Please Mr. Postman

I love our Christmas traditions! We have many, and I'll be blogging about some of them throughout this holiday season as they relate to things that are on my mind. 

Right now, spread across my table, is one of my favorite Christmas traditions of sending out our family Christmas card. I love thinking about our cards and the photos of our family and planning out how that all will look. It all starts with the perfect pictures! Capturing the moments and the memories of our holiday time together is super important to me. So I employ the best in my cousin, Kayla! If you have never heard me talk about her, you should totally check her out. She works magic with a camera and captures the most stunning photos ever. Her Facebok page is under Kayla Lynn Photography and her work is amazing! I'm trying to convince her to come to our little town next fall for mini sessions so for all my friends and family who want the perfect pictures - pay attention around August!!

Anyways, we get our pictures taken. I choose our favorites and add them to our card. I'm so excited to get them back and see how beautiful and grown up my girls are in print!  This part has always been the best part of the process. 

But this year? My favorite part of the process has been addressing the envelopes slowly, one at a time, and seeing where I send these pictures.  The cards that we send span the United States, and now thanks to my sister and brother-in-law stationed in Japan, we've even gone international. 

As I was addressing my cards this year, I took time on each simple address...thinking about the street names...marveling at the various states that are represented in my address book...thinking about the impact that each person on the receiving end of these cards has had on our lives. So many friends and family, people that crossed our path and never left, people I hardly ever speak to except for the yearly Christmas cards that we exchange, people I see in a daily basis and love dearly. There is a large list of friends and family that I send to. I've thought about paring it down over the years, not sending them to everyone in my address book. Choosing only a handful to write to. Not sending a card to people that don't write to us. And the thought of that makes me sad! I enjoy sending my cards. I like showing off my girls and my little family. But most importantly, I hope that the recipients of my cards know that they are each sent with love and admiration and a thankful heart. For the people that I send the cards to are people that are important to me.  They are an important piece of the Duncan puzzle. They had some part in getting us to who we are today.

There are teachers that I had in my elementary school days at Peace that I still keep in touch with. They raised me and watched me grow in that small Lutheran school. They helped get us to church and played a big role in my early days of learning my faith and beliefs. There are aunts and uncles and cousins who are part of the best family in the world! I love my cousins and I'm thankful for a chance to reach out and let them know they are loved. There are college friends who were lifesavers in more ways than one, who were there for late night chats and the days when I'd lock myself out of my dorm room. There are current co-workers, who have helped me learn my trade in the elementary schools, and much much more! There are friends that walked into our lives because of Brian's work with the State Patrol and Cencom, and his volunteer work with the fire station. Those people who still check in on us and make sure we're ok. The troopers who still drive by our house at night to make sure the bad guys stay away. And the fire department friends who still "blip" the siren at my girls and me if they see us in the yard. There are the friends who we've picked as family...the ones who have always been there for us and who I know will always be there for us no matter what.

And then there's the missing ones. My grandparents. My husband. My other dad Tom. Laurie's momma Nancy. The ones that I so badly wanted to make a card for, to send to them and know they were here. I'll still take a card down to my grandparents and leave it beside their grave. And Sherri still gets a card from us, just not with Tom's name this year. And I texted Laurie and we talked about her momma and what a great lady she was. And how I'd addressed her envelope before my heart sank and I realized she wouldn't be there to receive it. 

So as I continue with getting my cards completed, I will continue to think and be thankful and praise my Heavenly Father with thanks for an address book full of addresses. And I send prayers to those friends and family in Washington, Idaho, Oregon, California. Friends in Oklahoma and Texas and Maryland. Friends in Florida and Montana and Indiana. Missouri and Georgia and Nebraska. And even all the way over in Ikego, Japan (Hi, Sissy!!)

We are blessed with love from all over the map! And blessed with an amazing network of people right here in our hometown and people who love and care for us and support us. We are blessed! So, when you get our Christmas card, feel the love and joy and peace that the Duncan girls send. Know the prayers and the care and the thankfulness we share with you. And know that we sent God's love with every Christmas card we wrote! 

