Remembering

Oh, the remembering is hard sometimes. There are so many triggers, though some have changed over the last five years. Could it really be five years since our third daughter arrived?

I have many reminders of my youngest daughter. Some are still safely packed away after our move in December...the molds of her hand and foot done by the staff at Children's Mercy, her clothes and toys that I just couldn't bear to give away. Others adorn the top of my desk...her smiling sonogram picture, a treasured drawing done from one of my favorite pictures of Kristen, a stuffed bear wearing one of Kristen's outfits. And yet others I wear close to my heart, like the photo pendant made by a sweet friend and this new piece of jewelry:

In late March, I received an email from Hallie at Everlasting Memories. She'd seen my blog and asked if I would be interested in writing a product critique for my choice of a keepsake from their selection of memorial jewelry items. I was especially taken with their photo engraved pendants (a heart-shaped one, of course). It took me some time to go through my photos of Kristen. I wanted to find just the right one. I kept coming back to one I had taken just a couple of weeks before her surgery. We were on our way to the library, and I quickly snapped it as she wiggled in her carseat. She had her Pooh Buddy, and she was smiling. Unfortunately, the photo came out a bit blurry.

A couple of years ago, a sweet lady contacted me through CMH and offered to make a drawing of my daughter. She had lost a son and was reaching out to others who had lost a beloved child. I sent her the same blurry photo, hoping she would be able to work her magic on it. And she did.

When I contacted Hallie about the photo I wanted to use, I explained about the blurry one, unsure if it would work. I sent it to her, along with a photo of the drawing, so she could check with their head engraver. The next email I received from Hallie asked if I'd like any engraving on the back and what length of chain I preferred. I responded on a Monday, just before noon. The very next day, just as we were sitting down to lunch, the doorbell rang. My necklace was already here!

  

I don't think my photos do it justice. It truly is beautiful, and I've received a number of compliments on it. One thing that struck me about it right away is the weight of the pendant. It's not heavy, but it has a nice, comfortable weight to it. I got an 18" chain, so the pendant sits right next to my heart.

The timing could not have been more perfect. The necklace arrived the week before Kristen's birthday.

Thank you for your very personal and prompt service, Hallie. Thank you, Everlasting Memories!

Mothering her

Never is the mothering so hard as on her birthday.

In our family, the birthday girl gets to have the birthday wreath hung on the front door in her honor. She gets to choose her birthday meal and the flavor and design of her cake. It's a day to celebrate!

But what do you do when that birthday girl isn't here to make those choices? It doesn't seem right to NOT celebrate in some fashion. However, when that birthday is forever tied to a sad anniversary just 3 months down the road, it's just hard. It's hard to know what to do. It's hard to push past the sadness to focus on the joy.

I don't get to mother Kristen the way I do her older sisters. Sometimes mothering those beautiful girls (a teenager and an almost teenager--need I say more?) brings me straight to my knees. For entirely different reasons, mothering Kristen brings me to the same place. It's all uncharted territory for me. None of it is the same. And I can't do any of it on my own.

And on days like this, when the tears flow so easily, knowing that she's perfect and whole and in the best possible place she could be just doesn't make the ache in my heart go away. I miss her with every fiber of my being.

But mothering her is how I push through the sadness. Every bear knit, assembled and shipped...every card sent...every GriefShare session led...every remembrance of someone else's loved one. These are the ways I can mother her. And just like the mothering I do for her sisters, I always wish I was better at it.

So thankful for God's mercy and grace, and for my Emily and Grace...and Kristen. ♥

Happy 4th Heavenly Birthday, Little One.

Hearts & Reminders

I miss Kristen every single day, but there are days when I just miss her more deeply.  Those days aren't always the days one might expect.  Seeing all the little ones in the Christmas program at church made that still-tender spot in my heart ache.  I should have had another daughter up there to video.  She would be 3 1/2 now, though I most often still think of her as a baby.

Recently, I received a precious package from "A Heart to Hold."  This beautiful ministry makes weighted heart-shaped pillows for families who have experienced pregnancy or infant loss.  I requested one that weighs 6 pounds 14 ounces, the birth weight of my Kristen.  When I first cradled it in my arms, I was surprised at how heavy it felt.  I remember that little girl of mine seeming so light in my arms.  It's all in what you're used to, I guess, and my arms have been empty for over 3 years now.  What seemed like a feather at one time felt much different now.

