Making it through...

The Monday after Mother's Day. 

A sigh of relief.  The letting go of held in breath. 
Of pinching yourself so you wouldn't cry.  Of brave faces. 
Of broken hearts.

Mother's Day is not the same for any of us from days past.

How I treasure those early years of chubby fingers bringing me dandelions from the yard.  Of hand-print poems framed for the occasion.  Of clip on ties and crisp white shirts little boys wriggled in.  Of bear hugs and wet kisses.

Life is different now in our home.



Me & Mom - Mother's Day 2013



I inhale the sweet embrace of my towering teenage boy and say prayers of thankfulness for the son who remains.  Smiles come from seeing him help his dad cook dinner for me and sweep the floor.  Touched by the thoughtfulness of Tim pre-ordering me a made from scratch red velvet cake, my favorite.  Surprised by the rose and card from my loving momma, even though I arrived at her church to give the surprise.  Thankful for a meal provided by my sister's in-laws, who opened their home and shared the day with us.  Combined families, new faces, changes in tradition.  Heart tugs from the quiet but loving "Happy Mother's Day" from my niece with my good-night hug.

I'm grateful for the simpleness of the holiday, because life isn't a Hallmark commercial, and honestly, simple is easier on everyone.

Because here...

Mothers long for their babies, whether they've left this earth too soon, were never given the joy of being born into this world, or are grown but paying for mistakes and not around. 

Here...

Children long for their mothers, whether they've earned their wings from wrinkled age, or made bad choices that separated them. 

Here...

Mother's Day includes visits to a graveside to say I love you.  To a graveside that also includes a son and a momma's heart is broken over watching her husband waiver in grief and longing for what can't be.

Here....

There is silent pain in a little girl's eye.  Of what was and wasn't all at the same time and of what will never be.  A girl who always holds her breath in life, waiting for the next shoe to fall.  Who is afraid to let go and hit a pinata at a birthday party because every joyful moment she has was followed by chaos and pain.  Who's afraid if she breathes and lets go, this new life she's grasping onto will change again for the worse.  And an aunt who hasn't quite figured out how to fill that gap and patch up the hurting holes, so she treads lightly, but desperately wants to heal her pain.

Here...

We pray without ceasing through the day.  We're grateful for the blessings. And we soak up every joyful tidbit.  We laugh harder, when it comes, and tuck it away with gratitude. 

But here... we're glad when Monday comes.

When the Unimaginable Happens.

Our community has been shattered by loss as of late.  It seems nearly every other day we hear of another heartbreaking story. 

Life is hard.  Life is unexpected.  Life is short. 

Loss is loss to whomever is grieving.  It matters to them and in those first few days is all-consuming.  To those unconnected, life continues without pause.  When the loss involves a child though, it is as if time stops for everyone.  If only for a moment.

A child should never die.  It goes against everything we believe.  Fairy tales have happy endings.  A child should never die.

I remember all too painfully well the night our world stopped.  Life as we knew it ceased to exist.  Austin was gone.  There were no answers that made it right.  No words that made it better.  Just shock, gut-wrenching pain, darkness and complete sadness. 

How my heart aches for so many living this new world right now.  In my backyard.  Some I know, some I don't, but all I feel for.  I know.  I remember.  I cry for them.
And then I do the only thing I know to do...

Pray.

In this moment, there is nothing else that matters. Right now, they are numb and they are raw with emotions, all at the same time.  To some, it may seem overwhelming to know what, if anything, you can do to help.  My best advice, from someone who lived it, do something.  Anything.  Just be there for them.

I remember those who reached out.  Even if I didn't reach back. 

So many phone calls, texts, emails, hugs, tears.  I remember them all.  They spoke volumes to me.  It didn't fix the broken inside of me.  Nothing anyone did or didn't do healed me.  But it meant the world at the time and those gestures, acts of kindness, will forever remain with me.

A friend I've never met, but joined this unwelcome club of bereaved parents, wrote the best collection of thoughtful ideas that I have found.  I encourage you to visit her blog and read this post:  What you can do to help a grieving family.  Her story is haunting but beautiful, as is her special boy Jack. 

And, as I'm a little further down the path than she, I'll add a final thought.

Don't stop.

One of the greatest fears for parents who've lost a child is that they'll be forgotten.  What I've learned is that they are not.  But never hesitate to mention the child.  Even if it brings tears.  We mommas don't mind crying in remembering our child.  They are thankful tears that tell us, yes my child was loved and is missed.

