Coffee and God

Life is relatively simple for me. I start my day with coffee and God and consult both throughout the day. It's a concoction that works wonders and can tackle all of life's burning questions with an elevated alertness and acuity. God and the coffee will have me on the ready for the curve ball that will inevitably come.  Life, once again, is thrown off kilter for our family. There are no firm answers and there are usually many questions that outweigh the reality of true answers. It is at that juncture where you go down swinging or you give it all you got and safely reach the bag.

So here I find myself, again. Who would have thought that during our (nearly) 15 years of marriage three of our children would find AI Dupont Children's hospital a temporary "home".  Seemingly we are on a 6 year interval of visits that require a visit to the PICU.  Thankfully the hospital has been redesigned and it doesn't look the same from our prior admissions. The change of scenery helped the girls and, in all honesty, Allan and me.  Yet, it's not enough to shake the weight that there were two special people in our family that died in this facility. Not to have to walk down the same hallowed halls was a gift for all of us- even our family and friends who, I'm sure, are getting pretty tired of ramping up the prayer chains, storming the gates and supplying me with coffee.  I know I'm tired of asking for that support.  The cynic in me thinks "well, at least in the next six year cycle the Bugs will be 15 and nearly 18 so we won't have be legally responsible much longer if we don't want to cope with it anymore." Probably not my most brilliant in my parenting coping skills. 

Life is full of choices, perspective, and cheap quippy advice on how to navigate the day to day quagmire of crap.  I  get tired of the hackneyed Christian responses "let go and let God", "He knows", "He is there and has this all planned out", etc etc Amen.  While I can not deny the deeply seated truths in these kinds of remarks, they still fall short in conveying the depth of understanding, trust and faith that it takes to get to be able to simultaneously rest in their wisdom and feel the emptiness that there are no "answers this side of Heaven".

So where do we go when words can't provide the answers and you know that God holds the answers you seek? Where do we search when we know the answers are not to be found and your heart is crying, "I've been intentionally hit by another pitch!" ? Well, I just do not have the answer. I find that to be anti-climatic, don't you?

When Emily was showing signs that something was up,  I had to go on this journey of self talk and parental scrutiny. I was watching her like a hawk and not wanting to believe that there was something "wrong". I consulted my posse of people to no avail. Honestly, I just wanted someone to tell me what to do. I wanted someone to say, "This is the way walk in it." I was not ready to relinquish all of my fears, concerns, field research and Google searches to God.  I grabbed a cup of coffee and some quiet time and begged that He would blaze our trail. He would protect our child and He would provide for her needs. 

This weekend, when the name "diabetes" had not yet entered our lives with the force that "mitochondrial" did so long ago, we prayed as a family for Emily. I don't know about you, but when I close my eyes to pray all I see is dark. That morning at the breakfast table the dam I saw was in the form of a tunnel and there was a pinprick hole at the end with a bright light. I actually had to cover my eyes with my hands to make sure they were still closed. "Amens" were said and breakfast was served. I downed my coffee as the knot in my stomach grew. I busied myself with the day and tried to steal time with each of the Bugs not in question to hear their thoughts, feelings and concerns. It wasn't until a car ride that I remembered my experience while praying. Put on the field research hat and polled the posse. Yup. Everyone else in my sample set only saw dark when praying. I went with it and decided that there was a visible light at the end of this unexpected tunnel. We dove in head first and took Emily to the place we all fear the most, because it would be the best place for HER.

The whimper she made when we pulled on to the campus and she saw that tower that has been breaking her heart since the day her sister died. I clutched my cup of coffee and told God that I am not a fan of our current situation. She bravely walked into that ED. She did all she was supposed to do. I tried to mentally check my attitude at the door with the years of mistrust and memories of bad treatment from past experiences. After a separate, private and short go around with the ED Resident (who was really pretty awesome) I made it clear that this is not mitochondrial,  and that I thought we should start with  a urine and a glucose check. I said, "I think it's diabetes." Not too long thereafter with a prick of a finger, my daughter was diagnosed. Just. Like. That. Allan was the first to recognize that we came in and got a diagnosis. Hallelujah. I am so tired of advocating and fighting for our kids in this place. There is great comfort and peace in a disease managed by a well researched order set.

Stuffing down the feelings of "this is not fair", "why her", "are you freaking serious, God," and "can't we just live a normal life", I tried to focus on my daughter with critical labs that are correct able. These thoughts seep out of my wet eyes. We focused on getting all Bugs on the same page, walking through the process and letting out all the feelings that were and still are being felt. They were catapulted into a myriad of memories they have yet to understand. When they put the pule ox on Emmy's finger, without explanation, as they whisked her to the PICU I watched my daughter begin to unravel. I did too. The one thing that my girls still talk about was how Ava's toe glowed with the pulse ox monitor.  It was just too much to bear. In that moment God mad His presence known and instead of crumbling, we followed Emmy to the place we never wanted to go (again).

There is so much to learn and our lives have just changed in the blink of an eye. I could easily get lost  in the words and the emotions and the questions. But they have no answers. They serve a purpose to help deal with the enormity of our current circumstance. But they do not explain the why's. The employees here are at the ready to help us understand "why" and that is so great of them.  Yet I feel like it's a surreal process. I've been living, a long hard time, not knowing "why" and accepting that they"why" is  not important. I could become so cynical right now. The coffee sucks, I can't leave the floor, I'm tired and I don't want my daughter to have diabetes. But there is no purpose in that. Of course it will happen, and it needs to, I just can't live like that. 

