A years of No Posts...

I have not written for a whole year! I know, why keep a blog? I was not done with it, but the past year (2016) and a half for our family has not been all easy breezy. I also needed a break from feeling pressured to just write anything so that others who so kindly read my ramblings would not quit my blog.

My dad had a stroke this June. My husband had an accident, surgery, tests and more surgery all in 2016.

It is easy to write when you are not distracted. Sure, I had material to write about, but I just couldn't do it.

My point is that I plan to return and write here again starting this August. I am in the process of considering making changes to the blog. Thank you if you have kept following me. I appreciate it more than words can express.

Sometimes remembering is the best gift to give...

He came home with a fall-colored plant of Gerbera Daisies and mint-chocolate ice cream. His gifts a gesture that He remembered. One simple act practically overshadowing the years (eight thus far) of grief that still plague my heart every time October 29th comes around. I will always miss my mom.

I know I cannot really explain thoroughly how just remembering is the best gift to give. Sure, listening is supportive and kind words are too, but just the acknowledgement itself speaks life into my soul; communicating love and selfless care.

She lives in Oregon and her schedule is full, yet she still managed to text me and tell me she was thinking of me. She was praying for my heart today.  Again...remembering.

If you haven't experienced great loss and grief, then what I am writing will be hard to understand. However, I can tell you that a day will come (unfortunately) when a loss of some kind will knock your heart out of your chest. I only hope you have someone to love you amidst your pain. 

I pray someone will remember for you too.

Nidus (NYE-dus) and what's missing in October /One word 365

I knew it was coming; holes that proved to be a nidus for his baby teeth. He lost the upper two and in an instant his face grew up. His speech sprinkled with a slight lisp. His parent's hearts sentimental and proud. We miss the baby, but we adore the five year old. Our humanity unable to halt divided loyalty once again. Hubby, him and I are all learning to let go together and it stings a bit.

********************

 I always know it is coming, but somehow October sneaks up on me like my three yr. old and I jump. No, I wince. My mother's death (7 years ago this day) proving to be a nidus for that something-is- missing-in-October-feeling. I realize my five year old's teeth and Fall somehow triggered it. I walk around with a open hole that only hubby and I seem to notice.
Some insensitively think, "Get over it already, or why aren't you over it?" "It has been seven years."

And here's my rebuttal...

 

I wanted to call my mommy when he lost his teeth and share that milestone with her.
I want to hear her laugh when she sees my three year old put his hand on his hips with his furrowed brow and serious face as he expresses something important to him. SHE HAS MISSED so much. The newborn cries, the giggles, the firsts in general, and the silly, livelihood of toddlers and preschoolers.

I want her instead of my sister to say, "You have changed, I can hear it and I am proud of you."

It hurts, it still burns and she can't be replaced. And if it weren't for being held by God Almighty, I know I alone, am too weak to make it each October.

 *************

Nidus: noun A place where something originates or develops.

 

Proudly linking up with Jen@Soli Deo Gloria

When a hallelujah is inappropriate

I read Amy Sullivan's most recent blog (click on her name) and read that someone wrote about not wanting to read about so many Kumbaya moments on blog after blog (I have thought the same thing, but I didn't write it).

      There are times when life doesn't promote joy, a hallelujah and thankfulness in the initial reaction. When my brother shared the sad news of my Papaw's suicide let's just say it took awhile to give the pain to God. Life just isn't always full of profound, deep lessons. Sometimes just breathing is an act of faith and praise to God. Yes, God is always with us, but it isn't a sin to write about everyday occurrences that are not "spiritual" in and of themselves.

 Disclaimer: I am in no way condemning giving God glory, praise or the like. He so deserves it, however, God is also the one whose son wept over Lazarus even though he knew he could and would raise him from the dead. Jesus wasn't like "Now he is heaven and not in pain. Just trust God and things will get better soon."

 Sometimes a hallelujah is inappropriate.

Yes, the above has been said by that good intention 

person whose good intentions were no good 

at all. 

When we give someone this attitude especially in the beginning of their loss, struggle or other trial it is downright cruel. Sometimes people are just insensitive and dismiss your hurt so they don't have to feel the pain with you. Or they want to help you get over it sooner. Ya know "fix" it.