Here Comes the Sun

It's been raining cats and dogs (and maybe even elephants and hippos too!) the past couple weeks here in Washington. My backyard has become Duncan Pond thanks to Kubert Creek from the neighbors up the hill. Everything is drenched. Trees across the county have toppled over. Many of my friends have no power more often than they have power lately. There is water everywhere!! As of a few days ago, there's even water in my master bedroom thanks to the window leaking :/ Luckily my daddy will save the day and fix the window...as soon as it stops raining long enough to let him!  It's been a wet, soggy mess for weeks. The skies are gray, it seems like it's nighttime all day long, it's cold and wet and dreary. 

Except for a couple of mornings ago. The girls and I were hustling through our morning routine before leaving for school when suddenly, rays of sunshine were streaming in the front door window. Emerson ran into the kitchen with a huge smile on her face and yelled "Mommy! The sun is back!!" Amelia looked at her and said, "The sun never went anywhere. It's always there. It was just buried under some clouds. But it's always there, even when you can't see it." Emerson scrunched up her nose, tilted her head to the side, and asked, "So the sun is just like Jesus?" Amelia and I looked at each other and smiled and I said, "Yes, Em.  Just like Jesus."

The sun is always there, making its way around the world day to day. And even when it's cloudy and you can't see it through all the gray, it's there, waiting for the perfect break in the clouds to shine it's light on the world. 

The same is true for the other Son. Jesus. He is always there, walking His way through your day. And even when it's cloudy, and there is absolutely nothing going right, He's still there, waiting for the perfect break in your heart to shine into your life and keep you safe from the storm. 

Over my lifetime, I have seen storms. I have been to the point where I don't know what to do. I have relied on myself to fix everything. And I have failed. So I've needed helpers along the way. Helpers that have guided me down paths to get the assistance that I have needed.  I have mentioned before that I go to counseling. The person that I go to now is amazing and she is walking me through a healing process that has been eye-opening and life-changing. 

I have been stuck. And although I have taken baby steps forward, I tend to reach a point where I'm stuck. Or where I fall backwards and stumble and don't know how to keep my footing. So, being the strong and stubborn person I am, I try to pick myself up. And it just doesn't work. 

In my last session, we were walking through a few things. The sessions that we have are led by the Holy Spirit and He was leading me towards a particular life scenario that I needed to work through. I was asked "Do you see Angels?" In this particular scenario and I said "yes". She asked me where they were and I told her they were standing all around me in a circle. She asked me how that made me feel. I paused. A long time. Therapy is hard for me because there are two parts of me. The part of me that is dark and hurt and injured and dead and wanting to run away and disappear forever. And there's the part of me that wants to bury those ideas and not let anyone else know that I have those thoughts. So in my head, the latter me was formulating an answer that I thought she would want to hear. I was working on saying "I feel happy and safe and peaceful and I'm so glad they are there ." But...someone very dear to me had recently shared with me how important truth is so that healing can happen. So I looked her in the eyes and I told her "It makes me angry that they are there." In her most gentle voice she asked me why it made me angry. With tears streaming down my face I told her that I was angry they were there now, but that they couldn't be there to save me from what I had been through.  We worked through the rest of that, and eventually I realized that they were with me then also. In every single life moment, the Angels are there. And so is the Son!

Tears right now. And wanting to go back to the lies where I pretend everything is ok. Why am I sharing this? Why am I using this very personal example in my public blog? Because if I can save one person from walking down the path that I have been down, then I will share. I will share my thoughts and feelings so you know you're not alone. 

The Angels, and Jesus, and the sun...they are always there. There are things that cover them up, or things that block them out, but they are always there. Even in my darkest hours through my life. They are constant and good and warm and they are always there. I have faith that they have always been there, and will always be there. 

The sun is always there. The Son is always there. We only have to have faith that even when the clouds bury them in darkness, and the storms take over, they are there, waiting for just the right time to burst through the clouds and make everything right with the world again. The storm clouds will be there. It's not an easy path. But you are not alone in your journey. Jesus is there with you, even when you don't know He's there. Here comes the Son...to bring you peace and healing and love. Here comes the Son...