I realize that I spend a lot of time searching for the "how" now. What are the nuts and bolts of this diagnosis, how do I relinquish my child to the medical world of labs, injections, appointments and lack of control? How do I face this process I've so desperately tried to avoid? How do I help all my children understand and not to be scared? How do I know the right thing to do? How the hell do I know how many carbs I put in all the recipes I make up on the fly? How do we still do all that we do? How do we pay for all of this? How will I get through the day with no sleep? How will I know the way?

I will pad down the hall to the crappy coffee machine (which is WAY better than 6 years ago) get my earthly sustenance and I will Be Still and Know that He is Lord. He is the way the truth and the light and He will wipe all the tears I'm so tired of shedding. He will show me the way that I am to walk. He will teach me how to love and care for my Bugs and my Allan. He will point the direction for all the financial details and decisions.  When we are thrown those curve balls and want to know all the details, all we really need to do is grab some coffee (really because it's just so yummy) and tell God that you are done and can't do "it" anymore.  I see that He is helping my sweet sweet twirly girl, I know He's carrying all of us. That is enough "why" I need. 

Tough Milestones

The day I've been dreading is here. I have no idea why I've been dreading this so much, but I have. Ten years is a long time to live without your son. While I know that there will be many more years without him, this milestone just seems so heavy to me. I haven't been sleeping well. My dreams are interrupted with snipets of his hospitalization. I don't get it.

In a way, Allan and I should be celebrating that we made it this far. Ten long and hard years. Instead, I am hunkering down so that the date on the calendar will change. Then I can breath again, for a day. The day after I will just want that calendar date to change so that Ava's 4th Anniversary will pass. .

After the passing of their Anniversaries I try to feel Christmassy. They anticipation, the excitement, the Holly Jolly. But it's never the same. Yet, it's not devoid of joy. It can't be. That would defeat the purpose of the birth of Christ. I do feel joy. I am just without the jolly. It's nice to no longer be swaddled in grief every minute. Now my grief is different than that. My perspective is different. I love to give gifts, yet at the same time I don't really care. Not out of a pity party that I don't have two of my children here, but because it's not what makes happiness stick.

There is anticipation and excitement to unwrap the pretty packages under the tree. To see if you get what you wish for. What you may even long for.  Those gifts, while fun and exciting, are temporal. I'm not saying that we shouldn't give gifts at Christmas. It's just that for, me I need to remember WHY I give the gifts. I give them out of the love I have for my family and friends. I give them to celebrate that fact that Jesus' birth was God's gift to us. Had that not happened, I would have spent this last decade of my life down trodden and empty. I would be without hope.

I think of so many of our Joy-Hope families who are new on this journey through grief. They are trying desperately to assimilate the weight of the emptiness around their Christmas Tree with their external need to feel "jolly". That just winds up ugly and in a pile of tears. You feel like you are doing something wrong, because you don't feel like celebrating, or shopping, or wrapping, or mailing out cards. Each year I try to handle only what won't put me over the edge. Sometimes I run out of steam sooner than others. I pray and ask God to fill my tank and help me face those traditions I dread. Then I ask for a little courage and a little time to just cry as much as I need to.

Will you pray for us? Will you pray for our Joy-Hope families? Will you pray for those in your life who are facing this time of year with heavy hearts? I would love to change focus from the "have to be" to "get to be" joyous. Having to be joyous at Christmas really is external. Getting to be Joyous is Eternal. When you think about and realize why Jesus was born, you can't help to feel a tiny bubble of joy in the recesses of your soul no matter how dark and heavy your burden. God came to earth as Man so we could relate. So He could die. So we, who believe, can live with Him in Heaven.

That's a tough pill to swallow for those whose hopes and dreams have been crushed by a God whom we think owes us good things and all our hearts desires. God wants good things for us, however Christianity is not a "get out of trouble" free card. We still live in a world of brokenness, sin and hurt. We live in a world where we sound the gong for peace and living in harmony. We live in a world where it seems to be a good person is enough. We dangerously live in a world where Jesus is not the root of all these ideas. Yet, although we don't recognize it, He is. Living in this world with peace in my soul comes from listening and talking with God. He is the reason that some of you think I'm brave. He's the reason I have gotten out of bed each day over the past 10 years without my son. He is the reason for you to have joy and hope in our hurtful and broken world.

A Decade of Discovery

Ten years ago today, my life long dream came true when my baby boy was born. He was 5 weeks early and had the most amazing eyes. I was in love. No better feeling in the world. I was finally a Mom. Such a crazy notion to wrap my head around. It didn't matter, I was all in.

When we first learned that something was "wrong" with our beautiful, blue eyed boy our little family utopia began to unravel. This was not what I thought parenting was while I was playing Barbie as a child! How could this be? I would just hold Eric and sing to him. He couldn't hear but he'd face me and stare at my mouth with those piercing blue eyes. Then he would slowly put his head on my chest to feel the vibrations of my voice. When I stopped, he would pick his head up and look at me like -umm where's the song? Naturally, I'd continue.

Just after three months old we learned that Eric was not "just" deaf. Things happened so fast from there and on December 16, 2003 Eric died, in our arms.

I remember leaving the hospital, shell shocked, exhausted and lost. Allan sat beside me and I have no idea what he was thinking- I couldn't even comprehend my own thoughts let alone reflect on his grief.

The next morning I wondered- "Am I a Mom?" and "What do I do now?"

Being Eric's mom was the most amazing feeling. He was who I was waiting for to enter my life. It's so hard to remember that feeling without him here. But he is the only one who gets to hold the title of "making" me a Mom.

