get mad. They helped make phone calls and sort paperwork. They walked me through things I had never thought I would have to do. They fed me. They stayed at a distance if needed but were right there if I needed them closer. My pod saved my life, just as that killer whale pod supported and surrounded Tahlequah in her moments of raw grief. 

Being someone who has been through the grief journey, my hope and prayer is that I can use my process for good. Either through these blog posts that I write, or through love and support of people in their grief journeys. My heart aches for everyone that I know that is going through this process. The feelings that I had, and still have, run rampant when I find out someone has lost a loved one. The grief journey is something that you share with others whether you want to or not. My heart aches when people lose someone important and oftentimes, it rips a little bit of my scab right off and starts the wound oozing all over again. It doesn’t matter whether you’ve lost a parent or a sibling, a child or a spouse, a grandparent or a friend, grief is hard. There is no sliding scale that determines who has a harder road. There’s no right or wrong amount of time to grieve. There’s no rules about when grief is over because honestly, it’s not over. There will always be a piece of you that is gone, that is missing. A piece that will never feel whole. The sadness gets easier and the waves get smaller. But sometimes they’re big and giant just like it first happened. It’s not a curve. It’s not a circle. It’s not a linear path through the stages. It’s a roller coaster and there’s no shame in being sad. There isn’t anything wrong with you if you grieve longer than someone else who went through a loss. There’s also  nothing wrong with you if you’re done with grief quicker than others. We all have our own timeline, our own pace that we go through. 

Seventeen days. That momma carried her grief physically for seventeen days. I have carried my grief mentally and emotionally for going on eight years. There is no right or wrong. The only recommendation that I have is to invite God into your grief. Let Him walk with you. Let Him carry you on the days that you can’t make it. Let Him comfort and console you.  And let Him lead you to the people in your pod. I have been blessed with the most amazing people on my journey. Friends and family, coworkers and neighbors, church family and even strangers. My pod has kept me alive, and kept the memory of Brian and others that I have lost on this journey afloat. Who’s in your pod? Let them swim the waves with you and help you through it. We all have burdens and struggles. We all have things that we are carrying that no one may even know about. But with Father God in our hearts and our pod by our side, we can walk this grief journey towards healing and recovery. We never forget our loved one. We carry them in our hearts forever. And there will be moments we don’t think we can move forward, but just remember the verse for Revelations that I posted at the beginning of this post: “He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.”

He will wipe away our tears. Doesn’t say in seventeen days. Doesn’t say in eight years. It just says He will wipe away our tears...EVERY time we cry them. Our Heavenly Father is with us in our grief and our pain. It hurts Him to see us hurting. He is there to walk us through, to dry our tears, and to heal our hearts a little piece at a time. 

And just as Tahlequah’s pod was there for her, I’m going to stand by you if you need me also. My grief and my journey cannot end here. Father God has a purpose for my pain, a message in my mess, and I’m going to stand by you, whether you’re ready in seventeen days or eight years. I’m going to stand by you...

Everything has Changed...

Twelve years seems like a lifetime ago. Each passing year the memories get a little bit fuzzier. The hurt is still there when I wake up and realize what the date is. Twelve years ago I was in a nail salon and hair salon with my best friends. We were getting pretty for the day to come. I remember the happiness. And anxious pit in my stomach. Wondering what he would think of my dress. Hoping Pastor Pulse wouldn’t get too embarrassing with the sermon. I was excited for my friends and family to celebrate. The day had finally come. I was getting married. 

As we walked through that day I remember taking a lot of pauses to just stop and take it all in. Little moments throughout the whole day happened and I would stop, close my eyes, and be deliberate about that second in time, taking a little snapshot at that very second. It was a magical day. I was so happy. 

As I lay across my bed and ponder those moments twelve years ago the moments run through my mind. I see my sister and Miranda and Rachel and we’re laughing as we eat bagels and drink mimosas. And then the image slowly crumbles away, being cleared as if sand in a desert wind. I see my daddy waiting at the entrance of the church as I link my arm through his. His voice cracks as he tries to tell me how beautiful I look. And that image is erased clean, one swipe across a chalkboard. I see my soon-to-be husband standing up front in a crowd full of our people. He smiles and then disappears as if a mirage in the Sahara. Little moments, slowly crumbling away as I age and the years like into each other as time marches on. 

But the pain and sadness and grief. That I remember. And there are little moments that rose to the surface and I fight back tears throughout the day.  Kneeling at the communion rail, watching Pastor Brynestad bless my beautiful little girls and telling them they are saints in God’s kingdom and tears well in my eyes. Standing in the parking lot of church with my parents talking about where I’d like the go for breakfast to celebrate our “Family-versary”, the day we became the Duncans and I bawl like a baby no knowing what I want or where we should go. Laying on my bed because all I want to do in that moment is sleep and cry and forget that he’s not here, he won’t be coming in the door with roses and kisses and hugs. Sitting on the deck later talking about brunch, and tears finding their way back as I think of all he misses, not just today, but every day. 

Everything is different. Everything has changed. And not all of that change is bad! I firmly believe that most of the changes we have gone through, although painful, have been good changes. I have an amazing little family. We are strong and resilient and we have been placed on this path as God’s children, God’s army. We have been tasked with using our troubles for His good. He always makes good out of all of the bad that happens. There’s always a message in the messes. Sometimes they take a really long time to show up. But they’re there. The diamonds in the rough. The good out of the bad. He puts us on these paths and asks us to walk through horrible, terrible things sometimes. But the good that shines through outweighs the bad. 

Everything has changed. Just as God has promised! In Isaiah 14:9 it says “Behold, I am doing a new thing; now it springs forth, do you not perceive it? I will make a way in the wilderness and rivers in the desert.” A new thing. Amelia and Emerson and me? We are new things that God is doing! He is walking with us through our moments of sadness and heartache and grief. He is making us new. He is making our situation new. He is using the hard moments to mold and shape and change us into who we are in Father God. 

Everything has changed. But God never does! He is constant and steady and there for us always! He is making us new. He is walking with us as we grow and change and become more like Him each and every day in our walk. And in the moments like today, where we just can’t walk another step, He carries us. He catches our tears. He reminds us of His plan and His grace and His mercy. And He is just there to listen to us vent, to catch our tears, to hold us and be with us and remind us who we are in Him. 

So, as I think about the beginning of my family, the start of the Brian Duncan family back on August 5th, 2006, I thank my God for starting that journey for me, for us. I am grateful that Brian and I shared in that day, and started the union that was to be our family. I’m thankful I was gifted with my amazing girls. And I am grateful for the four years we got to be a family together. Brian wasn’t in the plan for our family. I may never understand why that part of the plan had to end the way it did. It makes my chest hurt and makes it hard to breathe when I think about him not being here anymore, still all these years later. And days like today I cannot control the tears and the pit in my stomach feeling. But tomorrow is a new day! God is making all things new. And even this piece of my grief will be made new. It hurts tonight. And I just want to cry and go to bed. But I will pray. And talk it out. And write a blog post. And turn to my Heavenly Father for comfort for He knows that plans he has for the Duncan family. And I am thankful to be walking on the path He has planned. 

Everything has changed. And yet, I am so very blessed...

Dancing in the Dark...

Isaiah 9:2 The people who walk in darkness will see a great light; Those who live in a dark land, the light will shine on them.

During our pastor’s sermon yesterday at church, he talked about the high of the highs and the low of the lows. He talked about how you can reach a peak of euphoria and excitement one day and in the next moment be bottoming out, exhausted and plunging into the darkness. He spoke of God’s plan to put us into these dark situations so that we may learn to rely and trust and turn only to Him. 