Seemingly forgetting how she felt in my arms made me wonder what else had slipped from memory.  So I found myself recounting her days with us, re-reading old Caring Bridge entries and facebook status updates.  That's all fine and good until I get close to August 2009.  At that point I find myself in a very sad place, a place I don't often go on purpose.  Last night I came across the slide show my dear sister-in-law made for Kristen's service.  It was beautiful, but left me feeling heartsick and in a puddle of tears.

The reminders that Kristen isn't here are everywhere.  They are in her sisters' faces.  They are in the picture frames that don't have new pictures to go in them.  They are in the fifth stocking that hangs on the fireplace.  They are in every little bear that is sent to a grieving family.  They are even in the kitchen chairs.  As we rearranged the living room after Thanksgiving to make room for the Christmas tree, I had to move our "God Bless America" bear that my father-in-law carved out of a log from a corner in the living room to a corner in the kitchen.  That corner was previously occupied by one of the two extra dining chairs we keep near the table (but not at the table).  Quickly moving it to a spot at the table, I didn't realize until I went to set the table for supper that we now have five spots at the table instead of four.  Kristen was so little that she never had her own "spot" at the table.  Seeing that fifth chair made me wonder if we would have had squabbles over which sister wanted to have Kristen sit next to her.  Yet another reminder.

The reminders can be tearful, but they are good to have.  They make me feel closer to her.  After the Christmas tree has been put away, and the living room has space again for the "God Bless America" bear, I may just leave that fifth chair at the table.  Our family of five will never gather around that earthly table together, but having another spot there helps me picture what our heavenly table might feel like. 

Any reminder of heaven is most definitely good for the heart.

A Different Kind of Hard

Of the dozens of the Peace of my Heart bears that have found their way into the hands of grieving parents over the last couple of years, very few have gone to someone I know personally.  Even fewer have been hand-delivered rather than mailed.  I had an opportunity to hand-deliver one such bear to a new friend recently.

This sweet friend faced what would have been her dear child's 5th birthday.  She remarked that she thought it would get easier, but it hasn't.  She called it a different kind of hard.  As I reflected on my own nearly 3-year journey, I completely get that.

The obvious heartache is there and always will be.  What I hadn't considered before, and what's made my last year such a terribly difficult one, is the collateral damage of grief.  The knowing that I'm not the same...and never will be.  The not fitting into my old life.  The realization that some of the people who were there in the beginning just aren't any more.  The deep sadness of relationships that couldn't survive my brokenness.

As the next anniversary looms ahead, I deal with flashbacks...from the hospital, from the funeral, from the last conversations with my mom.  I stay up too late because I'm afraid that sleep won't come quickly enough to keep those mind movies away.

There's a strange sense of relief, even a sense of accomplishment at getting through another birthday, holiday or anniversary.  I'll be glad to be on the other side of August again.  As much as I try to be all there for my family, there are times when I'm just not.

It truly is a different kind of hard.

Sometimes there just are no words...

I'm not sure where my words have gone, but they just don't flow from my fingertips to the keyboard like they once did.  I used to be able to pour out my heart here and feel a kind of release in doing so.  My heart is in knots over lots of different things right now, and the words just aren't there.

Kristen's 3rd birthday was 3 weeks ago.  We spent the day together as a family, remembering our littlest girl and making memories with our two older girls.  It's one of the most bittersweet days of the year.

In honor of Kristen's birthday, we sent 30 bears to Children's Mercy Hospital, to be distributed to bereaved parents as they reach the 6-month mark following the death of their child.  No, it's not pleasant to think about, but the fact is that children die.  They leave behind parents and siblings whose lives are never the same.  Those families ache to have someone remember them, to remember their sweet child, months and years down the road.  My hope is that the little knitted bear they receive will be a reminder that someone cares...and that God cares.

So many of my friends helped to work on those bears.  Over the course of four months, they knit, stuffed and stitched.  They donated supplies, time and food.  They supported a cause close to my heart and supported my own broken heart in the process.  The really beautiful thing is that, whether they know it or not, many of them continue to do so.

I will close with a collection of photos.  Maybe they will speak louder than the words that seem to escape me.

