Tag Archives: Love

Her first words

We have a joke in our family that one of our children bucked the normal speech patterns of development. Instead of the typical da-da-da-da (which of course brought great delight to my sweetie), this little tyke’s first word was “ball”. He didn’t talk for quite some time, but when he did, the first word he uttered was “baw” which he followed with whipping a Nerf one the whole length of the family room. His message was clear! Even today, the messages sent by my children often stir my soul.

Back in May, our Sister had to have major surgery for her knee which was injured further in the basketball season. Although we should be well equipped in how to handle surgeries (this being number 34 for our children since 2008) and in some ways we are, our whole demeanor that day was one of somber. Our hearts sang melancholy. Joined by our pastor (who travelled three hours to be with us), Daniel, Sister and I gathered pre-surgery to pray as we prepared for the time that for me is like a living hell because once upon a time in a surgical post-operative meeting room I was officially told my son was dead. I hate those stupid, clinical, sterile, devoid-of-life rooms. I often beg the doctors to just tell us the news in the waiting room because at least that is a little more welcoming and comforting.

My heart ached when we received the call from the operating room telling us that our sweet girl would need the greater of the two options (complete ACL reconstruction with donated tissue) to repair the damage. Instead of forty minutes, we were told to strap in for a four hour surgery. How would we tell her that most of what she loved was going to have to be put on hold for a year? How much more would she have to endure? Our entourage of three grabbed a bite to eat, visited, and prayed. Because we had left our home at three in the morning, we were offered a private waiting room so that I could nap while we waited. I sat watching old episodes of Reed’s favorite, The Andy Griffith Show, thinking I would never be able to rest, but the mental anguish and physical exhaustion won because the next thing I knew we were meeting with the surgeon.

When we were finally able to all gather together in her recuperating room, I tried my hardest to put on my bravest face. After a little bit of time, I asked if the doctor or nurses had told her any news. In her grogginess, she had enough wherewithal to be able to read the clock. The tables turned when my not-so-little girl tried to comfort me, “Momma, it’s okay. I saw the clock. I know. I know.” No tears fell from her eyes as I fought to hold mine in. There was no steely strength that could have stopped my floodgates from opening after her next utterance. “Mom, I would like to write to my donor’s family to tell them ‘Thank You’.” Here she lay still under the effects of anesthesia, nauseous and unable to walk, and the first thing she wanted to do was to thank someone. Instead of shedding tears on what wouldn’t be (for her specifically: no basketball), she wanted to give back to a family of a person who gave the ultimate gift: an improved quality of life for her. As the sister of a donor, she was firm in her commitment to acknowledge and honor the gift she received.

It took us a little bit (logistically) to secure the information needed for her to do this, but we are now in the process of getting that letter to the tissue organization that will ultimately deliver the letter to her donor’s family. As a donor family ourselves, we hope her small gesture will bring them comfort. In addition to her sincere thanks, she will share that her ultimate goal is to return to playing sports, something not possible without their generosity, and along the way on her healing journey, she will take a stop as member of the Team MN-DAK delegation to the National Transplant Games in Cleveland, Ohio next summer.

I don’t know that she will ever interact with the donor’s family, but I do know that for the rest of her life, she will carry a little piece of their loved one in her knee, but more importantly in her heart.

Photo done by Inspired Portrait Photography

Special Note: Organ and tissue donation is something near and dear to my heart. Our son, Reed, at 9 years old, told us that he wanted to be a donor. Never did I image three short years later I would be honoring his wishes. Giving the gift of life is the one of the most selfless acts of service a person can choose. If you are interested in becoming a donor, please visit www.donatelife.org and make sure to share your wishes with your family. Over the course of the next year, we will be sharing our Sister’s journey to Cleveland, including ways to support the team.

Happily ever after and once upon a time

The healing came rushing in

1 Reply

It all started at Easter dinner. We live hundreds of miles away from our parents and siblings; so we have created our own version of family. “Bloom where you are planted” is somewhat of a driving force behind our merry band of friends we call family. After celebrating the wonder and amazement of the significance of our Savior’s resurrection, we began what always happens at our table – swapping stories. Our dear friend shared the story of the man who saved his life as a child and how he as an adult he still maintains a relationship with him. The flint was sparked.

