When Grief Overwhelms

When I was picking up prescriptions the other day (without my boys, thank goodness), a women approached the pharmacist and tech, telling them she knew she hadn't seen them in a while, but just wanted to say a quick hello.

Both the pharmacist and tech turned white as bleached sheets, and looked as though they'd seen a ghost.  The pharmacist stammered for a moment, whispering, "Oh my goodness, we thought you'd died....."

The woman broke into a huge smile and began her story.  

Four years ago, this woman's doctors had given her less than 6 months to live.  They stopped all treatments, put her in hospice care, and the cancer continued to spread throughout her body.  Before the six months were up, the cancer miraculously stopped, and she, "... danced (her) way out of hospice care without a trace of cancer in (her) body and not a single cancer drug beating it!"

I could tell she has not squandered a moment of these past four years.  I could tell she knows to whom she owes this miracle to.  I could just feel the immense joy and gratitude rolling off her.  She is healed by the grace of God, and it is a beautiful, incredible, amazing thing.

My lips were trembling. My hands were shaking. I was sweating. My stomach was queasy. The tears were pushing their way out of my eyes.  I was silently willing my sweet pharmacy tech to please just hurry up and finish ringing me through so I could get out of there and get to my car before I completely broke down.  

Noticing my distress, she asked if I was okay.  "Oh! Mmm hmmm," I shook my head vigorously up and down, trying to look as upbeat as possible, responding with what I hoped looked like eagerness, as much as my body and emotions would possibly allow.

Once the tech handed the prescriptions to me, I nearly ran from the store to my car, where I broke down in sobs.  

I rejoiced for this woman and her family--oddly enough, many of my tears were from gratitude and absolute joy for her healing and this second chance she'd been given.  Oh my gosh, can you even imagine?  Just the sheer beauty of it!  How amazing, oh Abba, we praise You!  I could not contain myself and I just overflowed from the emotions I was feeling related to her healing.  

And on the other hand... 

I cannot contain my sadness.  At times, it feels unending. I am just so incredibly sad. And it just hurts.

But I wasn't angry with God as I cried.  I wasn't trying to rationalize anything, or argue with God or wonder why this woman got to live while my friend died.  

I was just--once again--overwhelmed with what feels like selfish sadness.

I just want my friend back.  

It's something I continue to struggle with.  Sadness.  Selfishness.  

Do I want Angie back?  Yes, I would give anything to hug her again, to hear her tell me she's not going anywhere, to just hang on to her as tight as I possibly can and not let go.   

But would I actually take her away from what she's experiencing right now?  Absolutely not.  That is the most selfish thing I could ever possibly do to a friend.      

I wrestle with my emotions so much.  I wrestle with what I know to be true.  I wrestle with the promises given to me by Abba.

I'm tired.  I'm worn.  I'm weary.

And I am just. so. sad. 

The Home Which Built Me

My parents divorced when Noah was a little older than Ezra.

At the time, it was the shock heard 'round our family.  

In retrospect, it should not have been.  All the signs were there.  They had been for years, but I was so self-involved with my own crap, I couldn't see any of them (didn't want to see any of them?).

It was around that time, perhaps a year or so later, Miranda Lambert's song The House that Built Me, came out.  Man, that song rocked me to my core.  It was everything I felt, and more, about the divorce and about losing the family home I'd grown up in.  It also then became about losing my grandmother's home I'd spent summers in, when my mother sold it as well, and losing the vast majority of whom I considered to be my family for my lifetime up until that point (including my parents and sister).  My family imploded, and relationships have been long lost.  

To this day, I still have to change the station when that song comes on.  It cuts so deep, I just cannot listen to it all the way through. The few times I have, I've always completely lost it.

Have you ever had a song (poem, book, anything) with that much power over you?

Tonight, as the kids played and the house was just alive with all of us, I hit play on YouTube for a soundtrack to our usual ridiculousness, and this particular song happened to rotate through.