Our "Peace of my Heart" birthday cake
(Emily made the bear out of Rice Krispie treats;
Grace drew the dove from our logo)

Kristen's birthday wreath

Balloon release

Our matching wristbands read, "Forever in my heart"

Kristen's tree

Grace decorated my water bottle with the Peace of my Heart logo

Delicious burgers at a cute little place in Lindsborg

Near The Old Mill Museum

On the hunt for a geocache

Coronado Heights

Some of the bears before packaging

The birthday bear I made for my desk

Bears for CMH

More bears for CMH

Bears packed and ready for the trip to KC
(Thanks to Bryan & Angie!)

2009 Memory Quilt
1st Floor across from the CMH Chapel

I love you, Little Stuff ♥

A Precious Gift

My waking hours are filled with many things...school, laundry, meal planning, grocery shopping, cooking, cleaning.  In all that I do, there is always a hint of a thought nearby, the thought of how different those things would be with a toddler in tow.  I do my best to be thankful as I tackle my "to-do" list.  I am absolutely thankful to have the means and opportunity to educate my children at home.  I am more than grateful that we have clothes to wear, food to eat and a roof over our heads.  Even so, it all seems incomplete.  And it is.  Our family here is incomplete.  I know that one day it will be made right.  I have no doubt that all that seems incomplete is still completely in God's hands.  Yet, I still am left longing for what will never be here on earth.

It's perplexing.

There is an incredibly beautiful song that Nicol Sponberg recorded called "Home."  There are no lovely pictures to see in the YouTube video below, but you can hear Nicol's heartfelt words.  (Nicol was an original member of the Christian group, Selah.  She is Todd Smith's sister and lost her son to SIDS not long after Todd & Angie Smith's daughter, Audrey, died just 2 1/2 hours after her birth.  Nicol has walked a difficult road; I find comfort in what she shares through her music.)

"HOME" by Nicol Sponberg

What is it like to be held in the same arms
that hold the universe?
What is it like to sleep on the chest of the
King of heaven and earth?
When you open your eyes and look on the face
of the giver of life, the author of grace

Do you know that your days here changed everything
You’re missed here and will always be
But you left here the greatest gift of all
‘cause our hearts ache for home

What is it like to breathe in and breathe out
heaven’s glorious light?
What is it like to be robed in perfection,
no reason to cry?
When you feel on your face your Father’s kiss,
His welcome embrace, we prayed for this

You should know that your days here changed everything
You’re missed here and will always be
But you left here the greatest gift of all
‘cause our hearts ache for home

So twinkle twinkle little star, we will keep you in our hearts
Twinkle twinkle little star, we will meet you where you are
Your days here changed everything
You’re missed here and will always be
But you left here the greatest gift of all
‘cause our hearts ache for home

I am so struck by the line of the chorus that speaks to the greatest gift being left with us...the yearning for our heavenly home.  You left that with me, my sweet Kristen.  And as much as it brings tears to my eyes, I treasure that very precious gift.

Bears & Blessings

If you've looked around this blog at all, you probably know a little something about the bears I began knitting after Kristen died. The knitting itself was very therapeutic for me, and I wanted to turn it into something that could reach out to others. My initial plan was to make bears to send to the chaplain at Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City, who would in turn send them to newly bereaved parents. I found, however, that the list of bereaved parents that fall within (or near) my own circle of friends and acquaintances is sadly much longer than I ever imagined. I’ve sent out some bears on my own (and have a few more that I need to send), but I still haven’t sent a single bear to CMH. As sweet and simple as these bears are, they do take time to make!

Emily and I began a discussion after Kristen’s birthday last year about how we could honor Kristen’s memory and reach out to others at the same time. As a way to do just that, I invited several friends to join us in making bears!

We are meeting as a group one Saturday each month (January to April) to knit and assemble as many bears as we can. We will then box up all the bears and deliver them to CMH in time for Kristen’s 3rd birthday on May 7, 2012.

Our first session was a week ago, and I have to say that I was completely overwhelmed with the wonderful response.  Two dozen people gave up part of their Saturday to help with making bears.  A few were already knitters and went right to work on knitting bear parts.  Those who don't knit jumped in with rolling skeins of yarn into center-pull balls.  Still others learned how to seam garter stitch and stuffed arms, legs and bear bodies.  Some worked on scarves of all colors and styles.  One even offered to sew gift bags!  The group ranged in age from 2 to 79.  

