thankful

These past few days I have been feeling a little down, but I am reminded of the verse that we are to be thankful in all things (1 Thes. 5:18).  This is not a command to fake happiness or an act to praise God for his benefit alone, it is a loving instruction for our own good.  When we dwell on sorrow and sadness too long, our hearts rest down in it.  When we choose to be thankful for things, no matter how small, it begins to lift us up from the pit of despair.  God uses our prayers to bless us and thanking Him gets us to focus on Him and His strength.  The joy of the Lord is our strength (Neh. 8:10).  So today I choose to focus on counting my blessings and looking for those in my life to be thankful for.  I am quite tired, so this post may not be very eloquent, but here is my attempt at thankfulness.

I am so thankful for the family members who have literally turned their lives upside down to be there for the kids and I.  Taking in myself, the kids, our pets, feeding us, cleaning and doing chores for us, helping with endless paperwork, decisions, and logistics, all of it.  I am thankful for each act of service, both big and small.  And I am so thankful for the sweet and faithful friends who keep "checking on us" through the long haul, as the chaos of those first chaotic, horrific, traumatic weeks have transitioned into a daily routine of ups and downs and a mostly quiet sorrow.  The messages of encouragement, a shared Bible verse, or just the quick note to say "hello, thinking of you," have meant so much to us - thank you.  I know God knows puts it on someone's heart to reach out to us in that moment that I am really struggling and I am thankful for those who respond in that moment.  I hope those reading this know who you are, dear and precious friends.

And lastly, I am so thankful for the Air Force support units that have been there for us.  I have the most awesome CAC (casualty assistance counselor) and SBC (survivor benefit counselor).  I did not have to do any of the paperwork for VA or SSA.  They literally filled out all the piles of paperwork for me to just sign, brought it to the house, and even contact both administrations on my behalf when things inevitably were incorrect.  They tracked and filed all the paperwork when I was still getting Texas BAH instead of California BAH, etc... My CAC gave me his private cell number and lets me bug him, even on the weekends, with silly questions or concerns.  They are just great, caring people who have gone above and beyond to take all the headaches of dealing with financial benefit administrations right off my plate and that has been a huge blessing to me.  Even in those early days, the military mortuary affairs officier, technician, and chaplain were by my side to walk me through all the funeral arrangements and decisions.  I look back at that week and it is kind of a blur of tears and stress, but I am thankful for the support I had during that time.  And I'm thankful for my AFFF representative (Air Force Families Forever) and my MFLC (military family life counselor) who let me stop by their offices in AFRC each week for grief counseling but also just to chat and ask how the kids are and share zucchini bread with me.

All of these people and support systems God placed in my life to bless me.  I will admit that more than a few times I have felt angry with God that He would allow me to lose my husband and place these "consolation prizes" in my life instead.  I have felt that way about getting to live in California or finding the house we found, as well.  Like why does God think it is okay to give me these things in place of Ryan??  But I have come to the realization that God knew I would be in this situation and He was preparing all these things and people and support systems to comfort me when I would need it.  Sometimes horrific things happen in life and because God gives us free will, things happen that grieve God.  And when this happens, He loves to comfort us and bless us.  Because God himself has grieved, He intimately knows the depths of our pains and He knows our needs and He enjoys blessing us and comforting us in any and every small way He can.  So I find reasons to be thankful.  Thankful for a God who does not give consolation prizes, but a God who enters our pain with us and holds our hands and walks us through that valley, often using His faithful followers here on earth to do some of His hand holding for Him, as a way of blessing the fellowship between the giver and receiver.

deployment pics

I was going through Ryan's email account last week, to see if there was anything I wanted to keep or save and I found these pictures from his deployment in 2011.  I have a lot of pictures of him from that deployment, but these were some I had never seen before.  They made me both smile and cry.  The first one is Ryan on the balcony of one of the palaces in Iraq, with I believe the "Victory over America" building in ruins behind him.  And the other is him posing silly inside one of Saddam Hussein's palaces.

tears of bereavement

"I bow in reverence before the emotions of every melted heart.  We have a human right to our sorrow.  To blame the deep grief which bereavement awakens is to censure all strong human attachments.  The more intense the delight in their presence, the more poignant the impression of their absence; and you cannot destroy the anguish unless you forbid the joy.  A morality which rebukes sorrow rebukes love.  When the tears of bereavement have had their natural flow, they lead us again to life and love's generous joy." (James Martineau)" 

Ollie

 So this is Ollie, the newest member of the Sweeney family.  I certainly did not plan to get a dog right now, especially not a tiny puppy.  But here he is, all two pounds of adorable fluffiness and spunk.  On Thursday afternoon last week my mom and I took the kids up to Pismo Beach, just to walk by the ocean for a bit.  It was a nice day and Charlie LOVES running on the beach.  And Katherine, well, she wanted to get outside to catch Pokemon (yes, she jumped on the Pokemon Go craze - I'm not even going to comment on that).  But anyway, we walked by the water for a bit, crossed through part of town where our favorite Orange Cat Cafe is located and then walked past a pet store on the way back to the car.  We went in to just look at the animals (mistake number one) and these big dark eyes caught my attention.  The kids were of course begging for every puppy in the store, as they always have done since they could talk (we are animal lovers) but when they saw me pause and watch this particular black Yorkie-Poo (Yorkshire Terrier & Poodle mix), they, being the observant and intelligent (& maybe manipulative) kids that they are, honed in on him too, pointing out that he looked calm and quiet and he is a breed that does not shed and how helpful they would be if we got him, etc, etc...  I mus say I considered him, but a new family member should not be an impulse buy.  Over our 15 years together, Ryan and I would often fall for a dog and try to convince the other that we needed a dog, but one of us would always be the voice of reason and we have remained "cat people" all these years.  Knowing I couldn't just buy the dog, I gathered my pouty kids and we left the pet store.  I did ask the clerk though how old the little guy was and she said 9 weeks.  The whole drive home and all evening I kept thinking about that little face and I also realized this little guy was born the wek Ryan passed away.  I don't really know why that seemed important to me.  Maybe because the birth of a puppy is a joyous event during the most horrific week of my life?  Or maybe this little guy was another way to cling to my Ryan in some way?  Maybe the dark curly hair and dark eyes reminded me of Ryan somehow?  I really don't know.  I can't put my finger on why this puppy seemed to call to me.  Maybe God knew I needed a loyal companion right now?  But I do know I ended up back at that Pismo Beach pet shop on Friday and found myself purchasing a puppy and lots of puppy "stuff" and had two very excited children.  And the past four days have been filled with the exhausting work of puppy training, but it is filling my days with a job I can't ignore and a face that brings smiles.  Ollie (short for Oliver) is a little bouncing ball of fluff who loves to snuggle and cuddle.  He's extremely intelligent, full of life, and has these dark puppy eyes I can't resist.  He can be out playing but when I call out, "Ollie, Ollie, Ollie!" he comes flying at me like a tiny fluffy torpedo, intent on jumping in my lap and giving me puppy kisses.  He greets me in the morning with cuddles and falls asleep in my lap at night, my snuggly little fluffball.