I started to panic--today has been an awful, horrible weepy day for me.  I did not need this.  My family did not need this.  I did not want anymore emotion today.  I started to reach for my phone.  Turn this off.  NOW.  Make it stop.  PLEASE.  The littles were having fun.  Avery's face had been plastered with a huge grin, nothing but giggles escaping him all afternoon as he'd played with a visiting friend.  Shawn and Noah were messing around in the kitchen.  Ezra was getting in anywhere and everywhere he could.  I didn't want to ruin these precious moments for my family.  Selfishly, I didn't want to ruin these moments for myself.

Then it hit me.  I looked up, and I looked around, studying each person for just a moment, intently. 

The song still played, the words mere background noise to me.

This--right here, THIS is the home that built me.  These people--my beloved menfolk--and God, my friends, our church--it doesn't have anything to do with a building at all!  THIS is the home that rebuilt me. And the rooms in this 'home'?  Filled beyond belief with riches, more than I could ever imagine. THIS is where I found myself.  THIS is where I figured out who Amy is.  THIS is where and how I figured out the path God needs me to be on.  THIS is my home.  THIS is where I belong.

My loves, it has to do with the people! The people who love you more than anything and would do more than anything for you, and you would do more than anything for them, and The One who already has done more than anything for you--THIS is the home which has built you!  If you feel He hasn't, will you give Him the chance?  Will you give Him the opportunity?  Will you open your heart and your mind and your soul to the possibilities?  Please?  People will falter and will let us down--but God, oh my loves--God, and His son--they never will.  Look inside this home which has been so carefully and lovingly crafted just for you, and see the depths of love, and the deep burden which is carried only for you!  Will you please trust me on this one thing?

So tonight, for the first time since that song was released, I listened to the entire song without breaking down into body-breaking sobs.  Rather, I sat back and watched my family.  I smiled.  I laughed.  I gave praise.  And, I loved a lot harder.  

And that song took on an entirely new meaning for me.

And this, this right here?  THIS is the home which built me.

"By wisdom a house is built, and through understanding it is established; through knowledge its rooms are filled with rare and beautiful treasures."

Proverbs 23:3-4

My Husband, My Hero

Y'all, this man.  I can't even begin to tell you, but I'm going to try.

Young ladies, this is what you want to look for in a husband.  Those 'goals' you speak of, this should be one of them.  There's also a lesson in here.  Pay attention.  Young men, you could learn a lesson here as well.

As you know, the past two weeks have been awful for me.  I lost a close friend, and I pretty much ceased being able to function.  Depression and grief have gotten the best of me, and even if I could function, I haven't wanted to.  I haven't even wanted to.

I miss my friend.  Selfishly, I wasn't ready for her to be gone.  I wasn't finished.  I'm not finished being her friend.  I'm not finished with her being my friend.  I need her a bit longer.  I remember how hard I hugged her last time I saw her, and I just want another chance to hug her like that again.  Everyone should be hugged that way.  Everyone deserves to be hugged that way.  I love her so much and I'm just not ready for good-bye.  She is missing from this earth and I'm not ready for that.

Grief has such a tight grip on me, I am living with my head down, not making eye contact, begging people, with my body language, to please not ask me how I'm doing.  I can't ask even my closest friends how they are doing because I don't have the emotional space, the mental space, the physical space to give to them right now--and I feel awful about it.  I apologize to them; this is not the person I am, not the person I've ever wanted to be--I'm the person who helps others, who helps strangers, who is first to ask what my friends need, and suddenly, I can't think or feel beyond myself.  I've let my family and my friends down.  I can't get it together.  I HURT. I ACHE.  There is a deep moan within me I need to give voice to but I don't dare.

Shawn has been my slow and steady rock throughout this entire ordeal.  Everything he has done, has been with the best intentions about my feelings and well-being.  He single-handedly pulled off Christmas for three kids, with three kids, all while trying to keep me from completely falling apart: our Christmas Eve tradition (which I could not take part in because hearing my grandmother's voice would have completely sent me over the edge), the Christmas Day meal (he even made from-scratch gravy), the house cleaning, the stockings, wrapping the gifts and getting them under the tree, and a million and one other details.  That is no small feat.

