Growing Up Without Dad

Why does it still hurt so badly? The tears that stream down my face seem to be excessive. Shouldn’t the emotional pool that holds my grief be empty by now? Surely I have wept enough. But watching Haden break down in blubbering sobs is more than this mother can bear. He turned 17 yesterday—a young man. When Woody died he was a child of 14, and today it hit him that he is growing up without his dad. “I just want a dad!” he cried into my shoulder as I held his trembling body. “I’m growing up and I just want him here to see me!” There was nothing to say. No words to soothe away the pain. I just held him and tried to keep my tears at bay. He needed me to be strong for the two of us, although I felt as if I were being crushed beneath the weight of his sorrow.

It is wrong. There is nothing right about a boy growing up without his father no matter what the circumstances may be. Yet there are so many who are be it through death, divorce, or desertion. And yes, God is our Heavenly Father; however, that does not take the place of a dad’s hug or a seat in the bleachers. It is difficult to see God’s hand in a situation that seems hopeless. Nevertheless, we keep pushing forward with faith knowing that someday eternity awaits and finally the tears will run dry and there will be no more pain or sorrow. For now though, we struggle through unmentionable grief and the harsh reality that sometimes a boy’s earthly father won’t be there to see him grow from a boy to a man. It is wrong, but it is reality.

Today I mourn Haden’s loss more than my own, and though I wish there were some words of wisdom to bring us both comfort, there aren’t. This is one of those times we plow through the pain and wait for God’s comfort to heal our brokenness. Until then, I will continue to wonder just how many tears remain in my emotional pool of grief.

A Spontaneous Decision

When I responded to my friend’s post on Facebook, I was joking. She was trying to sell concert tickets she had for a performance in Aspen, Colorado. She needed to sell them or find a date. “I’ll be your date!” was my reply.

An hour later, she texted me. “Were you serious…?

“I was tempted,” I responded. The next thing I knew I was booking a flight to leave in a little over a week to go to Aspen. “I can’t believe I’m doing this,” I told Gaile. “This is the most spontaneous, un-grownup thing I have done since I was in my 20s. What am I thinking?” But I did it. With my dear friend on the phone encouraging me, I clicked the mouse on, “purchase tickets,” and it was done.

I am not a “fly by the seat of your pants” type person. I think things through, logically and prayerfully. I am slow to respond and never make decisions on a dime. Woody learned years ago not to surprise me, but to give me at least a week of advance notice if he wanted to take me on a “surprise” trip. I need time to process things. I can’t just “pick up and go.” Yet, today without thinking through all the scenarios and planning everything out to the millisecond, I decided to take a trip half-way across the continent without my kids trusting that they will be okay in my absence and not making arrangements with friends to check in on them and micromanage every moment of the three days I’ll be gone. I did not let fear hold me back.

And to be honest, that’s what it’s all about. Being their only parent, I have been afraid to leave them since Woody died. I have been too worried about, “What if something happens to me? I can’t leave them alone. I can’t take any chances.” Everything—every decision in the past two years and three months—has been primarily for them and with their best interests in mind. This is the first thing I have done for me, and it is slightly terrifying.

This is where trust comes in. God has brought us this far, and I know He will continue to carry us. So, for the first time in a very long time, I am doing something completely out of character and am going to Aspen to spend a day listening to music with my best friend. I’m going to trust that God will care for my kids, but more importantly that He will care for me and bring me back home safely.

So…here’s to spontaneity and friends that push you out of your comfort zone; and a God who’s bigger than my fears.

Memories & Moving

March 10, 2009, we moved into this home, a family of five with two dogs and a bearded dragon. We had made the 1,947 mile journey from Draper, Utah to Braselton, Georgia, and we were excited to see what God had planned next for our family. Hunter was 13, Haley was 10, and Haden was eight. Life was good and was only going to get better. We were full of anticipation and hope, and for six years we knew laughter and tears as we built memory upon memory into the foundation of our lives. When Woody received a job offer that would relocate our family to Raleigh, North Carolina, we all tried to view the move as another positive opportunity, but truth be known, not one of us wanted to move. Braselton had become our home and the people here had become our family. For eight months Woody commuted as we tried to sell our house and adjust to another transfer. And then life took an unexpected turn; in an instant we became too well acquainted with grief and trauma.