update

A few people have asked about if I am able to continue to homeschool and what this fall brings for us.  I don't remember who I have told what, so I thought I'd type an update here.  We are still homeschooling, the kids want to and I certainly do not want to take anything more away from them than they've already lost.  So we are attempting to get back on schedule with that.  I do plan to research and sign them up for some sort of an online academy soon that will take some of the planning off my plate (suggestions welcome!).  I'm still too exhausted trying to function daily to do all I did in years past.  And my big struggle is connecting to the local homeschool group.  The two activities we went to were very, very difficult for me.  I don't feel like my bubbly self and "faking it" isn't working well for me.  And I didn't realize how much we mamas talk about our families and husbands!  It is hard to converse while trying to avoid telling people my story - and I am not really ready to share it with strangers just yet.  Katherine and Charlie have not wanted to open up with new friends yet either.  I totally understand that.  But Katherine starts ballet class ‪on September 6th‬ and her dance school teacher seems super nice.  I am hopeful that will be a good fit for her.  She loves to dance.  She has chosen to do ballet 3 days a week and seems to be looking forward to it.  Charlie has chosen to do Cub Scouts and band (he played clarinet in Texas).  These activities all start next week of September, after Labor day.  So please pray that God has His hand in each of those activities and connections, as the kids and I attempt to step outside this little protective "bubble" we have been hermitting in. It will be a mentally exhausting week for us!

And we did find a home church.  God is good, He led us to the place he wanted me to be.  They have the "grief share" Bible study I have mentioned in previous posts.  It has been a safe place for me to share my story with others.  I mostly listened at first, but slowly found that I can talk about Ryan without having to explain.  The few ladies I've met there there are a blessing.  Katherine hasn't wanted to go with me to church yet, and I have been giving her space to make that choice.  But I plan to slowly get her more involved with church this fall.  Charlie was hesitant to go too until he saw the "free ice cream" for back-to-school Sunday and then he was good to go.   I love little boys.  :)

And lastly, we found a house.  Or actually God provided us, most unexpectedly, with the perfect place for us to be.  It is just down the street from my sister, we can literally walk back and forth.  Both Katherine and Charlie loved it right away and it felt "right" as soon as we walked in.  I really, really did not think I was ready to find a place to live yet, but this just fell into place.  Our household goods are in storage and we move in the last week of September.

We have mostly been staying with my sister's family these past two months - a joyful chaos of 4 cousins, 5 cats, 1 dog, 1 turtle, and 2 fish... (& sometimes a puppy, I will share about him in another post). The chaos though has been such a very welcome distraction to me.  And I love that when my nephew started kindergarten, I was nearby to hear about his first days and am able to pick him up or drop him off at school.  And my youngest nephew is just a ray of sunshine.  Even if I'm crying, when that baby toddles into the room, I can't help but smile.  And I get to hear him learn new words, his favorite right now is "turtle!"  God is surrounding the kids and I with love.  And my parents are nearby as well, something my military kids have never had before in their lives.

I am still not sure how having our own will house will be next month.  Actually I know it will be hard, but I know Katherine and Charlie are looking forward to having their stuff back.  And my sister is down the street.  And Ryan's family is planning to come stay with us too. So I guess I will just tackle that next difficult step the same way I've done all these previous ones, one day at a time, one breathe at a time, being thankful for God's strength when mine runs out.

quote

You have to keep looking for people and places where your truth is spoken and where you are reminded of your deepest identity as the chosen one. . . . The limited, sometimes broken, love of those who share our humanity can often point us to the truth of who we are: precious in God’s eyes. (Henri Nouwen).

friends

Making new friends here is still a "work in progress" for the kids and I.  I just no longer want to open up and talk with anyone new.  And to be honest, I do not think the kids have wanted to either. Simple questions like, "how are you doing?" or "how was your summer?" or "are you a military family?" or the dreaded, "what brings you to California?" just do not have simple answers for me.  And so I try to avoid having any type of "real" conversations as long as I possibly can.  I never realized how much us mamas like to talk about our families and our husbands until I started trying to avoid the topic!  But often as I begin to converse with others, I end up getting "cornered" into explaining my situation anyway.  And then the silent shock or the pity or the attempt at comforting words follows.  And it is awkward.  I do understand that.  I almost want to wear a sign on my forehead that says, "warning, converse with at your own risk."  I know it will take time before I feel comfortable coming out of this shell I have hermited in and even more time before I feel comfortable sharing my story out loud with others.  I have met a few ladies at our new church and am so thankful for their unconditional kindness towards us.  But other than church, I have been avoiding most social situations.  I know I sound whiny when I say this, but it is just too difficult. Grief is difficult and awkward and messy and lonely.  I find it so impossibly frustrating that I crave normalcy, I crave joy, I crave companionship, I miss laughing and smiling, I miss my own cheerful personality - and yet I can not seem to obtain these things which I crave and miss so much.  And the moments where I do have of a connection, a smile, a laugh, a joyful blessing, they are so often quickly followed by that shadow of guilt or pain that Ryan does not get to experience it with me.  It is exhausting.  So it is a continuous process of seeking after joy and focusing on God's promises in order to keep the darkness and hopelessness at bay.  After fighting the battle to keep lying all that down at God's feet day by day, minute by minute, there really is little energy left to attempt most social interactions, let alone new friendships.  Mostly it still feels like I am just trying to keep my head above water most days.

how can I keep from singing?

