Tag Archives: inspiration

The Empty Chair

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Photo by Stefan Bucher

After a somewhat harrowing drive, I arrived a few evenings ago in the college town I hold dear in my heart.  The next day started a new journey for me as I had an official (pinch me) book signing and talks.  I walked the hallowed halls and shared with the current scholars and community members about my journey to become an author.  Although achieving a new found passion is as idyllic as it sounds. Trust me, the road of my dreams of becoming an author was paved with the sadness and tears of the greatest heartbreaks in my life.

This was illuminated for me as I stood in line at the post office last Saturday waiting to ship a large order of books to my uncle who behind Mom and Daddy is probably my biggest fan.  Like Rick Bragg says, “Your first critics should definitely be ones you have in your pocket.”  But while I stood in the long line (yes that happens in small towns) proud of my accomplishment, I suddenly realized the gentle soul who entered in behind me belongs to a friend who had recently endured the loss of a son.

My friend, who is one of the most amazing teachers I have ever met, was the same one for whom I sent many little prayers on Thanksgiving Day asking God to wrap him and his family, another set of dear friends, and the families of the Chattanooga bus crash tightly as they dealt with the first of the holidays without their precious children.

And there he was.  The man I had prayed for.

Those that know me personally know exactly the first thing that came out of my mouth.

Can I give you a hug?

We shared the small talk of the grieving that only the bereaved truly understand.  I was blessed to be in his presence because we acknowledged the unique journey of grief and how it comes with its own blessings and curses and blessings that feel like burdens.  I agreed that I don’t subscribe to the sentiment that had been shared with their family that “it” gets better with time. I shared that for me the all the firsts (birthday, Christmas) were hard, but the seconds and the understanding there would always be an empty chair were intensely more difficult. In the conversation, I shared how much I had prayed for his family for the first Thanksgiving without their son and brother.  And he imparted his own wisdom regarding loss.  His words touched me deeply and helped me to process this bittersweet feeling with which I have been struggling for the last week.

Pride and sadness had co-existed, intermingling with every beat of my heart all week.

From the moment my book was released, I was elated that the stories God placed on my heart would be able to help others who are grieving or to assist those who want to comfort those who have experienced great loss.  And lest we forget, the writing of this book was a part of my personal mending of the holes which will be my lifelong scars.

But please don’t misunderstand that I have never forgotten that the reason this book exists is that my son had to die for me to speak grief fluently.  It is the one literacy skill that I wish I had never developed. Every time I share (even though I know I am helping others), I have to relive the thing that I thought would kill me.  It is a delicate tightrope balance to revisit the pain of yesterday’s memories while remembering the hope that carried us through those darkest days.

With the holiday season upon us, existing (and I mean that in every nuisance of the word) are those among us who will attempt to celebrate for the first time with an empty chair. There also those like me who cannot, simply cannot, remove the extra chair from the table because it seems disloyal, and then there are those who want to take that same chair and smash it into a million pieces.  The pain is real and universal and yet unique to the bearer.  It is debilitating and exhausting.

Be kind and gentle to grieving people always . . . but especially during the holiday season.

As for me, with God’s strength, I am going to keep on acknowledging my empty chair and my broken heart that has been supported and, at times, filled with the incredibly amazing, wonderful, grace-filled, completely undeserved, and restorative hope that has come from family, friends, and strangers alike.  Although it hurts, I will keep telling my story about our boy and his empty chair and God’s enduring faithfulness as long as our story continues to touch the hearts of others.

 

 

Olympic sized memories

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It may take a while before I settle back into the normal rhythms of life on the heels of the two weeks spent watching the Rio Olympics.  Every day found me tuned to the television to cheer on the American delegation and if they weren’t participating, to root for the underdog. I have been glued to Olympic viewing size Nadia Comaneci wowed the world in gymnastics by scoring a perfect 10 and in the same year but during the winter games when Dorothy Hammill spun magic on a sheet of ice.  I have watched every Olympic competition since those days of my childhood.

I have seen them all.  Mary Lou Retton, Shaun White, Flo Jo, the Miracle on Ice team, Greg Louganis, Mia Hamm, Serena Williams, Kerry Walsh Jennings, and Michael Phelps to name a few.  I have cried tears of joy watching the triumphs and tears of sadness over devastating losses.  Mouth agape at the records being shattered and at Olympians defending their titles from previous games, I have soaked in everything that a television viewer can while watching the coverage from afar.

But of all the Olympic moments I have seen, the one that will forever hold its special place in my heart is the Summer Games of 2004.  This was the summer that a rite of passage was passed from mother to son and it is one etched deep in the memories of my soul.

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Reed was nine years old and ready to start staying up a little bit later. Watching the games return to their roots in Athens created the perfect atmosphere to introduce to my son my secret passion for Olympic viewing.  After the other kiddos were fast asleep, tucked into bed much earlier, he would come and nestle in next to me while we cheered on the American team. It was during these games that we discovered more than just I could feel the little girl God was knitting together in my womb. Simultaneously glued to the T.V., Reed would lay with one hand on my belly to feel his baby sister kick away, swimming in her own in utero version of the games and the other hand would be busily cheering on his team.

