Three Years Ago

I wrote this a year ago and I really can't state it any better --- "Three years. It was three years ago today that my dad suffered a stroke that would eventually take his life. In some ways, today, April 11th, is the day we lost so much. We lost his voice, his laughter, his wisdom, is ability to bring calmness to any situation and so much more. My dad was the rock of our family and we still feel that loss greatly in so many ways. There was a great legacy left by this man, though - a church that he led and cared for throughout many years; the love, wisdom and example he left for each of his family members. It was truly a great loss on so many levels. Over the course of the weeks following his stroke, my mom, brothers and their families and I saw God work even through our difficult understanding of what was to come. Even though I would love to have my dad here - I know that he is rejoicing in heaven and it is where he longed to be - with his Jesus. "

We miss this man more than anything.  Love you Dad!

What to do for others in times of Grief

I think one of the hardest things for most of us to do is know what to say or what to do during a difficult time of grief.  Just a week before my dad has his stroke, a good friend of ours that was a singer in the group my husband plays in, passed away from an aneurysm in his heart that burst.  We attended visitation and I can remember when it was our turn to talk to his wife and daughter that I almost said, "I'm so sorry for your loss, I don't think I could handle losing my dad".  Thankfully I have a shut-off valve that works really well and I did not say that because as soon as I thought it, I also thought . . .I bet his children didn't think they could handle it either and don't appreciate me saying it!

After losing my dad, I learned a few things.  One, there are some super thoughtful, caring people who know exactly what to do and say.  Two, there are people who say some awful things and really don't mean it . .. they just don't know what to say and things just spill out.  Guess what . . that's ok.

I thought I would share a few things that people did/said for me or my family during the time my dad was in the hospital through the time of his funeral.  Maybe it will help you if you struggle what to do.  I'll be honest, mercy is not my gift.  I don't sign up to take meals for people; I struggle to remember to send a card to express my condolences; I don't think about giving someone a gift card for anything so any ideas like this would have been helpful to me before.

1) One of the greatest things that people did for us at the hospital was bring food.  For real. We were in a crisis room with so much going on that trying to remember to eat was not top on the list.  Friends and family brought food.  One lady from my parents church arrived with a big bag full of snacks/breakfast foods.  Fruit, breakfast bars, muffins, and more.  That lasted us for days and was perfect.  Others would call and say, "I'm bringing dinner" and would arrive with subs, pizza, chicken dinner and more.  My cousin stopped by and said, "I'm on my way home but first I want to bring in some pizza - tell me what to get".  This happened for days on end and was amazing.

2) Money/Gift cards - When someone has a family member in serious condition in the hospital there are extra costs.  Several churches and individuals provided very specific gifts for us.  My husband I were given enough money/cards towards gas that I had enough to last through our last trip home after the funeral.  Someone else paid for my mom to stay at the hospitality house; someone paid for my oldest brothers flights home from Brazil.  Not to mention the gifts to help cover some of the costs of food while at the hospital.  Someone else learned that my husband was not going to be able to arrive until the day before the funeral because we couldn't afford for him to take days off work - they provided enough money to cover his week off work so he could be with the family.  The truth is, never assume that someone doesn't "need" a little help - when an event like this occurs there are always unplanned expenses from food to gas to lodging to clothing.  The day before my dad's funeral I believe that just about every family member was at Target or Walmart looking for a piece of clothing that was forgotten or overlooked in packing.  In another instance, a friend handed me a Starbucks gift card as she was leaving the funeral and said, "This is just for you; take some time for yourself and treat yourself to a coffee.  You deserve it."  Such a thoughtful thing for her to do.

3) Cards.  For real.  You might think that a simple card means nothing but it really does because it shows that someone is thinking of you during this difficult time.

4) Flowers.  It means alot when people send flowers.  Yes, often people request "money in place of flowers" but, those that send flowers still, they are still loved.

5) Share memories.  One of my favorite things to this day is to hear other people talk about my dad.  I love hearing their memories.  It shows that he was important to other people too.

6) Meals.  The week of the funeral we had family in and out all week.  Having meals brought in was amazing.  There were planned meals for dinner but there were others.  Several ladies stopped with breakfast breads and muffins.  Another lady who had signed up for dinner came by at lunch time with sandwiches and salad.  We not only had food for main meals, we had leftovers for snacks and lunches without having to plan meals.