This song really touched my heart today, "How Can I Keep From Singing?"

My life flows on in endless song; Above earth's lamentation,

I hear the sweet, tho' far-off hymn, That hails a new creation;

Thro' all the tumult and the strife, I hear the music ringing;

It finds an echo in my soul— How can I keep from singing?

What tho' my joys and comforts die? The Lord my Saviour liveth;

What tho' the darkness gather round? Songs in the night he giveth.

No storm can shake my inmost calm, While to that refuge clinging;

Since Christ is Lord of heaven and earth, How can I keep from singing?

I lift my eyes; the cloud grows thin; I see the blue above it;

And day by day this pathway smooths, Since first I learned to love it,

The peace of Christ makes fresh my heart, A fountain ever springing;

All things are mine since I am his— How can I keep from singing?

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tQI5wxtH6OY&sns=em

Jenny

I have had several names in my life.  I was born Jennifer but my parents called me Jenny from birth.  I was Jenny until sometime in late elementary school or junior high when I switched to the more "grown up" Jennifer.  Several years I was Jenny C. in school because there were so many of us Jenny's in the early 80's.  And I want to say when I was around 8 or 9 years old, I went through a phase where I played with the spelling of Jenny, trying Jennie, Jenney, etc...  In high school it got shortened from Jennifer to Jen.  And then in college I couldn't decide if Jen had one 'n' or two, so my college roommates called me Jen(n), pronounced "Jen with an optional 'n'."  But I have basically been Jen or Jennifer to everyone for the past 25 years or so... except Ryan.  Ryan called me Jenny.  I didn't really realize how special that was to me until a few friends I have known since kindergarten contacted me recently and called me Jenny.  It was a comfort to hear that or read that, because I have missed hearing that word from my Ryan these past two months.  Even my parents reverted to calling me Jen over the years, so I really only see "Jenny" on notes and cards from Ryan.  Reading that greeting from others this past week gave me comfort, even if it was unknowingly given.  Every day, usually sometimes several times throughout the day, Ryan would say (and text or email), "I love you, Jenny."  He was always telling me and saying that to me.  In fact, those were indeed the last words he both said and wrote to me.  Below is the last time Ryan wrote my name.  Seeing and hearing my name as Jenny somehow brought me comfort this week.

kinder

I got to see my little nephew start kindergarten this past week.  It made me think of our little Katie-bug's first day of kindergarten, in 2007, in Colorado Springs and made me cry, wishing I could go back in time.  This is a picture from her kindergarten orientation.  Such sweet memories.

two months

It's been two months since that awful day.  Two months.  It seems like just yesterday I had my Ryan and yet these have been the longest two months of my life.  July was agonizing slow.
Part of me wants to jump ahead a few years, to a time when maybe the hurt is not so raw and present and consuming.  But that feels like jumping away from Ryan and I want nothing more than to cling to him, his memory, his name, him. And, truthfully, that raw, consuming pain will always be present, I just am learning to recognize and understand it is part of me.  With time I believe I will learn to use it for good and showing compassion to others - but it will forever be part of me.  But if I can perhaps use it like Paul mentions in the Bible, that the thorn in his side kept him humble and aware.  God used his affliction for good.  My prayer is God will use mine for good as well.
When thoughts of going forward seem too difficult, I go backward instead.  I reread Ryan's letters and look at pictures and dwell on happy memories.  They fill me with joy.  I truly had the happiest years of my life during our 15 years of marriage.  So many joyful blessings.  They cheer me up, until I realize they are all past tense and then the overwhelming sorrow creeps in and I find it difficult to breathe.  What I wouldn't give to go backward, to love more, to not take a moment for granted, to be there for Ryan in every way.  Then the regrets and sadness begin to consume me until I realize that I need to trust God with my past.  God knows the number of our days and even if I do not understand why some are shorter than others there is a bigger picture that I am not able to fathom yet.  I have to trust Him in that.
So when I realize I can't speed time up and I can't go backward either, I dwell on this current moment, taking this current breathe, and trusting He is in control of this precious moment right now.

grace

Read this today and am trying to preach it to myself. Everything we are given is given in grace.

kindness

These past few days I find I am avoiding talking about my grief, perhaps because it feels like no one truly understands what I am going through, like I am talking in a foreign language, especially to those I just meet. Or perhaps because I feel like I have "worn out" the subject, especially with those that already know. I am worn by it myself.  Exhausted really. And I find that some people cannot talk to me because of my grief, grief is hard, so they avoid. And there is absolutely no way anyone can know the depth of my pain, but do please know that despite the pain, I need others.  I crave "real" conversations and real connections and real emotions.  We each need each other. So much.  Everything else in life seems so little and trivial now. 
My path of grief will be uniquely my own.  And the encouragement I focus on is that regardless of how my grief appears to me or to others, it has a precious uniqueness to the One who created me.  God, who knows my personality intimately and the experiences of my life, He knows my grief and is not shocked or surprised by my responses. "You have searched me, Lord, and you know me. You know when I sit and when I rise; you perceive my thoughts from afar." (Ps. 139:1-2).
"The world just needs us to hear each other. To belong to each other, to hurt with each other, to be kind to one another. Kindle us with kindness, Lord, keep us with kindness, kiss us with kindness. Please resurrect us all with a courageous kindness, that heals countless hurting wounds, with a Brave Giving Love, like Yours." (Ann Voskamp)

joy

I love this picture, it is just us being joyful together. It is how I picture and remember Ryan. He was my joy.