Reed was a bigger fan than I could have ever imagined.  The son of a soldier, he defined what it was to be a patriotic fan of your home country.  The thing about Reed’s viewing was that he forgot he was in a tiny bedroom in southwestern Minnesota and he would cheer and yell and wipe away a tear or two as if he was in the Greek coliseums and arenas and natatoriums. Our pillows would shield his eyes if he felt the excitement was too overwhelming and at times a full out face plant into the mattress was the only way to calm his nerves or effervescent enthusiasm.

Wrapped up in a favorite quilt we would stay up way past his bedtime.  While his siblings had been out for hours, for one summer the delectable taste of growing up and having new freedoms was tantalizing.

Reed’s fanom knew know bounds, and after watching Michael Phelps commanding performance he convinced me to help him create a costume honoring his favorite Olympian.  That Halloween, we did and Reed was so proud to emulate the athlete that wowed his imagination and stirred his heart. The crazy thing is that Reed was a super fan long before the repeat performances in Beijing, London and most recently Rio.

 

Perhaps like many things in life, Reed knew that Phelps was destined for greatness long before anyone else.  Sure Michael has had his ups and downs in life (Who hasn’t?), but I have to believe that Reed would have loved him anyway.  Unlike the way many Christians view the world, Reed’s way of seeing people was through a lens of viewing them as perfectly human in need of Jesus.  Stumble and fall, no judgment would have come from him, rather a love would have emanated saying “pick yourself up and learn from this”.  Knowing that is exactly what Michael Phelps did following the London games would have caused my redheaded wonder to beam with pride. To him, that would be the definition of greatness – someone who overcame a challenge and tackled it head on.  Of course, a little help from the man above didn’t hurt at all.

So while the rest of the world joined me in watching the Olympics, I don’t think anyone viewed the same way I did.  Wrapped up in a quilt, I carried the memories of a boy who died in 2008 months before the Beijing games  began.  Watching Michael Phelps wrap up an amazing career in perhaps his final Olympic performance, I envisioned that same little guy jumping up and down on the bed hooting and hollering for his favorite athlete one last time. The games became more than the greatest athletic competition in the world, they were a beloved trip down memory lane.

While my efforts didn’t earn any gold medals, I still believe they would have made Reed proud.

What Would Nannie Do?

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When you spend a week at the “cabinet” (my four year old nephew’s word for cabin)  without television with your parents and siblings and their families, you have plenty of time for conversation.  One of the topics that comes up every time we are all together is a task that I have struggled to complete.  Have you done anything with your inheritance? Now before anyone suddenly decides to become my new best friend, let me do a little explaining.  My “inheritance” is a whole life insurance policy that my grandparents, Nannie and Granddaddy, bought when all of us kids were little.  If I were to pass away today, my family would have a thousand dollars to spend towards my funeral. If I wanted to be buried in a soup kettle, that might cover it. There is a buy-out option, which the last time I checked was considerably less.

Since we have worked hard to adequately insure ourselves, my best option would be to take the pay-out.  I professed that I hadn’t made up my mind and was waffling between several options for what to do if I took the cash option.

But then there was the other conversation that took place at the cabinet. This one bittersweet in nature, as caring for elderly parents is a difficult challenge. Both my Nannie and Granddaddy have gone on home to heaven as well as my Papa, leaving only Mama left of my grandparents.  Mama’s house is in dire need of some repairs, but she adamantly refuses to let us do any work to fix it, always comparing the days she has left on earth to the cost/benefit analysis of spending her money to make the repairs.  Even when we have offered to make the repairs at no cost to her, she refuses.

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Farm Security Administration: Destitute pea pickers in California. Mother of seven children. (Circa February 1936). Picture for the FDR, courtesy of the National Archives and Records Administration.

I wasn’t even a twinkle in someone’s eye during the Great Depression, but all of my days I have lived with the after effects.  My grandmothers are the perfect dichotomy of those ripples from that era in our nation’s history.  Mama has chosen to save every last penny she has, just in case.  She never wanted to live like that again, choosing to do without now, while saving for the day that she might need it later.  Nannie on the other hand lived by the philosophy “smoke ‘em if you’ve got ‘em”.  My maternal grandmother’s take on life was to enjoy the good days while you’ve got them and not worry or plan for tomorrow.

The irony of the situation is the one time she chose to plan for tomorrow is what has me in a quandary.  My grandmother, a shrewd businesswoman with only an 8th grade education, was a whiz at numbers, but somehow never mastered spending within your means.  If she saw something that made her smile, she bought it and LOTS of it.

When it comes to grandmothers and genetics, I definitely take after both of them.  My love of crafting, hospitality, and good ol’ Southern comfort food can be attributed to both.  My love of bling definitely originates with Nannie as does my love of animals, but my money sense falls in step with my Mama’s pragmatism.