I'd like to share a story about that 2 year-old.

Little "Miss M" has a special place in my heart.  She shares Kristen's birthday.  In fact, the girls were born within a couple hours of each other to moms who went to high school together (and who both know the pain of losing a child).  While I almost always think of Kristen as a baby, this special little friend gives me a glimpse of how big Kristen might be if she were still here.  It's a difficult thing to explain, yet another example of where joy and sorrow coexist.

I took a few pictures during our first bear-making session, but the scene I didn't capture with my camera is forever etched in my mind:  I watched this sweet 2 year-old poke stuffing into a bear as her momma held it for her.  She would quietly ask me if the bear needed more stuffing.  I'd tell her, "just a little more," and she would add some, then we'd check it again.  Precious, precious stuff.

Watching moms and daughters working alongside one another, enjoying the wonderful fellowship of dear friends, and knowing that Kristen was being remembered so sweetly most certainly blessed me that day, and continues to do so.

He Makes All Things New

I found this short excerpt from our family devotions book tonight rather interesting:

"God doesn't say he is making all new things.  He is making all things new--in other words, he's making things better, fresher, brighter and stronger." (from One Year of Dinner Table Devotions and Discussion Starters: 365 Opportunities to Grow Closer to God as a Family by Nancy Guthrie)

The holiday season of 2011 didn't come with the dread that accompanied those of 2009 and 2010.  Oh, there were moments of sadness and tears, but nothing like I had experienced throughout the months of November and December the past couple of years.  The emotional numbness this year was something of a gift of protection for a time, so I didn't realize the sadness that was welling up inside.

Maybe it's the attention placed on a new year...new beginnings, fresh starts.  All that "out with the old and in with the new" stuff is especially hard for a momma who continues to struggle with feeling like her youngest daughter's been forgotten.  I've found myself feeling very blue these last few days.  I can't help but think of the new beginnings that were cut so short in our own lives.  Having to learn to function again in a world that still feels a little foreign is a fresh start I'd just as soon not have to face.

My heart absolutely aches for the little girl who left my arms way too soon.  I suspect it always will, but I know that God has a purpose for my aching heart.  He wants to make it new, not in the sense of replacing something old, but rather in transforming it.  He wants to make it better, fresher, brighter, stronger.

He's got my attention, and I'm actually beginning to look forward to what He has in store for the year ahead.

What does He want to make new in your life?

His Feathers

As the weather grew colder in the first months after Kristen died, a sweet friend wrote to me that she wanted to get me a down blanket as a reminder of Psalm 91:4:

He will cover you with his feathers,
   and under his wings you will find refuge;
   his faithfulness will be your shield and rampart.

There's a comfort in that verse that has become more real to me this year.  It is only through God's faithfulness that I am still standing.  He's been my strength when I have had absolutely none of my own.  The very verse that was shared with me in such love inspired something that I've been able to share with others, from those who have attended our local GriefShare: Surviving the Holidays seminars to friends who themselves have had to face the pain of saying goodbye to a loved one all too soon.

If you are in that place of wishing that it was January already; if these last weeks of holiday hubbub have left you with a feeling of dread rather than thankfulness or anticipation, I understand.  This prayer is for you:

Dear Heavenly Father,
     Please let each one who needs it feel the comfort of your feathers, the warmth of You around their shoulders.  Allow them to know the protection of your wings as You envelop them in your mighty and merciful way.  Help them to allow your faithfulness to bolster them to withstand the storms.  Calm their spirits and give them peace, Lord, the peace that only You can give.
     In Your Son's precious name,
          Amen.

 

The Happy Day Project {Part 2}

Despite good intentions, our last week didn't go quite as planned. Consequently, we only took part in the first three days of "The Happy Day Project." And you know what? That's okay! We brought smiles to some faces and reached out in ways we haven't before. And that makes me happy. :)

Day #1 - Treats to a Neighbor
The chocolate chip cookie dough I mixed up Monday looked good...tasted great...but resulted in some of the flattest cookies I have seen in a while.  So, we kept it for cookie sundaes and delivered some warm pumpkin chocolate chip cookies to a couple of neighbors this afternoon.  One was especially thrilled, and after asking Grace exactly why she had brought her these treats, happily exclaimed, "I love it!'