Later, Sawyer asked if we would mind if he invited the first responders from the bus crash to his graduation. ALL. OF. THEM. There was something like thirty units that responded; so the number of people had to have been in the hundreds. Without batting an eyelash, I told him, “Absolutely, but you will have to understand that they may not be able to attend.” He was okay with that uncertainty. We set out to find the addresses, while he penned a note explaining who he was and how he was doing. He also included a copy of a scholarship essay that he wrote defining a hero. Here is an excerpt from his closing.

“Hero isn’t a word I use lightly. The men and women who bravely serve our country now and in the past have earned that distinction. Standing next to them, are the men and women who show up to help others in their darkest hours. Although, most of these individuals would never consider what they have done as extraordinary, to me, their selfless actions are truly what defines a hero.” (used by permission from Sawyer Stevens)

We really left it at that and went on enjoying the final days of school for all of our children and preparing for his graduation day. When a mysterious letter arrived on official Minnesota Department of the Highway Patrol stationary, my first thought was someone was getting a ticket. Then when I saw the Boy Wonder’s name on it, my thoughts shifted to . . . he better NOT be getting a ticket. I could not have been more shocked when he opened this correspondence. The State Captain congratulated Sawyer on his hard work and achievements, let him know that some troopers would be in attendance at his celebration, and asked him a favor in return: be an honored guest at the upcoming trooper academy graduation.

Sawyer was speechless. I simply cried. My parents had the same reactions as I did while my husband was in Sawyer’s camp. What an honor! A few more letters like that trickled in, but in all honesty, we had no idea how much that simple gesture would mean to others or even to ourselves.

We had worked for weeks prepping our backyard, because (I will be honest) I had a vision of what I wanted it to be. In one word: SPECTACULAR for my son. What I didn’t know was I was dreaming small, and that God had much BIGGER plans.

First, we asked some very dear friends to help serve and even a few more simply volunteered. Everyone saying it was an honor to be asked. We are blessed. For their love and tireless love, we are thankful. Next, my parents came a week early to simply jump in and help. Considering my dad was just a couple weeks away from retiring, this was a huge sacrifice. Next, the other side of our family from North Dakota stepped in and started helping with final preparations. Blessings upon blessings! Then, in the final hours, people all over were praying because as I have mentioned before, I simply felt cheated that we didn’t have this experience with Reed. Grief is an ugly beast, but God’s grace is so much bigger.

Commencement went very well, but our party was looking doomed by the weather. All the hours spent grooming the yard, all the plans made, all the preparations completed were about to be undone by deluge of rain. And rain it did.

I was sad and disappointed, but again, God had much bigger dreams. We eventually made the call to move to our alternative location, our church. Moving all the supplies was a gargantuan task, made lighter by many hands. About an hour before the party was to start, I learned that Sawyer’s letter which had made its way to the news media was going to be featured that night. THAT. NIGHT!

Conducting the interview right before the party began complicated things a bit, and we were overwhelmed to see the number of people who were already waiting in line. Thank goodness we have amazing, take-charge, selfless friends who just took charge of the whole evening. Caught up in some type of time warp, I think I had talked to over a hundred people and thought this party must be close to over, when I realized that only a half hour had lapsed.

Cousins embrace with the long line of folks waiting to see the graduate.

At one point in the evening, we were completely surprised by the arrival of two great aunts and several cousins who had been keeping their arrival a complete surprise. Sister says that the unbridled laughter that erupted from me, upon seeing them was the best part of the party.

Classmates, friends, neighbors, a few teachers, church family, fellow Scouts, 4Hers, and Special Olympians, and first responders just kept filing in. It was overwhelming, but in a good way. Just like every Reed’s Run, I think I got about three bites of food in the entire evening. Thanking each one for coming, and of course, hugging as many as I could was simple incredible.

At one point in the evening, I stepped back and simply observed all the love that filled that room. I had to will myself not to let the tears come pouring out. People wouldn’t understand. The message would be misread. They weren’t tears of sadness. No, honestly they were healing tears of joy! I didn’t expect it, but a flood of soothing healing for my heart came pouring in. A tragedy had intertwined our lives, but tonight we stood together in celebration. Only God could have dreamed that was possible!