I Walk the Line

I was furious! I had been seeing my therapist for a while starting a few years ago and I was starting to get my Explanation of Benefits from my insurance company. It wasn't the copay that I was upset about. It wasn't my insurance coverage. No, the item on this sheet of paper that had me seeing red was...the diagnostic code. Written in the middle of the paper were the words "Post Traumatic Stress Disorder." What? That was impossible. I checked to make sure they hadn't accidentally sent me someone else's paper. Nope. My name was printed at the top. I called my therapist and left a frantic message to her, imploring her to call me back as soon as possible. About an hour later, she was on the phone with me. I calmly explained to her that there must have been some mistake. That I just got my Explanation of Benefits and it said Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. There was a long silence and she replied with, "Yes?"

"Well, THAT can't be right! I don't have PTSD! I need you to change that."

"I can't change it. That's what you have."

She went on to explain my symptoms and asked if I had any questions. But I couldn't even think. Didn't even know what questions to ask. I quietly told her I didn't, hung up the phone, and snuck into the bathroom to collapse into a puddle on the floor and sob quietly to myself.

This couldn't be right. How embarrassing! Me? Diagnosed with a mental disorder? PTSD was reserved for those brave men and women in combat who fight for our freedoms. The soldiers who see atrocities that my brain can't even fathom. The military personnel who watch their buddies or commanders die right before their eyes. I couldn't possibly have PTSD. I didn't do anything to deserve this! Nothing happened to me like the things that people who should be diagnosed with PTSD go through. 

My next session with my therapist was painful. I cried. I sobbed. I denied that I had PTSD. I told her that was impossible. And I cried some more. She handed me a list...a list of the symptoms of PTSD:

1) Reliving the event/re-experiencing the symptoms

2) Avoiding situations that remind you of the event

3) Negative changes in beliefs and feelings

4) Feeling keyed up (hyperarousal)

The bullets that were under each number described me. I had difficulty sleeping. I experienced flashbacks. I had trouble concentrating. I avoided situations. Nightmares plagued my sleep. Certain things could trigger me into a panic attack. My world came crashing down around me. I was horrified to admit that I had PTSD. 

I am healing. My nightmares are less and less. My triggers don't send me reeling. I'm sleeping better. I am healing. 

And then, new demons began to plague and torment me. Knowing that I was not at my strongest and healthiest, the enemy began a spiritual attack on my soul. Convincing me that I was worthless. That I was a terrible mom. That I was incompetent in my job. And for a while I believed them. I was confused. I felt worthless. Sometimes, I felt like the only way I was going to find peace might be to exit this world. Give my girls a chance at a better life. And when you find yourself in that place, it is terrifying. Everywhere you look there is chaos and hopelessness. Everything you hear is a voice telling you that you are nothing. That no one would miss you. That your are worthless. And I almost gave in to those tricks. 

But faith! Faith pulled me through. Amazing family and friends pulled me through. Staring into the eyes of my children pulled me through. Reading my Bible and taking communion and journaling pulled me through. 

I am not completely free from those demons, but I am in a much better place. I know that I am not alone in my battles. That God is with me, right by my side, and that He will never leave me. That I have a wonderful team of family and friends here on this earth that help me walk through. That pray for the girls and me. That will be there to remind me that I am so loved by my Heavenly Father. I am blessed! So very blessed!

Last night, Emerson and I were walking to McDonalds while waiting for Amelia to get done with dance. As we were walking, our path crossed an older lady pushing a cart. She was dirty and looked tired and she was talking to herself. As we were approaching her, Emerson started to sing a little Bible song that she had learned in school. I started singing with her. As we approached the woman, Emerson kept singing and I silently prayed for this woman. She was talking to herself, swearing and looking so very agitated. And my heart broke for her. Experiencing PTSD symptoms and the spiritual attack pieces, I could understand maybe a little of what was going through her head. It is a dark and scary place to be.  

We kept walking and praying for her, and then I thought about the line. The very fine line between this woman and me. Without people who are willing to fight for me. Without the countless people that have prayed for me over the years. Without the power of the God that I have faith in. That woman could have been me. There were times that I just wanted to stay in bed all day and hide from the world. There are times that it took every inch of my being to not put my girls in the truck and run away from everything. There were times in the middle of the night that my anxiety and flashbacks were so strong that I would have given anything to make it stop. There's a fine line between this woman and me. 