Day #2 - Handwritten Note Day
I pray that our handwritten notes to the Horn family bring smiles to their faces.  We don't know them, but continue to pray for them daily.

Day #3 - Giftcard to Homeless
We are fortunate to live in a community where the homeless are not just everywhere.  I'm sure they are there, but we just don't normally see them.  On occasion, we do see a family parked near the main drag through town holding a sign indicating that they are in need of work.  We've always just driven by, wanting to do something, but unsure of how best to help.  We are now ready to help as God leads.  The glove box holds close at hand a couple of Braum's gift cards (for either groceries or a hot meal).

This project has definitely given me some ideas of how we might celebrate Kristen's birthday next year.  Perhaps more importantly, it has sparked some wonderful conversations with my two older daughters, both about reaching out to others and about their baby sister.

Grace blessed me so much last week by sharing (completely unprompted) her memories of the last time she saw Kristen.  She smiled as she talked of taking pictures of her little sister as Kristen slept.  She spoke of waving goodbye to us as she and Emily drove away with their grandparents the day before we left for Kristen's surgery.

It seems this "Happy Day Project" resulted in some happiness I didn't expect.  I am ever so grateful for it.

The Happy Day Project

I came across "The Happy Day Project" today and wanted to share it here.

 

Several months ago, as Emily and I sipped on frozen strawberry lemonades at McDonalds, we talked about ways we could remember Kristen's birthday.  We had just "celebrated" her 2nd heavenly birthday with a family day trip.  Keeping it simple and within our immediate family was what seemed right this year, but Emily and I both felt like we wanted to do something different next year.

We didn't come up with anything specific, but we knew that we wanted it to involve more than just our immediate family.  We knew that we wanted to reach out to help someone else.  Participating in something like "The Happy Day Project" and inviting our friends and family to join us is certainly a worthy candidate!

Whether we do this (or something like it) next year for Kristen's birthday or not, I invite you to join us this week in "The Happy Day Project."  I can think of no better way to usher in the upcoming holiday season.

Now I see

I've experienced such a "light bulb moment!"  

In response to a question I posed to a friend (from the Anchored by Hope online Bible study I joined last fall) regarding what to do about grief-strained relationships, she related to me a situation of her own lost friendship.  Her friend had been by her side, very literally, through the loss of her daughter.  Because of that, so much of her daughter was tied into that friendship.  Consequently, when the friendship ended, she felt that she had lost a piece of her daughter's memory.

For the last couple of months, I've been thinking (and re-thinking) about the hurt I experienced when I felt that two of my closest friends had forgotten my awful week of anniversaries in August.  My feelings about the situation have run the gamut, from sorrow to anger and just about everything in between.  I won't go into further detail about the situation, but suffice it to say that one side of it has gotten increasingly more complicated.

I've wondered if I was being unreasonable in feeling hurt that these individuals did nothing to acknowledge that week in August.  Anything would have been gratefully accepted...something as simple as a short e-mail, a text message, a facebook comment.  But there was only silence, a silence that spoke volumes to me.  

I've bounced back and forth from thinking that I must be a complete heel for having such expectations to feeling very justified in my disappointment.  I've been mad...at others and at myself.  I've held my tongue when I really wanted to lash out.  I've had stomach aches over the repercussions of it all, lost sleep and shed tears of frustration.  It was only after my Bible study friend put words to the anguish in my heart that I realized WHY this whole situation was so deeply troubling.

In different ways, both of these friends were very much tied to Kristen...through my pregnancy, Kristen's birth, her surgery, her death and the aftermath I faced as my world seemed to crumble around me.  These people are a part of her story, and their silence felt like part of that story had been ripped away.  As I was remembering the loss of my daughter, I seemed to be losing (two different) parts of my connection to her.

I fully believe God brought these friends into my life years ago.  Is He now guiding the paths that once moved in tandem to places that are no longer meant to be together?  Or is He simply using the situation as it's come to be to show me what I need to work on in my own life?  I honestly don't have an answer right now.  But I'm still listening, still seeking.

The LORD is a refuge for the oppressed,
   a stronghold in times of trouble.
Those who know your name trust in you,
   for you, LORD, have never forsaken those who seek you.