Now, for the last time, we are packing up our personal items and leaving the house we first called home eight years ago—the house we so carefully chose with Woody at the head of our family, guiding our decisions and protecting our hearts. As we pack up the boxes, I wonder how we will pack up the memories. Can we carefully place them in bubble wrap and pray they won’t become fragmented and broken through the move? Can we label the boxes “fragile” and gently place them in the moving van with specific instructions as to how they should be handled? How do we gather six years of memories—memories that pervade every room—and keep them intact? How do we peel them off the walls and separate them from the rooms that Woody once occupied? Every space in this home tells the story of Woody’s last years. I can still picture him sitting behind his desk in his office or standing over his bathroom sink shaving. When we leave, will the memories go with us?

I cannot answer even one of those questions. I do not see how this will play out. However, I do know that just as we have survived every excruciating moment since the day of Woody’s horrific death, we will survive this one too. Woody may no longer be here to guide our decisions and protect our hearts, but God has taken over and will continue to hold us throughout another transition. I will trust Him to carry the memories and store them away for safe keeping, and when the timing is right, unpack them one by one.

July 10, 2017, we will move from this home into a smaller, more manageable one. We are no longer a family of five, yet I know God will be faithful and fill the next house with laughter and tears. We will construct new memories on top of the foundation that has already been laid. So, here is to the next leg of our journey and praying that it will be better.

Hunter's Wedding

We did it. We made it through Hunter’s wedding without Woody. I am not going to lie—it wasn’t easy. The weeks leading up to the event were heart wrenching. How was it possible that our oldest son was getting married without his dad? Who did I have to lean on while reminiscing about Hunter’s infancy through adolescence? Who would wipe my tears and hold me close when the tears began to trickle down my cheeks as Hunter pledged his love to the woman who would become first in his life?

I sat beside a chair that held a framed photo of Woody with a single white rose resting in the seat next to it. In the photograph, Woody stood in front of a body of water, just as Hunter and Lilli took their vows in front of a lake. I did not realize the connection when I chose that photo for the ceremony, but when I realized the similarities I was overwhelmed with emotion. It was as if Woody were there with us standing to the side, smiling, hands on hips, as his eldest son entered into the covenant relationship of marriage. “Thank you, God, for allowing me to feel Woody’s presence.” The tears flowed steadily as I rested my hand on the empty seat with his photo.

Loss is never simple. It leaves devastation and hopelessness in its wake. Grief is no respecter of person or place. It strikes like a snake in the grass, hidden from view waiting for the opportune time to attack. There is no preparing for it when it rears its ugly head. Yet when it does assail its unsuspecting victim, there is a remedy. God has given me the antivenin necessary to ward off the deadly effects of grief. Every time He is there—providing me comfort and hope for the future.

I know there are many more days we will have to maneuver through without Woody, and each will present its own challenges. But I also know that God will be with us, gently carrying us forward as we continue down the road that leads to healing.

Never Again

I’m not sure why it hit me so hard this morning, but out of nowhere a wave of grief came crashing down on me pulling me out to sea as I flailed, trying to catch my breath. For a moment I was buried beneath the weight of the water as it flooded my soul and squeezed any sense of contentment from my heart. It was a thought—one innocuous thought—that sent me reeling. We have a summer league swim meet tonight, which Haden will be participating in. A friend of mine mentioned that her husband will be out of town for it. When she told me, I was completely unaffected by her statement, but for some reason it hit me this morning that Woody is not out of town. That is not the reason he will miss this meet and every swim meet Haden will ever swim in. He is gone. He will never see his son swim again. He will not watch his oldest son get married in nine days. He will not see his only daughter mature into the beautiful, strong woman she is. He will never be here again.

Perhaps, somewhere deep inside, I had fooled myself into believing that Woody has been on an extended business trip. The last eight months of his life he commuted to work in North Carolina, which meant we only saw him two to three times a month. I think I had convinced a part of myself that just as he returned from all of those business trips, he would someday return. I think I somewhat expected him to walk through our front door and apologize for being gone so long and for causing so much grief. I knew he would never miss out on his kids’ big events. He was the most involved father I have ever known. Somewhere in the recesses of my mind, “he’ll be back,” has been playing on repeat. But not anymore. Woody is gone. We are on our own.