7) Offer your home.  We had family traveling from, well, around the world, and needed places for them to sleep.  If you have an extra room, this is a great way to help.  We had several families step up and offer us places in their homes.  They also went the extra mile and provided some meals for those staying at their homes as well.

I'm sure there are many more ideas out there that would be just as good or even better but ultimately, all you have to do is a small thing to show you care.  Words are not always needed; sometimes a simple action is all that is needed.

Gifts in Grief

Part of walking the road of grief is finding ways to associate new life with what has been lost.  I think my kids are best at this concept. 

Not long ago while driving somewhere, Nate said, "Mom, I've figured something out.  You know when there are clouds and then you see a hole in the cloud and you can see right through to blue?  Well, that's a hole to heaven.  Jesus is letting us see heaven and he is letting Papa see us. 

I find that kids have an insight that adults often lack.  That hole in the cloud is a gift to my sweet 7 year old who misses his hero.  

Josh is much more vocal about sharing about his Papa.  Not long ago, we had some amazing rainbows after a storm.  We were standing out on the deck admiring God's masterpiece; a reminder of His promise when Josh said, "Mom, rainbows are a gift from Papa so we know he is thinking about us." 

He has said this about any rainbow he has seen since my dad passed away - sometimes they are small and sometimes they are huge, like this one.  We find that we get much more excited when we see this "gift in the sky" than we used to. 

As with any funeral, we received so many beautiful plants and flower arrangements and they were truly appreciated.  I picked out a few to bring home and one of them came in this brass pot seen below.  By about February of this year, the plant died and I set the planter outside thinking that maybe I could replant something in it in the spring.  As spring arrived, I noticed what I thought was a weed growing out of the dirt.  A few weeks later I realized that it wasn't a weed, it was a gift . .one of my favorite flowers was growing from a pot that had been frozen solid that had never contained this plant - a Sunflower.  The kids and I all see it as a gift - a gift of the wonderful reminder that life is beautiful even after dark days. 

These gifts are just gentle reminder to our family that even though we lost such an important person in our life, God is always with us.  If you are walking through a path of grief, don't be afraid to look for gifts . .. gifts that bring reminders of joy.

Flowers

My aunt posted a photo of her Day Lillies that had been munched on for lunch by some deer.  Which made me think of the story behind my Day Lillies.

Many years ago, my Uncle and Aunt (My dad's brother) handed out Day Lillies to all of the siblings because they live on "Day Lilly Lane" (Or something to that effect).  After several more years, my parenst needed to thin out these amazing Day Lillies so they passed some out to me.  They have totally filled in the fence line in my back yard and I love them!  Everytime I look at them I'm reminded of that gift and it is even more precious now then it was before.

Memories are a good thing.  They are precious.  Store them away, take photos, and live life filled with love.

Choosing Joy

I "found" this post in my drafts - I wrote it back in January but due to lacking "Joy", I didn't feel like posting it at the time.  As I reread it earlier this week, I realized that it's good.  I've come further in my "Joy" journey since January but I think it is also good to reflect on where we have been to see how far we've come. 

This past year brought events that stole my joy.  I believe that when you go through a life changing event you have to re-learn how to live a life you had prior to that event.  There is always a "before" and an "after"; a clear line in the sand.  As I came to the end of 2016, one of the conscience decisions I made was to work on choosing Joy throughout 2017.

In my "book" Joy and Happiness are two seperate things.  I have learned to laugh again and to find humor in things I hear and see.  I've slowly been able to sing again (granted some of those long praise songs - they wear me out about half way through and I'm done!).  The joy in my heart, though, is not there.  There is still sorrow and grief that fill that corners.  I know that my dad would say to me - find Joy.  So, that's what I am endeavoring to do.  You all know that when you decide to do something good, life will throw you a curve ball.  Boy did it ever!

January 2nd:
1) The boys and I went to Meijer and Josh dropped a glass ornament on the floor, which shattered and sent glass everywhere and caused him to go into a sobbing mess in the middle of the store.
2) Nate stepped in  . .. something . . that someone left in the aisle.
3) The boys wanted snails for their fish tanks and were told they were all dead.
4) Darryl had the worst day at work financially that he has ever had.  Not only did he make no money, he owed money for his cab rental.
5) The boys were mad because I told them they could no longer watch a show they were watching because I acutally sat down and watched a few episodes.
6) And just when I thought it was over, I took out my contacts and one of them disappeared.  I can always find them when they fall but this time, no suck luck.  Talk about a downer to end a day!