-Psalm 9:9-10

Changes

There are changes we just expect.  They come around again and again, signalling to us new growth, a new season.

Changes you don't anticipate, however, can certainly throw you a curve ball.  Three years ago (nearly to the day), my life began to fill with changes I never expected...like finding out I was expecting baby #3.  That news was completely unexpected, but such a beautiful, beautiful blessing.  It set in motion many changes around our house...preparing our hearts to be a family of five...remodeling to make the best use of the space in our home.  The anticipation, excitement and joy in the conversations with our older daughters was absolutely magical.

Unfortunately, unexpected changes aren't always happy ones.

Hearing the news from my doctor that there was something wrong with my unborn child's right lung was one of those changes. Visits to out-of-town specialists...weekly sonograms to measure the mass on her lung...conflicting reports about those measurements...such a roller coaster ride of a pregnancy.

Believing that the mass was gone after her birth, only to find that it wasn't, was not what we had expected or hoped for.  Being thrust into a world of scheduling CT scans and surgeries was a change for which I was not prepared.

When I handed my 3-month old daughter in her tiny Looney Tunes hospital gown off to a nurse in the hallway that Friday, I had no idea that it would be the last time I would experience Kristen's beautiful eyes looking back at me.  That change was unexpected.  Unwanted.  Un-everything.

Even today, the changes continue.  Kristen's room has changed.  The look of much of the house has changed (we've been doing some much-needed painting).  Even the side of the bed I sleep on has changed.  I knew that our schedule and routines around here would change with the addition of a baby to our family.  I knew that a 4-month old was going to change the way we home schooled.  Sadly, the changes to our school schedule were not even close to what I had envisioned.  Instead of working out how to teach my older girls while caring for an infant, I found myself working out how to teach while grieving not only the loss of my daughter, but of my mother as well.  Thankfully, a dear friend very graciously opened her homeschool to my girls for 2 months.  It kept us from having to school through the following summer and allowed me some time alone to begin to process the many unexpected changes that I faced.

My world has not stopped since my daughter died.  It certainly headed in a different direction than I anticipated, but it hasn't stopped.  Changes.  They're all around.  Some are happy; others are heart-breaking.   Thankfully, I have an unchangeable God.  He is the same yesterday, today and tomorrow.  Even when I don't understand the changes in my life, I know He is constant.

Most of the time, that's a comfort.  In all honesty, however, there are times that knowing that just doesn't cut it for me.  They don't happen all the time, but they are there...the occasional moments that are just utterly and overwhelmingly sad.  More head and heart stuff.  The knowing and the feeling just don't always mesh.  Even so, He's still there, extending to me the grace to grow through the changes that continue to come.  Thank you, unchangeable Father.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. -James 1:17

Missing God's will

As I was going through some things on my desk in our classroom recently, preparing for a new school year, I found something I had written several months ago. I had neglected to put a date on it, but it was on a scrap of paper folded within a church bulletin dated January 23, 2011.

It begins, "We will always miss God's will if we look from human eyes."  Those  words came from Pastor Kevin's sermon that morning and certainly bear repeating.  

We will always miss God's will if we look from human eyes.

I'll include the rest just as it was written:

God often chooses unlikely people to help us through difficult situations.  In the same way, He often does NOT use people we think He will.

Some of the people I expected to be there for support after Kristen's death were quite absent.  Oh, they were at her funeral, and some of them called a time or two in the days that followed, but they were not a part of my healing.  Or maybe they were, just not in the way I expected.

Days that were especially hard for me --Christmas, Kristen's birthday, Mother's Day, the 1st anniversary of her surgery and of her death-- I heard nothing.  In addition to feeling so sad, so hurt, I also felt forgotten.  Selfish?  Maybe, but absolutely real.

Sadly, I allowed those hurt feelings to become a hard, dark knot in my already aching heart.  Only in these last few weeks have I begun to loose that knot.  I've had to do a lot of forgiving, time and time again.  Only now, do I really feel like I've let those feelings go.

How timely that God would bring these words back to me now.  After having gone through the hurt from family members months ago, I am now dealing with similar issues from friends.  Not just any friends, but some that I considered among my closest of friends.