I don’t feel like I’m in the low of the lows right now, but there are signs that I might be heading there. It doesn’t take much for me to swing from a high to a low. I spent many times on my therapist’s couch asking her if she thought I was bipolar. She assured me that I was not, but the swings that I experience sometimes are so rapid that no one sees them coming. Not even me. PTSD can do that to you also.  Sometimes I just want to forget that I have that. And then the darkness gets to be too much to fight off and I’m painfully aware it’s there. 

This last weekend was filled with fun and family and faith. We had a great time lounging by the pool, eating together, enjoying the Whaling Days parade, going to church, celebrating the sunshine and having a great time. There was no reason there should have been a low coming. But I’m working on it. And putting it out there because maybe I can press on the brakes and turn this around. Or, maybe I can help someone else turn their rapid descent around. 

“What’s wrong?”

“You sound sad.”

“Want to talk about it?”

I do. But I also so desperately don’t. I don’t want to admit that I am weak, because that is how I feel. I shouldn’t even be sad. I have an amazing life with an amazing family and amazing friends. I have two little girls that are the best things ever. I just finished a great weekend filled with my favorite things. What could possibly be wrong?

I quickly answer “I’m fine.” Or “I don’t know.” And change the subject. The conversation ends and I am immediately filled with regret. Not for not sharing. For feeling like I’m making my people feel like they’ve done something wrong. That they are not important. That I don’t trust them. Which then just spirals into more. I’ve gained weight. Let’s look at old pictures that don’t seem that long ago and ponder how it can take a whole year to lose 30 pounds but less than six weeks to gain it all back. I got mad at Emerson and said things out loud that I didn’t mean, or shouldn’t have even said. I question my skills and my place as a mother. School is starting soon and I don’t want to go back to work. I’m not ready. So thoughts of walking away from everything cross my mind. The walls seem to be closing in and the darkness is settling all around and I’m not sure I can do this ride one more time. 

I squeeze my eyes shut and listen for the music, HIS music, playing to my soul. Shining light into my darkness. Praise songs. His voice comforting me. Pastor’s words. God’s arms holding me and carrying me through this dark valley. It’s a dance that I have learned over the years of being thrown into the darkest of valleys. Laying in a broken heap at rock bottom, the music of His love and grace and peace begins, and we begin dancing in the dark. Swaying back and forth to the music, finding the words of the Holy Gospel filling the empty spaces of my soul. And I rise. I rise out of the darkness, towards the light, towards the sound of His voice, towards the space where I am at the high of the highs. I remember that I’m a great mom. I remember that I’m more than a number on the scale. I remember that I am putting in work every day at the kickboxing studio and there is no shame in gaining. I am strong. I know what I need to do. I remember that I am a daughter of the Most High King. I remember...

Those remember moments play a huge part in the peaks and valleys. Memories play and I plummet to the bottom into the dark, but those same memories can also drag me back up to the place where I can breathe and sing and dance. This right now is a low. Darkness. But because of the care and compassion and love of my Heavenly Father, and the people that He has gifted me with, I am dancing in the dark, closing my eyes, listening for His voice and remembering the steps to rise back to a peak moment. I know that He makes good out of all things. And I know that I am on this journey for a purpose, for a reason. I need to remember. I need to remember His purpose for me. I need to remember that I am not weak, but strong in HIM. I need to remember that He is with me, and He is carrying me through these darkness moments. 

So, today, the dark memories are winning. I feel fat. I’m ashamed. I’m sad. I’m remembering things in the darkness. But, the undying beat from Holy Spirit begins. And suddenly, I’m dancing in the dark. And as all my of the negative messages pile up and push me down until I feel like I’m drowning, I hear His voice telling me that I am His daughter. I am His creation. And I am made perfect in Him. 

Dancing in the dark...until His light eventually breaks through again. 

One Step Closer...

Acts 1:7 And He said to them, "It is not for you to know times or seasons which the Father has put in His own authority.

I’m not exactly sure where I lost my motivation. I had done well with my plan until I think Spring Break. Easter Sunday I was weighing the lowest I had weighed in a long time. My exercise routine was on point. I was drinking my water. Everything was going just as I had planned. I looked and felt great. People were complementing me. It was all going so well. 

Then seeds of doubt were planted. I started hearing old tapes being played. I wasn’t good enough. I wasn’t strong enough. I needed to give in to the temptations that confront me day in and day out. People say that food is the only addiction where you have to face it to survive. You can’t just stop eating cold turkey. You can’t avoid food. We need food to live and yet my relationship with food is an addiction. Another play by Satan to try and control me. To try and convince me I’m not daughter of the King. To try and completely derail the progress I have made thus far. 

For a while, Satan’s schemes worked. In the last two months I have watched the scale climb up and down a twenty pound span. So frustrating. So disappointing. So many excuses. It’s just a few pounds. I can get those off. It’s only ten pounds. Well, I’ve gained fifteen pounds. Might as well binge eat tonight. Shame. Sadness. Disappointment. And then the attempt to control the tailspin. Not eating all day. Working out in abundance. Drinking water in huge quantities. Tiny portions. Until I snap and visit the bakery and shovel cookies into my face before I have to pick up my girls, throwing away the evidence before they come out of the dressing room. Pain in my stomach from stretching it way farther than it’s used to in the last few month span. Shame at what I have done, but out of control enough that I’m already planning my next fix, the drive thru at McDonalds for breakfast in the morning. It’s definitely a relationship controlled by Satan. And, as I read in my devotion book this week, an idol. What?! Me? An idol-worshipper? Yup! Food becomes my idol. I worship it. Savor it. Allow it to fill my heart and soul, attempting to fill the breaks and cracks that sometimes show themselves in this healing process and grief process. Rather than turning to my Almighty God, I turn to Bic Macs and frosted sugar cookies, cupcakes and French fries. 

It’s a vicious cycle I am stuck in, probably in every aspect of healing. One step forward, then two steps back. I have a good run, and then I lose my footing and slide over halfway back down the mountain. I steady myself and climb back up, only to trip and dangle from my climbing rope, terrified and panicked and just wanting nothing but to cut the rope and free fall back to the bottom. Except this time? I am closer to the top, closer to my goal, and I have no desire to fall back into rock bottom, the pit of despair where my emotions and my anxiety consume me and devour me until I no longer recognize the person that I am. 

One step closer. I am getting stronger everyday. I am growing stronger in my faith, learning to rely completely on Him, learning to steady myself against Him, learning to free fall into His arms where He holds me until I’m ready to take another step closer. 

One step closer. I am getting physically stronger everyday. Kickboxing and exercise and playing with my girls finds me muscle groups I didn’t know I owned. My hands are strong. My legs are strong. I have stamina and endurance and all those things you need to function, to be human, to not need to stay in bed all day waiting for the pain and the heaviness throughout my body go away. 

One step closer. My mind and my heart are getting stronger. The hills and the valleys on the grief roller coaster settle for the most part. I can pry my white knuckles off the bar of the car and open my eyes and slow my breathing. I know there’s probably another steep drop coming, but I’m starting to remember that God will be there for that part too. He’ll walk me through the terror and the panic and the heartache just as He always has and I will come out of the drop better and remembering He uses all things for good. Even anxiety and grief and death and suicide and assault. All things for good. 