Therefore, I will crawl into my Heavenly Father’s comforting arms and wait for Him to soothe away the pain. I ache for what Woody is missing. I ache for what the children are experiencing without him. I ache for the life we had planned that will never be. Yet, I know God is here, and He will not miss a single breath. And that is the hope I cling to when grief washes over me and takes my breath away. God is near. We are not really on our own.

Two Years

Two years.

How is it possible? When I consider the valley I have traversed, it is truly a miracle that I am here, standing, and sanely remembering. There has been so much pain. My whole being has ached with the agony of grief. I have shed countless tears—enough to fill a small lake at least. And still they fall, intermittently, unexpected. There is no logical explanation for them.

Occasionally, I am stopped in my tracks as a memory clouds my view of reality. I am taken back to that day two years ago. I am once again on that hard, granite slope frozen in fear as the love of my life slides past me. We have locked eyes just as we did on that day until he disappears over the ledge. I do not know in that moment that I will never look into those caramel brown eyes again. I do not know that our lives will be forever marked by tragedy.

Father God, I am only here at this point in time by Your grace. You have carried me when I have collapsed in a heap full of fear and panicked. You have patiently listened to my ranting when my rage was directed towards You. You have held me all those nights as I tossed and turned reliving every agonizing moment on the mountain top. When I could not breathe as anxiety constricted my airway, You gave me peace. When I was buried beneath a heap of sorrow, you plowed through the tears and gave me comfort.

And now I stand at the two year mark and wonder, “How is it possible?”

One word—God 

Getting Into the Trenches

Christians have become complacent, comfortable. We like everything to run efficiently and with ease. We have no time for those things which interfere with our daily routines. Problems are welcome as long as they don’t involve too much discomfort and sacrifice on our part. Grief, trauma, sorrow—those are messy items that we spend hours upon hours trying to fix and tidy up. We want to remove the suffering and make everything better. We will apply every salve known to mankind in order to ensure that there are no scars left behind. We wouldn’t want anything spoiling our ideal lives; and wounds are ugly, complicated affairs that have the ability to leave nasty scars.

Yet, I look at the resurrected Christ, whose power lives in us, and He had scars. Thomas put his hand in the wounds of the resurrected Christ. Those scars and His suffering are foundational to the power to which God has given believers access. Christ’s suffering is the very thing that has given Christians their freedom. His weakness is our strength.  The message in the scars is not that the power of the resurrection makes our suffering go away, but that God can and will use it for His glory. In Philippians 3:10, Paul states that he wants to know Christ and the “power of his resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in his sufferings.” How many of us are truly willing to share in the fellowship of suffering? How many of us are willing to walk among those who are suffering great trauma and loss and enter into a relationship founded upon suffering? But that’s what we have been called to do.

Christians need to get over this idea that suffering, grief, loss, and sorrow are horrible things to be avoided at all costs. When someone suffers great trauma, it is our job to climb into the trenches with that person—not in an attempt to make the suffering go away, but to help that person process the unspeakable and bring the power of the resurrection to revitalize the dead places. It is our job to assist the individual as he or she figures out how to live with the atrocity and visualize how God can work through weakness to demonstrate His great strength.

Life is messy, and grief is even messier. Quit trying to sweep it under the rug. Instead, encourage healthy conversations that will truly help the person who is suffering learn to heal.

Haden's Driving, Another Milestone

Haden turned 15 four months after Woody’s death. Although he had finally reached the age when he could obtain his driver’s permit, I was not ready. Teaching the kids to drive had always been Woody’s responsibility. He had nerves of steel and was extremely laid back about near misses with mailboxes and vehicles. I had the luxury of waiting until the kids were relatively proficient at driving before getting in the car with them as a passenger. Then it was my job to fine tune their skills until they reached 16 and could test for their provisional driver’s license. I was not ready to teach Haden. I couldn’t. It was just another reminder of all the things Haden would miss doing with his dad.

Five months after Haden’s birthday, after much pleading, I was ready. It was terrifying for me, but somehow we made it through without me yelling or puking. Only once after he had pulled out into oncoming traffic nearly causing a collision, did I make him pull over and let me drive. Six months after he began, I let him drive on the interstate for the first time. He was nervous. Little did he know, I was terrified. Yet, I remained calm and encouraged him as we made our way south on I85. I couldn’t imagine that I would ever quit gripping the arm rest and praying while he drove us through rush hour traffic. But I did.