As I recently muddled my way through the 2nd anniversaries, I faced silence from some that I never expected.  Days later, I let them know that I genuinely missed their friendship on such difficult days.  In all fairness, the relationships have been a bit strained over the last several months, but I just wasn't willing to give up on them completely.  One responded with a willingness to listen.  The other, I'm not so sure about.  There's a definite price to friendship with a grieving mother if you've not walked that road yourself.  Not everyone is willing to invest.

I've no doubt been looking at the situation with human eyes.  And in doing so, perhaps I've been missing what God is trying to show me.  It's so hard NOT to see this with human eyes, to feel this in the flesh.  There are just times when I'm more sensitive, more emotional.  August is one of those times.

It's most certainly true that people I fully expected to "be there" just aren't.  It's equally true, however, that people I didn't have an extremely close relationship with (or in some cases, much of a relationship at all) before Kristen died have been courageous enough to press into my life in a big way.  Have they done big things?  One in particular, yes, but most have not.  The impact they have made in my life is big because they took a small amount of time on significant days to simply let me know they are thinking of me.  Maybe it was a card, or a short e-mail, or a facebook wall post, even just a silent hug.  I am so very grateful for those who have reached out to me (and continue to do so).

Grief is a very lonely journey.  It's as unique as each individual and can often leave a person feeling very isolated and alone.  And though loved ones are likely not setting out to hurt us, they do let us down, sometimes in ways that seem enormous.

I suppose it's fair to say that my focus has narrowed over the last number of weeks.  In the midst of my humanness and painful anniversaries, I've neglected to keep my focus on the only One who will never, ever let me down.  My heavenly Father.  God has not failed me.  He has not abandoned me nor forsaken me.

Perhaps the good He is bringing out of these most recent hurts is a reminder that He is all I need.  It's a reminder that, in all honesty, still stings.

I do want to know God's will.  I want to rejoice in seeing it accomplished.  I don't want to miss it because I can't get past my human sight.  I just feel very torn.  It's almost like I have to choose between the right-here-in-front-of-my-face support of fallable people or the sometimes-it's-so-hard-to-feel-that-He's-there support of an almighty God.  Wow.  Just writing that out gives me a different perspective.  It's a heart vs. head thing, I guess.

I remember writing very early on in my grief that I felt like there was a huge canyon between what I knew in my head and what I felt in my heart.  That distance has narrowed at times, then widened again as I've journeyed through my grief.  I guess it's just the way it is...the way it will be.  The key to navigating this road in a productive way is keeping your eye on the Father.  I'm so thankful that He picks me up when I stumble along the path, even if the reminders, like scraped elbows and knees, sting like crazy.

August

Dear August,

You are a month that is so very bittersweet for me.  It was on your 22nd day that I became a mom 13 years ago.  Having gone into labor at 35 weeks, I was so very scared.  But my firstborn, a beautiful daughter, arrived perfectly healthy, and we became a family of three.  August, we shared some great times.

Two years ago, you brought me devastating news, August.  Twice.  After having heard so many heartbreaking words from the doctors.  "She coded during surgery."  "She has no brain activity."  We said goodbye to our littlest girl.  Three months and ten days just doesn't equate to the lifetime I envisioned for her.

Then 5 days later, as we tried our best to celebrate our firstborn's birthday in the midst of such sorrow, I received news of my mom's death the day before.  Really, August?  You nearly crushed me that year.

Last year, you brought us Max.  He's the black and white fluff ball of a dog that you brought to us as we reached the first anniversary of Kristen's death.  The girls adore him, and honestly, he's been good for all of us.  He's brought some joy back into our lives, smiles to our faces.  Despite the occasional accidents on the floor, the trips to the groomer every 6 weeks, the mess he makes when he eats (because he takes a mouthful of food and walks a foot away from his bowl to eat it, leaving crumbs everywhere), and the wet beard he uses to mop the kitchen floor after he takes a drink, he's been very good for each one of us.

When I've been missing Kristen so much and the tears start to fall, he's there.  Even though there are times I look at him and think that if she were here, he wouldn't be.  And I'm glad (that he is), but I'm not (that she isn't).  And I don't want to even go there.  He lays on my lap and seems to sense all that's on my heart.

August, you now bring to a close our first year with Max and our second year without Kristen.  I guess that's just what you hold for me.  Happy and sad.  Joy and pain.  You bring the "stuff" that builds character...and leads to hope.

...but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope.  --Romans 5:3-4