One step closer. He guides my path. He guides my steps. He makes me to lie down in green pastures. He leads me beside still water. (Psalm 23) He is in control and I am growing my faith to remember that He is in charge! I am His! He is mine! And together we will do great things! He is healing me one step at a time. Complete, beautiful healing is on my horizon. And each day, one step closer. 

Daddy’s Hands...

My dad is the BEST! I’m sure I’m biased just a little bit but I also know there are some of you that wouldn’t argue with me about that point. He is one of the most amazing men that I know. He is strong and faithful. he has worked hard his whole life for his family. He loves kids and loves to tease. His smile and his laugh can bring me to tears because it just fills a room. When I was little my favorite part of watching a movie was actually watching my dad. Hearing his laugh. Seeing his tears because he’s really just a big softie. He is the best. 

Growing up, he taught me all he knew about cars and motorcycles. He could talk for hours about his experiences growing up in Nazi Germany and immigrating to th United States when he was nine. He bought me my first tool box and filled it with his tools. I would lay under cars with him and pretend to fix things while he was really fixing things. He let me help him with lots of chores and was oh so patient with me. Most of the time. There was that one time (or maybe more) where is frustration or annoyance or whatever he looked at me and said, in exasperation, “Don’t you ever shut up?” So, apparently he also indirectly fostered my career in speech-language pathology because I remembering answering “Um, no” and carrying on with my conversation. 

My daddy has endured so much in his life. Surviving a Hitler Germany and seeing the atrocities of the holocaust.  Immigrating to a new country at nine not speaking English and not knowing the people they were taken in by. He had an abusive uncle. He joined the Navy and became a hard hat deep sea diver. Did you know he’s a three time prostate cancer survivor? No one really knew because he silently did his treatments and dragged himself to work exhausted and fighting cancer to be with his kids at work. He’s an amazing guy. 

He gave me great advice always. He always would pray with me before I had anything I was nervous about: final exams, track meets, piano recitals, spelling bees. You name it his first response was, “Do you want to say a little prayer?” And then he would grab my hands and pray for me and then pull me into the biggest hug. When I left for college he bought me this little stuffed green frog holding a tiny Bible. He handed it to me and said, “His name is Jeremiah. Get it? The bull frog? The Bible?” Eye rolls and fits of laughter are always present when me dad is around. 

The night Brian confessed what he did, my dad came down in the middle of the night and held me and cried with me. Then he changed my locks for me so the girls and I would be safe. He was angry. He is still angry. He is hurt he couldn’t protect his girls. He exudes love and affection for his family, and even those that are not his family. He is the best example of what a dad should be. 

So, my upbringing is in stark contrast to what I’m raising my daughters in right this second. No dad. A dad that hurt one of them. A dad that chose to leave them when the times got hard. And my heart breaks. 

The perfect example of this moment happened at the Waterfront Park this past week. There was a preschool graduation happening under the big gazebo. A baseball awards dinner was also happening at the tables. There were people everywhere. Emerson, who is always the life of the party anywhere we go and can orchestrate a playground of thirty kids into completely changing their game and doing what she wants instead was standing in the middle of the chaos just observing. And then it hit me. There were dad’s everywhere. Playing tag. Climbing on the rope dome. Laughing and running and teasing their kids. She stood there for probably ten minutes just looking all around her. It was like those moments on TV where one central point is frozen in time and the blurs of action are running all around.  Her little body stood their frozen, a look of pain on her face, as kids and their dads ruled the playground. And my heart shattered into a million pieces for her. 

We are grateful. We have had so many men step up and try and fill that hole for Emerson. My daddy is her favorite and she follows him all over whether it’s at home or at Peace. Uncle Ben plays the meanest game of tag and she counts the seconds in between their visits and talk smack in the time between. Mr. Carnahan was the best teacher because he has been playing tag and basketball and active in her life for a few years now, and his leaving is leaving a hole in her little heart. We are thankful that our amazing new pastor, Pastor Brynestad, has already shown that he can join in on a game of tag or two also. Amazing men that are showing my girls that they care and they love them. And my heart is so so grateful. 

But that moment on the playground is our most-of-the-time reality. No dad. And as hard as I try I cannot fill that role. Please don’t wish me a Happy Fathers Day as I do not fill that role. I am their mom. And they are missing their dad. 

This year seems to be harder for some reason. Perhaps the fact that both of them know what happened to Brian. Perhaps they are both old enough to realize what they are missing out on. Perhaps it just is what it is and there is no explanation. I don’t know. I do know this Father’s Day hurts for them. 

2 Corinthians 6:18 says, “and I will be a father to you, and you shall be sons and daughters to me, says the Lord Almighty.” God is our Father. We are His daughters. And my girls are faithful and know this! They know that He can fill the holes in their hearts. That He will scoop them up when they are sad or hurting and will bind all their wounds. That He is loving and faithful and the perfect example of what a father should be. It doesn’t quite take the still out of not having a daddy to play tag with for an 8-year-old, but the reassurance that Father God is there, and the knowledge that we do have so many amazing men stepping up for them is the perfect combination of being able to walk through the Father’s Day holiday with faith and hope and peace and love. 

So, for those of you that have dads this Father’s Day I pray that you love and cherish every moment with them. Tell them what they mean. Tell them how thankful you are the God chose them for you. And for those of you that are missing your dads this Father’s Day, take comfort in knowing that you Heavenly Father is there for you. He will carry you through and wipe every tear and cherish you as the daughter of the King that you are! And, if you see my girls, or think about my girls, send them a prayer this Father’s Day. Pray that they will grow in their faith and hope and peace and love and know that God is their ultimate father. 

Thank you, daddy! You set the bar so high! And I love you forever and always. 

Nobody Can Save Me...

Another post about suicide? Yes. This is another post about suicide. Why? Because that’s all I seem to hear about lately. And everyone is talking about suicide. And then there’s the awkward pauses and the stares and the silence and then the “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring that up in front of you.” Like I can’t handle the talk. Like I might burst into tears in front of them. Like I might snap and sink into a PTSD flashback. 

So, what if I did? What if I did start crying and make people uncomfortable? What if I froze and hyperventilated and dropped to my knees and screamed? What if images from the night Brian died flash in front of me? My mother-in-law wailing. My dad choking back tears. The words of the note he left me deafening me as I silently read them. What if I shared that with you when you talk about suicide? What would happen? You would probably be uncomfortable. Maybe shift your eyes or your feet. But you know what? We need to be uncomfortable. We need to have to stand there for a second not knowing what to do. You know why? Because THAT’S how we learn. That’s how we figure out what to say the next time this happens. We might gain some insight as to how to save the one person that kills themselves every 12 seconds in the United States. 

We don’t like emotion. We don’t like having emotion or dealing with other people’s’ emotion. So we suffer in silence. We stuff feelings and hide the hurt and suck it up. We see someone upset and we turn a blind eye, waiting for someone else to take care of it. Emotions are awkward and not many people know what to say or what to do. So we do nothing. We say nothing. And life moves on and the person who is suffering wanders through life, feeling like they are without a purpose. Feeling invisible. Feeling unloved. 

I posted a video to my Facebook page the other day. The video is an ad for online counseling. In the video a woman stands in front of the bathroom mirror, gasping for breath, obviously struggling to breathe and looking anxious and panicked. The top of a zipper is visible in her chest. After struggling a while she reaches up and pulls the zipper down. Words spill out of her chest and she begins to breathe easier. I shared the video along with a message that stated that this video was the best interpretation of PTSD and anxiety that I had ever seen. That is exactly how I feel many days! Unable to breathe. Feeling like I might burst with panic and anxiety. Flashbacks and feelings and emotions. Two people commented. One person agreed with me, commenting that she related to the video also.  One person, my sissy, commented love and support and empathy that I would ever feel that way. Four people “liked” the post, I’m assuming indicating some level of either support or understanding. Many people probably didn’t see the post. Some maybe did and felt uncomfortable thoughts and feelings. We don’t do well with emotion.  Six total interactions from a friends list of over three hundred and fifty. 