But I walk this line, and I fight everyday to stay on the OK side of that line. With the help of my Father, and with the help of Jesus, and with the filling of the Holy Spirit, I walk the line. And they walk with me. As I think about my experiences, and as I remember how it feels to be in those moments where I slipped below that line, my heart aches. My heart aches for the many that deal with PTSD alone. My heart aches for those that walk the streets and look "crazy" but just need a boost, a support system, and a knowledge of a loving God that can carry them through. I know that I need to do something. I need to help! I need to pay forward the love and kindness and faith that was instilled in me, carrying me from dark moment to dark moment, and helping me walk the line. It is my calling to spread the word about PTSD perhaps, and help people understand the horror of that, and then the awfulness of being under spiritual attack. For honestly, I believe we all walk the line. And I hope and pray that I can help people walk theirs. It can be a lonely, terrifying walk. And not all people are as blessed as I am with love and support and faith. 

I say this often, but BE KIND! For we are all fighting battles. And we are all walking our own lines. Be kind, and have compassion, and pray for those of us who are struggling with the line. And reach out for help if you are the one struggling. It's hard to admit to others that you think you're crazy. It's hard to face the fact that you are maybe not mentally at your best. It's hard to admit or even know that you are under attack from the enemy. Don't be afraid to ask for help, or reach out to a friend or a pastor or anyone! Don't feel crazy! We are all fighting battles that no one knows anything about. Why do we do this? We should be here on this earth to love and support each other. We should be ok reaching out for help before it gets to the point where we are below the line. Where we are drowning and can't get out. And we should also be ok reaching out and helping the ones that are struggling. 

Be kind. And if you are struggling, continue to walk the line, and try to stay on the OK side of that line. And if you're close, give me a call. I've been on the not OK side. And I don't want anyone to get on that side and silently suffer. God will rescue you! God loves you! And I do too!

Ready or Not

On my quest to be happier and healthier, I have taken to not eating during my lunch break at work, but walking. I shove my earbuds into my ears, play some relaxing music with a good message, and walk a quick loop through housing to clear my head and get me prepared to face the afternoon. My heart rate gets up a bit, I get some time away from my job that can be oh so stressful, I get to have my soul uplifted with the songs I listen to, sometimes the sun is shining on my face, and I have time alone. But I also have time with God. 

I don't think it's a secret that I am a Christian. I believe in God. I have since I was a little girl. I was baptized as a baby. I went to a parochial school from Kindergarten through Eighth Grade. I have attended the church I am currently a member at since I was little. I have been religious for a long time. Over the last few years, my faith has ebbed and flowed between strongly convicted to barely hanging on by a thread. I will admit that I have struggled on my journey with my faith and with God through all of this. This has been especially true since September 30th, 2010. Five years ago this very night...

There are many details of that night that are forever burned into my heart and my soul. And going back to the PTSD that I mentioned yesterday, the memories of that night flood into my mind like it was yesterday. Several times tonight I have stopped myself from flowing into a panic attack. I have dropped to my knees and asked God for strength to push past a certain time on the clock. I have journaled and breathed and sang praises and talked to my Heavenly Father and asked Him for strength. I am strong in the Lord!

I mentioned yesterday that I don't do emotion well. So, my daily walk today was flooded with emotion sitting just on the surface. I finally slowed my walking, closed my eyes and asked "Father, how am I going to get through the coming month?" You see, I dread flipping the calendar. As soon as school starts, I begin to panic about October. I have never dealt with October well since 2010. One year I had a giant seizure. One year I ran away. One year I was drunk in a church.  By the way, I want to right now apologize to anyone who was impacted by any of those events. I just don't know how to do emotion well. And this is all BIG emotion. 