I will admit that when I awoke on January 3rd I had no joy.  We were all still fighting coughs and colds and now, my vision with glasses was less than par.  All four kids were here and they were arguing.  HA!  I read :-)  All day and reading does bring me joy.

So, here I am two weeks later and I'm still working on choosing joy.  For example, I went to the eye doctor and ordered new contacts.  Since it was going to be 7-10 days before the contacts arrived, he gave me a pair of soft contacts to use for free.  It was fabulous.  Sunday-Tuesday I got lots done because I could see again!  And then I got up Wednesday morning and one contact was missing.  For real.  I haven't lost one in over 20 years and now I've lost two in less than a week!  Uggg!  (Joyfully it was free, right?)  Now, I'm waiting and hoping the contacts come in sooner (like Monday) and not later (like Thursday!)

Living life with joy is a choice.  Despite circumstances or events that come along.

Grief - The Shadows

Almost a year ago I wrote a Blog Post about being silenced by grief.  One of the profound things about grief is that it morphs into different creatures.  Sometimes daily; sometimes weekly; or something it just pops up out of no where.

Most recently, it has struck me that grief brings shadows.

Losing someone that you love leaves an emptiness but as time passes by that emptiness moves aside and what is left behind are dark shadows, often lurking just on the edges of life.  Think about a photo with shaded  edges - where everything is darker and just a little blurry.  The photo may show a happy family, enjoying life but those blurred edges represent lose and hurt.

As year one passes by and year two begins, I find that a person goes from the overwhelming since of what was lost to the sense of what is missing or, maybe it is really of what is being missed.  Baseball games - especially the very fist hit of the season; birthdays, the rebuilding of an Amp (My husband was working on his recently, using tools my dad gave him and made the comment of, "I really missed your dad today because he would have loved being part of this process). See, those things are the blurred edges of the photo - instead of full joy, there is sadness mixed with joy.

Even as there are glimpses of sunlight through the trees; as happy memories are made; life events happen; really, "Life" moves on . .. there is still that corner of darkness that no one really understands unless you have lost someone who brought life and light to daily lives. I personally find myself more profoundly impacted now when someone dies because I know the feeling of grief and I also know what they face in the days ahead.  Just a week or so ago, Dr. Bradley, our vet, passed away unexpectedly.  My heart hurt for his family - the son who ran his office and worked with him daily; his wife of 50 years; his daughter and grandchildren.  Dr. Bradley was an amazing vet and I am saddened by the loss but I am more saddened for his family and their loss.  I know that hurt and it's not fun.

In the midst of all of those shadows, though, is light.  God gives us light; He gives us strength.  Yes, I still struggle with Sundays and holidays and missing my dads laugh and wisdom.  Yet, I love hearing my kids talk about Papa and all of his wisdom he shared with them in their short years; or seeing them recently use the tools he gave them as a gift on that last Christmas.  I love hearing others tell stories or share quotes or wisdom he shared with them.

Truth be told, Grief is hard.

A Good Read

Have you checked out the new feature that Facebook added awhile back?  It's called the "Save" button.  Or at least that's what I call it.  There is an option in the drop down arrow on each post to "Save for later" and then, there is a place where you can check all of your saved items.  They don't get lost on your page anymore and the world doesn't know every single thing you save for later! 

As I began the journey through the dark valley with my dad, people would be well-meaning and utter those famous words, "God won't give you more than you can handle" yet I would silently scream at them in my head while pasting an agreement smile on my face," HE ALREADY HAS!!!!"  So when I came across the post I'm going to share here, I felt it in my heart because I already knew it was true.  God will give you more than you think you can handle because HE wants to carry you when you cannot walk another step.  Honestly, I'm still walking through those dark valleys wondering when God will make this journey a little easier to bear.  So maybe you are at the beginning of that valley or coming out the other side or, maybe you just need to understand that those mis-spoken words aren't really true.  No matter where you are in that journey, this is a good read.