I’m fine. Most days I am fine. Some days I’m not. Some days are worse than others. Some days I’m completely falling apart. Think you could know the difference? I don’t think you would. My closest friends and family, perhaps. There are subtle differences between ok me and not ok me. The people that know me best would tell you my face changes. I’m a bit shorter with my interactions. My voice is different. I get quieter. I smile and say I’m fine. But in the typical passing glances and small conversations we might have in the hallways or on the sidewalk, would you even really know? 

Would anyone know that today is a day that I am not ok?  Did anyone notice me today? See me hanging out a little longer than usual? Passing through the office a few more times? Sitting playing with kids past their speech time? Did anyone notice me missing from kickboxing class? See me in different clothes this evening than I wore to work because I feel like I needed to protect myself in my fat clothes tonight and changed as soon as I got home?

Do we take the time to notice people? Did anyone notice Kate Spade feeling different? Anthony Bourdain? Did anyone see red flags for the 11-year-old belonging to a friend of a friend that chose to kill himself this week? Are we checking in on people? Are we taking a second to make eye contact? Look up from our devices and look at the people around us?

We talk openly of people who have been diagnosed with cancer. We love and support our friends through MS or fibromyalgia or diabetes. We openly post support and fundraisers for people with leukemia or people with fractures or people with head injuries. And we should! Absolutely! People need love and support. People need fundraisers and financial assistance to get through tough times. 

So, why do we not extend the same courtesy to the mentally ill? To people suffering from depression or anxiety. To people like me who have been diagnosed with PTSD? Why are people with those illnesses (and they are illnesses) shamed and made to feel like they are crazy or lazy or fat? Why are mental illnesses taboo? I may not have the physical implications of any of those other health maladies, but I suffer just the same. Yes, I suffer. You can’t see my scars. I don’t have a cast or a brace. I don’t have ports or get poked incessantly with needles. But I still suffer. 

My joints physically ache when I am in the throes of my PTSD and anxiety. I get headaches. I can’t breathe. It takes all of my focus to stay at work and not want to run far away from everything. I can’t focus or concentrate because my mind fills with thoughts of despair and destruction.  My stomach hurts. I begin to worry about my girls and my parents and my sister and her family. I start to think that I’m worthless and mean nothing. I get paranoid and wonder how long it’s going to be before I lose my friends. 

And then? I find that single ounce of courage to admit to myself that I am ok. That there is light after the dark. A calm once the storm passes. That there is a message in the mess. And then I pray. And I turn it all over to the One who loves me more than anyone. I fall wrecklessly into His arms and allow His peace and grace and love to wash over me again and again. And the feelings calm and I can move on until the next episode hits. 

Kate Spade? Anthony Bourdain? Chester Bennington? Robin Williams? They never found their single ounce of what they needed to see another day. They couldn’t pull themselves up out of the pit they were in enough to unzip even the tiniest part of their zipper. They didn’t have anyone that noticed. Or, if they did, they didn’t have anyone that reached out to them. 

Have I contemplated suicide? It’s crossed my mind. When the demons that I dance with get strong enough there are lots of thoughts about ending it. Being at peace. Finally getting rest. Being in a better place. Leaving the burden that I face my family with. Do I buy into those thoughts really? Not always. But I find the ounce that I need to push through and step forward into God’s marvelous presence. I look into the mirror and remind myself that I am a daughter of the Most High King! That there is a grand plan for me and that Father God never intended for me to choose when I exit His world. 

Romans 8:28 says, “And we know that all things work together for good to them that love God, to them who are the called according to his purpose.” All things work together for good. It doesn’t always feel that way, but I promise they do! I wouldn’t never have picked this life. I didn’t want to be assaulted. I didn’t want my husband to kill himself. I didn’t want seizures or PTSD or anxiety. Many days I wish it was all different. I wish I was different. But, that’s not how this works. Things happen. Evil happens. And the wind is knocked out of us. But, we need to fight to find that ounce of strength to pull us through. And if we can’t? We rely on the people around us to bolster us up and walk us through. We also need to realize that this world is becoming more and more egocentric. We can’t rely on anyone to save us. We can’t wait for someone to notice that something is wrong because chances are it won’t happen! We need to turn our hearts and our souls to the One who can save and guard and guide us through each and everyday. Turn our faith and our eyes to the One who understanding pain and suffering. The One who can walk us through. The One who sees us and noticed the subtle differences on the days that are not ok. 

In the meantime, notice people! Push through the awkward and help someone! The interactions you have with people, even strangers, could save a life! You saying hello and asking about someone could be the moment they needed to change their minds. 

And pray for the people of this world. We are all fighting battles. We all need love and support and compassion. We all need to be checked on. Make it a point to check on someone every day! You never know what their plan and their perception is. Be present. Be kind. Be compassionate. 

This is Me...

Amelia and I can hardly listen to the story that I’m reading. The amazing little voice rings out of the bathroom over the soft whoosh of the water from the shower. The tunes are typically “Never Enough” from The Greatest Showman or “Somewhere Over the Rainbow” or any other little song that she tends to make up. She finally jumps out of the shower while Amelia and I try and stifle giggles from the cuteness of it all. She bounds out of the bathroom, dripping wet with a towel wrapped around her little shoulders. She climbs up on the mattress of my bed, gentle bouncing up and down, the springs creaking with every little jump. “Mommy, did you hear me singing?” I smiled and sneak a glance at Amelia. “I did, sweetheart. You are wonderful!” Emerson kneels down in front of me, getting her face really close to mine. She smiles and whispers “I’m more than wonderful. I’d get the Golden Buzzer every time.”

This girl boils over with confidence. She bounces through life not ever knowing that anyone might think poorly of her. And if they do, she doesn’t care. There are no cracks in her self-esteem. She is who she is, and she doesn’t let anyone bother her or get to her. I would define her by her strength and her confidence and her “take no names” attitude. 

I wish I had an ounce of her courage and confidence. I have struggled this week. I have been tasked with “officiating” a funeral on Saturday. My little friend Tricia lost her grandmother and she asked if I would be the one to summarize Grammy Gail’s life and present it to the attendees. This is the second time I’ve been asked to prepare something for a funeral. Typically for me the words for writings like this just flow out. Funerals are hardest for me. Especially knowing that people I love are hurting. But I know that God will give me the words I need in time for Saturday. 

Who are we? I’m not asking this to get philosophical and deep. When deaths happen and people come together to celebrate the person, they are reduced to words on a paper. Tricia brought me a page of notes about Grandma Gail’s life. Events. Memories. Jobs. Hobbies. A timeline. A summary of who she was. 

It made me think of my own “Who am I?” question. Who am I? I’m the daughter of Rita and Art. Sister of Julie. Born in Bremerton, Washington. Attended Peace Lutheran, Fairview Junior High, Olympic High, University of Washington. I have my Bachelors of Science and my Masters of Science. I’m a Speech-Language Pathologist. I’m a mom to two daughters. I’m a hobby farmer that loves my chickens. I’m an assault survivor. I’m a widow. I’m a blogger. I kickbox. I tap dance. I love to read. I’m a friend to lots, best friend to a few. I’m a Christian, a Lutheran specifically. I love Jesus and I love to worship Him and put my faith in Him. 