This birthday is just so tough. They all are in some ways- watching the days slip away and the distance between then in now is just so vast. But 10. That's a big one. I remember when I couldn't WAIT to be two full hands old! I see Eric's contemporaries playing sports and celebrating the big 1-0. I can't believe that he is not here and that in 4 too short months this grief, while it waxes and wanes, can be so heavy still.

Mothering a child who has died is tricky business. He's no longer with us, but our love for him is just as poignant as if I were scrambling to make a special breakfast, and buy  birthday balloons today.

I've been a mom for 10 years. A decade, one 1/4 of my life. This milestone is squelched by the need to speak about it in hushed tones for fear that someone will become uncomfortable with the unfortunate stories of my life. Even though he is not here and I am not after him for picking up his shoes, toys and not putting his dirty clothes in the laundry I am still Eric's Mom. I am proud of that fact, because frankly, he was one heck of an awesome kid. He had an old soul and an easy going nature. He was bubbling over with personality so much that it makes me wonder what a handful he would have been if he could actually produce energy.

I wish like you would not believe that I was too busy with birthday prep and lots of crazy kids running around this morning. But that was not the plan for my sweet boy's big ten-oh day.  I know that God is keeping us together as we walk though these milestones empty handed. At the same time I know that I would want no other plan for Eric's life (he wouldn't have been him if the plan were different).

These ten years have been tough. I suppose that would be quite the understatement, actually. I remember seeing a patient soon after Eric died. She was telling me about her children. As she was telling me about them, she paused and went for it. She has a son who was a "blue baby in those days" and just like that she was right there with him, her eyes brimming with love and sadness 53 years later. It gave me permission to feel "that sad" missing my boy.

I am not talking about the "stay in bed, don't move past it" grief. I am talking about "that sad because I love" grief. The "God will carry us but it still hurts grief". The "sometimes I don't want to be brave" grief. Grief will always be a part of my  life. When Eric died I never ever wanted that event to define me. But over the past decade it has. The experiences in your life morph into how you view the world, how you shape your actions.

What a sticky situation. You are hurt, because living just hurts sometimes. You expect that God will provide all the answers and you will ride off into the sunset. You think "those things just don happen to ME". I know you do. I did too. Sometimes I revert back to the idea that it shouldn't have happened to me. So now in the crisis- what is left? A life changing event, grief and a God who knows best.

HOLD. THE. PHONE.

God knows best? He has MY best interest at heart? (Helloooooo? Where the heck are my babies???) YUP. It's true. I have these awful gut wrenching events that occurred in the last 10 years. I can EASILY decide that I am going to take the reigns of my ship and glibly move forward feeling wronged and entitled, letting those feelings as a result of our tragedy reign supreme and define me.

That's not what God wanted for us or for Eric and Ava. They were not mistakes. They were gifts. Yes, it's absolutely stinky and crappy that they are gone. Some may even think that it's unfair. (Although I try not to focus on that, it does crop up during some world class pity parties I admit.) But I stand before you today, 10 years later, saying that it was God's plan. Our family would not be who we are today if we didn't step out onto the plank of grief and jump- trusting that God would catch us and move us to safety.

That is Eric's story. He made me a Mom. I learned to love in a whole new way. I learned to hurt at a whole new depth. I am learning that God, even when you don't love the choices He's made, molds me and is the one who defines me. Not through my sorrow and despair (and oh yes those feeling still are present) but through Joy and Hope.

Join me through tear filled eyes as I wish my sweet sweet boy a "Happy Birthday." Oh my goodness, how I miss him.

ADVENTURES WITH AVA.

TODAY IS AVA'S BIRTHDAY WE MIGHT GO PUT FLOWERS AT HER GRAVE. WE HAD SO MUCH FUN WITH AVA.  SHE CAME TO PRESCHOOL WITH ME. SHE HELPED GIVE OUT CANDY AT HALLOWEEN. I GOT TO FEED HER AND HOLD HER.  I LOVE HER SO MUCH. ~ LOVE, ALEXA

I love ava .

AVA, I AM GLAD YOU ARE MY SISTER. I REALLY MISS YOU. YOU MADE IT THE BEST. WE ARE SAD THAT YOU HAD TO GO. HAPPY BIRTHDAY, AVA. I REALLY LOVE YOU. LOVE EMILY.

Ava's Birthday

ELAINA  AVA    EMILY   ALEXA    MOMMY   DADDY

ERIC    JOY-HOPE   FOUNDATION  

AVA'S FAVORITE COLOR IS YELLOW.

NOW AVA IS WITH  JESUS. SHE DIED ON   12/18/09.

WHEN SHE DIED WE WERE VERY SAD.

                                   AVA

                                       ELAINA

                                            I LOVE HER.

Just keep Swiming?

 In my daily wanderings if am told  "I don't know how you do it"- in reference to working, homeschooling, Mommying, wifeing and running Joy-Hope Foundation. Well, here's the tip. I don't, remotely "do it" all. No way, no how. Not a chance. You should see my house, but I won't let you because it's THAT disgusting. Seriously, I wish I was blessed with the ability to not see the grime. Alas, that would be too easy. I see it. It torments me. It eats me and makes it hard to focus on the stuff I have to do.

This weekend was the first weekend we had "off" in months. By "off" I mean we had nothing on the calendar, at least for Saturday.So here we are, a free Saturday. Guess what kids? Want a fun family weekend??? Let's clean! (Oh they were just SO excited!) Clean we did, and I don't mean the cursory "someone is coming over in 20 minutes clean sweep" clean. I mean, let's start under the kitchen sink- (oh look at the science project.) We should  investigate said project. We are now proud owners of a new garbage disposal. (Not a leaky connection. A HOLE in the wall of the dispenser.)