This past Friday, Haden was eligible to take his driving test for his license. Although he had had an instructor from Taggart’s Driving School work with him on parallel parking and backing into a parking space, he was terrified that he would fail those two skills on his test. “Everyone I know has passed it the first time!” he anxiously informed me.

“So, are you afraid that you’ll be the first person who doesn’t?” Yes. Haden contacted our youth pastor who was in between winter retreats with our youth, but he made the time anyways. Dustin arrived at our house Thursday morning with cones in hand and took Haden to a nearby parking lot to practice. He offered to help him again in the evening, but Haden felt at that point he was prepared. Needless to say, he passed with flying colors. Another milestone without Woody.

I am so proud of Haden. He never complains about Woody’s absence. He never behaves as if he is unfortunate. He stays positive in the face of insurmountable loss and trauma. I know that is God in him. Haden’s faith has remained rock solid throughout all of this, and God continues to bring people into his life to help him through these moments. You see, Dustin wasn’t the only man who offered to help Haden. Ryan, a man who works with our youth ministry, also offered. And truth be told, there were probably 20 more men in our church who would have gladly stepped in to assist Haden. I must remember God’s provision when our loss weighs heavily upon my heart. God will always be there—especially for the milestone moments.

“A father to the fatherless, a defender of widows, is God in his holy dwelling.”—Psalm 68:5

One Year and Nine Months

“I cried out to God for help; I cried out to God to hear me. When I was in distress, I sought the Lord; at night I stretched out untiring hands and my soul refused to be comforted.” –Psalm 77:1-2

One year and nine months. I have suffered more than I can adequately articulate. My heart has been shattered countless times. My tears could have filled an ocean. Suffering?—it has become an old associate, one whom I am ready to abandon. I have been intimately acquainted with despair. Like the psalmist, I have stretched out my hands at night, waiting for comfort that constantly eluded me.

Yet God has brought me through the storm. He has lifted me out of the darkness where my memories tormented my soul and filled my heart with hopelessness. God has pried the fingers from my throat that threatened to snatch away my life. He has given me shelter and satiated my whole being with peace. He has sat quietly by my bedside as I sobbed through the nights, waiting for the morning light to bring reprieve. God has been by my side through every tear, every fear, and has loved me through it all. I am His—completely and continually.

There may still be valleys that I must voyage through, and misery may accompany me through them. However, I will never be alone and eventually the gloom of grief will be completely overcome by God’s glorious love. You see, I am not forgotten.

King to Queen

I saw the advertisement on a Facebook page dedicated to our neighborhood—“Antique French bed includes headboard, footboard, and side rails. Good condition.” Hmm.... I thought about it for a week before making inquiries. Another week passed before I heard a response from the owner. Today was the day I finally made contact with the woman who was selling it and arranged a time after church to see the bed. Today was the day I officially decided that it is time to exchange my king sized bed for something smaller.

When I drove up to the home to examine the bed, an older couple was working diligently in the front yard, taking advantage of the unseasonably warm January day. I immediately liked them. They both had smile lined faces and the lines around their eyes told the story of all the joy they had shared over the years. “Hi, I’m Kim. I texted you about the bed.”

“Hello, I’m Renate,” the woman spoke with a thick South African accent and extended her hand to take mine. “It is a pleasure to meet you.” We made our way to the garage where the head board leaned against a wall. Renate showed me a stamp near the bottom. “See, this is the stamp showing it was made in Paris.”

“Where did you find this?” I was curious to know more.

“I bought it 42 years ago in South Africa when we were first married. It was in an antique store. We just recently bought a bigger bed.” Her husband joined us in the garage. Their mannerisms demonstrated a love and intimacy that was over forty years strong.

“I’ll take it.”

Her husband spoke up, “When will your husband see it? When you get home?”

“No,” I hesitated a moment, “my husband is dead. That’s why I’m buying this. I have a king bed and just decided it’s time to downsize. I don’t even use half my bed.”

There was an awkward silence. “I’m sorry,” he responded, eyes downcast.

They helped Haden and I load the bed into the back of our Expedition. They gave us pillows to provide padding between the pieces, and then Renate followed us home so that we would not need to return them. We spoke a little and with every word I liked her even more. Before she left I told her, “Now I have a piece of your story.”

She smiled and her eyes twinkled. “Yes, you do.”