All those came in love and support of a pretty amazing young man. That alone was enough to bring tears of joy. It is a beautiful gift to be loved. Many of those in attendance would have shown up two years earlier for Reed’s graduation had he lived beyond the seventh grade, and many had come over the years to Reed’s Run. But this celebration was different. Tonight was pure bliss, nothing bittersweet. Our boy didn’t merely live, he was thriving and touching the lives of many. My Boy Wonder’s small and very sweet gesture provided healing not only for me, but most likely did the same for the last group of people to see Reed alive.

One Easter table conversation, divinely appointed, led to one tiny note which had God-sized dreams written all over it, and for that I am incredibly awed and humbled.

Here is the link to the story about Sawyer’s gesture. A special thanks to Nina Moini and the WCCO news team for this link.

Survivor Of 2008 School Bus Crash Graduates As Valedictorian

Happy Memories Day, Reed!

1 Reply

Dear Reed – Today is your 20^th birthday. I don’t know how or when it happened, but this is the first birthday since your passing that I didn’t feel like digging a hole and just lying there until the day was over. I really don’t believe that time heals anything, but I do believe that somehow my heart finally came to terms with what my head knew to be true. Please don’t misunderstand my words, I will miss you with every fiber of my being until the day that I get to see Jesus face-to-face and I get to hug you again. Can I change that? I will see Jesus face-to-face, and I know you will sneak up behind me with one of those great come-from-around-behind-hugs that you were so awesome at giving! Then after that, I am guessing you will introduce me to our babies, and we will have lots to catch up on.

Down here, things have been all sorts of extremes. We have had amazing times. But then, we have had some incredibly painful moments in recent days, but let me tell you something about your family, my sweet boy. We are tough. There are those who have meant to hurt us, but we have learned to forgive. And more importantly, we have learned to get back up. I think our family’s verses should be 2 Corinthians 4: 8-9

We often suffer, but we are never crushed. Even when we don’t know what to do, we never give up. In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again. (CEV)

So let me share a little bit about some of the toughness that will always be a part of our lives. We really know how to get up again because we know the end of the story (Love conquers evil), because it honors Jesus, and because we won’t let sadness rule our lives.

You know how Daddy always wanted us to march in his honor on Veteran’s Day. I know he was being silly, but I learned something very valuable this year about men like him, men of honor and integrity. What I have learned is that there is nothing worse than losing a man’s respect. It was a painful lesson for me to endure, but on the other side of it, I know there is nothing that he wouldn’t do for any of you children. Amazingly, God brought a complete stranger into our lives for a brief moment to acknowledge the honor that only another man could restore. Honor and respect are things our family will always value, and I remember how much they meant to you as well.

While you watch over three little Stevens there, we will watch over the three (although two are bigger than me) Stevens here.

You would be so proud of Sawyer and all that he has accomplished this year. I think you would have laughed at how much time he spent working hard on his studies and how much the tables have turned from the days he used to tell you to get your nose out of a book. You would have told him, “Well done, faithful sidekick” when he chose to invite all the first responders to his graduation party. Of all the things we have done since the day you died, that was one of the most healing things ever. It just felt perfectly right, and my heart (because of his actions) felt truly content. If we can’t really be superheroes, that night made me feel like we secretly had capes underneath our party clothes.

Erin joined the league of superheroes that we adore (organ and tissue donors). She chose to have a donor ligament instead of using her own in her recent knee surgery. We were so hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, because she would have to miss a whole year of basketball. Sadly, the worst scenario played out, and the donor tissue was needed. We were devastated and we thought she would be too. But this is where toughness and HONOR really sparkle like crazy. In the recovery room, we asked her if the doctor and nurses had told her which surgery was necessary. She told us she knew because she saw the clock and knew that it was five hours later. We thought she would cry and worry about basketball and ALL that she was missing. But your amazing sister did none of that. Nope! The very first thing she asked was if she could write her donor’s family and thank them for the gift of a lifetime and for giving her a second chance. I had to look away, Reed, because in that moment, my eyes poured out what my melted heart felt. In a year from now, on your birthday, she will be representing the great state of Minnesota as an athlete in the Transplant Games, and you better believe that she will be talking about you (her superhero) and her donor to every person she meets!