Here's the kicker. When you deep clean, and you are one who tends to be ultra hard on herself, and you find one of Ava's old wipe dispensers (with wipes) behind the front load washing machine- cleaning becomes way more than making the house gleam. Just when you think all they lurking Eric Ava memories are in their proper places, bam! There is a baby hat that you gave to the girls for their dolls.

It's depressing and frustrating. Makes you want to scream, "Hey God, I'm trying to CLEAN here. You know, so I don't hate my house and myself. You know, so I can step into the shoes YOU asked me to wear. Thanks for the breakdown in front of my 8 year old. Thanks a ton."

Instead,  I composed myself, tried not to let it beat me and kept up the cleaning. It's hard to continue and fight through the grime and the emotions without feeling emotionally spent. (I'm totally beginning to understand why people become hoarders.) Of course becoming emotionally spent then leads to frustration that you can't get anything you start finished. Which leads to "why are we doing what we do?" and "How can we trim the fat, so to speak."

All of this is such a negative cycle. It serves nothing and leads to nowhere. It's not how God wants us to look at ourselves. It certainly is not how HE looks at us. To break up the self loathing, it was off to the store to get a new disposal and a new vacuum cleaner, why wouldn't that be broken, too?

Monday I found myself, still on the fritz. I found out that after 15 months battling with planter's fasciitis and a Hail Mary pass of my PT trying to strengthen and loosen my hip (that's hurt for at least 15 years) we decided it was time to take the plunge and try an expensive treatment on both my feet. Non invasive, same technology as what they use to break up kidney stones. A "you can be on your feet the same day treatment". A "94% are cured" treatment. So off I go today, ready to come home and bake the cookies I promised my Dad for installing the disposal. I'd be more optimistic about it's restorative/curative capabilities, but since when do I get the medical "miracle"? It always gives me pause to see that those experiences with Eric and Ava have trained me to stop and think that it is never "just" (insert run of the mill diagnosis).

This treatment will keep me from running for about 12 weeks. I KNOW how fast 12 weeks can fly (ahem, where the heck did our summer go?), especially with our two biggest fundraisers on the horizon and 6 families that need to get out of dodge in queue.  12 weeks of not being able to pound out the crap in my head, to put distance on my grief and clear the grime in my mind seems like a life sentence. These 12 weeks are a big issue. These 12 weeks are during the bulk of anniversary time that  Eric and Ava were on earth. I guess I can't run away from the smell and reminders this season, no more than I can run from lurking wipes and baby hats.

Yet, I treasure the smells and the lurking momento.  I sometimes relish the sucker punch, the excuse to cry. I desire the physical reminders that they were HERE. In my arms, keeping me up at night doing what babies do best, here. But, I hate them all the same. For the same reasons, actually.

So today, my Dad takes me to my appointment- which is in the same building that my OB used to be in. I come home, sore, numb and tired. Can't walk around, cause I can't feel my feet. So I spend the day on the couch wishing I could be in the kitchen, making cookies for my Dad. (Which I did make the batter, since I felt I had SOMETHING to prove. What that something is remains to be seen).

Like a flood- the frustration of C-section recovery- sitting on the couch, wanting to care for my family came billowing back. In 1 week Ava and Eric's birthday's will pass. Sitting on the couch today just made me wistful for the frustrated, stuck on the couch feeling- but with a baby- whom you love more than you could ever express.

I've played more Candy Crush then I care to today. I can't make my left foot function right yet and I am praying for bedtime to descend upon us. That's when Elaina, who loves animals more than life, comes flying down the stairs. 2 of our 3 fish have succumbed for Ich.

The tears, the sobbing from three kids all at once. Those pitiful puffy eyes, the vacant looks of dread. All back, over fish. They were able to tell us that this reminds the of Ava dying. Emily was sweet and said that maybe Ava died so that they wouldn't be so upset about their fish. So we talked about perspective and how God sometimes uses events in your life to give you a different vantage point on a situation.

We (by we I mean Allan)cleaned the tank, (which if you know us is just a miracle), medicated the water and are hoping that Rebekah the lone fish does not fall to the fate that Ich holds for a fishy. Well, if I be honest I kinda wish we didn't have any fish left- we've had them for about 4 1/2 years and they are a pain. But for my broken hearted girls who are learning a hard perspective tonight, for their sake, I will rally around Rebekah the fish.

Who would have thought that fish would live longer than your baby? You would think that the death of a pet would prepare you for loss you are sure to face. I can tell you nothing can prepare you, on either side of the coin. Nor can you be prepared for the intrusive reminders, smells and thoughts whether you clean or not. They will still come. Why? Because God is giving you perspective.

I need to remember that I am His not mine. I need to see myself and this world through His eyes, not mine. I am reminded that this week, in particular, we Benton's apparently need to grieve a bit more and gain some perspective.

#Remember

I've been wasting time lately. I don't really have it to waste, but yet there I sit, crushing candy, guessing the phrase and trying to come up with the most points on words with friends.  The big surprise in my laziness is that lessons can be learned in such a back door fashion.

Guess that Phrase has the trending category #firstworldproblems. This category usually makes me laugh. Then there was a bombing at the Boston Marathon. Now it highlights so much more.

Our country seems to be having growing pains there are so many huge events, laws and movements gaining steam and drawing attention it's hard to keep up. The issues are polarizing and if you have an opinion, you tend to be labeled for it. Forever. It's on Facebook, Twitter, Google+, and Istagram so it MUST be who you are. FOREVER. (Or at least for our 20 second attention span.)

We get frustrated because we have to wait in line, be on hold, our parents won't pay for a smart phone. We don't want to be inconvenienced and we are impatient to have what we want, when we want it. Want to try a new recipe? Let's jump in the car and go buy marzipan.

