election night

Charlie spent election night with CNN, his electoral college maps, and a calculator - watching the predictions and results come in.  He is not into politics and actually did not favor either candidate running, but he likes numbers.  And he is intrigued by the process of how our nation elects its leader.  It was fun to watch him engage in the process.  He also has a definite opinion on the electoral college and the two-party system.  He doesn't think it's a good set-up and claims to want to make his own party one day and "fix" the way things are done.  Mostly he just did not like his two choices and was quite upset that he was "forced" to watch it come down to a choice between the two.  But he enjoyed tracking the poll numbers and counting down the race to see who reached 270 votes first.

advice

This was shared with me a few months ago, and then again this week.  I love when others share little bits of encouragement, verses, or prayers with me.  This is an older man's description of grief and it is so accurate, what a great response.  

'My friend just died.  I don't know what to do.' 

One man on Reddit responded with a life lesson we all need to hear.

Alright, here goes. I’m old. What that means is that I’ve survived (so far) and a lot of people I’ve known and loved did not. I’ve lost friends, best friends, acquaintances, co-workers, grandparents, mom, relatives, teachers, mentors, students, neighbors, and a host of other folks. I have no children, and I can’t imagine the pain it must be to lose a child. But here’s my two cents.

I wish I could say you get used to people dying. I never did. I don’t want to. It tears a hole through me whenever somebody I love dies, no matter the circumstances. But I don’t want it to “not matter”. I don’t want it to be something that just passes. My scars are a testament to the love and the relationship that I had for and with that person. And if the scar is deep, so was the love. So be it.

Scars are a testament to life. Scars are a testament that I can love deeply and live deeply and be cut, or even gouged, and that I can heal and continue to live and continue to love. And the scar tissue is stronger than the original flesh ever was. Scars are a testament to life. Scars are only ugly to people who can’t see. I'm 

As for grief, you’ll find it comes in waves. When the ship is first wrecked, you’re drowning, with wreckage all around you. Everything floating around you reminds you of the beauty and the magnificence of the ship that was, and is no more. And all you can do is float. You find some piece of the wreckage and you hang on for a while. Maybe it’s some physical thing. Maybe it’s a happy memory or a photograph. Maybe it’s a person who is also floating. For a while, all you can do is float. Stay alive.

In the beginning, the waves are 100 feet tall and crash over you without mercy. They come 10 seconds apart and don’t even give you time to catch your breath. All you can do is hang on and float. After a while, maybe weeks, maybe months, you’ll find the waves are still 100 feet tall, but they come further apart. When they come, they still crash all over you and wipe you out.But in between, you can breathe, you can function. 

You never know what’s going to trigger the grief. It might be a song, a picture, a street intersection, the smell of a cup of coffee. It can be just about anything…and the wave comes crashing. But in between waves, there is life.

Somewhere down the line, and it’s different for everybody, you find that the waves are only 80 feet tall. Or 50 feet tall. And while they still come, they come further apart. You can see them coming. An anniversary, a birthday, or Christmas, or landing at O’Hare. You can see it coming, for the most part, and prepare yourself. And when it washes over you, you know that somehow you will, again, come out the other side. Soaking wet, sputtering, still hanging on to some tiny piece of the wreckage, but you’ll come out.

Take it from an old guy. The waves never stop coming, and somehow you don’t really want them to. But you learn that you’ll survive them. And other waves will come. And you’ll survive them too. If you’re lucky, you’ll have lots of scars from lots of loves. And lots of shipwrecks.

Original source: https://www.good.is/articles/best-comment-everyone 

when I'm gone

This music video: When I'm Gone, is a precious song written by a wife to her husband before she died of cancer. It made me cry, but I love it.  It's worth listening to.