beauty from ashes

Oh, where to start... so many emotions in each day, how quickly I can go from smiles to tears, and back again and again.  Sprinkle in some anger, joy, regret, laughter, and guilt.  Up and down and all around.  But through it all God is good, and He has never left my side.  He is using this horrific story to bring healing to me and those around me.
The first weeks after Ryan's death I felt frozen, in shock, in pain, in fear, how will I ever, ever move forward?  How will I ever find even a small bit of joy.ever again?  Joy is just gone, seemingly forever.  How will I possibly put my feet on the floor each morning and be the mother I need to be for our children?  God says he can make good of anything he is presented, no matter how horrific.  “You intended to harm me, but God intended it for good to accomplish what is now being done, the saving of many lives.” (Gen. 50:20).  But, God, how on earth can a death of a husband and father be turned to good?  How?
At first, I felt a huge responsibility to do something to make good out of this myself.  From day one, I have prayed that my husband's death and the pain I am experiencing not be in vain, that positive changes could be made from Ryan's passing and that a flow of compassion would come from my raw and tender heart.  And God has shown me good - but not by my doing.  By talking with others and sharing my story and my faith, I can see how God is moving and working through me.  And for that, I am beyond humbled.  And this past week I was blessed to see a memo from the Secretary of the Air Force and USAF Chief of Staff, that evidenced positive changes being set forth.  God's faithfulness making good, and blessing me with a glimpse of it.  Answered prayer.
You see, (and please know that this is very difficult for me to say), but without this horrific story and all of this pain, many lives would not have been changed, including mine.  I would not be the person I am becoming - a person who relies on God for every breath throughout the day, a person whose eyes are heaven-set searching for the good, the beautiful, and the truth, and a person who listens, listens to creation, to God's still small voice, and hopefully to people, as they are.
Throughout my life I have prayed, often very shallow, superficial prayers, sometimes fervent pleading.  And God has been faithful to listen and answer throughout the years, often blessing me with answered prayers I do not deserve, in His timing.  But the last few months God's small whisper has become an all encompassing presence.  I have learned in my prayers to do less pleading and requesting, and more listening and resting.  At times when I feel hopeless, overcome with sadness, I remember to seek Him.  And I have never regretted it.  In these moments I am comforted.  "To those who have sorrow in Zion I will give them a crown of beauty instead of ashes.  I will give them the oil of joy instead of sorrow, and a spirit of praise instead of a spirit of no hope.  Then they will be called oaks that are right with God, planted by the Lord, that He may be honored." (Isaiah 61:3).
I do not know what the future holds, and I know firsthand that things do not always go according to our plans.  But I am learning to trust in Him, because I know whatever He has planned for my life and for our children's life - it is for good.  He promises that.  If you would have told me two months ago, that I would lose my husband and find a greater trust in God, I would have never, ever believed you.  But that is the power of His strength and faithfulness.  "The Lord is near to those who have a broken heart.  And He saves those who are broken in spirit." (Ps. 34:18).

buddies

So today is one of those more difficult days, where I feel more like curling up and having a pity party than being brave.  So I am going to vent a little bit.  I keep looking at my little Charlie and I worry he is lost without his buddy, his Daddy, his Lego-Superhero-comic book reading-camping buddy.  How do I fill those roles?  It just makes me so sad.  And yet, when I look at Char, I see Ryan.  Charlie's personality and mannerisms are so Ryan.  The way he walks with his hands in his pockets.  His "cheese" smile.  His intelligent sarcasm.  We always called Charlie "Ryan's-mini-me-in-blonde."  And so having Char nearby is literally having a part of Ryan with me.  And Charlie has kind of taken on that caregiving role, being very protective of me, making sure he knows where I am at all times, making me smoothies (Ryan used to do that for me), and patting my shoulder and telling me to rest when I seemed overwhelmed.  He is copying what his Daddy did.  That is about all I have to share today, nothing deep or encouraging, just reflecting on my sadness and worry and looking through some pictures of my two favorite boys together.

competition

I have been blessed to find a church home and there they have a grief share Bible study group (http://www.griefshare.org/), where these amazing others have let me join in.  This past week, at our study, I was thinking about how Ryan and I used to study the Bible together or talk about faith, throughout our years together.  Ryan, being such an extremely intelligent, logical, concrete thinker, often had a difficult time wrapping his head around the concept of God's infinite love and having faith that God really does have a plan bigger than we can see.  He said once, years ago, that he envied my faith a bit, that he just really needed more "proof" than I seemed to need with his faith.  And I, conversely, envied Ryan's ability to think through deep theological issues and struggle with the difficult questions that round out or solidify a person's faith.  But as far as knowing God's love and experiencing God's presence, I guess you could say I knew God a little more intimately than Ryan.  I prayed all the time that Ryan would know God in his heart, that God would be a real presence in Ryan's life, a comforter and provider for Ryan.  It dawned on me, at my Bible study, that Ryan now knows God intimately, he is in God's loving presence and comfort, with no fear or questioning.  And Ryan gets to see the whole big picture that we down here on earth don't get to experience yet.  When I shared that, one of the other class members said that it sounds like my husband has "one upped" me in the God department.  And I just had to laugh.  Like deep belly laugh.  Because it is true.
Those that know me well, like really know me, unfortunately know that I can have a little bit of a competitive streak in me...  It comes out when I play sports (or board games), and sometimes, I will admit, in a not-so-pleasant way.  Ryan used to tease me about it - saying I could be incredibly sweet unless there was a monopoly game board or a sports ball between us.  The frustrating part was that Ryan was always just a bit smarter and quite a lot stronger than me.  So in sports or games, he would win, especially anything to do with trivia (Ryan just seemed to know and store random facts on literally EVERYTHING).  But I would still refuse to give up, thinking maybe if we just played best out of three (or five or seven...), I could stand a chance.  Or Ryan would let me win, just to end the competition, and then I would be a little mad because then it wasn't a "real" win (see, not-so-pleasant).  It was a joke between us most of our years together - that Ryan always would win but I kept thinking maybe this time I would, if I just kept trying.  When my classmate at Bible study mentioned how Ryan had now "one upped" me in the God department, I think I laughed so hard, because that is just SO Ryan and I.  I may have had the more blind, trusting faith all these years, but Ryan sees the whole picture now, that I am still struggling with and waiting to get to see one day.  And, oh, what comfort it brings me, in the midst of my pain, to picture my Ryan finally knowing and experiencing God in a way he was never able to here on earth.  And it comforts me to know that Ryan can pray and intercede on my behalf, taking care of me and the kids until I, too, get to see that whole picture.  And while I wish with every thread of my being that he was here traveling this road of faith with me here on earth, maybe, just maybe, it is somehow okay that Ryan "one upped" me, because that is the way it has always been with us.