May I digress for just a moment?  I want to address the many memes and complaints about husbands that littered social media during the Christmas season.  They saddened me, frustrated me, and, most of all, angered me.  If there is a problem in your marriage, social media is the last place to address it--especially in the name of likes, giggles, laughs and social media notoriety.  If you don't feel as though your husband isn't helping enough, or at all, or doing things to your liking, or whatever the problem is--perhaps try communicating?  Or perhaps try praising him and thanking him for how hard he works for you and your family (so you can sit around writing disparaging memes about him....) so you are able to stay home with the children, and/or accomplish the other things during the day you enjoy and want/need to accomplish for your family.  Or couples therapy.  Or anything other than airing your dirty laundry on social media in the form of memes.  Your husband and your marriage deserve more respect than that.  There, I said it.

When Christmas was over, knowing I could look at it any longer, he quickly boxed it all back up and put the house back to right.

On the days I just can't function, he helps me shower, helps me dress and he combs my hair.  If I don't shower and I'm still in my pjs when he gets home from work, and my pillows are the on the couch, he doesn't judge or say anything.  He does it all with love, never once complaining.  He cleans the house, takes care of the kids, cooks the meals, allows me to shut down when I need to.  He makes sure I'm eating, and keeps all of us on our schedules.

I put my head to his chest, just needing to hear the reassuring sound of his heartbeat, steady, strong and there.  I hug him and he holds me and I cry and I thank him for everything he is doing.  I tuck my head under his chin, and I feel safe.

Shawn runs interference for me as much as possible, when and where he can, even taking the kids to school for me, going into work late, so I can arrive late, having to interact as little as possible.  It is impossible for me to answer the question, "How are you doing," so if he is with me, he handles it.  Otherwise, I keep my head down, shake my head and and wave my hand--then I race to the bathroom to either try to stop the tears, or let the tears and sobs flow into whatever napkins, towels and tissues I can find.  Internally, I beg them to just read my blog.  Then, they will know just how I'm doing.

Today, we had to go to a funeral for one of Shawn's family members.  A woman I'd never met.  I barely sat down, read the funeral card--and my sobs started.  We sat in the very back, and I did my best to keep my wails silent into my husband's chest.  I apologized to him later, telling him I hoped I didn't embarrass him.  "Babe, you need to get this stuff out.  I understand.  I know.  I knew it was going to happen.  I knew this would be hard for you.  It's okay," as he squeezed my hand.  He was even willing to go by himself, but I couldn't do that to him.  He sat there, holding me so tight, not saying a thing, just letting me let it all out.

The Sunday after my friend died, we both agreed I needed to be in church, but we sat in the back row, in case I needed to make a hasty exit, Shawn, Avery, and Noah flanking me, protectively.  I barely sat down before my tears started.  It was the day before Christmas Eve; I didn't want to be part of the festivities and the hype and the glow and the decorations and the happiness.  I wanted none of it.  My tears turned to sobs as praise and worship began, and I buried my face in my husband.  My sobs turned to wails as they sang it is well with their souls, and I wanted to scream, "NO, NO IT IS NOT WELL WITH MY SOUL!"  I could no longer hold myself up, and my wails became that guttural wail that is partially noise and partially just absent gasping for air.  My husband held me up as my legs let go, ushering me out of the church, protecting me.  In all of my life, I never have wanted anyone else so strong, physically and emotionally, talking me and walking me through that moment.  Singing that song so fervently and devoutly before, I've wondered what would make it not well with my soul.  I've prayed that through no matter what, God would help me see it well with my soul.  *now I know*  I've always loved that song.