The Day God Gave me More than I Could Handle

 

Sundays

Sundays have always been special days to me.  It goes back to my childhood when it was my "job" to wake my dad up from his nap on Sunday afternoons at 4:00 so he and I could go to the church and "study".  Well, he would study for his sermon on Sunday night and I would do a million different things.  I would practice the piano, teach myself how to play the organ, practice singing with soundtracks (always out of breath as I ran from the back of the church to the front, trying to beat the start of the song HA).  I would type all kinds of things, draw, color and read.  I probably bugged my dad a few times too but it was all part of our special time.

Sundays are really what my dad worked toward every single week.  Very seldom did he miss a Sunday because that was "his day".

He loved being a pastor, it is who he was created to be.

Sundays aren't so fun anymore, if I'm being honest.  I've really lost that joy in a day that always meant so much.  I was thinking about this past week as I sat through a church service I only went to because my kids begged to go to church.

1) It was on a Sunday that I gave my dad that last hug and kiss and waved goodbye as he drove away for the last time.  I would never get a chance to have "him" back again.

2) It was on those Sunday's in the hospital that I would sit beside his bedside, allowing my mom the ability to and freedom to walk away for a bit, and talked to him about life even though he couldn't respond.

3) It was on those Sunday's, again, that I would play the livefeed from Faith Baptist Church in Linden - "His church" - so he could hear the praise music and the preaching from two young men he cared for deeply, Pastor Daniel and Pastor Jay.

4) It was on a Sunday that I sat with my mom in my dad's room and watched his breathing become more shallow; where I listened as my mom whispered that it was ok; that she would be ok and he could go home.

5) It was late on a Sunday night when I got the call that my dad was gone.  It seemed fitting that it was on a Sunday . . .yet, it makes it hard.

I've found it difficult to return to church as I've known it.  The joy is gone. I'm not even sure I can explain it as I wake every Sunday and face the magnitude of what our family has lost.  I know our situation is unique because my dad was a pastor for so many years and impacted so many lives.  He is loved and missed by many.  That doesn't remove the fact that he belonged to "us"; to my mom, my brothers; their families . . .and now we are the ones facing the Sundays without him.  I know God is good; I know God is faithful but I still miss my dad.

For each person that grieves, the day or time is different that sits heavy on their hearts.  Maybe they spent every Monday night next to their loved one and now Monday nights are long and quiet; or maybe it was a Saturday morning phone call that is no longer given or received.  It doesn't matter the day or time; it is still a moment of loneliness; a void that can't be filled; an emptiness that is surprisingly shocking as it arrives each week.

Silenced

Silenced.

One of the profound statements that my husband made about 4 days after my dad had the strokes was simply these words: 

"He is silenced.  He has no voice." 

It was true.  If you knew my dad at all you know that he always had a voice.  He had words of wisdom, words that made you laugh or made you think.  He simply always had words.  He was filled with Biblical wisdom and stories of life.  He loved to talk about the things he loved and he always made everyone he met feel, well, loved and cared about. 

Then he was silenced.  A void that can never be filled. 

As I walked into the emergency room where my dad was being treated I was greeted by silence.  He was being given medication to try and reverse the effects of the stroke. 

Tuesday morning I was greeted by silence as his voice was restricted by tubes even though his eyes spoke volumes. 

He then suffered a second stroke and I saw the silence overtake him. 

He was silent as he was airlifted away.

He was silent as I rubbed his hair moments before he was taken into what we hoped would be a life saving surgery.

He was silent as the surgery did not go as planned due to unforeseen circumstances.

He was silent as he laid in a hospital bed and so many came to see him and pray.

He was silent as Jesus took him home to heaven.

He was silent.  His voice was gone. His voice is gone and is missed beyond measure.

I was silenced.  

My voice was used endlessly in the days following my dads stroke.  

I spent hours on the phone, sending texts, e-mails, and messages to family and friends trying to keep everyone up to date.

My voice began to disappear Tuesday afternoon as I called my brothers,  hour after hour, giving updates. 

My voice grew quieter due to stress and exhaustion. 

As I spoke to the surgeon and asked questions, my voice was a whisper. 

As the nurse took me aside and said,'I feel like you are in charge and I need to walk you through some things.", my voice was quiet. 

As I directed friends and family to the crisis room and answered questions, my voice grew faint.

Exhaustion took my voice. 