I love when others share things like this with me for two reasons.  One, because it reminds me that I am not the only one dealing with grief in this world - the grief journey can feel very isolating at times but it helps to know others have walked this road and are "okay."  And second, because it's a way to let my emotions and tears out in a safe place (like at home and not in the middle of a store!).  I mean, the tears of grief need frequent release, it is a healthy process and avoids bitterness or anger building up.  So please know it's okay to share "sad"'songs or memories or stories with me.  It's okay to speak Ryan's name to me.  It is not going to remind me of something sad because, trust me, I haven't forgotten.  It may make me cry, but know I welcome the tears and treasure sweet memories.  I embrace the moving forward.  I am not moving on (that implies leaving something behind & I'm not) but I am moving forward (bringing Ryan with me), a process somehow full of sorrow and joy all at once.

And music can be such a powerful source of evoking emotion, memory, sorrow, joy, and healing.  In his letter to me, Ryan asked me to listen to a song about how he felt about me.  He wanted me to know without a doubt that I was loved.  I listen to the song he mentioned and cry over it often.  I am choosing not to share that song here on this blog, because it's something I store away in my heart and for some reason it seems less personal to me to put it out there for "everyone" to have a piece of too.  But if you would like to know the song, message me personally and I will share it.

Here are the lyrics to 'When I'm Gone':

A bright sunrise will contradict the heavy fault that weighs you down,

In spite of all the funeral songs the birds will make their joyful sounds,

You wonder why the earth still moves, you wonder how you'll carryon,

But you'll be okay on that first day when I'm gone.

Dusk will come with fireflies and whippoorwill and crickets call,

And every star will take its place and silvery gown and purple shawl,

You'll lie down in our big bed, dread the dark and dread the dawn,

But you'll be alright on that first night when I'm gone.

You will reach for me in vain

You'll be whispering my name,

As if sorrow were your friend

And this world so alien.

But life will call with daffodils and morning glorious blue skies,

You'll think of me some memory and softly smile to your surprise,

And even though you love me still you will know where you belong,

Just give it time we'll both be fine when I'm gone.

Christmas: A Reason for Hope

It is November now and the holiday "season" is just about upon us.  I will admit I have been full of anxiety over how this year will go.  Will I be overcome by waves of grief?  Will memories from these precious and tender times be harder to deal with than the routine, day-to-day ones?  I am not sure yet.  I know in years past I often found myself complaining about the hectic nature of the holidays.  So many events (children's recitals and plays), countless gifts to buy, social activities to attend, cookies to bake, etc.  But this year I wrestle with my still-tender grief during the holiday season and, goodness, how I would gladly take back all those busy times I complained about!  Holidays are about traditions and I think it may be a constant reminder that Ryan is not with me to do our traditions together anymore.  And with the holiday season lasting well over a month, I have a lot of fear and anxiety that the pain may seem to drag out forever.

But I plan to have a plan.  When the pain or anxiety seems overwhelming, I plan to focus on the true meaning of Christmas.  And I do not mean some cliché statement, but a deep, in depth look at Christmas itself.  Christmas is in fact a celebration that can actually be an overwhelming source of God's comfort to us.  This is because Christmas leads directly to hope and healing.  You see, the reason Jesus came to earth - was born in a manger that starlit night - was to purposefully end our suffering.  God saw all the problems in this world and by sending His son, Jesus, He promised to lovingly fix them.  It is a gift.  This promise is for my problems, your problems, all the world's problems - yesterday, today, and tomorrow.  Let that really sink in for a minute - God sent that newborn babe to be born in a manager with the express purpose of carrying out His plan to end our suffering. 

So at Christmas, we celebrate Christ’s entrance into the world as a promise and a gift for us.  “I heard a loud voice from the throne saying, ‘… There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old order of things has passed away.’ He who was seated on the throne said, ‘I am making everything new!’” (Rev. 21:3–5)  Christmas is that promise being made flesh, that there will be no more disease, no more tragedy, no more suffering, no more grief - there will be no more death. And that is the reason for hope and celebration we must all cling to this Christmas, especially for those suffering through grief.