So even though my letter from the insurance company arrived over two years ago, it sits collecting dust.  My dilemma haunts me every time I come across that letter.  Do I spend the money on something practical like paying for tuition for the doctorate I am pursuing?  Or do I honor the grandmother who gave it to me and ask WWND – What Would Nannie Do?

For a while now, I have had my eye on this nugget ice counter appliance which is the first of its kind.  Some may raise their eyebrows at that purchase, but if you have ever seen me order a beverage at a fast food drive-thru you would understand.  Can I please get a sweet tea with extra, extra, EXTRA ice?  And trust me, if my straw doesn’t hit a cube on the way in, I am righteously indignant.  Ice machine may sound frivolous to some, but to me, it sounds divine – simply divine. And then I remember that my kitchen, while beautifully remodeled still has limited counter space. Ugh!

And then there is the home fitness surfboard that I have dreamed of owning for a bit.  I regularly profess that I need high doses of Vitamin Sea; so if I can’t bring Mohammed to the mountain the girl to the Gulf, then at least I could pretend to be there while toning my well-earned momma-to-many core. A little ocean music and (voila!), I am home. Of course, this kind of surfing won’t result with sand in places I didn’t even remember I had which is always a bonus. And then the Mama side kicks in and reminds me the last fitness equipment purchase I made ended up being a jungle gym for my kids and place to hang the laundry. Argh!

All of this puts me right back at square one, still stuck. So for now, the letter sits, until I can completely make up my mind or at least, until I can balance whether the Nannie or Mama side of me wins out.

But like my Mom said at the cabinet, if you were truly going to spend it like Nannie would, I should go out and buy some lottery tickets. Somehow I have to believe that if there is a window from heaven, tucked up in her favorite fishing hole, Nannie would have looked down and laughed at that idea.

I know for sure one part of her philosophy was spot on – enjoy the moments you have because someday they will be your precious memories!

 

 

 

Love goes on

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A couple weekends ago, we made a trip to see our family in North Dakota.  Sadly, the reason for our trip to my sweetie’s childhood hometown was to say good-bye to our former brother-in-law.  He had always been good to us and we wanted to be there to support the rest of our family.  Since Reed is buried there, we knew we would go and tend to his grave.  I would rather be spending money on some great adventure for what would be his college years, but instead we make sure that he has flowers and mementos to commemorate his life.

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Neither reason for our road trip are ones that make me just giddy to get out of bed. Seeing our family – yes, dealing with another life gone – never. Tragic endings are rough on families.  Of this, we are living proof.  The journey is hard when “so long for now” comes much, MUCH sooner than we had expected.  These thoughts swirled through my head with each wheel turn of the more than four hundred mile journey.

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On the day of the service, I watched a morning news show where an interview with a mother-daughter author team caught my attention.  The daughter shared about how her mother’s resilience in the face of difficult circumstances really shaped much of her life. She summed this up in one sentence and as an educator, my interest piqued, wanting to paint her words on all the walls in school.

“Failure is an event, not a definition.” ~Francesca Serritella

Trying to keep my emotions in check throughout the day, this thought continually swirled around in my head as we plunged forward through the tough stuff. I could numb my pain thinking of these words and how I might apply them to the doctorate courses I am taking. Then I thought, “Wait a minute!  Teaching children to be resilient and persist when the going gets tough applies to when tragedy hits a family too!”

“Tragedy is an event, not a definition.” ~Kandy Noles Stevens

This has been my driving force since the day we woke up after the bus crash.  This horrible, terrible event would not define our family.  We weren’t sure how life would go on, but one thing was certain, love would. Our love for each other, including Reed, would endure and faith would carry us through all the tough stuff.  Life wouldn’t always be pretty, but we weren’t going to allow sadness to be our forever garment. And through it all, God would be with us.  That knowledge alone was more than enough.

When one defines tragedy as a moment in time, it becomes second nature to see that like the refiner’s fire life’s hardships shape and prioritize much of life.  But the parts often unseen in the struggle are the unabashed moments of praise are wrapped up in unexpected glimpses of joy even when we are mired in the muck.

While I was understandably sad about the circumstances of our weekend, God still has joy in his repertoire.  The first of which arrived in the form of a text from a young man, whom we have adopted through an “adopt a college student” program through our church.  The e-mail was to tell us that our now “adopted granddaughter” had arrived.

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The next moment of joy came when our nephew and his family stopped over and I finally got to hold our great nephew who has Reed as one of his middle names.  Humbled, thankful and awed is the best way to describe how it felt to hold a little boy who has carries forward my sweet son’s name.  A blessing greater than I had ever dreamed possible!

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In both cases, the joy and the heavenly praise ascended were preceded by God’s unfathomable love for us.  The same love that picked us when we weren’t sure if we would be able to do this hideous thing called grief.  Every time the pain was overwhelming there would be some small God sighting that would remind us how incredibly loved we truly are.  Even though Reed and Scotty were no longer with us, our love for them wouldn’t end.  So it was on the long drive home from our not long enough visit.