Marriage is such a gift. It is the covenant relationship that God uses to demonstrate His connection with the church. I believe wholeheartedly in marriage and value it even more now that Woody is gone. It is not something to be taken for granted but to be cherished and preserved. Renate and her husband reminded me of what Woody and I had hoped to have in another 22 years. However, our story was rewritten and now I have learned to lean on God as I adjust to a life that does not include a husband to have and to hold into old age. It means a life of transitions, such as downsizing from a king to a queen. But with every adjustment, with every change I grow stronger. God is slowly removing the clouds to reveal His brilliant sunlight.

Hopefully soon I can begin the work of restoring the queen bed, and as I do I know I’ll remember Renate’s beautiful smile and the marriage that began in South Africa 42 years ago. I will also remember how God has faithfully carried me through the darkness and continues to restore my heart. King to queen—another step forward.

It Is Well

In 1873, Horatio Spafford sent his wife and four daughters on to Europe hoping to join them after attending to some urgent business matter. Unfortunately, the Ville du Havre, the ship upon which his family traveled, was struck by another ship and most of the passengers were killed. Horatio’s wife survived, but not one their daughters did. While traveling on another ship to join his wife in Europe, the captain pointed out the place where it was believed the Ville du Havre had gone down. After viewing the place of his family’s demise, Horatio returned to his cabin and penned these words: “It is well; the will of God be done.” Later, those words became the foundation to the hymn It Is Well.

What does it mean to be well in my soul? I have pondered that question for a year and seven months ever since the tragic day we lost Woody in a horrific hiking accident. We have suffered tragic loss, but even more than that we are suffering the effects of unmentionable trauma. One cannot comprehend the full force of the weight of which we have been under for so long, trying desperately to prevent it from squashing the very life from our bodies. The image of my children covered in their father’s blood while tears flowed down their dirt covered faces still haunts me. The look of fear in their eyes as we held Woody trying so desperately to hold onto hope and hold onto his life, will always be with me. Yet I still know that it is well with my soul. It is a knowledge that permeates every pore of my being. I know God holds my breaking heart and not once has He dropped a single fragment. He is with me—always! And as long as my eyes are fixed on Him, I have peace—not to be mistaken for trouble- and pain-free circumstances. No, peace is quite different. It is a deep seated sensation that no matter what I am walking through in this moment, eternity awaits my arrival and then my tears will cease and my heart will once again be whole.

I believe what Horatio did over 140 years ago when faced with harrowing circumstances; it is well with my soul because the God I have placed my faith in is just, and eventually He will turn my life's anguish into a beautiful hymn.

Dreams

It’s the dreams that kill me. I can manage the days so well, in complete control of my environment and my thoughts and then the night comes. My mind is no longer being directed by my consciousness and it ransacks my memories and creates illusions that, although pleasant at the time, remind me of the loss and loneliness. I am startled awake by the chimes of my alarm clock; and I have to take a moment to remember where I am, why I set my alarm, and what day it is. As consciousness awakens to reality, I remember that the security and comfort I was enveloped in only a few moments before as I wandered through the dream state is not real. That is not my reality anymore. Instead I am left with a longing—an aching really—for the only man whom I have ever loved.

Grief is a process and unfortunately, there is not a manual that can adequately guide anyone through it. It is not a “one size fits all” item. It cannot be analyzed, categorized, and placed neatly on a bookshelf ready to be perused at leisure. It is as unique as the individual who experiences it. There are no words which can minimize the effect, although people try in vain to do so. And unless you have been thrown into the gloomy, desolate pit that grief creates and have had to fight for every breath, you cannot fully comprehend or appreciate just how debilitating grief can be. The only glimmer of hope I have had through the whole process has been found in my faith. Although I have been absolutely crushed under the weight of despair, I have felt a peace that can only be explained through the existence of an omnipotent God. However, even faith cannot shelter one from the anguish of loss and horrific trauma. It merely keeps one moving in the face of an overwhelming desire to quit. Faith helps keep the process of healing moving forward.

I am hopeful that someday the dreams in which Woody is alive and well and doing life with me will be as pleasant visitations rather than sorrowful reminders. I am hopeful, too, that I will continue to find joy in the moment. On the tenth it will be one year and six months since that fateful day. Although I am still damaged, progress is being made. I need only look back through my blog posts to see that. I am moving in the right direction. There will just be days when it feels as if I am going nowhere, and today is one of those days because of a dream. But someday not even the dreams will slow me down. I’m just not there yet.