So as we celebrate the gift of Jesus, I pray that in my heart and yours, the meaning of Christmas is not just some cliché statement or a carol that rolls off the tongue.  I pray that this year we all take time to really feel what it means to be the recipient of God’s loving plan to end our suffering and save us from a broken world.  That is true comfort.  I know as I feel sad, overwhelmed, or consumed with my grief, I am going to cling to that reminder that the baby Jesus came to heal my heart, and this world.  And I am thankful that He has already healed my Ryan's tender heart.  What a comfort!  Dare I say, even a joy? So as I continue to wade through this broken world, I will celebrate the holidays, one day at a time, clinging to and knowing the promise of that tear-free reality that Jesus will one day unveil to me.  And praising my God that my Ryan is already experiencing that comfort and joy and release from this world's suffering this year, his first year celebrating Christmas in heaven with Jesus Himself. 

“Do not be anxious about anything, but in everything, by prayer and petition, with thanksgiving, present your requests to God.  And the peace of God, which transcends all understanding, will guard your hearts and your minds in Christ Jesus."  (Phil. 4:6–7)

He leadeth me: O blessed thought!

Read this hymn last night and loved it:
He leadeth me: O blessed thought!
by Joseph H. Gilmore, 1834-1918
The United Methodist Hymnal Number 128

He leadeth me: O blessed thought!
O words with heavenly comfort fraught!
Whate'er I do, where'er I be,
still 'tis God's hand that leadeth me. 
He leadeth me, he leadeth me,
by his own hand he leadeth me;
his faithful follower I would be,
for by his hand he leadeth me.

Sometimes mid scenes of deepest gloom,
sometimes where Eden's bowers bloom,
by waters still, o'er troubled sea,
still 'tis his hand that leadeth me. 
He leadeth me, he leadeth me,
by his own hand he leadeth me;
his faithful follower I would be,
for by his hand he leadeth me.

Lord, I would place my hand in thine,
nor ever murmur nor repine;
content, whatever lot I see,
since 'tis my God that leadeth me. 
He leadeth me, he leadeth me,
by his own hand he leadeth me;
his faithful follower I would be,
for by his hand he leadeth me.

And when my task on earth is done,
when by thy grace the victory's won,
e'en death's cold wave I will not flee,
since God through Jordan leadeth me. 
He leadeth me, he leadeth me,
by his own hand he leadeth me;
his faithful follower I would be,
for by his hand he leadeth me.

Dana

Today we lost our dear sweet Dana.  She was having a difficult time jumping yesterday morning and I knew things were a little "off."  By dinner time, Dana just laid down next to her food bowl and wouldn't get up or eat.  Our on-call vet gave me some instructions but basically there was little we could do. Dana has had hyper thyroid and kidney disease for the past two years.  But she's been a fighter and stayed spunky and active all this time.  I knew when she curled up next to me and looked at me last night that she was done fighting.  I spent the night lying next to her, giving her sips of water.  Finally this morning I knew she was getting worse and not rallying back, so I took her in to our vet.  The vet confirmed she was in final kidney failure and I had to say my good-byes.  Difficult, difficult morning.

The kids were of course crying and hysterical last night.  My friend from Texas is visiting this week and while I am sorry she had to be part of a sad good-bye, I am SO glad she is here to comfort and distract the kids for me.  The girls just left on a road trip for a few days and I am glad Katherine has some time away with her BFF.  I pray it is a healing and joyful time for her amidst so much pain this year!

Our "first born" Dana was 15 years old.  Ryan got her for my birthday at a shelter in Shreveport, Louisiana in 2001.  She was our loyal, loving and quirky little calico.  We joked that she was not all that smart, but she was sure beautiful!  And although she was for me, Dana always adored Ryan so much more than anyone else. Amidst my tears today, I am joyful picturing Dana's reunion with her daddy in heaven.  I have no doubt she is curled up in Ryan's arms today, where she really belongs.   Ryan loved his baby girl so much.  I love and miss you so much, precious Dana.