My sweetie remembered a local casino always has an amazing fireworks show annually on July 3.  Although a little bit out of our way, he rerouted our path home to take in the celebration.  Part of his reasoning was to remember and honor, Scotty, who loved putting on fireworks shows for the kids each year. We tuned into the radio channel where patriotic music is timed to the lighted brilliance. We “ooh-ed” and “ah-ed” at the show, enjoying one American tune after another.

And then it happened, Reed’s absolute favorite song of all time, Toby Keith’s Courtesy of the Red, White, and Blue, began playing and this was the firework that went off exactly as it did. In my imagination I can only dream that maybe in some corner of heaven, Reed, Scotty, and Jesus said, “That ought to get their attention.”

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Sure! Plenty will look at this and say it was purely coincidence.  I know differently.  A single moment of illuminated display over the windswept prairie was God’s way of reminding us that love can and indeed does go on.

 

Be wild and free!

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Dear Erin

Last night, Dad and I went to the store to get the one last piece of your gift for today.  I won’t say that the ceiling of the Wal-mart split open and choirs of angels illuminated the path, but what transpired was about as close to that as possible. Rather than our eyes glossing over after reading every card on the shelf, the very first card was the absolute perfect one.

Needless to say we were stunned that it was perfectly fitting.

We never expected having a daughter to be all ruffles and lace.

Good thing.  Because what we got was DYNAMITE in a dress – when we could get you to wear one.

And when we weren’t praying for your survival, we were glad to see you growing up strong and confident.

From the moment you arrived in the world, you have always traveled your own way.  I think your Dad’s declaration that there would not and I quote, “NOT BE A CLOSET FULL OF PINK DRESSES” the day we you were born was just the start of that fiercely independent streak.  After fighting to live on day one, you have proven to be a tower of strength ever since.

I am going to tell you something that I have never told you before about raising a strong, independent, and in charge girl.  Not everyone appreciates parents who do.  I distinctly remember some friends coming to visit when you were about six months old.  They had a son and a daughter the same ages as Reed and Sawyer.  Life is too short to deal with “friends” who constantly judge your parenting.  After spending the weekend together, we discovered they were raising their children to sit quietly and observe the world, while we were raising explorers and adventurers.  As they packed up to leave and said their good-byes, they just couldn’t leave it alone.  Their parting words were, “Oh good luck to you Erin. You are going to need it!”

We never spoke to them again because I was flabbergasted and shocked and appalled.  Secretly I made a promise to you on that day that you could be as wild and free as you wanted and even though your closet has never been full of dresses that you could become whoever God designed you to be.

There were days when I had to hold my breath.

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That promise meant there were bumps and bruises because you had to experience the world your way.  And while your knees were often skinned up, mine were often on the floor praying God would guide your steps.

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But the funny thing about raising tough-spirited girls is that along the way with all the rough and tumble most develop hearts for injustice and the courage to be the change needed in the world.  More than once, I have seen you speak up when someone has been slighted, overlooked, or left out.  And that takes guts. 

Recently I watched as our whole church was stirred to action because of something God placed on your heart.  Think about that for a moment.  As a teenager, your heart led a ministry to blossom and God blessed us all for it.  Don’t ever diminish the greatness God has in store for you.

I don’t know when I recognized that the promise I made to you all those years ago was playing out in living color.  But one day I realized that you were the embodiment of one of my favorite quotes.

Well-behaved women seldom make history. ~ Laurel Thatcher Ulrich

Keep being uniquely you and together with God’s help I know you will make amazing things happen.  Be fierce and courageous, never forgetting that you are made of the incredible stardust that created the stars throughout the heavens.  And just like the nuclear explosions that created their existence, your strength and dignity and faith will change the universe.

Happy 17th Birthday to you, my wild and brave warrior!

Love, Momma

 

 

 

 

Shine On!

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Dear Reed –

I cannot believe that today would be your 21st birthday.  How could it be that I have been a momma for twenty-one years now?  How can it be that eight of these birthdays we’ve spent away from you?  It doesn’t seem possible, and it definitely isn’t fair.

Last night, I got a serious case of the giggles.  I was thinking about how enamored you were one day with your Grandpa Earl.  I vividly remember being snuggled up with blankets on the cold, leather couch in the air conditioned basement, watching Land Before Time for the umpteenth time when out of the blue you told me how much you loved your Grandpa Earl.  You professed your admiration because your bar-owning grandfather worked at the candy store and eats fire. (Because who doesn’t go visit their grandfather at his namesake tavern and get sweet treats?)   I will never forget how hard I had to stifle my laughter.

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Reed (around age 1) and Grandpa Earl

Yet, it was a defining moment teaching me: love sees only love.

Your ability to see the love (and many times hurt) in any situation is why I feel so profoundly sad on a day like this where I miss you more than ever.

The world lost an amazing kiddo the day you died.