Hard times hit. They inevitably will. Our "easy" living intersects with searching for a deeper understanding of who we are and who we've become in light of the "event". We spend time trying to figure out how to assimilate who we were into who we (mostly involuntarily) are becoming. We stretch, (hopefully grow), and look for "something" to aid us in the discoveries we make about ourselves. We seek  and search for goodness to prevail and for life to become stagnant again.

I lean on God. I Run. I try to help others. I Pray. I Run. I Give my ideals over to what God wants me to do. I Run. I Pray while I Run.

Running is great. It's right out the door. Literally. It's healthier than drinking, drugs, binging on food, giving in to the anger that is sure to come with the involuntarily change. It's a chance to disconnect. It's a chance to work out the emotional pain, which is far greater than the physical pain from running.

Running provides camaraderie, service and a chance to accomplish something you never thought possible. It doesn't matter the distance, the time or if you have to take a walk break. It's YOUR accomplishment. It's about encouragement, and supporting each other. It's not always about when you cross the finish line, but why you did and who is there to share in that moment.

So I Run. I do the best I can in that moment. I Run to support a cause, to support a friend, to remember that Eric and  Ava never could make the energy so they could live.

4.15.2013 Tens of thousands of people who, just like me (with a lot more natural talent and sheer determination and drive), took their first steps onto the pavement for their own personal reasons. These people kept on trucking to their BQ and were, in that moment, experiencing their dream come true.

The bombs exploded and lives, countless lives were changed in a heartbeat.
The country is reeling. The FBI is searching. Families are crying in agony.

My heart is deeply wounded and bleeding for all who are affected. I can't comprehend the place you have to get to to think that violence is the answer.

I escape on my phone. My phrase is "I'm thirsty and I only have water."

We are Americans. We mostly fight against each other in opinion, law making and who is ultimately right. We are so blessed that the ever present threat of a bombing does not loom daily. We are so blessed that we had first responders and hospitals with in reach so those injured could have medical attention as quickly as possible. One life lost is devastating. Living in constant fear of the potential of something going wrong is debilitating.

While we groan and moan and feel entitled. Let's remember that in America we are blessed to worry about the miles we get in. We are blessed that we don't have to always worry about if a bomb will go off in our front yard. We are blessed to have a military full of men and women who are willing to lay down their lives and separate from their families so we can can live the way we do.

In America, we can get the water. We can run and we are free to worship. We do not need to be debilitated by fear of "what if".

I am ready. I am ready to step out of fear and dark shadows. I am ready to unite and take my steps out the door.

I will Pray. I will Follow Him. I will be Free. I will get my water from my race belt when I'm thirsty. I am grateful and I will  #RememberBoston.  I will RUN.

Why I Run

Frustration. Exhaustion. Apathy.

 I've been living here for a little while. It happens when life gets  busy enough that you can't look ahead with so much in front of you. I find the negative emotions are so intertwined and can sneak up on me and cause catastrophic thinking if I am not too careful. It always starts with benign thoughts of "I can't", "I shouldn't" and the seed is planted. Mix that with extra shifts at work, tummy sick kids x2 weeks, a literal mountain of laundry, homeschooling, a load of non profit work, a budding jewelry business with Premier Designs, and feeling "off". It's no wonder I'm about to crash and burn.

I've been struggling with my fitness for over a year now. I am sad to say that the defeatist attitude is winning the battle. It began with a stress fracture and now I am battling plantar's facitis. This PT stint has been going on now for 2 months. I am progressing and trying to be patient with it. But today, I hit a breaking point. Who knew that the inability to do a proper squat would be the catalyst for the release of a bunch of pent up, unidentifiable emotions. Yup. Squats.

I got home and decided that maybe I want to quit all of everything. Yup. All of it. PT, pretending to be a runner, work, homeschooling, jewelry, laundry. Why bother?

So I decided to try to deal with my frustration on the pavement. I ran walked a 5K last weekend with my Sister in law, my race wife and my hubby. It didn't reinjure me so I decided that I need to get out there. Downloaded the couch to 5k app on my phone so that I wouldn't get over zealous and do too much and off I went.

The first mile was uneventful and no more encouraging than the tears shed over the inability to so a proper squat. I rounded the cul-de-sac and was looking at the sky. There was a bird. Soaring. I'm always watching birds. Then I noticed a white head and tail. I kept watching and it flew right over my head. A Bald Eagle soaring over the cul-de-sac. I snapped a quick picture with my iPhone and burst into tears. Oh how I miss my sweet baby girl!

In that moment my run/walk transcended. The Eagle was gone as quickly as it appeared. God loves me enough to give me that moment. A single flash in the pan moment of power strength and majesty. He and only He knew what I needed to break down my barriers and my walls.

Our sweet baby girl was in pain and handled it with determination and poise. She was cradled in the hands of God and today she can "soar on the wings of an eagle." She can "run and not grow weary" and "walk and not grow faint."

So while I feel down and out I need to remember that I worship a God who loves little old grumpy me enough to show me through an Eagle in flight. He is the one who laid himself down and was beaten and nailed. He was the one who suffered. He was the one who rose so that I can live. In my walk I will suffer and bad things will always happen. No matter what, God can and will provide you a way to limp along in your muck. You have to open your eyes and be ready to see it, I suppose.

So I will take my emotionally raw self and see if I can turn off the water works. Once they are opened it's hard to stop them. Then I will stand firm in knowing that God took some time and showed me that He loves me and I took some time and saw that.

 Small dot taken with my iPhone.