October 2001

Dana curled up yesterday

on Ryan's lap



this past Christmas

pumpkins

Sometimes all you need is cousins running around a pumpkin farm to cheer you up.  Happy fall!
 🎃 🍃  🌻🍁

article

This link had some great information for those who have a friend or family member who is grieving and they don't know how to help:
http://m.huffpost.com/us/entry/4329830

Here is the text of the article:
How to Help a Grieving Friend: 11 Things to Do When You’re Not Sure What to Do  by Megan Devine

I’ve been a therapist for more than 10 years. I worked in social services for the decade before that. I knew grief. I knew how to handle it in myself, and how to attend to it in others. When my partner drowned on a sunny day in 2009, I learned there was a lot more to grief than I’d known.

Many people truly want to help a friend or family member who is experiencing a severe loss. Words often fail us at times like these, leaving us stammering for the right thing to say. Some people are so afraid to say or do the wrong thing, they choose to do nothing at all. Doing nothing at all is certainly an option, but it’s not often a good one.

While there is no one perfect way to respond or to support someone you care about, here are some good ground rules.

#1 Grief belongs to the griever.
You have a supporting role, not the central role, in your friend’s grief. This may seem like a strange thing to say. So many of the suggestions, advice and “help” given to the griever tells them they should be doing this differently, or feeling differently than they do. Grief is a very personal experience, and belongs entirely to the person experiencing it. You may believe you would do things differently if it had happened to you. We hope you do not get the chance to find out. This grief belongs to your friend: follow his or her lead.

#2 Stay present and state the truth.
It’s tempting to make statements about the past or the future when your friend’s present life holds so much pain. You cannot know what the future will be, for yourself or your friend — it may or may not be better “later.” That your friend’s life was good in the past is not a fair trade for the pain of now. Stay present with your friend, even when the present is full of pain.

It’s also tempting to make generalized statements about the situation in an attempt to soothe your friend. You cannot know that your friend’s loved one “finished their work here,” or that they are in a “better place.” These future-based, omniscient, generalized platitudes aren’t helpful. Stick with the truth: this hurts. I love you. I’m here.

#3 Do not try to fix the unfixable.
Your friend’s loss cannot be fixed or repaired or solved. The pain itself cannot be made better. Please see #2. Do not say anything that tries to fix the unfixable, and you will do just fine. It is an unfathomable relief to have a friend who does not try to take the pain away.

#4 Be willing to witness searing, unbearable pain.
To do #4 while also practicing #3 is very, very hard.

#5 This is not about you.
Being with someone in pain is not easy. You will have things come up — stresses, questions, anger, fear, guilt. Your feelings will likely be hurt. You may feel ignored and unappreciated. Your friend cannot show up for their part of the relationship very well. Please don’t take it personally, and please don’t take it out on them. Please find your own people to lean on at this time — it’s important that you be supported while you support your friend. When in doubt, refer to #1.

#6 Anticipate, don’t ask.
Do not say “Call me if you need anything,” because your friend will not call. Not because they do not need, but because identifying a need, figuring out who might fill that need, and then making a phone call to ask is light years beyond their energy levels, capacity or interest. Instead, make concrete offers: “I will be there at 4 p.m. on Thursday to bring your recycling to the curb,” or “I will stop by each morning on my way to work and give the dog a quick walk.” Be reliable.

#7 Do the recurring things.
The actual, heavy, real work of grieving is not something you can do (see #1), but you can lessen the burden of “normal” life requirements for your friend. Are there recurring tasks or chores that you might do? Things like walking the dog, refilling prescriptions, shoveling snow and bringing in the mail are all good choices. Support your friend in small, ordinary ways — these things are tangible evidence of love.
Please try not to do anything that is irreversible — like doing laundry or cleaning up the house — unless you check with your friend first. That empty soda bottle beside the couch may look like trash, but may have been left there by their husband just the other day. The dirty laundry may be the last thing that smells like her. Do you see where I’m going here? Tiny little normal things become precious. Ask first.

#8 Tackle projects together.
Depending on the circumstance, there may be difficult tasks that need tending — things like casket shopping, mortuary visits, the packing and sorting of rooms or houses. Offer your assistance and follow through with your offers. Follow your friend’s lead in these tasks. Your presence alongside them is powerful and important; words are often unnecessary. Remember #4: bear witness and be there.