While you were our sunshine, you were truly a beacon to the world.  You loved with abandon and you reminded us often if people hurt you they were most likely hurting themselves.  I will never understand how someone so young could have such wisdom.  I was truly blessed to walk this earth with you even if it was for too brief a time.

In the last few years, there has been so much hate spewed in this world, I grieve simply turning on the television or radio hearing all the awful ways hate and hurt can perpetuate themselves.  I often catch my breath because it all seems so intimidating knowing I am but one voice.  Then I remind myself you never diminished the power of a single person showing up to be someone’s beacon.  With that hope, I steel my resolve and know shining a light may be all I have to offer the world, but today and every day that will always be more than enough.

We need more of what you had in this world – right now and always.

After my late night giggles imagining fire eating grandpas at candy stores, my heart traveled down a lane that I don’t like to traverse.  I recalled our last heartfelt conversation. In a busy family of four young children, small talk abounds, but deep connections are sometimes fleeting. After picking you up at the local caucus (an incredible decision for a 7th grader), we drove back to our house where a Mardi Gras celebration was well under way.

Quietly, you once again amazed me.  It isn’t going to be much longer, Mom.

Perplexed, I inquired as to what in the mayonnaise you could have been referring?

Mom, there is so much hurt in this world.  It cannot be that much longer before Jesus comes back to make this all right again.  We cannot go on hurting each other like this.  We just can’t.

I will never know what you heard at that political gathering, but whatever it was stirred your heart and called you to love fiercely as you waited for the embodiment of love to return.

At the time, I thought it was a strange conversation, but to be honest, I was more worried about whether I hid the baby in the Kings’ Cake well enough.  Seemed so important then, and now I see how absolutely insignificant it was to the lesson you were trying to teach me. Little did I know that exactly a week later, we would be returning you to heaven to bask in the eternal light of love.

All this time, I have wondered if somehow deep inside, you knew that you would not be here for much longer, and you wanted to make sure I understood that like your favorite superheroes we can never give up hope, we can never stop fighting for those less fortunate, and we can never stop believing that good will conquer evil.

Well, I listened and in my heart, I carry your legacy with me wherever I go. 

Love is a powerful force.  No matter our differences, and I daresay, despite them, we must always be willing to love and show light where darkness tries to wipe out hope.  We must be willing to come to the table with hearts open enough to recognize we don’t know everything we think we know about someone else’s story.  We must always be willing to be a helper – at all costs. Finally, we can never, never, NEVER, give up on the hope that the world can be a place filled with love.

I cannot imagine what heaven will be like, but if just for a moment, I can believe that you and Grandpa Earl will find a bar stool in a quiet tavern there today to sit together.  When you two raise a glass “to love”, maybe just to make your momma smile, put a few quarters in the jukebox to sing along like we would at a campfire.

And for the rest of us, we will raise a glass (mine will be sweet tea), and go out shine our lights of love brightly, now and until we can hug you again.

Loving you every day until then – Momma

And then this happened . . .

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After the death of a child, life does go on.

But it will never be the same.

There will always be the BIG moments. Milestones, such as graduations and weddings, will always have a quiet undertow which pulls at our tsunamic joy as we wistfully imagine what Reed would be doing if he were here.  Yet it is the quiet moments of everyday, ordinary life that often sneak up and seemingly choke the life out of us.  The sweet aroma of our loved one’s life creates olfactory wisps in the simplest of situations.  The inside jokes, the around the back hugs, the smile that could light up a room, the love of all things superhero, and just the passion for loving others are the ones missed most often.  But then there are the silly things like when someone uses the wrong side of the Parmesan cheese that bring a smile to my face and a tear to my eyes simultaneously.

Life goes on, but there is always that nagging reminder that if Reed were here, he would love (or in some cases, detest) this.

Life does go on, but missing him never ends. So it was at a recent event for me.

For a period of time years ago, our children were enamored with the thought that we were once children ourselves.  This epiphany popped into their collective consciousness about the time we explained that you only had one shot at the It’s the Great Pumpkin, Charlie Brown annually.  At the time, videotapes were the rage and our children could not fathom that we were not able to watch, rewind, and watch over and over our favorite shows.  They were crestfallen when I explained that the airing of the beloved Schulz creation often corresponded with my Wednesday night church obligations.  They wept for the little girl now grown up to be their Momma.  How tender were their hearts!

When they discovered that, at first, neither parent’s families owned a VCR, but rather rented one from the movie store if they wanted to watch a movie, they were hooked on learning all things family lore.  Every night at supper, our sweet kiddos would beg us to tell them a story about our growing up years.  We would tell and retell stories of ourselves, our parents (their grandparents), and our siblings/aunts/uncles/cousins.

Travelling down yesteryear’s memories was a great time for all of us, but it was eye-opening to our children because we live so far away from our immediate families.  This dinner table trend continued uninterrupted for many months – until the day the tables were turned.  Getting into the spirit of swapping stories, Reed blurted out, “Sawyer, remember that time we parachuted off the bunk beds!”  Even then, second son did not suffer fools lightly and shot his redheaded older brother a look of painstaking agony, across his plate of ravioli.