Milestone Moments

It had been a tough week for Haden. He struggled to complete his school work each day, and I discovered several assignments that he had just “forgotten” to do. I had to repeat directions to him several times before he was able to complete a task. He shared with me that he had to ask his swim coach several times what the set was because he could not remember. “Mom, I can’t even stay focused enough to count my laps,” he revealed to me after swim practice one day. I tried to be patient, but by Friday, my patience was running thin. Nevertheless, I did not want to upset Haden. He had his second degree black belt test coming up on Saturday, and I knew he was feeling the pressure to perform well. “We’ll talk about it next week,” I thought. “It can wait.” Yes, it was a difficult week.

Saturday arrived and although Haden seemed rather melancholy, I attributed it to stress. However, as we were preparing to walk out the door to drive to his belt test I noticed that he looked rather downcast. Had I been too harsh with him concerning his lack of focus? He was sitting in a chair in the breakfast area. I approached him and leaned over and hugged him. “I’m sorry if I haven’t been extremely patient with you this week. You’re a great kid and sometimes I’m not the greatest mom.”

Suddenly, it was as if a pipe had broken. Haden started trembling in my arms. He was sobbing, deep guttural sobs that wracked his whole body. “I want Dad!” he moaned when he finally caught his breath. And then again, like a broken record, he repeated his wish. “I want Dad!” He was completely broken. I had not heard him cry with such terrible aching since the day Woody had died. Tears filled my eyes and my heart was broken in two, but I knew that now was not the time. I had to be strong. He needed to feel my steadfast comfort.

I rubbed Haden’s back and held him tightly. “I know, sweetheart, I know. It sucks! We will always want your daddy here, always.” I grew silent and listened to the moans of a child in deep agony. I prayed over him, pleading with God to give this precious child peace and to relieve his pain. It was brutal and though I wanted to fall on the floor in a heap with him, I couldn’t. I had to be his strength and God would have to be mine.

After about ten minutes, the sobs ceased. I gently wiped the tears from his face with my fingers and kissed him on the forehead. “You ready to go?”

“Yes.” I told Haden that I truly believed that God would allow Woody to see him as he tested for his second degree black belt. Yet, I knew it wasn’t the same as having Woody there beaming with pride and then afterwards giving Haden one of his big bear hugs. But, unfortunately, it is all we are left with—the hope that he is watching from the spiritual realm.

I know we have so many more of these milestone moments to endure; and I know each will be as painful to bear as this one. I also know that in a week or two the grief that I had to suppress in that moment will hit me, and I will struggle to get out of bed and wonder why I’m still here. But I also know that just like on Saturday, God will somehow carry us through these valleys and keep us standing. Perhaps it will never get easier; but as one of my sisters stated, we will grow stronger and—with God’s help—we will persevere.

Broken But Still Blessed

Looking back on last year I can see now just how completely broken I was, and yet somehow my head remained above the waves and my strength was renewed. God did the miraculous and kept me alive and somehow I continued to thrive; but my goodness! I was so very damaged—fragmented, really—scattered into a million pieces desperately attempting to maintain control. I was so buried in grief, mine and my children’s, that I could not see how broken-down I truly was.

I reminisce and I am in awe of how God kept it all together. He alone deserves the credit. I could not have survived that first year along with all that transpired in it. We moved from the home we shared with Woody because the memories that floated through every room in our home only served to remind me of what I had lost. I immediately began cosmetic renovations to our new home transforming it into a sanctuary for the children. Hunter lost his scholarship and had to come home for a semester until we could figure out what God had in store. Haley tried to take her own life and told me that she wished I had died rather than her dad. Her attacks grew vicious to the point that at one point I thought I would have to find other living arrangements for her. She was so angry with God that she had pushed Him far away. And all the while I was trying not to let my grief bury me in a grave of defeat and despair. It was a year of pure hell.