Thinking through my life, what would I say? What is important? What defines me? Who am I? What would be on the paper that someone would put together about me? What are the things that matter to us enough that we want them read at our final goodbyes to our earthly friends and families?

I did a thing this week. I was interviewed for a podcast put together by a guy named Jay Casale in New York. He and I chatted for almost two hours, spilling out the details of my story, my journey. It was freeing and he shared the blog on a Facebook weight loss group I am a member of. People have responded so positively, so kindly. It was difficult and brought up a lot of thoughts and feelings and memories for me. But, I know that telling my story could be healing for myself; and could also help other people too. So I told the whole story of my journey after college. I shared my assault and my stuff about Brian and walked through all of that. People have reached out and shared their own versions of their journey. I have talked over Facebook with a lot of people. And it has been such a rewarding experience. 

So, what about that part of my journey? Are those things important to my story? Important to my journey? I’ve heard so many people tell me “don’t let those things define you!” But is that such a bad thing? They DO define me! They are a piece of my past that I needed to grow through, heal from, learn to absorb into my being. My assault defined who I was in that it was at that point I wasn’t going to be a pediatric oncologist anymore. Brian’s suicide defines who I was as I no longer was Brian’s wife and it made me into a suicide survivor. These moments define me. They ARE me. 

I have debated all week about posting the link to the podcast. There’s a piece of me that is anxious to share but I am going to share it here. This is me. And maybe these words will help someone else realize that these pieces are them too. So if you’d like to listen to the podcast, please do. (There is some swearing, just to warn you!) I’ll post the link in the comments. And if you want to talk or share or ask questions after listening, please do! We all carry things that are hard. We all need help being proud of who we are and confident. We all need help making sure our life lists define who we are. We all need to be kind and support each other through this crazy journey called life. 

This is me! These things define me! And I am certain that at the end of my life, Father God will give me the Golden Buzzer too. 

Never Grow Up...

April and May are birthday months in my house. Emerson turned 8 in April and Amelia just hit 11 in May. We celebrate the little beings that they are, eat cake, do presents, have family dinner and friend-family dinner and just our family dinner. We go on little outings or they get to pick something special. We hug and kiss and sing and celebrate heir milestones. 

This year I found myself maybe shedding some tears. Where exactly do all the minutes and hours go? I have flipped the calendar 11 times to get Amelia to this birthday. It seems like just yesterday I was holding her in my arms, kissing her baby nose and cradling her chubby little baby body against my chest. I was singing my best rendition of “Girl at the Rock Show” while I would change her diaper. She would stop what she was doing and run to the living room to sing Little Big Town or Kenny Chesney. She hated shoes and loved spicy salsa. She was wicked smart and said the best stuff. I often posted her Ameliaisms to Facebook several times a day. 

Suddenly she’s eleven. She is tall and slender. She has an athletic body with strong legs that I envy. She gets embarrassed when I sing to her, even in the privacy of our own home. Her phone is full of songs that I listen to carefully because I know what lyrics my music contained. She rarely asks me to help her with her hair in the morning and if she does it’s usually for recital or production or because she can’t control her amazing, beautiful curls. I look at the beautiful creature that walks through my house and feel a surge of pride, but also pangs of sadness. Five years and she’ll have her license. Seven years and she’ll be graduating from high school. Before I know it she’ll have an amazing job and be married and have babies. I know it’s my job to raise them I just wish I could stop time and freeze these moments forever. 

Emerson was born eight years ago. She came into the world born ready. She was feisty and fierce. She preferred to be held when she slept and didn’t want me to put her down. She was super picky with her eating. She had her own ideas and her own plans. She was strong and graceful and powerful all in one compact little body. Being that she is only eight, she still has most of these qualities. But I am starting to see glimpses of losing my baby to growing up too. She rarely asks me to do her hair anymore either, preferring it to be long down her back. She has picked out her own clothes forever. She likes to do things herself. She is growing up too and I see those little moments. Again, I know it’s my job to raise them. I just wish I could pause time. 

I’m in this weird place where people find themselves, stuck in the middle. My kids are growing up. My parents are aging. And I’m getting older too. I dyed my very gray hair just a few weeks ago. My joints get a little stiffer each day. I look in the mirror and see new wrinkles and new age spots and new pieces of me that look older. 

I often find myself reminiscing and thinking back to when I was little. Laying in the middle of the tall grass in the field and watching the clouds. Chasing butterflies in the garden at my grandpa’s. Riding my bike with my sister. Hours of playing Barbies. I couldn’t wait to grow up. I couldn’t wait to get older. And I like where I am right now. And my babies are talking of the future and getting older and I’m excited to see where their futures lead. But I also wish they’d never grow up. 

In the quiet of the night when I’m thinking about my precious girls growing up, Father God reminds me of Matthew 18:3 “Assuredly, I say to you, unless you are converted and become as little children, you will by no means enter the kingdom of heaven.” We all get the chance to be little children again. Father God beckons us to His presence as little children. Trusting Him completely. Leaning into His presence. Relying on His plan and His path for our lives. Being weak in His presence so that He can make us strong. Coming to Him with wide-eyed innocence. Helpless and needing a Father to guard and guide and protect. 

God doesn’t want us to grow up either. Just as I yearn to stop time and hold my girls as little children, God also wants us to enter His presence as little children. We are to come to Him as children. Never grow up. 

So, as we all walk His journey for each of us, another day closer to the finish line to eternal victory, we should all close our eyes and picture our children when they were little. Picture ourselves as little children. And know that this is how our Heavenly Father sees us. Little children. He loves us as little children, holding us close to Him always. 

Never grow up. 

Don’t Fear the Reaper...

We talk a lot about death on our family. It’s not something I’m bragging about. I would like nothing more than to never talk about. To not have death be something that has touched our family. My little girls have known death and loss from they time they were little. And my heart hurts so badly that that is how it has to be. 

The topic of death lately has come around more often than I would hope. The one-year Angelversary of our Grandpa Clay last weekend brought up death. Why did he die? Why can’t he still be here? I miss him so much. Lots of tears and hugs and talking of death. 

All of those grief moments then tie back to losing Brian. Why did daddy kill himself? Why didn’t he choose us? I wish I had a daddy still. Lots of tears and hugs and talking of death.

Right now, Emerson is struggling. So if you’re looking for something specific to pray, pray for my littlest girl. That she would find peace and comfort in life where she’s at. That God would flood her heart with joy and love in being His daughter. That she would know that He is a Father to the fatherless. That He loves her so very much!

Emerson is struggling. She is quick to get angry at peers who talk about their dads. Yelling at a classmate for talking about the fun he had with his dad this weekend. Telling a friend in her dance class that her dad is dead. She’s grieving. Never knowing Brian, but still grieving him. Grieving not having a dad. We have had many conversations about how she can’t be angry because someone else has a dad. It isn’t their fault that her daddy died. But the hurt and the sadness and the pain is there. 

We were sitting on the couch together and I was looking at my Facebook. One of my friend’s 5-year-old daughters has been diagnosed with DIPG, a deadly brain tumor similar to glioblastoma. Things are looking grim for their family and my heart is so sad. Emerson looked at my phone and asked what was wrong with her. I was honest and told her that her name is Rebecca and she is dying. Tears flooded my eyes and she asked why I was sad. I told her that I couldn’t imagine my girls being sick and losing them. And that I was so sad for Rebecca’s family. 