And Clo! Oh, Reed you would absolutely love her! She is just as much a fan of the underdog as you were. She loves superheroes as much as you and Sawyer ever have, and she has a flair for sarcasm, corny jokes, and just plain wit. This year one of her parent-teacher conferences, the teacher confessed she didn’t really have anything to say academically because she was doing great, but instead the teacher focused on how she would help others in the class. Again, melt my heart for a girl who has a heart just like yours. I wish that the two of you had more time to share together, because she misses you, and there are times that she grieves that she doesn’t really remember you. But I promise, we regularly tell her stories so that she will know the brother we all love and miss.

You share a birthday with a couple of my friends, just like you did in the picture below with an elderly neighbor. One of those friends wanted to check in and see if I was doing okay today. I told her the day was going well, and we were going to keep it that way if nothing else than by sheer determination and a WHOLE LOT OF GRACE. Then several other friends started referring to today as a day filled with happy memories. I really like that. So if it is okay with you, in heaven it will be “Happy Birthday” and here at home and in our hearts, it will be “Happy Memories Day”! Every day has a little bit of that, but today, your birthday, we remembered a lot of stories and shared a lot of memories of the boy who was the smiling sunshine of our world. No matter what we call it, today will always be very special to all of us.

Missing you always, but thankful for the grace that gives me the confidence to know I will see you again. Until that day, I will love you always.

Love, Momma

I think this smile from your first birthday says it all!

The ripples of love

2 Replies

I remember the day like it was yesterday, even though it happened almost sixteen years ago. We had a very new baby girl, and I had just returned home from my first appointment with an asthma/allergy specialist for the Boy Wonder. As a young momma I had never encountered a doctor quite like this one. He had to have been in his eighties, and he (not his nurse or staff) made personal phone calls to all his patients just to check in with them. Growing up Southern and a coach’s daughter, it was just assumed that any male offspring would be involved in sports. After the visit with Dr. Goldberg, we quickly learned those dreams might not be the reality for both of our sons. From birth, the Boy Wonder had breathing struggles which culminated in our once finding him completely purple and breathless in the backyard, which is what finally prompted the doctor’s visit. The diagnosis: pediatric intrinsic asthma. There was a slim (very slim) chance that he would outgrow it, but for that afternoon, I cried for all things my sweet boy might miss out on. I was heartbroken for him.

Looking back now, how I wish that was the worst news any of my children would ever encounter.

With a good management plan, those tears shed in my living room were for naught, because he was able to play sports and live a fairly normal life (with the help of a bunch of medications). I remember the first day in intensive care the morning after the bus crash. The medical team was very concerned about his labored breathing until I explained his asthma. He did have severely bruised lungs, but thankfully neither was collapsed. For several summers, he even attended a summer camp just for kids with asthma and allergies. Ironically after his last summer at Camp We-No-Wheeze which happened to be the same year as our darkest day, almost all of his symptoms simply vanished. He hasn’t had one struggle with breathing since.

Yet, through it all (and by all I mean everything that my children have dealt with to this point), I have never once lost sight of the fact there are millions of parents who receive diagnoses that aren’t going to magically disappear, aren’t going to have a surgery or three dozen that will make it better, or aren’t nearly as easily managed with some medications. For some, their family struggles will consume almost every aspect of life that many (including me) take for granted. I was grieving future milestones for my chubby-cheeked toddler, while they will embrace each milestone met.

Please do not misunderstand my message as some of the best advice I have ever been given was “don’t apologize for being your child’s momma.” It is okay to grieve the little stuff . . . period. I’m not going to ever judge you or tell you “that is a first world problem” or remind you to count your blessings when you are feeling low, and neither should anyone else.

My point is looking back and looking forward, I know there are much bigger problems that many endure, some publicly and just as many privately. These families daily face moments when they are reminded how precious life truly is, how much is out of their control, and how often times, raising a child with a difference (any difference) is just as isolating as it is exhausting. Many milestones for these families are bittersweet. Some are never achieved, but many are in amazing, spectacular, and inspirational ways as the children in these families stop the world with their awesomeness. It is for the missed milestones, the hearts of mommas and daddies grieve. For all my friends who experience these moments of dreams deferred, my heart aches.