I call those "Austin hugs" now and welcome them.  Especially when they're unexpected, like yesterday.  In the midst of my normal daily rounds at work, I pass a young man at the hospital.  I've seen him before and we always exchange hellos.  One of us is normally rushing though and I don't think we've really ever talked.  Until yesterday.  On my way out, he says, "I think I know you."

This makes me stop.  I'm curious.  "How do you know me?" I respond.  He chuckles, somewhat taken aback at the question.  We swap names and families, jobs and other connections. 

"Aren't you Austin's mom?"

Now I freeze.  There was a time tears would be welling now.  This time I smile and proudly say, "Yes, I am.  Did you go to school with him?"  Internally I am gauging his age to be what Austin would've been by now - 18 or 19 and graduated.  I'm trying to search his face for resemblance of a younger version, to see if I can recall him.  Disappointed I cannot but we're both grinning now remembering him.

Back out in my car, though a piece of me aches for what could've been, my heart is smiling because of the memories of what was, and because I know Austin will never be forgotten.

It doesn't ever take the pain of losing him away - nothing will - but those "Austin hugs" sure do help me get through it.  And even still, lots and lots of prayers.

Faithful Friday: Can I Get a Witness?

If you're like me your humming to Marvin Gaye right about now because of that title. 

Maybe I'm the only one who does that but, once I get little tunes in my head, it's hard to not to sing and dance.  This particular tune has little to nothing to do about today's post, other than it does bring me joy...much like the past two nights have done.  And the title is kinda catchy, once you read the 'rest of the story'.

You might recall me writing about an upcoming outreach our church would be doing.  It began this past Wednesday night.  As I predicted, I was somewhat apprehensive in the counseling role I would play, yet I knew it was in God's hands.  By the time our group met to pray though, calm washed over me and any uncertainty originally felt had disappeared. 

Until I reached the hallway.

Hearing the invitation, I remembered there were at least two other ways I might counsel someone.  One for re-dedication, the other for prayer.  I realized in that moment I'd only truly prepared for the possibility of leading someone to Christ.  My heart fluttered and I wondered if, in whatever situation that arose, I'd be prepared with what to say.  Thoughts returned to our pastor's prayer in that "we couldn't mess this up.  It didn't matter what we said or didn't say because God began this process long before they reached me." 

I am his vessel...

So many amazing moments have happened since I have let go and let God!  Words have flowed through me.  Maybe it was what they needed to hear, maybe it wasn't, but I can feel positive changes taking place.  God is most certainly at work through this outreach.  I am awe-inspired, spirit-filled, and excited for the days to come!
 
What has surprised me is the role I've been able to play in helping someone through grief.  I don't know why this didn't occur to me beforehand.  Maybe the fact that it didn't - and I couldn't worry or dwell on it - has helped.  While it is very easy for me to reach out and help someone through this blog, or in written form elsewhere, I haven't been as comfortable sharing my story in public.  Normally emotions get in the way.

Yet last night, I found myself sharing the story of losing Austin with someone who had suffered great loss.  Hearing the struggle they were facing and the turmoil in their heart as they questioned and battled with God spoke volumes to me.  I had to share the hope I knew.  Of where I once was, so deeply shattered by grief, to where I am today. 

When they left I realized it was the first time in the nearly four years since Austin's been gone that I've been able to get through that testimony without sobbing.  Yes, tears welled, but God took over and covered me in his grace to allow the story to be shared.  My prayer is that in some small way it helped, at least in a gentle nudging that leaning on God will help them in this journey.  In fact, it's the only answer I have for how I've made it through.
 

But in your hearts honor Christ the Lord as holy, always being prepared to make a defense to anyone who asks you for a reason for the hope that is in you; yet do it with gentleness and respect.  -1 Peter 3:15 ESV

Faithful Friday: Blessings in Disguise

When we lost Austin, there were a lot of comments from others that took me back.  Some that made me downright angry.  I don't believe that any of them were intentionally hurting me, in fact just the opposite.  When the unimaginable happens, people grasp for words - anything - that will bring comfort.  Sometimes they say the only thing that comes to mind, and because they've never experienced such a loss, they can't fathom how it might be perceived.

One comment that haunted me then, is healing for me now.  

Someone mentioned then about my job and how this experience may help me relate more to parents with children diagnosed with cancer, especially those who lost their battle.  They mentioned how this would allow me to comfort them.  At the time, honestly, it ticked me off.   

I didn't want to lose my son to help others.   

I couldn't see ahead to the next hour, let alone where we are today.  All I felt at the time was the raw loss and pain that comes with child loss.  To think of any type of blessing or good that might come from Austin leaving was impossible.  