I doubt many who read this post are feeling very "Christmassy" right now. How is it possible to feel what the carols declare- "It's the most wonderful time of the year"? There are families of 28 people who are taking steps put into the horrific world of grief. While I myself have never had to cope with tragic loss, I suspect that it is a depth of despair all of its own. The permanency and finality of death is quick, fierce and without warning in tragic loss. Allan and I often remark about how grateful we are that we were allowed some time to prepare and wrap our heads around the fact that our children were never going to get well. As if somehow that makes it all OK, right?

While I don't know much about tragedy, I know quite a bit about not feeling "Christmassy". The feelings of my youth and early adulthood of joyful anticipation that can't be helped when the downbeat of your favorite carol is heard is gone. The fa la la ing while we bust open the box of decorations after a year of being stored in the basement is tempered at best.

For me, those beats and decorations are a key to the lock box on the depth of my emotion. Bringing up those boxes, lights and setting up the play list are actions I take, each year, with the hope that I can find that frolicsome, exuberant joy I last felt 10 Christmases ago. It doesn't come. We trim the tree, deck the halls and blare the music- with an attempt to have fun (which we seriously do do). What doesn't come is that depth of joy that is in my soul. While I sing and try to "Rock Around the Christmas Tree" with my Bugs and husband, my blinders on, my head is down and my heart is braced. I hand out decorations for the tree and choose not to tell stories about how the ornament came to our home and to our tree. Most of our ornaments illustrate a gap in time. Here are the ones from my youth. Here are the ones when we got married. Oh look these came as a gift for Eric, and these came in his memory. These are for our surviving bugs. Oh wait, here are the ones for Ava and in her memory. It's just plain hard.

Emily and Alexa were 6 weeks old for their first Christmas. Allan would hold up each crying and squirming baby and say, "It's Christmastime, you have to be jolly." We've told each of our children the same thing every year while they are crying or arguing. As you can well imagine, this annoys them. (We hope it will provide a fun memory in their adulthood, however.)

You know what? I've discovered that you don't really have to be "jolly" at all. (Don't tell the Bugs, PLEASE). You can celebrate, decorate, dance in the kitchen and see the beauty in the twinkling lights. You can experience the wonder in the eyes of the children. You will always have to delete names off the Christmas list, remember those gone on. You will always have something in the season that reminds you of the time when your loved one was with you. That's just part of living.

For me as much as Christmas is a tough "time of year" and it's smells and decorations open up a flood of  memories I would just a soon not have to have, I have to celebrate. I have to step into our traditions and merry making no matter how dampened my soul feels.

Why?

Mary was greeted by an angel and was told she was to deliver the Son of God. This child is the reason that I can get out of bed everyday. This child is why I keep pressing on when I just can't take the overwhelming grief. This child is why there is anticipation in the Christmas season. This child is why there is hope in our future.

I doubt we will ever ever understand the  "whys?" and "how could God allow that to happens?" that we LOVE LOVE LOVE to wonder about. God does love and protect us. I know because I am living proof of being two seconds from the edge of the cliff. I also know that there is evil in the world. It was unleashed with that bite into that apple. There are people who have suffered such trauma and torment in their lives- whether at the hands of others or with struggles with mental health- who are so far removed from humanity that they can't, won't hear God.

Don't you think that when those shots were fired, God cried too? He doesn't want this for us. He is the only one that can ease the pain of death. How do I know? Because He does for me, daily.

It is OK to be happy and have a nice time when others are suffering. It is OK to pray for those whom you feel need it while you are enjoying your family. It is OK to not feel appropriately "Chistmassy" as those sleigh bells and jingle bells dictate. And while I have been there and tend to hover there, I do have joy and fun in the season and feel "Christmassy" in the eager expectation that God has all of our lives in His hands.

If you are looking for a way to help the families in Newtown, CT and those that you know suffer sadness, why don't you simply ask God be with them? Ask God to be with you and show you how you can influence one life in a positive way, in a way that He wants you to? If you have never tried and are wondering if it is worth it, I can assure you it never hurts to ask, and patiently listen for the answer.

The Tears are Different

Not only are the emotions in my soul different, the tears actually feel different. 9 and 3 years later I grieve for my babies in different ways. When Ava first died and a large percentage of the time since that day, my grief for her eclipses my grief for Eric. Not out of lack of sadness for him, but I had 6 years of getting used to him being gone before she passed.

But it's not only that. When Eric was born we were full of joy. We had our first child. My dreams of becoming a Mom came true. Everything was a first. His birth story is filled with excitement and joy. Filled with anticipation of the future.

For Ava the sweet memories are not as abundant and flowing. I was worried my whole pregnancy. I don't know if instinctively knew that there was something wrong. I don't know if I was freaked out at the prospect of having a 4th c-section and being the mom of 4 children under 5. Whatever the situation I found myself in the hospital the night before Ava's delivery on IV fluids trying to hold off for a day to get me to 35 weeks gestation. That night in the hospital was horrible. I came home, undelivered, looking and feeling like I was beaten up. After being home for a few more hours the contractions, while unproductive, kept coming one minute apart. At 2 I went in for my c-section. I will never forget how excited the Bugs were and how I felt the need to temper their excitement. I remember thinking "Am I ready for this...." with an air of imminence. There was not much room for sweet memories. I had a rough recovery and the hospitalization was not too great. The day we discharged is the day we learned Ava could not hear. It was on what would have been on Eric's 6th birthday.  I remember the witnessing the unabashed joy the Bugs had for Ava. The plans they would make for "When Ava is 1...5...etc". I remember trying to temper their exuberance without trying to squash their spirit in hopes to prepare them for what I feared what was around the corner.