Shawn cannot take away my pain.  I know he would in a heartbeat if he could.  But he is doing everything he can to make sure the pain I'm feeling is the only thing I have to deal with right now. He knows my pain is harsh and cuts worse than a knife, he knows I would give almost anything to stop feeling right now--I'm feeling too much right now and I just can't handle it.  I'm done with it.  I would give almost anything to just be numb right now. He knows the kind of pain I'm going through, the questions and anguish I'm feeling.  He even knows pain worse than I do.  But he has been here for me every step of the way, and will continue to be.  Every plan we've had, he's left up to me whether I want to go, leave early, or do something else entirely.  He has held me close, and not taken it personally when I've pushed him away.  He's talked about hope, and heaven and God and the day I'll get to see my friend again.  He hasn't pushed me to 'get over it,' or told me I need to get myself together.  He knows this sort of thing takes time, and even after the time it takes, it can still come back.  Shawn has done all of this with love, incredible patience, and amazing gentleness.

He knows how deep my wound is, and he's handling me with the utmost of care.

Hope

I started the Christmas season with a bang.  I love this time of year, I really do.  I go full-on jingle the day after Thanksgiving.  Decorating, clothing, gifting, baking--you name it, I'm doing it.  I get down and I get busy.  I want to spread the cheer, spread the message of Jesus Christ, and spread the hope.

I love traditions--and I'll admit it, I'm a bit of a control freak, so I usually do the majority of the decorating and baking.  This year, when it overwhelmed me and Noah took over--I cringed at first, but man, he really did an amazing job.  I told him that was the best gift he could give me.  This is what I want my kids to learn--a gift doesn't have to be wrapped up with a bow.  It is such a tremendous undertaking, and he even managed to get Ezra involved and excited, which is something I've been struggling to do.  Noah has stepped up as the third Elf on the Shelf, and he's stepped in so big on the days I really need an extra boost.  I wish his little brothers could really see how much he loves them and wants this season to be special for them.

This year, it got to be too much.  Depression settled in for some reason.  I've let go of many of what I usually consider "must do's" and I'm concentrating on the "barely getting by's".  When only half the tree lit up, and Ezra threw some jumbled up lights into it, I shrugged my shoulders--Eh, whatever.  It's us.  And, in some places, it might be called art instead of half-hearted.  We'll do better next year, right?

I started to feel as if I was carrying the weight of the world on my shoulders.  I'm moving through sludge.

Then I was hit with a complete--I don't know what to call it.

A friend died.  A very dear friend.

The news knocked the breath from my lungs, and my body to my knees.

The pain with which I already miss her is visceral, a physical pain.

I want her back.  It's not fair.  It's not right.

I need to know that she made things right with God in the end.  I need to know she's with her daughter and grandson.  What I really need--is to be able to hug her again.  I just want to hug my friend again and tell her how much I love her.  To tell her I never stopped loving her.  I can't function well enough to wrap presents for my kids, or even attempt to make headway through Christmas baking.  I have no idea what Christmas breakfast or dinner will look like.  I keep putting off my grief, but I'm not doing anything else, either.  I can't laugh, I don't want to eat.

I need a break.

I need hope.

She and her husband were the ones who led me to my salvation.  When I first met her, she didn't immediately invite me to her church--she invited me, a complete stranger, to her home, instead.  I was so badly in need of that unconditional love and friendship, I went.  Her family instantly became mine.  That's how she was, she loved hard and genuinely, perhaps to a fault, and made everyone immediately family, whether you entered her home once, or three million times.  It was another several weeks before she introduced me to her church.  I found myself, and God there.  I found friendship and family.  They taught me about hope.  I learned so much from them.

They helped us pray Avery into being, and passed him around so proudly when he finally arrived.  They prayed hope and miracles when doctors told us there wouldn't be such things.  He was our little secret at the last youth weekend retreat I attended; I wore a hoodie with a front hand pouch so I could keep my hands on Avery without anyone thinking about it.  My friend's daughter would hug me from behind, tucking her hands in with mine, lacing our fingers together.  We'd giggle and she'd whisper, "I love you, Baby," in my ear, as we hand-hugged Avery together.  

I know, as sad as I am, the reality is, my friend did get her Christmas miracle.  She is no longer in pain.  Her family has seen so much shit and grief, she is finally at rest, and I hope, I pray--at peace.  This is the hope I'm given in a tiny baby laying in a manger.  I am promised I will see her again, and we will be reunited in eternity.  I know we will dance and rejoice as she once again welcomes me into her home.  But, for now--I grieve.  I mourn.  I'm angry.  She said she was going to beat this--no little old cancer was going to get her.  I'm hurting so much.  I'm sad.  I miss my friend.  I want to shake my fist and scream.