However, it is God who says his power is made perfect in our weakness which means that when we try to push someone out of their weakness, our action could be communicating that God is powerless to work in us. That we should only suffer in the timing and terms of someone else.

 

 Not okay. Ever.

My point? Even if your blog is to encourage others in Christ, it is okay to be honest about how hard it is to follow God sometimes. This is just as encouraging especially if what your writing is not hopeless, just honest about the struggle. I read a blog that talked about the person wishing the testing and trials would end. The pain in their words made me feel closer to God because there are times when no matter how faithful you are, the trials seem to keep coming almost on top of each other. Even Paul asked God three times to take the thorn (i.e. struggle, weakness, etc.) to be removed. I don't know if God ever removed it. It seems in scripture that it never was.

In the midst of hardships, we need to give each other respect and grace as we grieve and work out our feelings and thoughts.

Motherless Mothering

I wrote this awhile back, but never posted it. For some reason, it seems appropriate and feels right to post it today.

In 2006, I became a motherless mother.  After eleven months of trying and five months after my mom’s death, I became pregnant for the first time. Thoughts of “She won’t get to meet him” or “I know what she would say,” “My baby is having a baby” became my soundtrack for those 9 months.

That same year I lost 3 other family members to cancer (one being my maternal grandmother). Crushing sorrow, disbelief and a firm, “why?” consumed my mind and heart. Then, the Lord gently guided me to Lamentations 3:19-26 (not my first choice in bible reading), “Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail…” I’ll admit that a part of me wanted to be angry and not accept the truth in these verses, but those words lavished mercy and comfort to my soul. God was reaching down to my sorrow. I knew at that moment that I was not alone in my pain. The Lord was carrying me and He had plans to use this time of bereavement for His purposes.   

I know now that God’s will for me was to be pregnant after 2006.  He knew the devastation that I would feel after those losses and I believe He was protecting my son and me. I don’t think carrying a child at the time would have been wise.  He knew when He would give me a child (a son). It was a lesson in faith, trust and belief.  Believing that He was with me in my grief, holding onto faith even if I never bore a child, and trusting that He would guide me in my motherless mothering.  

I often crave the opportunity to see my mother’s reactions to my parenting and to my children’s antics.  I have inherited her humor and compassion so I daily act on those qualities. The choice to do this has not only benefited my family, but has created a path to my healing; a means of celebrating my mother. 

My utmost struggle has been and probably always will be not having her presence in the moments I want it most: seeing her joy during the births of my sons, asking her advice on parenting, watching my children graduate high school and or college and get married.

5 years and a second son later, my mother’s death still brings sadness to my heart, but the Lord has been healing me as I move forward in my grief. My children are not meant to replace my mother, yet their lives honor her. Reminding me of how much of a blessing it is to be a mom. I am a motherless mother, but I got to have my mom in my life for 32 years and that is something to be thankful for.

31 Days to Grace (Day 29): in the grieving

Grief. Not a fun word. No one wants to add it to their resume. "So I see here that you have 15 years of experience in grief. Can you elaborate briefly on that?" Briefly, well, really that is hard to do.

 So I will tell you that this isn't a blog written so you will feel sorry for me. I really want to convey hope. Because there is hope in our Savior, Jesus. He is where we should focus our grief when it comes.

AND...

 It does come. And it will come.

Today, they aren't here. Their faces, laughter, voices only captured in pieces of photos or videos. In memorabilia that I clutch in my hands.  I CAN still smell her (my Mamaw) in the sewing machine as I finish the boys' costumes.  My mother's scent still lingers in the leather jacket upstairs.

My hubby proudly wore his grandpa's boots yesterday at church. I hold onto to cross-stitches and sweaters (Elsie) and guitar picks (Papaw's) thinking this preserves their memories.

    It does a little bit.  It honors their presence in our lives.

6 years ago, I lost my mom and her mom (my Mamaw) and before that my Papaw, Aunt Sherri, and a close friend. 

