Tag Archives: remembering

To my Sunshine . . .

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Dear Reed:

I would be lying if I said I hadn’t been dreading this day. My friends all know it, and they do their very best to love me through it. There are extra hugs, more texts just checking in, and offers to “sock ‘em in the nose” for the people who seem to get great joy inflicting wounds when we are down. The first two warm my heart, and the last one just makes me laugh. As January draws to an end, I don’t want to flip the calendar to February. Just the name of the month is too painful to bear.

For the last few weeks, I have struggled to eat and sleep, and have felt I was one tear drop away from releasing Niagara Falls. If I let one drop fall, a gusher was going to follow and I might not be able to stop. I knew this day – the day that changed my life forever – would come again.

I decided to avoid thinking about it, other than planning a date with a Kleenex box. I knew your siblings would be going to school; so aside from being trying to be strong and available for them, my plan was to do nothing but be kind and gentle to myself. Daddy chose to spend the day with me, taking a day off from work. You know how difficult that is for him to do; so, the tears leaked a little at his decision.

All that tossing and turning through sleepless nights resulted in a big neck ache. As I walked past the kitchen table on my way to the hot tub, I saw a beautiful jar I recently won. Emblazoned on the side are the words, “There is hope”. Today I clung to that promise. As I let my thoughts soak away in the steamy waters, my sadness was carried to God’s ears on the melodic notes of birdsong. More tears leaked out as I realized your garden was full of beautiful little birds singing the songs of hope to me. God knew what I needed to help me smile through my watery eyes.

Throughout the day, the tears came off and on like when the lady at doctor’s office realized who I was and said, “Oh this has to be a hard day for you.” Ma’am, you have no idea. More tears after the doctor saw my shirt (the last Reed’s Run one that both Erin and I chose to wear today) and in the middle of his explanation of my lab tests exclaimed, “you are truly a woman who loves her God. Romans 8:38 – 39 on your shirt. It just caught my eye.” and then just shook his head. I try, Doctor. I really, really try. I just don’t know any other way. The leaking just kept on coming when an unexpected text came asking how someone could support Sister. Even more came after the love ambush this afternoon.

Grief is a messy thing, Reed. Some of those tears were of sadness. Others were of joy and relief for the amazing grace-filled love that comes from the best friends I could have never imagined, let alone ever dreamed of asking for. Without their love and the grace of our Lord, I don’t know that we would have ever made it this far. We are far from through it. How could we ever get over you?

You were our sunshine. Even though you are not here, your spirit’s light still shines brightly. You are still here – just like the lyrics of the song shared with us today. We carry you in our hearts, our memories, and our stories. We share those stories over and over because we want every memory to still be alive in Sally’s mind. She was so tiny when you had to go home with Jesus, but there are so many times that I stare at her because she sounds just like you. She loves learning and reading and math and superheroes and Legos and animals – all the things you loved. You would bubble over with excitement as she is reading some of your old books, whipping right through them like you did. She has the same reactions when she watches the movies too! But the thing that most reminds me of you happened at her parent-teacher conference; her teacher shared how incredibly kind she is. More tears leaked out on that February day.

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Then there are Sister and Sawyer. You would be so proud. Your light, that today basks in the glory of heaven, shines so brightly in them. They hold true to the values that our family holds dear, even when it isn’t cool or popular. They root for the underdog, and they give back in the best of ways. They hit rough patches, but time and time again, they have proven they are resilient. Remember that time when Erin got hurt on her bike, and you picked her up and carried her down the block back home to my loving arms. There are so many times they both wish they could have done the same for you on that awful February day. If it is true that the angels pray on our behalf (and I believe it is), always, always ask them to hold your brother and sisters close to their hearts. Where you live, there are no tears, no sadness, but trust me, Reedy, there is plenty of that to go around back here on earth. Sadness doesn’t define our days, but there are the moments when it engulfs us.

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Maybe, just maybe, tears bring us closer to God, who reminds us this is not our forever home. Homesickness has a completely different meaning when we look through that lens. Another thing about those tears is they clear our myopic vision to truly see the blessings and as much as there is sadness, there blessings to infinity and beyond we encounter every day. Tears have also removed scales from our eyes so that we more easily see when someone else is hurting, and perhaps that is what God had planned for all of us for now. What if blessings come through raindrops and healing comes through tears are more than just song lyrics; they are truly the reminders of hope that keeps our eyes looking to heaven and our ears listening to the birds, who are whispering God’s love in every note.

Through my tears, I see the blessings – including the time God shared you with us. Always wishing it was for a lot longer and always loving you until I can hug you again!

Momma

 You are my sunshine, my only sunshine

You make me happy when skies are gray

you’ll never know, Reed, how much I love you

No greater love . . .

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This past Monday, Memorial Day, was spent the way it typically is for our family – albeit in a different location.

This day is one we hold dear.

Normally our remembrances occur at the place where two special people (my father-in-law and our son) are laid. There the deer really do roam free as the geese and ducks fly overhead. It is a beautiful place where the wind whispers comfort to our hearts that creation knows our greatest sadness rests in her rich, dark soil.