Always putting family first--and everyone was family--I know this is not how Angie would want things.  This is not how she would want me to feel, or want me to mourn.  But--I.  Just.  Can't.  Move.

Please, this season is not about rushing through the stores or putting priority shipping on that last item you just have to have for Aunt Pearl.  It's not about who has the most gifts or the best-lit house, or the biggest party.  If your house isn't the cleanest, Christmas is still going to be okay.  If the family Christmas craft doesn't get done until after Christmas, it will still be okay.  If the baking isn't pristine, the memories will still be the important thing.

This season is about family and making memories.  It's about laughing and being with those you love.  Take tons of pictures, and be silly.  This season is about the hope, and the promises we've been given from a sweet little baby named Jesus, borne by a mother who endured more than any mother ever should.  Hold on to those promises and that hope.  Live by Angie's example: love deep, love hard and love genuinely.  That is her legacy.

Please hug your friends.  Tell your family you love them.  Share a fun secret or two and giggle.  Read to your kids.  Check on your loved ones.  Resolve anything you've left open, and call that friend you've been meaning to check in with.  Please just go hug your people.  Love them well.

When I Hit My Knees, God Reminds Me....

Ironically to the tailspin this time of year typically sends my depression into, Christmas is my favorite time of the year.

I love giving gifts--year round.  But at Christmas?  It's pure gold.  The more cheer I can spread, the better.  Imagine someone throwing confetti and glitter around while dancing and prancing and flitting around like a five year old child, with a ridiculous smile on her face--that's me.

Two nights ago, I stayed up past midnight doing the near-literal impression of swiping my credit card left and right all over my laptop.

Swipety-swipe, it's Christmastime, people!!!!  Let's DO this!

Man, I was having fun!  I wasn't even buying gifts for my own family.

And for me, that's the really fun part--jumping in feet first for other people.

Last night was another story.

As I scrolled through Instagram, I stopped at one of the Christian pages I follow.  This page supports moms in need--moms who take care of children with high needs, husbands who have had medical crises and now have medical needs, moms who have their own medical needs, and so on.  There's a family with a little boy with cancer we've been praying for since August, although he was diagnosed long before that.  At the beginning of November, he was rallying.  He was going to make it.  He was going to be okay. There were so many of us praying.

The notification on the Instagram page last night was horrible, grim news.

He didn't make it.

He died last week.

I cannot swipe my credit card and bring him back for his family.

I cannot swipe my credit card and end this family's agony.

I curled up on my couch and just cried.  It was that kind of cry--even now, writing this--that kind of keening cry that only a mom can cry when a child, even when he isn't her own, even when she doesn't know him, is lost.

I went out to my front porch, where my front yard is lit up with Christmas lights like a runway, and I just cried.  I just sat there, holding myself, crying, pouring out my heart for this family I've never met.

I hit my knees and I inside my head, I just screamed at God--WHY?  What is the point of this?

I don't know if there is a point to it.  I don't know if I care if there is a point to it--a child died.

There is no silver lining here.

Sometimes, in moments like this, when the world stops, it feels as though I can't go on.  And the world does need to stop.  A little boy died.  A mother is mourning.  I don't want to go on.  What is the point?  The hurt is just too much to bear.  The pain is too much.

And when I think it's too much--I know I have to bear it, I have to teach my children to bear it, I have to continue on because I have my own three miracles to raise and lift up.

There is not a silver lining, but as I know, with every tragedy, when I hit my knees and cannot stand and cannot bear it, I know my God is still standing.  I know He can bear it.

Just as my front yard lights up our street, I am reminded that my Abba is the One who lights up the darkness.

I don't know the 'why,' and God may not give me the answers, but I know my Abba remains sovereign, no matter how tragic the situation is.