This year? I walk. And I talk to my God. And I asked Him "how am I ever going to survive this month?" Because seizures and running and drunkeness are not the answers. They didn't fix anything. They maybe helped in the moment. Were a protective mechanism for getting past the day. But I still am here today wondering how to deal with October. Feeling the panic. Feeling my chest get tight and my breathing speed up. Feeling my cheeks get flushed and the tears welling in my eyes. Remembering the words that were spoken and the pain in my heart as Brian admitted to me the awful things he had done. I'm not going into details here. Many of you know. Many of you maybe don't. But I feel my focus isn't supposed to be on the tragic story. It isn't about sharing gory details of what happened. It isn't dwelling on the past and the horrific things that transpired in my living room on September 30th, 2010. 

When I was walking and asked God how I was going to survive October? He had my answer...blog! Tell your story. Share with your audience your thoughts and feelings. Your trials and tribulations. Be a beacon of hope for those that are struggling. Be a hand that reaches out and saves someone from drowning. Take your experiences and lend your story to others so that they will not suffer. 

My journey the past five years has been wild. The girls and I have been on a roller coaster of emotion. We have gone from the lowest of the lows to the highest of the highs and back and forth again and again. And in the last week, I have hit the highest point ever of those highs! I have reached a new level of faith and freedom and it feels so good! It is so good, that I believe that it is my mission from God to share what the last five years have been. So that others may know that they are not alone. And that their story isn't done!

I thought many times that my story was done. That this was going to be how my story would end. When you're a little girl planning out your future, none of the stuff from the last five years was in that story. There just aren't stories with room for chapters filled with deceit and lies, assault and broken-ness, suicide and struggle. My story shouldn't have included torment and anguish and demons. But it did! My life certainly wasn't the romantic comedy I had always envisioned. It was never supposed to be the horror story that has been laid out over the last five years. There was no place in my story for being a widowed mom. No chapters filled with attacks from Satan and my own personal hell on earth. But it happened. 

So, I'm here in my living room, five years to the day from that night, running through scenes that continue to bounce around in my head. If I look across my living room I can see Brian standing there as if it was yesterday. And before, had I been presented with this opportunity to have him stand before me, I would have been furious. I would have wanted to give him a piece of my mind and say all of the things I never got to say. To ask the whys and what happeneds. To curse him for ruining so many lives in a series of events. 

But tonight, God has a different plan for me. Peace!  Forgiveness!  Joy! He heals my wounds and dries my tears. He casts out the demons and cradles me and the girls in His loving arms. And you know what else? He gives me the grace and love that I need to continue to write my story. God and I work together, not to rewrite the past. Before I looked at my healing process as rewriting the past. But that cannot happen. Those chapters, filled with the horror and sorrow and anguish and fight? I can now see that those are my blessings. The last five years was desperately needed to determine my place in this world and the path that I am supposed to be on. I needed to go through everything that I went through to get me to this moment right here, right now. The romantic comedy that I had in mind? The horror story that I thought I got stuck with? Neither of those is what God had or has in mind for me. He has walked me through the fires, and has brought me out the other side so that I can write my story. So I can share my story and help others to learn to write their stories. I know that God has a purpose in all of this mess. He sees me in the bottom of my mess, not knowing what to do with emotion and trapped and tarnished and panicky. And He pulls me out of all that, washes me clean, and gives me the tools to write my story. He gives me the tools to share with others so they don't have to go for five years of suffering before they are released and are free. With the help of God, I am writing my story! And how exciting it is to know that the best chapters haven't even been written yet!

So I will be blogging more often, or trying to, and telling my story a piece at a time. Maybe there will be a piece that you recognize. Maybe there will be a chapter you have read before in your own life. Maybe you will see a similar genre unfolding in your own story. My hope? My prayer? That something you read will help you out from under your own oppression. That a piece of what I write will save you from the depths of whatever it is you're going through. That maybe, you also will realize that you have a purpose and that your path is leading you right where you need to be!

Ready or not! Life comes at you with a myriad of challenges and blessings. Use them! The challenges AND the blessings, for you are writing the greatest story ever told! YOUR story! I don't mean to spoil the ending, but I know that my story will end in victory and I hope yours will also!