peace and pain

The kids and I went down to spent the past several days with Ryan's family.  I say "Ryan's family," but really they are just my extended family.  Ryan's mom, brother, aunts, uncles, grandmother - they are always a part of my family just as much, if not more, now than they have ever been.  We all share that bond of grief and sadness and sweet, sweet memories.  I cling to them because they are a part of Ryan and their stories and memories of Ryan make me smile.  And we all share some level of that gut-wrenching pain of missing him so much we cannot breathe.  But God gave us each other to lean on, not leaving any of us to walk this difficult road alone.
It was such a good weekend, but also such a difficult weekend. I just instinctively expected to see Ryan around every corner and in every place there.  The kids, of course, crave their routines and wanted to visit our "regular" stops, our favorite cupcake shop, the Lego store, restaurants we usually do there, our family favorites, etc...  Some of it was painful.  Actually most all of it was painful.  But in a good way - like pain and peace are beginning to learn to coexist. 
Walking into the cupcake shop, we all got quiet as Ryan's absence was just so overwhelmingly apparent.  I actually didn't think I could do it, but saying "no" to Kate and Charlie wasn't on my radar, so I somehow found the strength to walk in.  And as we each picked our flavors, I ordered Ryan's favorite cupcake, salted caramel - the box would not have been complete without it.  Just as our family is not complete without him.
Also, while we were visiting, I was looking at old family photos in the hallway.  They made me smile and cry (that pain and peace combination I'm learning to recognize).  My two favorites are below, one was taken before Ryan and I were married, with his brother, probably in 2000.  The other is us with his brother and cousins, probably in 2001.  We were just babies really.  The time has flown by so quickly.  Looking at these pictures makes me so thankful for all the years I did have with my Ryan.  And so sad about all the years ahead I do not have with my Ryan.  The peace and the pain.

carry your heart

I carry your heart with me
I carry it in my heart
I am never without it.
Anywhere I go you go, my dear: and
Whatever is done by only me is your doing my darling.
I fear no fate, for you are my fate.
by EE Cummings

how to find happiness

I read this post today, "how to find happiness in a sad and busted-up world," by Jennifer Dukes Lee. Her words are just too perfect for me not to share.  Here is the link I copied it from:
http://www.aholyexperience.com/2016/08/how-to-find-happiness-in-a-sad-and-busted-up-world/?utm_source=email+marketing+Mailigen&utm_campaign=daily-newsletter&utm_medium=email
It rained hard last night, and part of me wondered if that tired old sky was crying right along with all of us down here on earth.
This world has been one weary, grief-saturated place, hasn’t it?
Most mornings lately, before my feet hit the floor, I assume that the sky is doing more than crying. I wonder if it has already fallen.
I don’t know about you, but all the pain has challenged all that is good within me.
It has challenged my hope, my sense of security, my peace. I can’t fly in an airplane anymore without a foreboding sense that the worst is about to happen. If I’m in a crowd, I am edgy. When I tuck in my daughters, I wonder how to equip them to function in this broken world.
This is not who I am, or who I was created to be.
For most of my life, I considered myself a happy person—not the kind of woman who claps with giddy delight over her breakfast waffles, but the kind of woman who makes regular use of her grin. I have a bend toward optimism.
But lately, cynicism has been an enticing option.
In times like these, even an optimist can feel like happiness is irretrievable. In times like these, it can seem—quite frankly—that happiness doesn’t matter anyway. It can seem like God doesn’t care about happiness.
But then I re-remember what I re-forgot.
I remember what I learned way back when I took a God-made dare to find true happiness. I remember what I discovered, and how it made me feel warm and bright on the inside, like I’d swallowed a star. This is what I found out:
When you desire happiness, you are not a pleasure-seeking heretic. You are responding to something built into your soul.
Your desire to live happy is your soul’s memory of the original paradise, etched and alive in you.
Your happiness is a formidable weapon in a world wracked with pain.
Before I took the dare, I never would have spoken this sentence aloud:
“I want to be happy.”
I would have thought it, and secretly, I would have wanted happiness. But I would have been scared to admit it.
I would have told you that I wanted only joy instead. I would have told you that God cared more about my holiness than my happiness. And I would have believed that happiness was selfish.
But it turns out, I was wrong.
God actually does care about our happiness—not only for our sakes, but supremely for His. Turns out, this world needs my happiness. And it needs yours too, for such a time as this.
Here’s the truth: Happiness isn’t apart from our holiness; it’s a part of it. Happiness isn’t the opposite of joy; it’s hemmed in.
Happiness is a gift from a happy God. It’s permissible by God, and achievable through Him.
John Piper said it like this: “Our mistake lies not in the intensity of our desire for happiness, but in the weakness of it.”
Maybe you think that the pursuit of happiness will take you a mile-step away from Jesus. But what if happiness actually makes you more like Jesus?
On the night He was betrayed, Jesus told His disciples to abide in Him and hold fast to His teachings. He told them to remain in His love . . . even when life got hard.
“I have told you this to make you as completely happy as I am,” Jesus said (John 15:11, CEV).
I totally get how happiness can feel so . . . impossible . . . especially in hard times. But happiness is actually what propels us to take the next step forward, the step that might lead us into the light.
Happiness is why—in the midst of the sky-crying days—we reach out for someone to tell us there is still good in this shattered world.
Happiness is why, as Mr. Rogers once said, we “look for the helpers” when bad things happen. We still want to believe there’s good down here on earth, so we choose to go looking for it.
I am certain this is why, when one funny mama donned a Chewbacca mask, millions of people shared it on Facebook. We shared it because somewhere deep inside of us, we wanted to believe that happiness matters. We wanted to believe that it changes things, that it’s a weapon against all the awful in the world.
It’s why, when someone we love dies, we gather around kitchen tables to tell their funny stories. It’s why—research shows—a smile can make your brain feel like you received 16,000 in cash—or ate 2,000 chocolate bars.
Happiness isn’t for wimps. Happiness is a potent force.
Many of you are reading this today not because you know me, but because you trust and love Ann. She’s dear to me, too. Ann penned profound words in One Thousand Gifts that I return to when the pain of this world overwhelms:
“Rejecting joy to stand in solidarity with the suffering doesn’t rescue the suffering. The converse does. The brave who focus on all things good and all things beautiful and all things true, even in the small . . . and discover joy even in the here and now, they are the change agents who bring fullest Light to all the world.”
When we engage in a holy pursuit of happiness, we aren’t ignoring the pain of the world. We are refusing to give in to it.
Yeah, happiness is a feeling. But quite often, it’s a decision.
And when we decide to fight for happiness—fists to the sky—we are beating down the enemy. We are healing the wound in the world. And we are, in the end, making a public case for the One who is the Source of all our happiness.
Tomorrow, it may rain again. It may seem that the sky offers only tears.
But because of Jesus, we will be the ones who wait for the sun, who point to the sky, who tell the others, “Look! Look! The light is coming!”
And we will be the ones who fight for happiness as if it matters. Because it does.
Your happiness will make them wonder.
“How,” the onlookers will ask you, as you lift your face toward the sky, “how do you have such a light in this present darkness?”
And that’s when you’ll be able to tell them:
It is all because of Jesus.