Recently I realized the ache in a momma’s heart creates ripples that vacillate out in enduring ways. The moment caused a lump to be stuck in my throat the night of graduation. Our school has a tradition whereby the graduates deliver flowers to their mommas. It is a simple and sweet gesture. The ripple that washed over me with a tidal wave of love was not the one pictured in my most recent blog, although that is when my son gave me my flower. My heart echoed God’s joy when he and one of his best friends since birth decided to give flowers to the mom of a former classmate.

There were a lot of perplexed looks in the audience when the two of them grabbed a bouquet they had purchased and went looking through the crowd for this momma. I quickly scanned our entourage of over twenty strong, and there wasn’t a dry eye among us. We all knew that it was a milestone being reached in another way and on another day for her son, but that doesn’t mean his absence didn’t hurt and wasn’t noticed. Those two sweet boys wanted to acknowledge the gift she had been in their life, never missing a game or concert even when their childhood friend could no longer attend school with them. Sure he would be graduating a few weeks later, but the plans they all had back in junior high weren’t the ones that played out in real life, before autism and mental health were nothing more than words they had heard.

Watching the ripples of love from my heart pour out in action through the Boy Wonder and his lifelong buddy was one of the most precious moments of my life. Not for one second did I mind sharing my son with another mom, and I know the momma of the other amazing didn’t either. Our boys were truly men, gentlemen actually, filled with compassion and integrity. They understood the sting of crushed dreams, and for one small second, they hoped to wash away a hurt, if for just a moment. Waves of love and pride and gratitude washed over me as a tender reminder of the Father’s love for each of us, and in one tiny glimpse, all got to see the men He was shaping them to be. These are my boys (all three of them), and for that, I couldn’t be more proud.

A true measure

To my Sunshine . . .

To laugh again . . .

4 Replies

The first time I saw Sawyer the night of the bus crash was most the surreal moment of that evening. I already knew that Reed was gone, as did Daniel, but neither thought the other knew, as we were trying to protect the other one and deal with the horrors right in front of us. Wrapped in warm blankets to keep him from going into shock and barely lucid as medications were keeping him in a state of medically induced numbness, all that was exposed when I leaned over to kiss him were his face and ears, every inch wrapped tight. Before my lips reached his forehead, my eyes saw his ears filled with glass and bright yellow bus paint. This was much worse than the broken leg I had been told at the school. When I arrived at the hospital with my pastor and his wife along with two teacher friends, all I wanted to do was see Reed. I didn’t love Sawyer any less, but shattered bones heal. My heart longed to prove the news of our redheaded boy wrong, a case of mistaken identity. The hospital staff would not let me see Reed until I saw Sawyer because there were decisions we needed to make to save his life. When I saw the horrors of the day filling his precious ears, ones that look exactly like his grandfather’s, all the remaining joy from my world was sucked away.

The next morning when the nurses came to give Sawyer his first “bath”, they wanted to wash away the very visual reminders that still lingered. A tray full of glass fell out of his thick hair, and when they turned him over, other than those chubby, signature cheeks, there wasn’t a spot not covered in bruises, cuts, or stitches. For over a day, we were able to keep the news of Reed’s death away from him. Then an incident that I share more in depth in my upcoming book happened, and we knew that we were not going to be able to hold our secret much longer. The rest of the world was going on as we were suspended in some kind of distorted reality. He was in so much pain, and we wanted to insulate him from more.

Meeting with the grief counselor before we talked with him, I remember very distinctly saying that someday our family would laugh again. Our counselor, Mark, wiped away tears as he remarked we were incredibly strong people (I felt anything but strong) and how he was moved by our faith. We had some choices to make about our next steps, along with the words we would use to explain Reed’s absence, and our determination focused on how we would not ever let this define us, we would not allow our house (whenever we could return there) become a place of overwhelming sadness, and we would always let our love of Jesus carry us through. Visual images of Jesus laughing with little children became a real driving force in the days we endured. This could not have been more real than at the conclusion of Reed’s Celebration of Life. As the casket containing his earthly body was wheeled away, we had asked for the Star Wars theme to be played. Tears of sadness turned to tears of laughter as those present recognized the familiar tune, while our three pastors presided over the whole affair with light sabers. We could only imagine that Reed and Jesus laughed.