Of course as the parents of these two Wright brother wannabes, our ears were definitely perked.  My calm response was, “No Reed.  We don’t remember. Do tell.”  Sawyer’s dramatic slap of his hand on his own curl-covered forehead did not give the storyteller the indication he should perhaps just move on to another subject.  Eventually, we learned the truth.  The boys sneaked grocery store plastic shopping bags into their room, proceeded to stick their arms through the holes, and promptly jumped off the bunk beds hoping to glide effortlessly to the floor.

Considering they only ever had junior style bunk beds, with the tallest being only four and half feet off the ground, they weren’t very successful with their adventure.

It was our first indication that our boys led a secret life to which we were not always privy.

Since that moment, I have never been able to look at a plastic shopping bag or a parachute without a small smile pursing my lips.

But how does this cherished memory have anything to do with grieving a boy gone much too soon?

One of the things he loved was Children’s Theatre – both watching and participating.  Recently, his baby sister (who it pains me to admit is almost as old now as he was when he passed away) was involved in our local stage company’s production of Peter Pan, Jr.  Sitting in the seats she had preselected, I felt the tug of grief spreading its icy tentacles up to my heart.  Thoughts of “Reed would love this” swirled in my mind. I could feel the sadness begin to emerge from my eyes.

Suddenly a flash of white plastic took my breath away.  A few rows below us was a little girl playing with her stuffed dog and yes, you guessed it – a store bag.  I watched as over and over she fashioned a parachute for her stuffy and let it rip, gently falling to the ground next to her seat.

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My tears of sadness quickly changed to lighthearted laughter as I could practically feel one of his signature hugs enveloping me in my theater seat.  Much like Tinkerbell’s tiny voice, if I listened closely, I could almost hear my red-headed wonder whisper to my heart.  I am right here Mom.  I am right here.

 

 

 

Warrior On, Momma

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Recently, I was hired for three speaking engagements for our local hospital system.  I was honored, humbled and awed by the requests.  One of the talks was for a leadership group that met monthly, and my talk corresponded to the chapter about leadership on the frontier from the book the group had been reading.  Before visions of Walt Disney’s “Frontier Land” flash before your eyes, the frontier in question is being intentional about leading and looking for ways to serve those who have been misaligned, neglected, forgotten, hurt, or misunderstood.  I shared lessons learned as a quarter of a century (How could that be true?) educator, peppered with anecdotes and tales from the trenches classrooms of children ranging from 2nd grade to college seniors.  At the conclusion, my challenge to the group was two-fold:  1) ask God to break your heart, because from the depth of sadness we often find our passion and 2) don’t think too highly of yourself.  The latter being a message for me as well.  I have had successes as an educator, but I have had equally as many failures, steps backwards, and misunderstandings.  And there I stood before vice-presidents, presidents, and top-notch health care executives asking them to remember every leadership lesson I shared that day was taught to me by children.  Physician: heal thyself, and teacher: educate thyself.

One of the greatest lessons I have learned in life (and one of my leadership points) came from one of my life’s saddest moments. After enduring the heartbreak of losing Reed and trying to help Sister and Sawyer heal from the bus crash, I quickly came to the realization that much of what I think I know about other people’s lives is wrong.  This education arose through the wisdom of those who had walked in our shoes but was refined by those who had no idea the advice they were proffering was not helpful and worse yet, at times, hurtful.  While our valley of grief was long and arduous, it was still worthwhile, producing gentler and kinder versions of ourselves.  We became a people who realized that much of the ugly in the world is a direct result of sadness and hurt.  As a teacher, this education was better than anything I have ever learned in a book or in a classroom.  I had to walk a journey of a million steps in pain to produce a heart that recognizes when a student seems to be out of sorts, there is typically some type of hurt or sadness behind it.  Serving others came naturally to me before my darkest day, but loving those who appear “unlovable in the moment” became my rally cry afterwards.

I honestly wish that all educators would have an earth shattering, heartbreaking moment. Many have already experienced their own sadness, but for those who have not, the result would be eye-opening.  Sadly, I know this be true, because of experiences one of my children has had over and over again.

Six years ago, my oldest daughter began to experience hives.  At first, the outbreaks appeared to perhaps have an environmental trigger (akin to seasonal allergies), and then a suggestion was made that maybe water might be to blame.  Swimming produced hives, but showering and using our hot tub did not.  Time and again, we went back to the proverbial drawing board. None of the “causes” were the real culprit. She has been poked and prodded (one visit required 17 vials of blood), written incessant journals of food and activity logs, and tried all sorts of medications, creams, and ointments.  We have even tried homeopathic remedies, but not a single thing made any difference.  Meanwhile, she has endured urticarial (the scientific name for hives) episodes every day – EVERY DAY – for the last six years.  Some outbreaks would be small clusters.  Others would be large nodules, and worst of all, would be the times  hives the size of dinner plates covered her body.

erin by moon photography

Photo by Steph Moon of Moon Photography (Even for the prom, the hives were present.)