psalm 68

Psalm 68:4-6
"Sing to God, sing in praise of his name, extol him who rides on the clouds; rejoice before him - his name is the Lord.  A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.  God sets the lonely in families, he leads out the prisoners with singing; but the rebellious live in a sun-scorched land."
I looked up the New Living Translation and like this version too:
"Sing to God. Sing praises to His name. Make a road for Him Who goes through the deserts. The Lord is His name. Be full of joy before Him.  God in His holy house is a father to those who have no father. And He keeps the women safe whose husbands have died.  God makes a home for those who are alone. He leads men out of prison into happiness and well-being. But those who fight against Him live in an empty desert."

Dana

Today is our Dana's fifteenth birthday.  She is getting so old and frail, just weighing four pounds now.  But she is still full of spunk and snuggles, for an old kitty.  Dana was Ryan and I's first baby.  In 2001, after we were married, Ryan decided to get me a kitten for my birthday.  We adopted her from a shelter in Shreveport, Louisiana on my birthday (in October) when she was eight weeks old (making her birthday on August 13th).  Dana has traveled through probably over 20 states in her 15 years and lived in 8 different states.  Military kitty.  And, of course, as my cat, she always loved Ryan more than me.  She would walk across me to sit in his lap, choosing me only if Ryan wasn't available.  And Ryan truly loved his fur baby girl, saying he didn't really care for cats, but Dana isn't a cat, she's our Dana. Here is a picture of Dana this year and one with her and Ryan from 2002.

the kids

My heart has been heavy this past week for my children.  They seem to be doing "okay," and so I worry.  I know that sounds silly, let me explain...  What if the kids aren't processing their daddy's death?  They do not want to talk about it, so what if they are holding questions and emotions inside?  What if they have questions but they are afraid it will make Mommy cry to ask them?  Am I making myself available enough for them to talk with me?  Am I smothering them by being too available?  What am I missing?  What if I "mess up" their healing process by not doing something, or doing too much of something?
I mentioned some of this to my grief counselor last week and asked, do I "make them" go see a counselor if they don't want to?  Are they in denial of the situation if they just want to play and be kids and go on with their normal interests?  When they are quiet and sad, what do i do?  She told me kids grieve differently than adults and that is okay.  So, instead of worry, I decided to just pray.  A lot.  Which is what I should have been doing all along, right?  I also asked a few praying friends for specific prayer for the kids this week too.
And God is good.  I began my week in worry but then a few friends reached out to share with me, a few sharing prayers, one to assure me that kids are indeed resilient, and another sharing a beautiful picture she had for my children's future.  And, out of the blue, I received a letter from Ryan's aunt (that I had never met) who shared how she lost her son, but specifically went on to tell me about how her granddaughter is thriving, so as to assure me that children can heal, mend, and still thrive.  She had no idea that I was worrying and she wrote the letter back in July, but it arrived this week, just when I needed to hear it.  And then at my Bible study on Wednesday night, a lady shared how her friend's children had grieved.  She, again, had no idea I was worrying about this but was just sharing her friend's story about children and grieving, at a time I needed so badly to hear it.  And tonight my dear mother-in-law sat and shared some advice and tears and concern for Kate and Charlie with me that helped a lot too.
I may not stop questioning if I am doing this "healing" process correctly, but I am trusting that God loves Ryan and I's children so much. And He is so good to reassure me when I can do nothing but doubt.  And if He will bless me with answering my concerns so specifically and quickly, He will certainly heal and mend and take care of our kids.

green grass

The grass is slowly starting to grow back in the spot where my beloved Ryan is buried.  His headstone won't come in and be placed until later in September.  But I go sit in that spot marked for him every week.  I know some people may find it strange or weird, or even creepy, that I find comfort in sitting on that patch of grass in the cemetery every week.  I admit I thought so too, before the funeral.  But I truly feel at peace sitting there.  I know without any doubt that my precious Ryan is not actually there, he is safe in God's loving arms.  Part of it is that I feel peaceful being outdoors, but I think it also is my science-mindedness, I know the cells that I used to hug and that used to hold me, are there in the ground.  Just as I wear Ryan's sweatshirt, sleep with his quilt, or put pictures of him in my room - sitting there, where a part of him is, lets me cling to him and brings me comfort.