The first month, very little laughing, especially purposeful belly chuckling, occurred. As much as I wanted to crawl in a hole and lay next to Reed, I knew what that would say to our other children. No matter how badly we hurt, I did not want them to ever feel that they were second best, and there would be nothing worth living for now that our oldest was gone. While convalescing at home, we watched many movies to fill our minutes, the very minutes we were living through one by one. Although there were probably many opportunities to laugh, it didn’t come as naturally as it once did.

I remember very distinctly the first belly chuckle laugh that came bubbling out, despite my wanting it to. Even though we had made those promises to our future at the hospital, I wasn’t ready to live again when I really did laugh. I felt almost guilty doing so, because Reed would never laugh again. Sawyer was hurting so much we were willing to loosen our parental veto to let him watch a television show that I would not normally approve, and even Grandma said nothing about the show’s snarky sass. If you like The Simpson’s, this is not meant as a judgment, it simply wasn’t the type of show I wanted my eleven-year-old watching. He, however, found it amusing in his swirling cloud of pain medications.

I have a really bad habit of zeroing in on things that tickle my funny bone about the same time I am drinking something. Not very lady-like, but more than once, I have snorted sweet tea through my nose because of this unfortunate timing. Somehow this very thing would have produced rolling on the floor giggles from both my boys. This was no exception during the opening for the cartoon which snuck right up on me. As Marge flips through the mail containing a postcard from some exotic place, she reads the penned words while the audience sees the picture on the front featuring a voluptuous bikini-clad brunette with the words, “Wish you were her”. No that is not a typo on my part, nor is the humor all that funny, but at that moment a tea-snorting chuckle came bursting forth despite my best efforts to hold it in.

Until that moment, our nights had been sleepless, filled with agonizing pain-induced screams and night terrors and our days with sadness, grief, being overwhelmed, and bitterness. I did not want to laugh because I wasn’t ready to replace those things with something as ridiculous as base humor.

However, through the prayers of many and the determination to not merely survive, laugh I did! It was a pivotal point of new beginnings, replacing all those negative things with love filled ones. More chuckles and laughs came (as did more tears), until eventually the day came when we laughed so hard we cried. After that came the point where we looked for ways to make other people laugh, something for a while I never fathomed possible. I am incredibly thankful God had other plans as those moments of joy did finally come.

Hoping laughter finds you in your corner of the world today.

On a recent girl’s trip, Cloie with her American Girl doll, Kit, got a little carried away with the window washing equipment. That experience proved to be too much for the poor doll.

Even the workers at Chicago 360 chuckled at our antics. Poor Kit passed out from the height.

What I wish I could say . . .

10 Replies

Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed’s Run

Last night, I received a text message from my cousin relaying news about another horrific school bus crash. The site of yesterday’s crash – a little over an hour away from where we laid our own sweet boy to rest in North Dakota. Her words sent me to my knees and to the deep recesses of my memories, a place I don’t like to visit. Sadly, I have earned an advanced degree in what lies ahead for BOTH the families of the grieving AND for the families of the injured. Unlike my cousin, I do not know any of them personally. If I did, these are the words I would want to say.

Right now, you feel as if the whole world stopped spinning. There are those who will say, “I know how you feel.” Don’t listen to them. Every person’s story is their own and no one, including me, can ever know exactly how you feel. Your world did stop and as much as I would like to tell you otherwise, it will never be the same.

Breathe. One breath at a time. For a while, maybe even a long while, that will be all your fragile and shocked system will be able to do. There are decisions that will need to be made. Why is it at our lowest moments there are boatloads of decisions that MUST be made. Simply trust that your faith, family, and friends will help guide you. Just breathe. I know it doesn’t feel like it, but you will get through this.

In the coming days and weeks, you will discover that you are stronger than you ever knew possible and more loved than you can ever imagine. People – those you know well and those you have never met before – will rally around you. They will dig out crockpots and cake pans, watch your pets, call friends and family, blow snow and pick up mail, hug their kids while they cry for yours, but mostly, they will pray because they don’t know what to do to help you.