 

While some notice the welts that would appear at whim, very few notice the side effects.  Sleep would be elusive due to eruptions happening or the uncomfortable nature of itching and scratching.  Outbreaks are also mentally and emotionally draining.  How many teenage girls do you know that want to sit in class and suddenly have red and enflamed clusters of hives break out? Fashion accessories they are not. On top of it all, how does a student maintain focus and concentrate when pain is a constant companion?

Removing my teacher hat and simply being my child’s momma, we have seen every possible specialist with the hopes of finding a definitive diagnosis.  We have logged hours in clinics and hospitals, in the car travelling great distances to talk to the “best of the best”, and in the library reading every possible article and study on raising a child with chronic illness.  Often we shared these studies with her school, in the hopes of helping others to understand how debilitating chronic illness is.  Some times our efforts seemed to be in vain, when it was suggested that

  • These hives are all in her head.
  • Pretty sure this is a sign of anxiety. (She does NOT have anxiety.  Trust me, among the myriad of doctors, we checked and double-checked.)
  • She is doing this for attention.

Short of “appalled” and “righteous indignation”, I have no other words for these suggestions.  I will be honest.  I have cried more tears than I knew possible; many of those tears wept while lying in my bed grieving my child’s journey. No momma dreams of her child having a debilitating, chronic illness. While some call me “strong”, they might be shocked to learn there are definitely things that sentence me to my bed because life is simply that overwhelming. Yet somehow in those painful moments quietly tucked under the covers, my eyes are drawn to a God who I know loves us and my sweet girl more than I ever could.  

During these times, He reminds me there are the teachers and school nurses whose hearts have been broken and who try to understand what our girl is going through.  There are also doctors who look your sweet child in the eye and say, “I believe I know what you have.  No more pokes and prods. No more journals.  And while there isn’t a cure, there is a treatment for which I think you would be an ideal candidate.”  Even more so, this amazing physician held my child’s hands and lovingly reassured her that she would no longer slip through the cracks and told her emphatically “No! None of this is in your head.” and cried with her.

I have learned many lessons through this saga, and as the treatments continue (Praise the Lord successfully so far!), I am sure there will be others to learn.  Throughout my career, I have always tried to err on the side of compassion, but for the times I failed, I am truly sorry. For my students of the past, present and future: I can only offer that today because our struggles, I am a better person for it.  So when you come to my classroom or office, just know I will listen and together we will make a plan for you to be successful. For every educator – no scratch that – for every human being: ask God to show you the sufferings of others and how you can be a shining light in the midst of their storms.  For all the mommas who have children with illnesses seen and unseen, who search for answers even when they aren’t the ones wanted, who have shed tears and have lost sleep, and who have had to explain their child’s illness over and over, just know you hold a special place in my heart and more importantly in my prayers.

For you sweet mommas, I have two words: Warrior On!

 

 

 

When mommas fail, but schools don’t

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Last week, we had a really rough morning.  It was not my finest moment as a momma.  My youngest whose normal routine for getting ready for school can best be described in one word – poky – was trying to rush us all out the door.  Even when the stakes are high, she is never in a hurry to get all she needs to have accomplished before it is time to leave.  This particular morning was different, she and her best friend wanted to arrive at school early because they wanted to be ready for the state tests.  (Honestly, in all my years as a teacher, I have never heard of anyone who was excited to take the state standardized tests. Hats off to their Language Arts teacher!)

Unfortunately the best laid plans of mice and enthusiastic test takers often go awry. Our entire house overslept.  I’m not sure how four people could sleep through four different alarms, but it happened.  Needless to say, we did not start out on a great note.  By the time, we finally loaded into the truck, I was leaving without packing a lunch and felt under-prepared for a day of inspiring young college students.  I realized I had forgotten something critically important and went back to get it.  In an effort to be helpful, Sally grabbed my bag off the driver’s seat and placed it in her lap, not realizing that she knocked over the glass of sweet tea I had precariously sat inside the bag. When I returned, every item I had in the bag was covered in two inches of liquid.

Because I had electronics in the bag, I couldn’t just leave the mess for later.  I stormed into the house, dumped the whole bag into the empty sink and tried to salvage as much as I could.  By the time we left, I had one girl in tears and another on the verge because her friend was hurting, and I was trying my very best to give them both a pep talk about how they were going to rock this test.  No one in that vehicle believed the speech – including me.  As we stopped in the carpool lane, I tried one last ditch effort to no avail, and watched in the rear view mirror as my littlest sobbed walking up the sidewalk to the school.

After quick trip home to recover what could be saved,  I made a tough decision.  Even if I was late to work that day, I was going to the school to hug my girl and to tell her I loved her.

marshall middle school

Upon my arrival in the office, the administrative support person was delivering the daily announcements.  I listened intently.  The last announcement left me with more tears than I already had experienced that morning.  My sweet carpool girls had already told me about the significance of the day, but in our haste to get out the door, I didn’t ask too many questions.