Thy will be done

A friend shared this video with me, it made me cry in such a healing way. Thy will be done.


https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=Dp4WC_YZAuw&sns=fb

today

This journey is so full of emotions, many I have never felt before.  There are moments I think, “I should not have to deal with this or feel this way!"  But I am.  These are my circumstances.  As a widow I have not only lost my dear husband, but much, much more - my best friend, lover, confidant, trash taker outer, personal IT computer repairman, father of my children, comforter, financial decision maker, partner in my life...  I have lost that person I share life with day in and day out.  I could go on and on, as Ryan's absence is painfully obvious in every moment, and the feelings that come with losing all of these roles are often painfully overwhelming.
In the beginning, a grieving mind feels nothing but hopelessness.  There are times I feel there is no possible way I can go on without Ryan.  Debilitating fear can consume me without warning and I still cannot be alone anywhere, except those quiet moments I spend at the cemetery each week.  And although I do every single day, I barely feel that I can put my feet on the floor each morning.  A lot of nights I wake up from fearful vivid dreams and just whisper, “Jesus, help me” over and over again.  Those are sometimes the only three words I can get out.  Sometimes it is literally gaining enough strength to make it through each second.
"Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from him."  Psalm 62:5
But I have the sweetest friends reminding me that the only one way to find hope in such apparently hopeless times, through a grieving mind, is through Jesus.  If I continue to put all of my hope in my current circumstances, I will be sorely disappointed.  Throughout the Bible, God tells us this over and over again, to put our hope in Him, and he will give us rest.  His mercy and grace are the only reason I keep standing today.  Because during the moments I could not stand, He is there.  Often God's presence comes through my family and friends, daily notes of prayer, a shared verse, or an outreach of support that God put on someone's heart.   I know for certain God has placed people in my life right now, as an extension of himself.  They have been his hands and heart to comfort, guide, and bring hope.  I am so thankful and I hope those people God has used are reading this and know how thankful I am for them.
I will still have plenty of moments of disbelief, moments of that debilitating grief that come out of nowhere and knock me down.  But I will keep getting up because of His strength.  My grief for Ryan will never end.  It will last a lifetime.  When you see the occasional smile on my face, it does not mean every moment of my life is happy.  But I can smile.  When you see me laugh, it does not mean all is alright and I am okay. But I can laugh.  When you see me doing everyday things, it does not mean I have healed, but that I have His strength in that moment to step out.  Even in what seems impossible circumstances, God provides joy among the pain, He is able to do that.
I think as a widow, you never move on, you just move forward.  And each step requires much more effort and strength than staying in the same place, full of self pity.  It is really difficult and exhausting work, but I know the Lord is with me every step of the way.  I can even start to see how He is impacting the lives of others through my horrific story.  From the texts and phone calls with friends to even messages from those who I have never met, they are all reminders of God's faithfulness and the good that only He can bring forth from this pain.
"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure. It enters the inner sanctuary behind the curtain."  Hebrews 6:19

random pictures

Looking through pictures on my phone tonight and realized these were two of the last pictures I took of my Ryan. One of them is us as a family at a symphony concert and the other is just a random snapshot of Ryan one evening before we went to bed. Dana, our cat, that Ryan bought for me for my birthday in 2001, always adored Ryan way more than me. She would snuggle up against his arm every night and just stare up at him adoringly. It was so cute (& our joke that my cat thought I was second best). But I tried to take a picture of Dana snuggling up to Ryan and of course, as soon as I pulled the camera out, she moved. But I still love this picture because it's my beloved husband just relaxing one evening. I used to curl up next to Ryan every evening to watch TV or talk together and I would tell him it was my favorite part of each day. It truly was. Evenings are so difficult without him.

In Christ Alone

In church this morning we sang, "In Christ Alone." This song was one I used to play all the time back when Ryan was deployed and it brought me comfort when I missed him. I haven't listened to it for years. I remember Charlie used to call it the "Pretty Song." When he was just a toddler, he would say, "Mommy, can we wisten to the pwetty song, pwease?" It still brought comfort to me today, as Charlie sat by my side and we sang. And I finally made it through a church service without tearing up, so another first.

 In Christ alone my hope is found
 He is my light, my strength, my song
 This Cornerstone, this solid ground
 Firm through the fiercest drought and storm
 What heights of love, what depths of peace
 When fears are stilled, when strivings cease
 My Comforter, my All in All
 Here in the love of Christ I stand
 In Christ alone, who took on flesh
 Fullness of God in helpless babe
 This gift of love and righteousness
 Scorned by the ones He came to save
 'Til on that cross as Jesus died
 The wrath of God was satisfied
 For every sin on Him was laid
 Here in the death of Christ I live
 There in the ground His body lay
 Light of the world by darkness slain
 Then bursting forth in glorious Day
 Up from the grave He rose again
 And as He stands in victory
 Sin's curse has lost its grip on me
 For I am His and He is mine
 Bought with the precious blood of Christ
 No guilt in life, no fear in death
 This is the power of Christ in me
 From life's first cry to final breath
 Jesus commands my destiny
 No power of hell, no scheme of man
 Can ever pluck me from His hand
 Till He returns or calls me home
 Here in the power of Christ I'll stand
https://m.youtube.com/watch?v=AjR_A2pGPrY