#9 Run interference.
To the new griever, the influx of people who want to show their support can be seriously overwhelming. What is an intensely personal and private time can begin to feel like living in a fish bowl. There might be ways you can shield and shelter your friend by setting yourself up as the designated point person — the one who relays information to the outside world, or organizes well-wishers. Gatekeepers are really helpful.

#10 Educate and advocate.
You may find that other friends, family members and casual acquaintances ask for information about your friend. You can, in this capacity, be a great educator, albeit subtly. You can normalize grief with responses like,”She has better moments and worse moments and will for quite some time. An intense loss changes every detail of your life.” If someone asks you about your friend a little further down the road, you might say things like, “Grief never really stops. It is something you carry with you in different ways.”

#11 Love.
Above all, show your love. Show up. Say something. Do something. Be willing to stand beside the gaping hole that has opened in your friend’s life, without flinching or turning away. Be willing to not have any answers. Listen. Be there. Be present. Be a friend. Be love. Love is the thing that lasts.

brokenness

I have come to realize that when we have a broken heart, we can do one of two things - let it scab over and harden, or embrace our tender woundedness.  Our gut reaction and the way the world often encourages us to respond is the former.  It is easier.  Toughen up, chin up, move on.  But I think God calls us to the latter.  "I will give you a new heart and put a new spirit in you; I will remove from you your heart of stone and give you a heart of flesh." (Ezekiel 36:26). It is our tender, broken wounds that God can use, not our hardened hearts.

I have experienced grief, to a greater or lesser extent, many times in life - grief over saying good-byes to friends or places with each military move.  Grief of missing family and holidays across the miles.  Everyone experiences some dose of these griefs throughout their life.  And I honestly dreaded feeling these sadnesses every time they hit me.  Who wants to embrace pain or sadness?  But I realize now that the pain of my grief works to bring about change in my life because it is that pain that forces me to adjust to my new reality.  And it is also through pain that I heal.  We don't heal by ignoring, denying, avoiding, or hardening.  We heal by feeling.

When we do not allow acknowledge our grief, our sadness, our brokenness, we deny God the chance to bless us through it.  If I cut off my pain or stuff it down deep and not deal with it, feel it, I also in essence cut out my capacity to feel joy.  A hardened heart does not feel pain, but it also does not feel joy.  I think feeling grief truly makes it more possible to feel other emotions such as love, joy, and excitement.  In this broken and hurting world, our loving and gracious God has figured out a way to take our brokenness, our hurts, our deepest pains, and use them to shower us with the deepest joys.  A tender and open heart, busted wide open, can feel SO much.  If we let it.

If you google "grief" (I did in those first horrific weeks), you read it is a process (which implies a beginning, a middle, and an end) or about the five stages - denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance.  But being in such an all-consuming depth of grief, that "process" was not comforting to me in any way at all because I did not see the "end."  If the "end" of that process even existed, it was so far out and removed from me that it provided absolutely no hope or comfort.  That can be a scary place to be.

But I think it is when I allowed myself to start to embrace grief as an ongoing thing, a process without end, an agent of change, a method of blessing, that I began to see hope.  My relationship with Ryan continues internally, it always will, until I see him again.  I don't stuff that relationship down or forget it or harden myself against it - I take him with me.  I let my heart stay wide open and tender and raw and usable.  Grief is the price of love and its pain can be transformative, if we allow God full access to use every part of it.  "My sacrifice, O God, is a broken spirit; a broken and contrite heart you, God, will not despise." (Ps. 51:16)  Grief is a gift - we just need to learn how to accept it.

school

I just ask for prayers for Kate this morning.  She begins her first day at a homeschool charter school today.  I know she is very nervous and worried about it.  Please pray that the teachers and students are sweet and kind and welcoming to her.  And that a few girls will be friendly and come alongside her and befriend her with smiles, so that her walls and anxieties crumble and break down.  That her fears of change and new situations melt away today in the new environment.