Yet from the beginning I was reaching out to other parents of child loss.  As I searched for answers and support, it was only natural to offer a prayer and listen to their story.  Along this journey I've even been blessed with new friendships, some from miles away, from women who share this unwanted bond.  Gentle whispers seem to guide and connect me to others walking this path.

He comforts us in all our troubles so that we can comfort others.  When they are troubled, we will be able to give them the same comfort God has given us.     2 Corinthians 1:4

Now, it seems the news of another child with cancer comes more often than I remember.  Maybe I'm just more in tune, but over the past year I've met more families than I'd prefer to count who face a parent's worst fear.  Some have seen the fear become reality, some still bravely fighting, and one family is gracefully preparing for it.  

Lane Goodwin is a little hero who's captured the hearts of not just our local area.  Nearing 100,000 likes on Facebook, Lane's story is touching the world.  His family has been in our prayers since hearing of their battle.  I've especially been drawn to his mother, knowing the pain she hides, and to Lane's younger brother.  Seeing the photos of them together tugs at my heart, thinking about Noah's journey in this loss.   

Watching their story on the news this week, something just spoke to me to reach out them.  Actually, I'm pretty certain it was someone.  A peace just washed over me and I could sense Austin pushing me to send them a message.  It was one of thousands, as messages, prayers and hundreds of photos from others giving Lane a "thumbs up" are being sent to them.  But mother to mother I just had to send our thoughts.  

In so many of the families we've met on this journey, any comfort we've given has come back to us tenfold.  Truly, we feel blessed and are better for knowing them.   

I don't look at our loss as something God caused so that good might come, but that through the loss and because of His comfort, good has naturally progressed.  Child loss will never be a club I'm glad to be a member of but comforting others makes the membership somewhat easier.  

If you don't have Facebook, you can follow Lane's story here.  Thumbs up, sweet boy.

Acts of Love

I apologize for the late hour and shortness of today's post.  Visitation began this afternoon for Papaw Dallas so it's been a long day.  I questioned even writing but, being it's only day 7, I couldn't break the challenge so soon.  This morning, my plan was to write about being thankful for music.  Being gone and on my feet all day though, I don't really have a song on my mind.  Despite the emotions of the day, I do however have a song in my heart. 

When I left for the funeral home today, I decided that any acts of kindness would be toward my family.  While my challenge is mostly focused on "random acts of kindness" and to those I do not know, I felt my family needed a few extra doses of love. I could also feel Austin pushing me, as if this was his way of showing us he is there.

One of the most common phrases when someone passes is, "if there's anything I can do..." but seldom does anyone ask.  I sent a text to my little sister, checking on her and asked that familiar question.  To my surprise, she responded.  I then made it my mission to deliver.

As it was early, food hadn't yet begun to arrive so I stocked up on snacks and drinks, planning for a hot bucket of chicken at the end of my errands.  Next on my list was my sister's request, a small stuffed cow.  She didn't even need to explain, I knew what she wanted it for, although I'd never guessed it would be so difficult to find.  Five stores and several phone calls later, the best I could do was a small ceramic cow.  Back home to quickly print a few more needs, I rushed back.

Timing was perfect, as the family had gathered in the kitchen, looking for lunch.  KFC was just what the doctor ordered, as Dallas' wife, Pansy, smiled, nodding that was exactly what sounded good for her to eat.  Knowing I got some hot potatoes in my lil sis, and a piece of chicken in Mom, made me feel better too.  Although it broke my heart to watch Raven tuck the tiny cow into her Papaw's arm, with tears in her eyes, I also knew that the scavenger hunt I went on to find it was worth every second and mile. 

Then, copies of a poem, which I shared with Altiabelle, Dallas' first wife, in the loss of her husband over a year ago, came back to help again.  When I printed out and framed a poem that was shared with us in our loss, never did I imagine it would have such an impact on her.  She'd mentioned several times through the past year how often she read the poem and how much it comforted her.  Today, she requested a copy to share with Pansy.  That, and copies of my "Cow Tales" story from yesterday, which brought some needed laughs in the day.

Piled in the back of my truck, I wouldn't have expected a chicken meal, peppermints and moonpies, drinks, a tiny cow, or printed poems to provide much help, on their own or altogether.  Yet they did, in little ways and big, and I'm so glad I had a special angel as a co-pilot to help me deliver it today.

Too often we underestimate the power of a touch, a smile, a kind word, a listening ear, an honest compliment, or the smallest act of caring, all of which have the potential to turn a life around.