Quote

"First: nothing can make up for the absence of someone whom we love, and it would be wrong to try to find a substitute; we must simply hold out and see it through. That sounds very hard at first, but at the same time it is a great consolation, for the gap, as long as it remains unfilled, preserves the bonds between us. It is nonsense to say that God fills the gap; he doesn’t fill it, but on the contrary, he keeps it empty and so helps us to keep alive our former communion with each other, even at the cost of pain.
Secondly: the dearer and richer our memories, the more difficult the separation. But gratitude changes the pangs of memory into a tranquil joy. The beauties of the past are borne, not as a thorn in the flesh, but as a precious gift in themselves. We must take care not to wallow in our memories or hand ourselves over to them, just as we do not gaze all the time at a valuable present, but only at special times, and apart from these keep it simply as a hidden treasure that is ours for certain. In this way the past gives us lasting joy and strength.
Thirdly: times of separation are not a total loss or unprofitable for our companionship, or at any rate they need not be so. In spite of all the difficulties that they bring, they can be the means of strengthening fellowship quite remarkably.
Fourthly: I’ve learnt here especially that the facts can always be mastered, and that difficulties are magnified out of all proportion simply by fear and anxiety. From the moment we wake until we fall asleep we must commend other people wholly and unreservedly to God and leave them in his hands, and transform our anxiety for them into prayers on their behalf:
With sorrow and with grief … God will not be distracted."
- Dietrich Bonhoeffer

Phone

So today I finally received Ryan's cell phone from the sheriffs department. They held it as evidence after Ryan's death and took almost two months to release it to me. It was a difficult time going through and reading the text messages from that Friday, especially seeing the "missed calls" and "unread texts" that came after he passed. I could see the ones he read but I knew what time he died and I know I texted and called him past that time, not having known he was no longer alive. Acknowledging that on his phone was like having to say good-bye yet again. One surprising new thing was a picture he had taken on his phone that Friday morning. He had a family picture in his car with him and took a picture of it that morning. Oh, how my heart aches to just have the chance to hug and comfort him again. I miss him so much.

morning greeting

Almost every morning Ryan would send me a similar text to just say good morning and check on me. I still expect to hear his text ringtone most days. It will take some time before I stop listening for it.

Words

When a death occurs, many people have no idea what to say to those grieving. Some walk away from the awkwardness, some try cliché words of comfort, others jump into service. I must say before June 24th, I had absolutely no idea what to do for a grieving friend either. It is a foreign place that most people do not let their minds go, even in their worst nightmares. How does a person relate to that? I know many people say things like, "anything you need, please let me know" or they ask, "how are you doing?" Please know, dear and precious friends, that I do appreciate every offer and I do treasure all those precious hearts holding us up in prayer. Most of the time, however, I do not know what I need or how to answer how I am doing, it can change moment by moment, breathe by breathe. So, with that, I realize how incredibly difficult it is to be my friend right now. I recently read a letter written by another widow in response to a friend who thought she had somehow said and did all the wrong things. Her words are spot on and I want to share them, for all those who have expressed wanting to reach out to myself and the children, but do not know how. Please know words are not needed, precious friends, just your loving presence. One widow's response: "Dear Friend, you were amongst the few who did not blunder, because you didn't use words. Your actions were the comfort, your presence was strengthening, and your prayers soothing. A grieving friend initially goes into shock, just as if they had been physically traumatized. They need a warm blanket, some water, and someone there to sit by them patterning in silence how to breathe. When this happens away from friends, they need to feel that blanket of dreadful sorrow being expressed by their friends. At first the grieving can not process questions and eating is beyond their ken. Some really good messages I received were daily check-ins of love, Scripture, and repeated sorrow. The water is the life sustaining need to hear my beloved's name. I leaned in spiritually when someone spoke my beloved's name, saying things like 'I woke thinking of you and him today, or I remember this time when he...' Breathing. It hurts to breathe for so long. A friend affirming that is a blessing. Just a note acknowledging the need to breathe and the pain. Thank you for continuing to be there, praying, helping me stay sane and to get through the continuing challenges of what came next, memorial, cemetery plot, choices, homecoming, funeral, burial, company, decisions, people, crowding, and then the sudden silence."

The quiet

This week was a tough week. I chose to meet with the OSI Special Agent at Lackland AFB today, via teleconference.  He spent over an hour asking questions and letting me fill in the gaps for their investigation.  I also left him with a 14 page statement I had typed up. It took me several hours and a lot of late nights this past week to type up all I want the Air Force to know. I really feel this was a chance for me to make sure Ryan's voice is heard. It has been an exhausting couple of days kind of "re-living" everything.  I cried a lot in the parking lot right after the interview, probably just relieving all those emotions I guess.  But tonight I feel a little better, like maybe I can move forward, knowing someone is finally listening to Ryan's voice.
I have been kind of consumed the last few days with typing up that statement for OSI. Going through the process of typing out Ryan's struggles, listing his assignments, his deployments, all those details, kept me busy and my mind consumed all week.  Now suddenly I feel like I turned that paper in today and tomorrow my mind will be quiet again.  When it's quiet and my mind isn't stressed with busy thoughts, I just miss Ryan so much it hurts.  I'm not sure what to do.  I almost want something stressful to have to focus on so my mind isn't quiet.  All those memories of our years together come flooding in when things are calm and still and I can't do anything but cry.  How do I go forward?  What do I do tomorrow? 

Firsts

Today was the first time I ventured out to go grocery shopping by myself. I find myself now measuring time in things "before Ryan's death" and "after Ryan's death." So there are a lot of "firsts" lately. I just kind of took my time wandering through the commissary aisles today. A few waves of pain hit, as they do throughout each day, where my skin goes all hot and my heart goes crazy. But I was able to just breathe and keep going, the waves are becoming familiar to the point that I doubt anyone in the commissary would even guess what I was going through. It was a very quiet afternoon but as I walked, I felt myself smiling at the few shoppers I passed. What if one of those individuals was possibly going through what I am going through? What if they are strolling the aisles thinking, putting on a brave face, struggling on the inside, riding a wave of pain, taking a "first" trip out in the midst of grief. I just began to meet their eyes and pray silently for each passerby, and then thanking God for using my grief in a "good" way. A raw heart is indeed capable of great compassion and life seems to now move in slow motion, where I am able to take in each moment, each person, each step, each breathe, and feel the emotion of the moment deeply. I pray that my "second" trip shopping is less of a struggle, but that I am still able to cling to that compassion.

Comfort

Every Monday I start out my week spending some time with my Ryan.  Even when it hurts to breathe, God is so good to comfort us with the assurance that He and Ryan love us and are taking care of us from heaven.