Let's Get Together

Last Saturday I had the opportunity to take part in the celebration of the life of Tom Deem. If you have read my blog before, I wrote a post about him in July as I was honored to write a tribute for his funeral service. He passed away in July after a brief battle with mesothelioma, but continues to live on in our hearts. As I mentioned before, Tom's passion was motorcycles. He was the president of the local Antique Motorcycle Club and they pulled together a memorial ride in honor of Tom last weekend. It was the coolest thing ever! Watching tough guys in leather getting teary and honoring one of their fallen comrades. Coming together to support Sherri and the girls. Taking a moment out of their lives to ride and love and come together as a community for Tom. I didn't expect to be so emotional, but I was! Watching the tears, being part of the pre-ride prayer and the blessing of the bikes, listening to the rumble of the bikes as they started off on their ride, listening to the stories of Tom while we stood around the campfire at the BBQ after the run, hearing my own girls tell me again how much they miss him, but can still hear his laugh and see his smile. The biker community loved and respected Tom. And from what I can tell they are careful to watch over and take care of Sherri and the girls also. This community of people, coming together, to celebrate a wonderful man and to share love. What a blessing!

I have thought a lot about community lately. It maybe started with Tom's ride. Thinking about the people that were a part of that group. Thinking about the bonds that were formed

 within that group. How they help and rely on each other. How they take time for each other. How they love and support and care for each other. 

I have struggled a bit over the past few months. My first instinct when I am struggling? It isn't to reach out for help. It's to pull away. To push everyone away and isolate myself. I just don't know how to do emotion very well so to save face in front of people I push away the very people that I so desperately need. In the midst of one of these moments, one friend told me that God intended for us to be in community. To not be alone and suffer without assistance. That word: community again. 

I had a teacher friend in my office today. We talked about her kids and the struggles that she is having with behaviors in her class. We brainstormed and talked and tried to come up with a solution. And as I walked away from that conversation I thought of the whole "it takes a villiage" idea. The fact that there is a community needed to raise and teach these kiddos and if even one link is missing from that community, we end up with kids who are lost and confused and naughty and not ready to learn. They act up and act out and we are left with frustrated kids and frustrated parents and frustrated teachers. They need all of the adults in their lives to come together to help guide them through, or push and pull them through if they are not a willing participant in the process. Community. 

Tonight, I went to my first weigh in after re-joining WeightWatchers meetings. I have been frustrated with how things are going with my weight loss (or lack of weight loss is more like it) so I joined meetings. And it was magical! I lost 10.6 pounds in my first week back! So proud of myself! When they asked what the secret to my successful week was? My answer was community! I needed the love and support of people in a meeting who knew my struggle and were willing to guide me through this process (or more likely push and pull me through as a sometimes unwilling participant.) Community!

So I stand on the verge of October. My heart races with fear and anxiety. My soul wounds surrounding this month run deep. I love the fall and all it has to offer, but I despise October, for that was the month when our lives came to a screeching halt. I am diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder and October is a trigger for all of the awfulness that that disorder entails. Just thinking about turning the calendar makes my stomach upset and my heart race. How am I ever going to survive? How am I ever going to get through? Community. I belong to a wonderful community. Several actually. My community at work. My family and friends community. My community within my church.  My WeightWatchers community.  My community that I am a part of on Facebook and through people that read my blogs.  And even that rough and tough biker community. I know there are lots of people that love and care for me and the girls. That will give us the space we need when we need it, but will be right there to catch us when we fall, hold our hand when we are scared, hold us when we cry, love us when the day is rough, and just be there, silently supporting us and holding us up in loving prayer to our Heavenly Father. 

God truly intended for us to be in community with others. And I rejoice and thank Him dearly for all of the wonderful people He has placed in mine!

Be thankful for your communities...and be active in them also! You never know who you might need to bolster up. And you never know who you might need as a part of your community. It could even be a rough and tough biker. 

I love you, Tom!  I'm so honored to be in his family's community! And it's so good to have a guardian angel in mine!

You Didn't Love Her

Grey's Anatomy is one of my favorite shows. It is the one show that I have watched from the beginning and I rarely miss an episode. I love the love stories, the drama, the medical aspect, the characters. I laugh when they laugh and cry when they cry. And often, there are some very profound, and very poignant moments on the show. Oftentimes, there are quotes that I search for after the show is over, hoping to ponder their meanings. I write them out and think of how I can apply the quote to something in my own life, and oftentimes I am successful. 