These differences are playing out as we are faced with another birthday week. I feel freer to remember the sweet things about Eric. The sweet things about Ava are muddled with a sick pit of the stomach feeling. Busting through that to HER sweetness is not an easy road. It makes all that we were given and subsequently lost so much more poignant.

Then there is the birthday observances. We try to meet the Bugs' needs. This means that Allan and I have to do things that we don't necessarily want to do.  They are kids and they need the tangible, free expression of love. I suppose that is a good thing as sometimes it's easier to bury your head. So this year, on Ava's birthday we went to the grave and laid flowers for Eric and Ava. The store didn't have yellow roses, so we settled on pink and added some yellow baby's breath.

When I first saw this, I wanted to run away. It's too much to bear. But I've learned to bear the enormity of our grief. I am trying to focus on how each of these sweet babies were God's gift to us. Because, really that is exactly what they were. No matter how differently their stories and lives are etched in my memory.

I Miss Her

Well, I realize that it may seem I've fallen off the face of the planet. As life takes over time seems to get shorter and shorter. In my months of blogging silence I find that I've been worked and reworked and God is molding and forming me in ways that I am just now begining to uncover. The tricky part in the discovery is the unraveling of the knots inside your soul. It is just plain hard to take a good hard loook at yourself, and see what needs to be untied.

I have a massage therapist who has physcially helped me achieve what I train for. I would run and beat myself up. Then she would find the knots and methodically and compassionately work them through. The process can be painful, but the release from the tension and the renewed ability for my body to respond and function to the best of it's ability is such a relief. Sometimes the muscles tighten quickly and the feeling is gone in a flash. Sometimes it hangs on a little longer and I can breathe easier.

This is how God reworks your soul. You are numb and you can't tell the source of the pain and anguish. He lovingly, expertly massages the knot. As that area in your life bubbles to the surface it is a tough pill to swallow. Then you live with it for a bit. It becomes familiar and you see it from a different angle. Only then can you work on changing the behavior, the thought pattern or the activity. Then SNAP the old grabs hold of the new, the knot is tied again. You find yourself needing to dig deep again and find courage to face the ugliness that has been laid at your feet.

Your breath becomes shallow and you want to flee, throw it aside and never look back. The realization is ugly. The process is hard. Fire has to burn hot to make metal malleable. Walking through the fires in life need to be hotter than the basic nature of our stubborn, habitual natures.

Then one day, even though the sting is still there you see it and you can learn to handle it. For me it's been the disaray in our home and how I've been parenting the Bugs in the aftermath of the last 9 years of our lives. How does God bring it to the surface? For me it's with His Holy highlighter and a glimmer of the "Amy" that has so long been suppressed. Sometimes because life has burried her, sometimes because it's too painful to remember the "before".

I miss that "Amy". I am so grateful that there are components still there. Of course they will be as that is who God created. But being made is stagnant. We are meant for change. He did not just make me. He FORMS me, He MOLDS me. He BENDS me. As I walk through this life He pulls me closer to who He NEEDS me to be; to become the one He planned for me to become. So I know that the knots will come back, the massage will be painful, but not unbearable. I have to train my mind to not fight it and to relax through it. I need to allow myself to let Him work through me as I continue on my journey. I know that it will never be easy, but it will never be more than I can work through and handle.  Through my tears and my feeings of guilt I can press on.

It can be the same for you as you miss the "you" of your happy time. The process is actually pretty stinky while in the throes of it. But the result is beyond your hearts desire. Follow His plan that is made for you. Join me on the hard unpaved path. Work out the kinks and let go of the pain. The reward is glorious. the journey is courageous.

"My God will meet all your needs according to his glorious riches in Christ Jesus." Phillipians 4:19 (And who says VBS is for the kids?)

www.joyhopefoundation.com

Peaks and Valleys

Emily came up to me yesterday, tucked herself in the crook of my arm and told me that she misses Ava. I asked her if she had anything she regretted. Of course, I then had to describe what "regret" is to my 7 year old. She told me that she wished she could reach into her "Ava Book" and wrap her arms around her sister.

She's been really going through the fire lately. There is a new level of understanding and concept of loss that she is processing and trying to organize. With it comes a new level of pain and sorrow. Professionally, I know that as a child's ability to think on different levels expands, that child will have to grieve on a different level and in a new way all over again. As the mom of a child walking the walk it catches me off guard each time.

I realized that my sweet child is not afraid to miss her sister. She's not afraid to let her arms ache to hold her, to smell her, to remember how she was really here. Guess what? Through December and most of January I hit a wall. Early in December I got a stress fracture in my leg. I have yet to run since 12/2/12. I was in a great deal of pain until a couple weeks ago. I was trying to muddle through the "festivities" of the season. I was spent. I didn't want to do anything, my body hurt and my soul was broken and sad. For some reason the complexities of all that Allan and I personally LOST was all I could ruminate upon.

My daughters are amazing. They are allowing themselves to feel the loss. I have been afraid to allow that. I prefer to focus on what we've gained through the loss. It's easier that way. But we have to focus on the actual hole that Ava left in our lives. I think it's the only way to keep it from burrowing deeper into my soul.

After Eric died, I did FEEL the achy, empty arms, the loss of a future, the pain of dreams doused. With Ava...sometimes...I can't. It's just so hard to allow that feeling to develop and manifest itself. So there was the wall at Christmas. The black, painful pit. The one with the mud walls so there is nowhere to grasp. There was nowhere to hide. I couldn't pound out the thoughts in my mind through running. Instead, I had to sit still and let the pain in my leg become the precipitous to that which was trapped in my heart.