On this day, our feet usually trod in the cold, dewy grass, before we journey through breath-taking, sun-dappled lands to a program and fellowship at VFW Hall (long ago also serving as the indoor basketball court) in almost forgotten North Dakota town.

Every year, we remember and we give thanks.

My heart always stirs driving by the cemeteries on what was erstwhile Decoration Day to espy a treed lane, green, yet bedecked in red, white, and blue splendor.   Out here in small town America, we do it up right – almost reverently.

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Old Glory waves exuberantly over the verdant grasses of the prairie as families make the somber pilgrimage to honor the lives of the ones held now only in their hearts.

For this day, we remember.

Silently and contemplatively, we remember our loved ones that have gone on to their eternal rest.

More so, we remember the sacrifices, a cost so high we dare not utter it aloud, made by others on our behalf.

Our usual sojourn for son delayed, we knew exactly the place he would want us to go this year.

Nothing hits a small town harder than the loss of one of their own children, our greatest legacy. When that loss is the result of a war, we can never erase the pain.

It is a sadness that lingers because it is a constant reminder at how precious life truly is. Our thoughts are cloaked by a thin veil of mourning; evoking such a strong soul response . . . our worst nightmares can and do come true.

For this day, we remember.

We want to shout to the heavens that we will not forget your sons and your daughters, but protocol is silence.

We were not alone as we walked silently up the car-lined dirt road to the cemetery on the prairie.

We went to honor a soldier our son revered. We are not alone; more people are in the cemetery than live in the nearby town. A grieving parent’s  greatest horror is that their child’s name will not be recalled.  Today is not that day.

The soldier’s parents are there. We hug them tight, whispering, “Your son will never be forgotten.”

They echo the same whisper to us.

For this day, we remember.

We remember that freedom has never been free, and we know that liberty come at a cost.

A stone surrounded by patriotic flowers and ribbons is our evidence.  One of our own paid that ultimate price.  He was taken much too soon.

For this day, we remember.

We remember gold star flags are bought at a thieves ransom, a price higher than anyone should ever have pay.

Tears overwhelm our wearied lids as we know that sometimes daddies, brothers, husbands, sons, cousins, wives, daughters, mothers and friends do not return.

For this day, we remember.

We grieve and yet simultaneously, we stand next to our own soldiers, quietly whispering prayers of thanksgiving – they made it home.

Later, we gather at park aptly named Liberty to hear the order of the day and reflect upon its meaning.

We watch as a generation of men and women, the ones who helped make this country great, lay wreaths, humbly recollect the stories of the lost, and cry tears for friends and loved ones that didn’t make it home.

We realize that this generation, remembering all who have taken up the America’s call, is aging before our eyes.  Will this continue without them?

For this day, we remember.

We remember that those who are serving today work in conditions far worse than this drizzling rain, and we stand, wet, as if our small sacrifice honors what they do every day.

Watching them in their starched white and black American Legion attire, we know the salute is coming, and yet, collectively the entire crowd of souls jumps after the explosive first round fires away.

My children don’t know a world where this is a day of celebration.

For this, we are proud they don’t because for this day, we remember.

Greater love has no one than this: to lay down one’s life for one’s friends. John 15:13 

 

 

 

 

The grand finale . . . the last Reed’s Run

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Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed's Run

Drawing Copyrighted property of Reed’s Run

Well this is it.  I feel like I am sending my baby off to kindergarten.  I have loved, nurtured, worried, fretted, and spent many hours praying for Reed’s Run, and now, it’s time to send it off.  I carry in my heart precious memories of a job well done, funds raised, and hope given.  To say farewell, I am just going to give a list (not all-inclusive) of some of those favorite memories.

  • Friends and family working together to remember and honor
  • Honoring veterans each and every year (including remembering Jason Timmerman)
  • The friends from the Patriot Guard coming (even if unofficial)
  • Being able to publicly thank all of the first responders.
  • That flag over the start/finish line – took my breath away!
  • Friends arriving that were a surprise to me
  • Family flying/driving in from all over the country
  • Hosting a Grampa’s Amp concert
  • Students taking a stand (I will never forget what they did.)
  • All the hugs!
  • The Reed stories that came out.
  • Remembering all the children gone much too soon. The luminaries were always my favorite, especially during the movies.
  • Remembering three adult friends who offered healing to us and now are gone before we ready.
  • Honoring those who have inspired us.
  • The Star Wars theme song!
  • Seeing the t-shirts everywhere!
  • The generosity of our neighbors!
  • The joy of the runners, walkers, and kid runners!
  • Cheetahs and all the love!
  • Popcorn stands, Boy Scouts & Girl Scouts!

Finally, the most important memory is the message that we worked so hard to send.  Healing comes from a firm foundation rooted in the love and sacrifice of Jesus Christ and from the all the many hands & feet (and HEARTS) of a loving community reaching out in love.

To rise from tragedy . . . cling to HOPE!

Thank you for being the hearts that offered hope and healing!