She looked at me and said, “Mommy, if I get sick I want you to tell me if I’m going to die.” My heart sank and my stomach bottomed out. Tears fell faster and she asked what was wrong. I told her I didn’t want to think about it. I didn’t want to picture my life without her. She smiled at me, leaned against me and declared, “Well, I wouldn’t be sad or scared to know! I want to know that I can be exited because I’m on my way to meet Jesus!”

Faith as small as a mustard seed. Emerson, grieving loss, but also firmly rooted in her belief in Jesus Christ. She know who she belongs to. She knows where she is going when she dies. And I relax because all of our conversations about death lead to the truth that we are going to heaven. That Tom is in heaven. That Grandpa Clay is in heaven. That daddy is in heaven. And that we will be in heaven. 

One of the last verses that I shared with Clay was John 14:2  “In My Father’s house are many mansions; if it were not so, I would have told you. I go to prepare a place for you.” Jesus died for our sins and then ascended into heaven. Not to leave us behind and forget about us. No! He went to prepare a place for each and every one of us. There is a room specially picked for us in heaven, waiting for all to believe on the Lord Jesus Christ and be saved!

Emerson is grieving. But Emerson gets it! There is joy in her heart, waiting for the day that she gets to run to the arms of Jesus. She assured me it wouldn’t be for a really long time. But whenever God picks for her to go to heaven, she’s ready. She can’t wait to run to her Savior’s open arms. 

We all should be so solid in our faith as Emerson. We grieve the ones we love, but there should also be joy. Joy in knowing that they are celebrating eternal life in heaven! Joy in knowing we will be reunited with the saints that have passed before us! Joy in knowing that we are saved and loved and cherished! Joy in knowing a place has been prepared! It is waiting for God’s timing. Waiting for the day our path and our plan has been fulfilled. Waiting for when God looks upon us and says “Well done, good and faithful servant!” and brings us home. 

Don’t fear death! Embrace the life that comes after our passing. My eight-year-old gets it! She can’t wait to meet Jesus. And I can’t wait for her to meet Jesus! And I can’t wait to meet Jesus. What a glorious day that will be!

Pray for Emerson! But also, pray that your faith can be more like Emerson’s. Faith as small as a mustard seed. And a child shall lead them...

How Do I Live...

I remember the day my grandfather passed away like it was yesterday. The phone call telling me he wasn’t doing well and I needed to come home now. Running to the office of the child care center I worked at telling them I needed to go. Running for the next bus. The phone call where I heard my mom’s voice, but heard nothing else of the whole call, knowing I was too late. Running for a ferry. Running into my dad’s open arms. The regret flooding into my head that I didn’t make it home in time. I was numb. So sad. Worried about what grandma was going to do without him. And then, at 7:00 pm, my watch started beeping. I always called him at 7:00. I couldn’t breathe. How was I going to live without him? I trudged through the days. Crying. Pleading to God. Wracked with sobs and nightmares. But I trudged on and did the best that I could. 

Many years later, my grandma fell and hit her head. Her brain was bleeding and she had advanced directives that included a Do Not Resusciate order. I sat by her hospital bed almost a whole week before she passed away. Watching. Listening. Wondering if we made a mistake. When she passed I remember how sad I was that my grandfather stopped visiting after that. She was gone. And now he was gone too. It was like grieving for two people. My heart was broken again. How was I going to live without her? No grandparents. No running through the field to see them. No more bouquets of dahlias or bowls of giant cascade berries. 

Then, not even two years later, my husband killed himself. Life was turned upside down and I didn’t know what I was going to do. My husband. My partner. My best friend was gone. He married me. He gave me two girls. He bought a house and two cars and then he left me to do it all alone. I was angry and hurt and in so much pain. How was I going to live without him? I trudged through my days, making it with my village bolstering us up, dragging us through our days. 

Tom was some time later. My other dad. The man that I grew up with and had so many adventures. Our two families were one. We did everything together. Riding Harleys. Camping. Concerts. Plays. Dinners. Pool parties.  Ross trips. Then he got cancer and was gone in just a few months. How was I going to live without him? I remember making phone calls to my friend. Sobbing and not knowing how to breathe.

And then Clay. Just one year ago Clay past away. A whole year has flown by since I lost another one of my dads. Another man that was dear to my family. Who took care of us and would come check on us. Who bought Amelia her first drum set. Who worked his way into Emerson’s heart after a whole lot of scowls from her baby face. How was I going to live without him? It still is so raw for this one. So fresh and new. Some regrets. Some questioning my decisions. What I could have done differently. And the searing tears to my eyes when I think through the loss of him. 

You do live without them. It hurts. Physically hurts. And there are frequent reminders of the loss that you feel. People say that grief and loss gets easier over time. It goes away. It shrinks down until you don’t feel it anymore. I don’t agree. It’s always there. There’s a piece missing from my soul in the losses of all of these people. Like moths eating away at a tablecloth my heart beats a little differently because I no longer have my grandparents or my husband or my Tom or my Clay. There are holes in the tapestry painted on my heart. And days like today, one year since Clay gained his angel wings, are just crushing reminder that he, that they, are no longer here. 

And I grieve for Clay today. I miss him so much it physically hurts. I want him to be here so badly. To hug him again. And watch him play GrayWolf with my girls. To hear his drums. My chest hurts with grief. And then, the others all come up at the same time. I wore the dress Brian bought me on our first date today. When I slipped it on, it was like I was kicked in the gut and I couldn’t breathe.  I collapsed on my bed in a Disney princess style sob fest. I so badly wanted to turn to him at my dresser adjusting his red necktie I bought him and ask him to zip me into my dress. To feel his arms around me and have him turn me around and kiss me. I miss Tom and summertime and swimming in the pool. Mom and dad started working on the pool this afternoon. It would have been so wonderful to look up and see Tom in his blue swim trunks and a Harley shirt drinking beer with my dad. And the baby chicks this afternoon were outside running around in the grass and made me think of how proud my grandparents would be that I have chickens and I am teaching my kids some of my favorite parts of them and of the farm. All of those memories are so good. And so heartbreaking all at the same time. I miss them all so very much. And I often think “How can I live even one more day without them all?”

And then my mind turns to Proverbs 3:5-6 which says “Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths.” How can I live without HIM? He’s the most important piece in this equation of life. And it is His plans that I need to trust. All of those people entered my life for a reason. And all of those people exited Earth when they did for a reason. It doesn’t take the sadness and grief away. I still get sharp pains when any one of them cross my mind, or any memory of one of them comes up. But I know that it is in God’s timing and God’s plan. Not mine. I would want them all here with us forever. But that was not meant to be. 

So, when those moments of grief and pain and heartache rise to the surface, I remember my Father in Heaven. And I shake my head in wonder and gratefulness at all He has done. And I praise His name that I never have to speculate what it would be like to live without Him. Because, as a believer, I don’t have to even consider that. Because He has saved and redeemed me and has welcomed me into His family as one of His own. I am a daughter of the King. I am His precious daughter. And I will never know what life is like without Him. He is always there. He is always near. And He is wiping away my tears of grief and helping me to walk tall in His life and His journey for me. 

How do I live without all the others? With grace and dignity and compassion for people. With excitement and joy that they are already with Father God in the Heavenly realms. With peace knowing that they have had complete healing of all that ails them. And they are waiting for the day that Father God says my days are up and I get to join them in complete beautiful healing as a permanent member of God’s family. 

I miss them all so much. And lots of tears were shed today as they all floated through my mind. And they will again time after time. But my God will walk me through those moments too. How do I live? I live in faith in my Father and His plan for me, my family, my friends. But most of all, I live!