And in those losses, I grew distant and then closer to God. There was doubt, anger, disbelief, vats of tears, plenty of whys and mounds of shock. Temptations to drown in my sorrows the way the world does. I couldn't eat sometimes. Okay, yes, I tried chocolate, coffee, and other sorted distractions. These only brought temporary relief, but sometimes those are needed for some sanity.

Yet, I held onto Jesus and in a needed act of grace, came the understanding that as I drew near to him, He drew near to me and there was hope. Not necessarily answers, but understanding, mercy. I still hurt, but so does God for me. He gently used others to bring support and prayers and he gave me these verses:

Psalm 6:6-7

Lamentations 3: 20-24, 31-32

And in the life of my first born son there was hope of those whom I love and lost continuing and a legacy emerging.

Then there is this song and it says it all...In my sweet brokeness came the priceless gift of understanding that Jesus understands ultimate suffering and in my tragedy came a deeper knowing of our beautiful, loving God. 

Linking up with Jen at SDG

I miss Dionne, the Kid

I miss my kid self. No, I don't miss all things childhood, but as I was showing my children the few toys I've made a point to hang onto, I felt myself wince with a bit of pain. Somewhere along the way to adolescence, I was forced to give up "playing." And it hurts even still.
I just miss the child me. I was shy, a giggler, kind, naive, playful, not bossy and VERY girlie. I liked looking pretty, twirling my dresses and curling my hair. I loved to play!

I can think of two reasons why this is bothering me. My sons. The absence of my mother. My sons will be celebrating their birthdays soon which means they are growing up. My mom won't be there to celebrate. I miss her. She loved birthdays and always made mine special. I think letting go of childhood means we let go of that part of our mother's mothering too! That sucks...for lack of a better word.

I am really not sure why seeing my toys recently has caused me a weird round of grief. Maybe trying to remember how to play (mind you with boys...okay I have a brother which helps) again has triggered something? Maybe because sometimes being a grown-up isn't fun? I would like to relive the day when the only worry in life was deciding which trinkets were going to occupy my imaginary world.

Here are some of my greatest treasures:

My oldest toy is a Mickey Mouse doll whose legs move when you squeeze his hands. Still works!

My absolute favorite doll, Sea Wees Mermaid who came with a foam, blue lily pad, and a matching mermaid baby (I still have that too, but the tail was bit off by one of my childhood dogs). Talk about the BEST bathtub toy!

Cabbage Patch Premie doll. I named him, Ian Samuel.

Chewbacca. Okay, I loved Star Wars...I am an 80's child. They didn't have a life-sized Princess Leia! I liked him because he was a monster that was friendly and different from my other dolls.

My Little Pony. This was around the time that I was starting to grow out of playing, but I did manage to collect quite a few. Parasol is the pony on the right with rainbow colored hair. The Seahorse's name I can't remember or find. Both came with combs for their hair.

I don't think there is a soul that doesn't have a beloved toy. Whether it kept one feeling safe or was just beyond the word fun, toys have some emotion or memory attached to them. Like Mickey Mouse above, I loved all things Disney and this doll was a unique toy that I was given during my 4th yr. of life. I don't remember much from that time, but I hung onto this toy for some reason. The mermaid above was my favorite bath toy and I remember wanting hair like hers (when I am 80 I get to relish that my hair will be like hers)! Ha Ha! My mermaid had many adventures and a run in with my brother's JAWS toy! Don't worry, as you can see she survived the attack.

One of the best parts of motherhood is reliving the toy phase. Only I have boys. I have to buy boy toys. I did buy an age appropriate action figure from the Rescue Heroes series named, Billy Blazes (he is a fireman). Today, one of my Barbies and him had a conversation about finding her lost dog! Hehehe...I am playing.

I think letting go of our childhood is a loss. One that isn't spoken on or at least I haven't seen much written on it in grief articles, books, etc. Maybe it is time to face the truth that this loss is significant and be okay with it. Maybe I have secretly looked forward to motherhood and being a grandparent because I have an excuse to truly play as I did when I was young.

Either way, it's a loss that I don't think I have "moved thru."

Somehow I just can't free my mind the way my kids do, but it is still fun to be apart of that world again.

What about you? What was your most beloved toy? How do you feel about letting go of childhood?