One episode in 2007 caught my attention. I remember it vividly. It was October 2007. It was stormy that night and Brian was volunteering at the fire station for the night. I tucked my five-month-old Amelia into bed and turned on Grey's. One of the cases in this episode was the storyline of a woman who was a runner and losing weight to please her boyfriend. (Weight is a touchy subject for me so this could be another reason this episode stuck with me.) She was very sick and needed surgery but she didn't survive the surgery because her body was too weak from her extreme weight loss. Callie, one of the doctors, yelled at the woman's boyfriend, basically blaming him for her death and his push for her to be perfect for him. I remember listening to Callie's words and thinking, "Wow! That is so harsh! I'm lucky to have someone like Brian who loves me for me." I watched the rest of the episode and tucked myself into bed after it was over. 

Fast forward exactly three years to the day, to when our lives began to unravel. Brian died and things came up and I remember sitting on the couch sobbing through the night. In the back of my head, I kept flashing through several things. Panic at what I was going to do. Sadness thinking about Brian being gone and the loss of life as I knew it. And then, this quote from Callie. At the time, I thought her quote was appalling. How could she? How could she use those words against anyone? But they started to ring true for me.

Throughout my journey that has brought me to where I stand in this moment, this quote has come around more than once as I work through the grief process. Sometimes, I read it and immediately dismiss it as not true. Other times, I feel like someone could have spoken these words to Brian on my behalf. What are these words?

My process has brought me to a place where my life is amazing. I love where I am at in my journey and most days find myself grateful to be where I'm at. Today, for example, was great! Seahawks Training camp with my bestie and my girlies. Got to chat, if even for a brief moment, and get hugs from my other bestie. Texted with my sissy who should be home again soon. Had an end-of-day chat with my mama. Played with our chickens with the girls. Life today was good. But, even today, throughout the goodness of today, there was the constant undercurrent of what today was. August 5th. Today would have been our 9th anniversary. He's now been gone more years than we were married. And the Callie quote from Grey's came around one more time. 

Do I believe that he didn't love me? Do I believe that he simply married me so he wouldn't be alone? I don't know. Honestly, I don't know if I really, truly think that, or if that's what I have told myself to help myself survive the pain of him opting out of our marriage and out of our lives. But that last sentence. The last part of that quote is the most important to me: "...you don't destroy people you love." That right there is the part that I struggle with in terms of that quote. You don't destroy people you love. 

The good news in all of this? He didn't destroy me! He knocked me down for a while. And thinking of him, especially on days like August 5th, might take my breath away for a second, but he did not destroy me. I am stronger than ever. My girls are stronger than ever. We are a happy family of three. We have amazing family, the best of friends, a wonderful support system...he may or may not have loved me. I honestly don't care one way or the other. I love my girls. I love our life. And although I will always have the undercurrent of soul memories like August 5th, he did not destroy me. We are survivors, and we will continue to carry on, for our love for our friends and family is strong. And we work hard every day to build up those that we love. 

So, reflect on your relationships for a minute. Think about anniversaries and your partners, family and friends. Even think about strangers on the street. God's greatest command is to love one another. Think about your words and actions. Think about how you treat others in your life. And always remember...you don't destroy people that you love.  

Thank You for Sharing Him...

Dear Sherri, Miranda, and Rachel,

I am so honored that you asked me to write a remembrance for Tom. He meant the world to me, was like my other dad, another grandpa to my girls. My heart is broken thinking about what life is going to be like without him. When I started thinking about what I was going to write, I thought about all the avenues I could take. A poem? Nope. Tom was not really the poetry type. An essay? Nope. There is no way an essay would be able to capture the essence of what Tom meant to the people sitting in these pews today. How in the world could I ever get through this task? How could I capture Tom and what he meant to everyone here? How would I ever find words that would honor the man that so many loved and adored? Anything I could ever write would not be good enough. I worried. I stressed. I cried. I panicked. And then right when I was thinking about giving up, calling you and saying that this task was far too difficult and I just couldn't follow through, a Harley passed through the intersection at Fairgrounds and Central Valley Road, revved its engine, and flew down the road past our house. I smiled, with tears streaming down my face, closed my eyes, and pictured Tom, on his Harley, maybe flipping off the driver that had just cut him off, and zooming off into the sunset. And just like that, all the words I needed were right there in my mind. 