Then spring came with the promise of hope. God continued to demonstrate His love for us through His church. Our 12Stone family continued to love us in practical ways, even arranging a weekend away at the beach for Mother’s Day weekend, knowing that we would be marking one year since Woody’s tragic death on Mother’s Day 2015. Our Swim Atlanta family pitched in providing gift cards and cash to ensure that it was truly a weekend to enjoy. Hunter’s scholarship was reinstated. Haley was awarded a dance and academic scholarship that would cover half of her tuition at a private, Christian college. Then she went to Haiti on a mission trip and God transformed her heart. She is finally on the path that will lead to God’s best for her. And Haden did well enough with his swimming to move up to the level of training he had been diligently working towards. By summer’s end, I knew we would be okay even as we sold the house we had been living in and moved back into the home we had shared with Woody.

However, I still stand in awe that we made it through last year; and I am quite positive that a year from now I will look back and wonder how I survived this coming year. This I do know—whether I am conscious of His presence or not, our ability to persist is wholly by God’s power. We would still be shattered and shaken if it were not for His constant care. So whether the day is full of sorrow or joy, I will praise Him for infinite faithfulness. 

When Will Acceptance Come?

I dreamt that Woody was alive last night. We stood in the kitchen, laughing and talking as if nothing had happened. I was relaxed and content. He told stupid jokes and I rolled my eyes. Woody was home! “Do you want to sit on the deck and have a glass of wine with me?” he queried.

I smiled ready to respond, when something snapped. “No, we can’t! If we do, you’ll die tomorrow.” I rushed toward him. I wanted to hold him tight and feel his heart beating steadily in his chest while his warm breath caress my cheek. But when I reached my arms out to embrace him, he vanished.

I woke up suddenly, shaking with tears in my eyes. It was just a dream. Woody is never coming home. I will never snuggle up to him on a cold night and laugh as he jumps out of his skin as I touch him with my icy fingers. I will never smell him again as I pull one of his shirts from the laundry basket. I will never gaze into those caramel brown eyes with flecks of green as all my resistance rushes out the door. No, I must accept the fact that he is gone

.

And yet occasionally in my dreams he is still here and very much alive. It is as if my mind were playing some cruel joke on me. I want to scream and cry. Why can’t my subconscious accept the fact that Woody is dead? It is in constant denial, even after a year and four months. I wonder when acceptance will penetrate every part of my being, even the dark recesses of my brain.

But for now, I live in the reality of the daylight and know that even in this God will carry me through.

Sixteen

Last night I cried myself to sleep. Tomorrow Haden turns 16, and the thought of celebrating another birthday without his daddy’s boisterous laughter and over the top antics was just too much to bear. Woody loved birthdays. Celebrations were his forte. And now, it’s just the two of us. Hunter and Haley are both away at school, and though I invited a friend to have birthday dinner with us and watch Haden open his gifts, I know it was a poor substitution

.

I often wonder how Haden truly feels. He was so close to his dad. He admired him so deeply. Of all my children, Haden is the most like Woody. He is sensitive and empathetic; selfless and kind. He rarely speaks about Woody and the day he died. He has buried that day beneath a mountain of rock. It’s as if Woody is on a permanent vacation. However, what can I expect? That day was too horrific. How can I expect him to deal with the emotions of watching his dad fall like a rag doll over 100 feet until his head smashed into a tree stump? How can I ask him to talk about the terror of holding his dad on the side of a mountain for over an hour watching him slowly die, with injuries too gruesome to adequately articulate? No, we will not bring up that day. It is better to deny its existence and deal with the loss.

I know Haden’s faith is what holds him together. He is so firmly rooted. Not once has he doubted God’s love or faithfulness. However, that doesn’t take away the pain. So, Haden swims and throws himself into a sport he has grown to love. Rather than striking out, he works on his strokes. In the pool he forgets and convinces himself that he is just like any other swimmer. There he has found physical relief for the emotional pain that haunts him daily.

And I watch and I wish desperately that Woody were here with me to see the young man Haden is becoming and the progress he has made. All the success in the world cannot replace an amazing dad, but perhaps it makes the grief more bearable.

Sixteen. I pray that God brings Haden healing and hope in this year of his life. I pray that I can be the mother he needs in order for him to grow into the man that God desires him to be. I know there will be many more tears, but perhaps this year there will be more laughter.

Circumstantial or Certain?

I have a question I want everyone to ponder; your joy—is it circumstantial or certain?  I believe if we are quite honest, most would admit that it tends to be circumstantial.  The least amount of discomfort may send one reeling in despair.  We place too much emphasis on physical security, and when that security is threatened, we so often become disenchanted.  Our happiness is dependent on the temporal rather than the eternal. 