My Abba reminds me:
     Look for the helpers--Be the helper.
     Look for the light--Be the light.
     Look the good--Be the good.

I cannot swipe my credit card for this family, and others like them, but I will continue to hit my knees, and I can continue to remind this family they are not forgotten.

Eternal Love

We lost a president last week.

It hit me hard, but not for the reasons I thought it would.

Yes, he was an incredible man, a wonderful human and a war hero.  In my opinion, he was a good president (but please don't make this post political).

Most of all, he was an upstanding husband.

George H. W. Bush set all the precedents when it came to being a dad--not just a father, but a dad--and a husband.  

He was always more than a president.  First and foremost, he was a family man.

When former President Bush lost his beloved wife in April, in my saddest heart of hearts, I did not believe he would last much longer.  They were the kind of couple who would not last long separated--they needed each other like water and air--like God.  

I can't imagine the pain former President Bush's heart was in without his beloved.

I know his children and family are bittersweetly rejoicing as former President Bush and his wife are now reunited with each other, and also with their little girl.  

As I said though, his death hit me hard.  

Being apart from Shawn is not a pain I ever want to endure.  I can't endure that kind of separation from him.  I can't bear it.

The former president's death has had me thinking about being reunited with Grace.  Meeting her for the first time, but it will also be a reunion.  And Shawn--what if I'm reuniting with him?  What if I have had to live without him?  What if he's had to live without me?  And for how long?   

Sure, Shawn and I argue, fuss and fight--but God has always meant us for each other.  We make up, and we're sorry.  We do our best to put God first, we're stupid together and fun together--and I can't ever imagine life without him.  

I don't want to ever imagine life without him.

Former President Bush and his wife, Barbara, set an incredible example to the rest of us as parents and as spouses. 

I am so happy they are eternally reunited, not just with each other, but with their precious daughter.  And I'm grateful for the example they set for all of us.  

Most of all, I'm grateful my own eternal love.  Thank you God, for providing for me.  

"This is Just How it is"

Avery's been going through some stuff.

And a lot of times, he puts me through a lot of stuff.

A few weeks ago, we were having a rare moment, and we were in deep conversation.  I do love these moments with my boys, and I am loving how  Avery is maturing enough to have more of these moments.  He's begun to come into his own in a more positive way, and I've enjoyed being a part of his personality blooming and developing.

We were talking about another specialist he would be seeing, and I asked  how he's doing with all this 'autism stuff.'  How is he feeling about the diagnosis, and being different, and his brain, and everything that comes with it?

"Well Mom," he began, "I've always been this way.  The only thing that's different is we have a name for it now, right?  And now we can start helping me better because we have the name.  And I actually really kind of like being different and I actually really kind of like the way my brain works.  It's pretty cool.  And you know, God has a plan for me.  There's a reason He made me this way.  Just like you always tell Noah there's a reason He made him that way.  I don't know when, or if, I'll find out God's reason, but I have to trust Him, and this is just how it is.  And it's going to be okay.  It won't be easy, like you tell Noah, but it will be okay in the end.  And if it's not okay, it's not the end, right?"

I sat back, stunned into silence, in complete awe.

Huh.

He's been listening all along.

This is the child I struggle with so much.  This is the child I struggle to get through to.  This is the child who teaches me so much, and I often wonder what on earth I could possibly hope to teach him because I just cannot get through to him--we lock horns and go right to battle--often, literally.  I've written here about the battles that come to blows, that have become physical, than have become painful, physically and emotionally.  I never know if he's listening.  If I say 2+2=4, he insists it equals 5, and will work on the equation until he can make it equal 5!  It is the reason we need a co-op for homeschooling--because he often will not listen to me, but if his tutors tell him the same thing I've been telling him, it's written in stone!

And yet, here we were.

I was more than a little blown away.

My own words, repeated right back to me, straight from my boy's precious heart--not by rote, but by feeling, with emotion, with pure faith and knowledge, and complete trust in his Abba.  He said it as his prayer, with utter belief and contentment for his life.

This is just how it is.  And it's okay.