Believe me, they will want to help, but all won’t know how to do this gracefully. There are many reasons for this. The biggest of all is what just happened to your family (as what happened to mine) is their worst nightmare. You will be a living reminder that bad things do happen to good people. “Life is absolutely precious and can be gone in an instant” and “I don’t know what I would do if this happened to us” will be at the forefront of their thoughts.

This is where it gets tough because like I said nothing will ever be the same. Some of your friends will not be able to handle their own grief while trying to help you with yours. Remember they love you and your family too. Some will never get over the fact that something bad could happen to their own children. It is too hard of a truth to bear. Others will believe you are enjoying the “fame” that this event will have in your story, as if this is ever how you envisioned the life of your loved ones. Know that you did nothing wrong. Know they didn’t either. Their fears do not negate your grief or your hardship at any point. You will probably develop a thicker skin, but underneath that outer covering will be a broken and shattered – yet humble – heart that will recognize pain in others. Use that light to guide you someday.

Keep breathing and learn to be gentle and kind to yourself. Your body just experienced a trauma even if you were not sitting on that school bus. Every cell in your body experienced the most toxic of shocks. Bodies are resilient, but toxicity takes a toll. You will struggle with the simplest of tasks. You will be forgetful – because that is the amazing thing about these beautiful creations we are. God equipped them with ways of insulating pain – even it lasts for a moment and is fleeting. Right now, you are still focused on one breathe at a time. Someday – oh someday – you will be able to do more than that.

I don’t know all the details of what happened yesterday, nor do I need to know them. I simply know you are hurting. However, you are going to learn all throughout today and the coming days and weeks, how insatiable the appetites are of curious minds. News reports and conversations can and will get the details wrong. As much as that will hurt and you may want to right every wrong, it will not change your hurting, your grief or your loss. This is your story. You are the author of the previous chapters and of the precious ones coming up. You can choose how much or how little you wish for the world to read.

Just keep breathing because every tiny inhalation and exhalation means you are surviving.

Soon you are probably going to just wish you could erase this day and get back to living. This one day will leave an indelible scar, but I know you are stronger than all of this. I promise that you absolutely will LIVE again. It will never be the way you want it to be, but the day will come when you wake up and this isn’t the very first thing on your mind. The road to that day may be short for some, and painfully and agonizingly long for others. That day did come for me, but the journey that began almost seven years ago after our darkest day still has lingering and lasting effects for our family.

Healing is a word that will get tossed around a lot in coming days. Healing can be a lifelong journey. You may have considered yourself a sprinter in life before this moment, but now, you will be changing your pace to endure becoming a marathon runner. There will be surgeries, hours of therapies, medications, appointments, loss of work and income, arguments with insurance, services, memorials, remembrances, and grief, insanely profound grief filled with what-ifs and whys. On those last two, they are jerks and trust me, they will never bring you comfort. You will learn to become your child’s advocate as you didn’t realize that not only are you training for the toughest race of your life but somehow you were promoted to coach of the team as well. Breathe. You are made of the right stuff to lead your family to the finish line – however long and far away that might be.

Things will never be the same. Your lives are changed forever. You won’t want to hear this right now, but you will see better days. The earth opened up and swallowed you into the darkest pit you could ever imagine. But listen in those quiet still moments – even those filled with doubt and fear and trepidation. Really listen. You will hear the voices of those that love you cheering as loudly with their heart songs as possible. Their melodies are there. Old and new friends, you have yet to meet, are cheering the loudest, because they too have found themselves in the pit. They KNOW what you will need to just get up out of bed in the morning.

They always say light shines the brightest in the dark, like those horrible creatures in the deep, deep ocean. Even when grief and pain rear their ugly heads, keep your eyes open. There will be tiny light reminders of love and encouragement, including some heavenly sent, all along the way. Keep your eyes open and breathe. Cling to that shining love because those moments will help you take baby steps to what will ultimately help you move beyond just breathing.

Four little letters that string together to provide the mightiest of foundations. H-O-P-E. Hope it is such a tiny little word, but it changes everything. Outside of breathing, there is nothing greater than I can say to you than cling to hope in whatever way, tiny or grand, God provides it for you. Breathe and hope.