My circumstances turned dire 15 months ago when my whole world came crashing down around me and fell into a million pieces at my feet. There was no light. I wandered in the darkness full of agony. I could not see. Yet, even in unfathomable despair I could feel God’s presence as He held me and carried me through the depths of my grief. Even in the bottomless pit of anguish, there was joy—joy rooted in the unquestionable presence of my Savior. Sorrow saturated my days, but joy kept me alive.

Today I want you to ask yourself, “What do I truly believe about God? Is my faith built on the solid foundation of who God is or who I am?” Are you spending too much time focused on your present circumstances? Nothing in this life is assured, but God’s strength is certain. His love will never be dependent on your circumstances.

Reflecting on God's Love

I woke up angry. Angry with Woody for leaving me when there is still so much work to do with raising our children to adulthood. Angry that I have to face the rest of life alone. Just ticked! I wanted to scream, but instead I took our dog Piper for a walk. Upon returning, I was ready to spend some time alone with God and pour out my frustrations. “Are you ready for an earful?” Yet, somehow as soon as I hit my knees, all the anger and frustration dissipated. My tears were tears of awe and wonder as I contemplated the fact that I can enter the presence of God. Do you get what a big deal that is? I mean, this is the GOD! Yahweh, Jehovah, Adonai! He is too awesome to fully comprehend and I am too finite to even begin to understand.

I am completely humbled by the fact that I am loved so completely by the God who rules the universe. I am but a cosmic speck. I am nothing! Yet God loves me as if I am everything! Today, instead of letting anger, frustration, or grief control and manipulate your emotions, focus on the fact that this same God loves you immensely.

Survivor's Guilt?

“Who would like to go?” was the question that accompanied a dear friend's post on Facebook. She had attached a link with information about the “Taste of Georgia.” Impulsively I responded that I would love to go, and then before I could change my mind, I followed the link and purchased a ticket. Later while communicating via text with the same friend, I admitted that this future outing will be the first time that I have socialized with friends sans children since Woody died.

I am conflicted in my emotions. Part of me is excited at the prospect of grown-up interaction in a relaxed atmosphere with people I thoroughly enjoy; yet the other half of me feels guilty—guilty for allowing myself to live and laugh without Woody. It has been over a year, yet I still feel as if I will wake up one morning and find him lying next to me in bed with a mischievous grin on his face and explain how it was all a horrible hoax. I still struggle at the thought of allowing myself to engage in life, enjoy new experiences, and make new friends without him. I still miss him with every fiber of my being. Sometimes the feelings of loneliness and loss overwhelm me, until the pain is a physical ache deep within my chest. However, at the same time laughter comes quickly. Smiles grace my lips; and with every bit of joy I experience there is also a twinge of guilt for allowing myself to be happy.

Perhaps this too shall pass. I really don’t know. What I do know is that God has carried me through the worst season of my life, and He will somehow assist me as I navigate through this next phase of grief.

A Wedding

It was a lovely wedding. I have known the bride and groom for years and have loved them both separately but love them even more as a couple. As they knelt to take communion together, I watched as the bride’s arm went around the groom’s torso and her hand rested lovingly on his back. Tears stung my eyes as I witnessed a long journey concluding at the altar. She had waited—and waited—for a man who would cherish her like Christ loved the church. I was honored to witness a union firmly established in faith.

The evening was bittersweet. I remembered the day I had pledged my life and love to a man who loved me with such great compassion and joy. We spoke of how we would grow old together and watch our children and grandchildren blossom into men and women. We planned trips around the world. We imagined retirement together. Our lives were ever intertwined. There was no future ever fantasized that did not include “we.”

But then the unimaginable happened. The man I vowed to love until death did us part tragically died shortly after his 43^rd birthday. Suddenly the future grew grim and gloomy. I realized then how very little control we have over what tomorrow might bring. We are not promised “old age.” We are not even guaranteed next week. We can only be assured of the moment we are in.  Life truly is short.

I know I will witness more weddings, and every one of them will be a joyous occasion. I just pray that every couple who walk down the aisle and enter into that covenant relationship will value every day after the wedding even more so than the ceremony itself. I pray that they treasure the years they are given and never squander even one single hour of any given day. Love is a gift from God, and marriage is by His design. Do not waste it.