Tightrope...

It’s a fine line to walk. One moment you’re on top of the world. You can see everything surrounding you clearly and without fail. The sky is wide and bright. The sounds around you are crisp and clear. You have your senses about you. Nothing could possibly go wrong. 

And then, you misstep. You misjudge. You make one tiny mistake, one wrong assumption, and you lose your footing. You fall, careen off the edge into darkness. You are falling off the rope into oblivion. 

This is grief. Grief is cruel and unforgiving. You can go from a moment of elation and euphoria. Happiness exudes from your face and your core. Top of the world. 

One. Tiny. Reminder. That is all it takes to watch the cracks begin in the facade. A smell. A memory. A conversation. A vision of his smile. A label from his favorite beer. A picture on a Facebook On This Day memory. And you’re brought to your knees with the searing pain that is grief. The physical ache. The feeling that your heart is going to tear through your chest, only to explode in a million pieces. The drive to run away as far and as fast as your can go. The yearning to walk away from everything and leave it all behind, letting the fragments of your life ride away on the next breeze. 

Grief is awful enough when you are an adult. But what happens when you have to watch your child go through grief? I have been blessed with two of the best little people in the entire universe. They still want to talk and share with me. We have very deep, very serious, sometimes very macabre conversations in our household. We joke about things that others would find morbid in order to keep a semblance of sanity. But sometimes, we reach moments where we are hit with just plain, raw grief. And it comes unfairly out of nowhere. 

Like on Emerson Jane’s birthday. We had just had a lovely evening, such a fun night filled with family and friends and food. Ice cream cake even! We laughed and loved and looked around a table filled with people who care for us. We smiled and shared stories of Emerson as a baby and a little girl that quickly wove her way into our hearts. Emerson had the time of her life! It was magical. 

And then, the car ride home, Emerson gets very quiet and from the back seat in a mousy voice I hear my baby girl: “Mommy?”

“Yes, Em?”

“Did daddy ever go to any of my birthday parties?”

“No sweetheart. He didn’t.” 

And then, the sound of stifled sobs. I looked in the rear view mirror at my new eight-year-old with tears gushing down her cheeks.

“Oh honey. What’s wrong?”

“It’s just not fair! All of my friends have their daddies. Why did daddy die? Why couldn’t he wait to die so he could come to my birthday party?”

Ugh. It cuts you to your core knowing that your kid is hurting. That grief has entered their heart and their soul. Sitting in the front seat of that car, begging for it to be magically transported to the driveway so I could crawl into the back seat and hold my sobbing baby in my arms, I instead reached back and grabbed her little hand. Amelia’s hand snaked its way into the mix and, adjusting the mirror, I see her tear-drenched face too. And I feel my own eyes welling up with tears. My heart breaks for them, for us. Emerson is right. It’s so unfair. 

I finally got home and parked the car. I ushered them inside where we started bath and bed routines. I cradled Emerson in my lap as we read A Pocket for Corduroy and practiced her spelling words. Then, a trade in girls led me to snuggling up beside my Amelia as we read another chapter in The Hunger Games and shared a little more about our day apart. And then, Father God spoke to my heart. I knew I couldn’t let them go to bed without processing together. Without talking about stuff. 

A quick google search uncovered a devotion on God being a father to the fatherless. I read it to them. Explaining that God would be their Father. That He wanted nothing more than to be their dad, to guard and guide and protect them. And that I know it feels like it’s not the same, and how they long and yearn for the daddy they deserve. A flesh and blood human daddy to hug and snuggle and play with. But that God is a father to the fatherless. That He is there always and will scoop them up and be there for them. And then I encouraged them to think about dinner. To close their eyes and visualize the people that were sitting around the table at Emerson’s birthday dinner. The Perry’s who love them so very much. Dina who has loved them always and spends one day a week with us. MomMom and Pa and how much they love them and how much they do for all of us. And then I asked them to think of all the people that weren’t at that table. And how much they are loved by all of those people too. 

The tears fell again as we talked about Brian. But happy tears mixed in thinking about the love and support so many of you have given us. The cards. The hugs. The cheers and the encouragement. The visits. The help around the house and property. The smiles. The hand-holding. The kisses. The love. The just being. We have been bolstered by our villiage. And that village was gifted to us by Father God, the Father to the fatherless.

So many hurting people exist in this world, my family, my children included in that. But God is our provider. He gifted us with so much, and He does the same for all of us. Close your eyes and picture the people that would be around your table! And picture the people who aren’t at the table, but that would be there to love and support you and bolster you up no matter what. It is for sure a tightrope walk, this thing we call life. And grief suspends that tightrope even higher off the ground sometimes. No net. No room for error. But, luckily, God is there to catch you when you fall. He is the Father to the fatherless. He loves you unconditionally. He will wipe away every tear. 

So, all honor and praise to our Heavenly Father for always being there for us in this journey. And also heartfelt thanks to our people, who walk us through this process and remind us just how loved we are. Thanks for being at our table! Thanks for showering my family and my girls with prayer, for we all need that! And thanks for making our tightrope a bit less intimidating and scary. Each step forward is a successful step towards healing. Each step forward is another step towards the safety of the other side. Grief is hard, but our God is bigger and mightier than any of that! He is our Father and He loves us so much! And when grief sneaks in and feels so overwhelming, we fix our eyes on God, the Father to the fatherless, and know that in Him we are safe and healed and loved. And the tightrope is way less scary when we’re in our Heavenly Father’s arms. 

Saints and Sinners...

Today is significant for two reasons. The first is that today is Maundy Thursday in our church. This is the day that we commemorate the Last Supper of Jesus with his disciples before he is arrested, beaten, tortured, and nailed to the cross. Tonight at church, the final act of the service is the stripping of the altar, which I was so honored to be asked to be a part of. That part of the service has always been so emotional for me. Watching as the ladies strip away the important parts of our church piece by piece is difficult for me. And I always end up sobbing by the end of the service. 

Being a part of that process and helping carry away the pieces was no different. The beautiful silver pieces that hold the bread and the wine for Holy Communion. The cloths that cover the lectern and the pulpit and the altar. The candles that burn at every service. The Bible that our lessons are read from. Carrying those pieces and watching the front of the church being dismantled is so difficult. Knowing that these pieces are being taken away, symbolically representing Jesus being taken away and crucified just tomorrow, bring hot tears quickly to my eyes. 

These days tear my soul in two. Jesus. Sinless. Blameless. Perfect. A saint, not a sinner. Being crucified for me and my sins. Tortured and killed because of me, so that I can be saved. My soul is torn in two. 

The second reason today is significant? It would have been Brian’s forty-fifth birthday. But he didn’t make it there. I’m far enough away from the events leading to his death that I sometimes forget there are people who have entered our lives that don’t know. My husband was arrested and charged with two felony counts. My fairy tale of a husband and two little girls and a wonderful life was torn in two, and even further torn when he chose to end his life rather than going through the process for justice to be served for his victims. Brian. A felon. Not perfect. Not sinless. A sinner, not a saint. What a stark contrast to this day!

But, at the same time, a perfect lesson. A perfect comparison. A perfect example of what Holy Week is all about. Brian, like all of us, was a sinner. He made some really bad choices in the last few moments of his life. Two felonies. Suicide. Is he lost? Is he damned to hell? The loving, caring, compassionate God that I know says no. I believe that Brian was a Christian. I believe he made himself right with God. I believe that the clashing of these two events today is the best illustration of what it means to be a believer, saved, forgiven!