During the coming weeks and through the days and weeks following the funeral, I found my voice was often weak; quiet; a whisper at times.

I still find that I often don't have a voice.

I have sung in church since I was 13 years old but, I still cannot sing.  I can stand in church and listen to the songs but I cannot sing. 

The words are choked by tears as music touches my soul. Deeply. 

I cannot play the piano because my love of piano belongs to my dad. 

He is the one who found my piano teacher and even told her what song he wanted me to learn to play

He is the one who gave me that love. 

To play again is a deeply personal journey (one I must attack soon as I'm scheduled to play in a wedding)

Silence.  

It is not always golden. 

It is grief.  Sadness. Emptiness. 

It is healing. 

You might see me standing in church quietly.  

It is healing.

You might see me sitting at an event and quietly looking into the distance as the world goes by.

It is healing.

You might see tears run down my cheek as something as "simple" as Aero-med flies overhead.

It is memories. It is grief. It is healing. 

I know I will regain my voice.  Healing will come but for now . . . 

Silence.

Looking through a glass

A few weeks ago, a friend of mine shared this on her facebook page:

"I remember after my sister died I felt like I was behind glass-- disconnectedly watching everyone live their lives while I could barely get out of bed. I would see posts about funny things, people on vacation, etc. and it was hard to reconcile that while my heart was breaking, people were having fun and simply living their lives. Today, I am reminded that many of YOU are reading the silly things I post and YOU are "behind the glass": I sincerely hope you know that you are seen, loved, and being prayed for."

See, my friend Jenny lost her sister one year before I lost my dad.  She has been an amazing encouragement to me throughout the past few months and what said above hits the nail on the head.

Over the past 2 months, grief has weighed heavy.  It is an unwelcomed path that I did not choose.  I think it is difficult for others to understand looking in from the outside.  See, it's not something that just goes away but, rather, it is a deep, deep wound that begins to heal just slightly before a memory; a song; even words from a well meaning person rips the wound back open and you realize that there is a gaping hole in your life that really, can never be filled.

 I believe that sometimes there are those who think there is a timeline to grief; that it is time to "move on" but for those who suffer the loss, there is no time line.  Sure, life moves on and you will see me and my family doing things like going to the beach, going camping, enjoying activities on the Fourth of July yet, just beyond the smiles are tears that come out of no where; or shadows of memories of what used to be and the thoughts of what you wish still was. 

There are days that I can make it through the entire day without feeling like my heart is aching or my eyes shed tears I didn't realize were there but then there are days where I can barely breath; where I sigh deeply or struggle to take a deep breath because the overwhelming loss sits heavy on my chest.  There is anger and the ongoing question of "why" whispered between the quiet statements of "Yes, God I trust in you".  I know what is good and what is right in God's eyes but it doesn't erase the ache of hurt.  Don't expect those hurting from loss to "just move on" as it doesn't work that way.  Some days, every single moment brings a memory.

Like my friend shared, there are days that I only get out of bed because I have responsibilities to take care of; there are days that I struggle to make it through the day because my strength is gone.  My dad meant the world to me; he was my biggest cheerleader and encourager. My husband and I always talked to him about everything whenever we got together with him and my boys, well, their Papa hung the moon and they loved sharing everything with him too.  Grief is a lonely road but I'm thankful that I loved so much that it hurts so much . . .

 

Lessons in Grief

I want to write about loss.  About grief. About walking a road that is tough to walk.  Why?  Because it's something unlike anything else you can experience and not many people talk about it. I've been thinking over the past week about what to share first and the reality of it is . . .I'm not ready.  I have several ideas and topics I want to touch on but . . .the words just won't form yet on the page.  So instead, I'll share three thoughts in the way of quotes.

I am a strong person and I've always known that but from the moment I got the call that my dad had had a stroke, I knew I had to be even stronger.  I had no other choice at that moment.  

Two different friends have shared this thought, in different words, with me over the past few weeks.  The simple truth is that the stronger the love, the harder the grief.  One of those friends reminded me to be thankful for the intense grief because it reflects intense love.  I don't think I'm quite to the "thankful" point yet. 

Finally, even in the darkest moments, I try to focus on God's truths.  This is a great reminder of what God can do even through difficult moments.  Again, I have a long ways to go; this is all still very fresh but I trust God to fulfill his promises through the days, weeks and yes, years to come.