The final announcement explained that a sweet young boy,  a former student who passed away from a mitochondrial disorder the year before, would have been 13 years old that day.  Students were asked to wear green (in support of those affected by mitochondrial disorders) and for a one dollar donation to the UMDF foundation  students could wear hats in school for the day.  This was all fine and dandy but it was what happened at the end of the news that made me incredibly thankful for the Pledge of Allegiance to regain my composure.

At the conclusion, the sweet lady announced that after a small countdown, they (the entire school) would be collectively wishing Alex a very “Happy Birthday!”

3 – 2 – 1 – “Happy Birthday Alex!” was loudly and cheerfully echoed from every hall and every corridor.  As the momma of a child who died at a similar age as Alex, my heart was breaking for his parents.  I was also so sad that they probably didn’t get to hear this amazing support for their son.  I was never so incredibly proud of a school that did not fail the memory of this young man, especially since due to his condition many of those well wishing voices perhaps never had the pleasure of interacting with him. 

Looking back now, alarms not alerting and spilled tea might have been a bigger part of God’s plan for me to realize a few ruined papers and one crazy morning are not the ruin of a day. He gently set me straight with an amazing reminder for us to celebrate – not just after loss – but in the small magical moments of the ordinary, because it is in the little stuff that the BIG stuff really matters.

And rest assured. When my little girl came down to the office, I hugged her even closer while thanking God I got the joy of sharing in Alex’s big moment with her. 

To learn more about mitochondrial disease and to support families like Alex’s, please visit:  http://www.umdf.org/site/c.8qKOJ0MvF7LUG/b.7929671/k.BDF0/Home.htm

Special note:  It has been a while since I have given this reminder, but make sure to hug your children today.

 

Just enjoying the day

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This is not something I am proud to share. But my daily existence has a to-do list that never ends, and my time is often double- and triple-booked.  Rarely do we have a moment that isn’t overscheduled. Yet the last two weekends were ones that had me celebrating the unexpected – the magic of the unscripted.

On Easter afternoon, I called my ninety-one year old grandmother, Mama, for a chat.  She is homebound in Alabama, and I know she doesn’t entertain many visitors.  An aptly timed phone call every week or so, often lifts her spirits.  In our conversation, I shared we had enjoyed our Saturday and the one before it just spending time with some dear friends.

Her voice drifted away as her mind raced back through its years of memories.  We don’t do that anymore, but remember, Shug, we used to do that.  Just enjoy our day.  You know yourself we used to all get together and just enjoy our day.  We’d eat and visit and spend the whole day together. But we don’t do that anymore.

My heart broke at the last line.  She’s right. We don’t do that nearly enough, or in my case, sometimes ever.  I am my own worst enemy when it comes to the busyness of my life.

I say YES when I should say NO. I lead with my plans rather than checking to see if they are God’s. I fill my calendar with requests for my time even when they pull me in directions I didn’t intend to go, and yes, at times that means crazy.

Yet the unexpected time spent with family and friends (who we call family) in recent days have worked like divine spittle removing the scales from my eyes.

Two weekends ago, cousins passing through on a cross-country drive stopped in after spending the night at home of other cousins.  As we sat and visited, the cousins who offered the place to rest pulled up in the driveway.  At first my eyes could not believe it.  What my eyes didn’t believe made my heart burst with excitement. My thoughts swirling around this is going to be the BEST. DAY. EVER! And it was!

Fast forward to this past weekend and my hectic schedule kept me from organizing get-togethers much sooner than I actually did, but traditions are the glue that hold my clan together.  A quick e-mail the day before turned into a day long time dyeing eggs, visiting, and going out to eat.  One big family just enjoying the day and making memories.  I had to hold the tears at bay watching my adopted granddaughter dye eggs, knowing how much Reed would have enjoyed that moment.  He would have loved her.

Our best friends love us despite our busyness, and they have embraced our penchant for eleven minute planning.  You read that correctly, it says 11 minutes not in the eleventh hour.  Our gatherings often begin with a text, phone call, or bumping into each other at the store a few minutes before we plan to do something.  This style was true to form this weekend.  One text created an entire Easter dinner and egg hunt of which we enjoyed every second.  Good food, even better stories, one hand picked family (minus the college students) just enjoying the day.

I often say that God has to slow me down to realize what he is trying to tell me.  More times than not, he has to repeat the message over and over for me to catch on.  Three unexpected times of slowing down with loved ones and a heartfelt, memory-laced, reminder from my Mama were eye-opening experiences which led my heart to focus on the message in our devotion at supper last night.

enjoy the day

How much is the sheer busyness of your life preventing you from living the life God is calling you to live?

The convicting answer was way too much.  God got my attention.  How will he get yours?

As for me, I am hoping to fill my calendar with many more “just enjoying our day”.