We are all sinners. We all do things to fall out of God’s favor. But, we are forgiven! We are cleansed by the blood of Jesus. He took our sins and carried them to the cross. He carried the lies and the bad choices and the felonies and the suicide. He took the pettiness and the judgments and the gossip. And he carried them all for us. He bore the weight of the world’s sins so that we can be washed as white as snow. So that when we die, we know that we will be in heaven with Father God and all the saints that have gone before. And, yes, I believe that even Brian will be there. 

The tears at the altar tonight seemed to open the floodgates. I grieve the choices that I have made that contributed to Jesus dying on a cross for me. The tears flowed freely as I carried the pieces of the altar handed to me. And they have just kept flowing freely. Tonight, I grieve. I grieve for the death of my Lord and Savior. For the suffering and the torture. For the moments He begged for His life and a different plan. I grieve for the unimaginable pain and suffering He went through. I grieve for my contributions to all of that. 

I also grieve for Brian. For the choices He made. For the broken dreams that I carry on my heart. For my girls who no longer have a father. For the moments that we are missing out on today like baking a cake for him. Singing “Happy Birthday.” Watching him unwrap some homemade trinket made by not-so-little hands. I grieve for the loss of my friend and husband and partner. 

But I also wait with anticipation at the hope that arrives on Easter morning where we can lift our heads, look to the Son, and loudly declare, “He is risen indeed! Hallelujah!” What a glorious day! A lot can happen on three days! Just watch and see!

Rewrite the Stars...

I am a firm believer in everything happens for a reason. The steps that we walk and the moments we share on this earth are all part of our journey. They are all part of the plan that our Heavenly Father has for us. As a Christian, I have faith in these facts and I know there’s a greater good in place for everything that happens. But I am also imperfect. And there are times that I want nothing more than to rewrite history. Change what has happened. Erase moments. Write my own fairy tale ending. 

Brian killing himself and all that transpired in those days and weeks, would be the first chapter I would rewrite. I don’t know where I would start the story over. Would I choose the same setting? The same characters? Where would I put the dramatic rise? The conflict? How would I pen the resolution? I don’t know. That’s the part of rewriting history that is hard. Which moments do you change? Erase? Make better? Everything happens for a reason. Even suicide, I suppose. 

I am honored to work at the best school in the district. With the best staff. The best parents. The best students. Lately though? It hasn’t felt that way. Across the district (I’m willing to bet it’s actually across the nation) kids are changing. The face of education is changing. We are being sent babies who are the products of divorce, suicide, jailed parents, cancer, deceased siblings, runaway parents. They are being abused: sexually, physically, emotionally. And we are expected to take these babies who are hungry, malnourished, unloved and unwanted, sit them down in a desk and teach them reading, writing, and math. They are worried about what they are going home to, not how to do two digit by two digit subtraction with regrouping. Their bellies are growling. They aren’t worried about contractions or nouns or verb tenses. Their minds are racing in an unmedicated ADHD fit, and slowing down to care about your lesson is the last thing they could do. But it is still our job as teachers to teach them! Increase their test scores. Help them read. Learn. 

This job gets harder all the time. We are being sent these little people that are struggling. They are screaming and yelling and in a rage. They are throwing furniture. They are destroying whole classrooms and pods. They are so disrespectful and smart mouthed. They know every swear word in the book, some I don’t even know. And we, as teachers, are at our wits end. We are tired and worn out and defeated feeling. We are reeling. Not because we are upset and angry at the kids, because that’s not it at all. We are sad. We are crushed for these kids. We pour our souls into our jobs and into our kids. When they hurt, we hurt. They are hurting and angry and acting out at school. And we are seemingly losing control of our building. It has become a war zone of little people that are begging for help and love and peace. And I have been a part of that building, that staff for long enough to know that we can dig deep and take back our building. 

We can rewrite the stars. Those babies are counting on us to do just that. Rewrite their stars. I have spent the last almost eight years working to rewrite Amelia and Emerson’s stars. I am not going to let them become a statistic. I am not going to let them be just another excuse, another problem kid in the world. So we talk and bond and pray and hold each other. We talk through problems. I discipline and hold them accountable. I praise and reward the good and extinguish the bad. I am rewriting their stars. 

We all sit on so many committees and talk the talk. Our days are filled with acronyms of things that are supposed to help. PBIS. ACES. RTI. One idea after another and we throw everything at the teachers so they can throw everything at the students. We don’t need more PBIS. We don’t need more ACES training. We don’t need more conversations or more committees or more mandates. The kids don’t need those things. They need love. They need trust. They need relationships. They need accountability. They need structure and boundaries and support. They need hugs and high fives delivered genuinely. They need to know they are safe and important and loved. Who better to show them these things than the staff and teachers at my school?! We are the best. We expect the best. 

So, I am calling on my staff and teachers who know these things. We need to take our school back. We need to be the elementary school that I know we really are. So, I am proposing that we take our school back. We are the best of the best. We are brilliant educators with hearts of gold. Let’s rewrite their stars! They don’t have to be destined for trouble and hard times! We don’t have to sit back and watch things unravel!

So, we talk to each other. We don’t hide the elephant in the room. We lay it on the table, embrace the chaos, come up with a plan, and work on moving forward. We do what we do best! We love them! We form relationships with them. Melissa and I walk the hallways and try hard to form relationships with the toughest little kiddos. We give hugs and high fives and secret handshakes. We remind them of expectations and direct them back to class or back to the rules. And they respond! Even just a little bit, but they respond! They crave attention and love. They want boundaries. So, reach out across grade levels and classrooms. Find one or two that you can bond with.  Every week make it your mission to connect with one kid who may need you.  One kids who maybe don’t even know.   Make a connection. Draw them in. Give them a reason to want to come to school. Give them another adult to look for in the hallways. 

Encourage your fellow teachers too. I don’t know how many staff members I have talked to lately that are done. Fed up. Want to quit. Are actively looking for jobs not in education. I’ll admit that it has crossed my mind a time or two lately. What a loss that would be! For any one of us to choose a different path. You are all so amazing! You are all meant to be in our building! You are there for a reason, a purpose. Things are tough right now, but don’t quit on these kids! Don’t quit on each other! Make it a point to reach out to your fellow staff and teachers. Give them kudos. Tell them they are amazing. 

And if you’re the faithful type, or even if you’re not, pray for them! I invite any staff member or teacher that is interested to join me in my office at 3:30 on Wednesday afternoons starting after spring break. Write it in your planner. Make time! Just a few minutes! Bring names of kids we need to raise up in prayer. Bring your toughest kids to the table and let’s talk about their best qualities. Bring staff members who you know need a prayer too! We’ll pray and come together for positive sharing. We’ll jot notes to these families letting them know how great their kids are. We’ll share with each other what is working and what isn’t. Just a few minutes. Just a few simple words. Just a few moments to rewrite their stars. We may feel powerless in some of these situations, but God is powerful and He listens to our prayers. And if you can’t make it in the afternoon, let’s talk about a morning during the week we can do the same thing! 

What an opportunity we have right now this very second. To turn this around. To make this a positive place again and to rewrite the stars...for our students, for their families, for our friends and colleagues that lay it all out each and every day. We are the best staff in the district. We need to heal. We need to help our students heal. We need to rewrite our stars. Because I am not willing to stand by and let things happen the way they are. And I’m going to tag each and every one of you that I know won’t let that happen either. It’s time, friends! It’s time to rewrite our stars right here. Right now. Let’s do this! I’m ready! Who will join me?

Rewrite the stars...one star at a time...