Outside of my words, I wish that I could bring my favorite quilt and rocking chair to your halted world today. We could curl up together while my tears mixed in with yours. We would rock and pray, cry and rock, but mostly, I would just hold your hand and remind you to breathe.

As much as I wish that my experience and pain could lessen yours, I know it won’t. There were others than came to comfort us with the comfort they had been given. Their words did not fall on deaf ears, but my heart was not ready to believe the unbelievable. I didn’t think we would make it. The one truth that finally spoke to my heart were two words, the shortest verse in God’s word. Jesus wept. In the aftermath of losing one child and caring for two severely injured others, it was the first thing that made any sense. Jesus wept, and so too am I and many, many more for you and your families. You will make it through this, not because of these words or anything I or anyone else can or will do, but because I know that with Jesus’ dad, all things are possible – including living through and beyond your darkest day. With legions of others, I will be praying for you to be comforted with one beautiful breath after another.

3 days: A Christmas bloom where you are planted

4 Replies

As I sit typing this blog, it is a very, gray and dreary day on the prairie. Hovering right above freezing, early fog and light rain have been the highlight for today’s weather. I don’t even know if rain is the right word. Spitting is what my Papa would have called it. My childhood home lies closer to Mexico while I currently live closer to Canada. On days like today, I hoping for sunshine and not at all, dreaming of a White Christmas, especially when the lawn has big muddy patches from our ninety-something pound dog.

We spent the weekend, cleaning house and working at the Elf Workshop. Having a daughter who plays high school basketball limits how far we can travel during the season. So it will be just us home for Christmas. We are planning a low key day, and we even gave our kids the freedom to choose what they would like for Christmas Eve and Day meals. Chicken Enchiladas and Poor Man’s Lobster were rather interesting choices, but nonetheless, we will be together celebrating the anniversary of Jesus’ birth. Next to him, my children and a love of learning and imagination are the best gifts I have ever received.

Dreary days like today drain me, but I am pulling myself together because it is baking night. No one in this house has any Belgian DNA in their cells, but we live among Belgians and have adopted their customs. Among the delicacies on the bakers’ agendas for this evening are these delightfully, crisp little waffle-like cookies known as Belgian cookies. We will be using a specially designed waffle iron (though I personally prefer the native name of lukkenyzer), which was fashioned, patented, and manufactured down the road in Ghent . . . Minnesota by “The Belgian” (who lived in the house that one of my best friend’s dad grew up in). I have very special memories of learning how to make these cookies from another bus family, whom Reed adored. So in a small way, he’ll be here with us.

In addition to looking forward to tonight’s family baking extravaganza, I found a little bright spot earlier when I looked up from my dining room table to discover the Christmas cactus, given to me for directing the children’s pageant, was starting to bloom. It reminded me of another dreary time this summer when I found a blossom in the most unusual of places. The sweet friend who sent the pictures of my kiddos making the fairy gardens a few days ago was the same friend who owned an amazing herb farm down the road. Reed loved her lemon balm, and one year chose that plant as his special addition to his garden space. I think it must be propagated on the wings of angels, because it has sprung up in the most unlikely of places all over our yard.

I was having a really bad day following the Girl Awesome’s sports injury this spring. Some people had said some really awful things to her. My heart broke for her, which brought up all the hard things our family has been through in the almost seven years since our worst day. I spent most of that day in bed crying and talking to God. Eventually I needed to get back to living. After dishes, the most pressing thing on my agenda was taking out the trash. (I know – I live the glamorous life.) A little glimpse of green caught my eye on the way to garbage can. Embedded in the rocks (where no plants have been in over ten years) was the tiniest lemon balm plant poking through the rock bed.

A different kind of tears filled my eyes as a chuckle so tender and quiet alit from my heart. I knew exactly what God (with maybe a little help from a redheaded boy) was trying to tell me. If I can make a plant grow in the most inhospitable of environments, I can take care of your troubles too.

There is always hope. Revolutionary, day-changing, love-filled hope!

Tonight we will bake and forget our dreary day! We will laugh and sneak batter and eat way too many cookies and dance like crazy people (a baking necessity), but most of all we will bloom where we are planted.

If you are in the neighborhood, stop in. There is always room at the table.

Sweet Grace Blog

Just another WordPress site