Hebrews 13:16 says, "And do not forget to do good and to share with others, for with such sacrifices God is pleased." As we were leaving the hospice house after saying goodbyes to a man that I loved so, and I was hugging Sherri, the words that I wanted to say to her were lost. I wanted so badly to console her. To share some great healing words, but I couldn't think of anything. I prayed for God to give me the words to help her at that very second. I squeezed her tight, held her close and whispered, "Thank you so much for sharing him with us." Because that is truly what happened. Her family shared Tom with so many people and I know I speak for everyone when we all thank the Deem girls collectively for giving us the opportunity to know and love Tom Deem. He was a loving husband, a doting father, and the best grandpa to little Edie. He was a true family man, loving and celebrating the successes of his family with each tender moment. 

After being a family man, he was a biker. Many of us will remember him, on a motorcycle of some sort, leather jacket with patches, and the biggest grin on his face. He loved riding Harleys. He loved working on and riding antique motorcycles. He loved taking rides on his motorcycles and would often call buddies, friends, and family to join him and Sherri on impromptu rides. He knew more backroads than anyone and just when you would think he had gotten you lost for good, you would come out and end up right where you needed to be.  He loved to tell of the time he went to Sturgis and there were so many bikes he needed to wait until they all cleared out so he could find his bike. Sometimes, Sherri would lose her spot on the bike to Rachel or Miranda as we rode to Pateros or Mossyrock or any of the other many adventures together. So, from all of Tom's biker friends and family, thank you for sharing him!

Tom also loved to travel, on a motorcycle or in a motorhome, in a hotel or in a tent. He loved camping and being with friends and family. Many memories of making beer at Dosewallips (and maybe drinking too much), the tents blowing away at Pateros, teasing us about rattlesnakes in the trees at Alta Lake, and tricking him by making hobo pies with a combination of everything from dinner that night. So, from all of Tom's camping friends and family, thank you for sharing him. 

Tom was a man with a gruff exterior. He burped. He farted. And he didn't care who was around to hear it. When anyone would introduce someone new to Tom, it usually came with a warning: "So, Tom likes to burp. And fart. And he might eat off your plate at dinner, but he's a really nice guy!"  Tom always carried a fork in his pocket so he could be ready to eat at a moment's notice. He would always ask "Ya got your fightin' gear?" and grin his mustached grin when we was teasing you. And he always shared that no matter how full you were, there was always room for dessert because that went to another place in your stomach. When dinner was over, he'd always encourage everyone to keep eating because whatever we didn't eat "would be in your omelet at breakfast the next morning." So, from all of the people who knew and loved the little things about Tom, thank you for sharing him. 

There are a thousand more things I could share and remember about Tom Deem. How he was such a gentleman (except for the whole burping and farting thing). How he was so kind (except for when he might have to flip someone off for being a butthead, as he might call them). How he would do anything for anyone at anytime. For all the little memories that everyone has of Tom, thank you for sharing him!

Losing Tom so quickly from our lives ripped a hole in many of our hearts. We all have the special memories and stories of Tom locked away in our hearts and in our souls. Stories and memories that will get us all through the days, weeks, and months ahead. Memories of his voice, his laugh, his basketball belly, the way he would suck on his teeth, the sparkle in his eye when he was talking about motorcycles, or Sherri, or Miranda and Rachel, or Edie. Treasure him in your hearts! Tell your stories of him to each other! Remind the Deem girls often what an amazing, wonderful man their father was. Continue to share him with each other! One day, we will be reunited! One day we will see him again! And I'm sure that he will greet us all, a smile wide across his mustached face, a leather jacket in hand, a fork in his pocket, and a hug for those he has left behind. God blessed us all when he shared Tom with us. So, to our Heavenly Father, we all say thank you for sharing him!