Sometimes, I think God allows you to feel that way so that you remember to cling to Him more. In throes of the bleak days I wonder where He really is. I know He is there, but I feel like I'm slipping. Really I think that He is helping me along. He allows me to feel the pain and ache so that I can reach a higher peak.

I get frustrated having to be "on" and guiding my children through this emotional maze they are trapped in. I am glad I can do it. But it gets old. Really really old. Then there is a sweet child, wriggling herself into the crook of my arm, seeking comfort. I then notice that she in fact helps me. I wish I could be as brave as she.

Fa la la la la?

If the truth be told, I am having a rotten time of it. I often said that the second year, in some ways, is harder than the first after a loved one dies. I don't think that it's as intense, so that part is past. During the first year you are numb, depressed, surviving from one moment to the next clutching your way through the day, the night and the drudgery that comes along with the long minutes of agony.

During the second year, a little of that black cloud lifts. There are longer periods of time between "normal" and bad days. It's not every minute. However, you are not as much on guard of your emotions. When the bad days come, they hit you like a ton of bricks. You feel more and with your guard down, you remember more.

I'm not saying that this is bad. It's just hard. It's a pain. And I don't want to go through it, AGAIN! I'm trying not to have a pity party over here. But I want to scream "IT'S NOT FAIR!!!!!"

I get so annoyed with myself when I feel this way. I don't know what to do with myself, so I berate my thoughts. I hear of all of these wonderful things happening in the lives of my friends, co workers, family. I hear of struggles and trials through the same circles. Yet I find myself feeling, 'what about me?' 'Why can't I have that?' 'Why did they get to take their kid home?' 'Why couldn't my babies have something that medicine could heal?' There are miracles happening right around me as people I know and love struggle, suffer. I KNOW it's a miracle. I SEE it happening. I KNOW that there are friends out there whose children could have died, but didn't because we live in a place where medicine is easily accessible and curative. Don't get me wrong. I am grateful for all of these things. I am grateful for the blessings for these people. I'm just a little jealous that it didn't happen for us, twice.

There's been flash backs, memories. Feelings of guilt that we didn't do for them more than we did. It's nothing to solve. It just is. I always feel sad when I look at our surviving children and see their heartbreak. Emily is having memories of the night we told her her sister died. Alexa broke down when we donated her tricycle (at her original request) because she had a vision of having Ava ride it someday. Elaina hugs Ava's picture and simply states that she wishes that Ava could come down to us again. They want to hang a stocking for Ava and Eric. It kills me to do so. They play baby all day long. They are playing out their need to love a little one. They wish they could have a little sibling. We can't do that anymore. Little things that pierce my soul, some days more than others.

I look at our Christmas Decorations, I think about why we celebrate. I think about smiles on little faces. I feel removed from it x6. I was thinking about about how I am seeing a lot of social media about remembering those who have a hard time during the "holiday season". On my drive into work last night I realized that of course there are so many who have a tough time this time of year. As we age our lives move from the child like innocence and wonder to reality. Reality is that we live in a sinful world. We are sinners in the world. Sin is a bundle of bad choices, ugly thoughts and feelings, negative actions, even death. Part of our humanity wants to sweep it under the rug and 'be happy'. That's not how it works. We are all touched by a form of grief in our lives. So of course there are those who have a tough time around the significant markers on the calendar. The longer you live, the more people you love have endured suffering.

So what do you do? As a grown up you enter a quagmire of sadness. Living is hard. Do you try to keep on keeping on and show your children the joys of the season? Do you squelch the twinkle in their eyes as they gaze are the decorations, as they plan surprises for those they love? Do you try to ignore the festivities because your heart is heavy? I want to. But I can't. The Bugs have unbridled joy. I don't want to be the Mom who makes this season harder on them, because my heart is broken and I am suffering from my sinful thoughts.

There is a little thing called Grace. It comes from God. He gives you what you need, when you need it and you don't deserve it. It's how I keep moving on. I know that even though I feel a layer of film exists between me and the festivities, I can enjoy something. Sometimes it feels like the cloud will never go away. Then I see grey skies, and sometimes there's blue trying to peep through. I try to take delight in those little twinkly eyes. I try not to squelch that. They have a whole life to live and plenty of time to deal with whatever comes their way.

God gave us Jesus. I know that some of you don't understand that, or don't believe it, or don't get it. I struggle with that often. I struggle with how to get someone to understand the depth of joy and hope you can have, even in the dark and more sinful times, when you really really allow God to be the captain of your ship. I know that each person will have their own relationship with God, just as we relate to our family members in a different way. The operative word in that sentence is relationship. It's not a static thing. It's something that you work on every day. It changes and sometimes it's good and you are on a high. Sometimes its low and frustrating. But it's always there and always based on love.

We get mad if a loved one hurts us. We turn our backs and wonder how could that person love us if they did THAT to us. We push the person away. We want nothing to do with them anymore. But the problem is that when the anger subsides, a thought sneaks in. We still love the person on some level. So we make ourselves angry and fuel that feeling so that we don't have to actually FEEL the true feelings of the infraction. Walls walls walls go up and suddenly you look at your fortress and you are trapped. We do this with God too. But with Him you can't build an impenetrable fortress. He's the one who made you, me, my broken children, my healthy children. He created everyone on this earth. We are here for His purpose, whether we are born to what someone thinks is a "deserving" family or not. Each person born has a purpose and the capacity to love, themselves, each other, God.

You see, even though we are down right now. We know there will be an up point. We know that God loves us. We know that God loves us. We know it, but we need some Grace to feel it, to roll with it and to move to the next step. We need His strength to climb out of the pit we find ourselves in so that we can see the Blessings right in front of us. Those pits are deep sometimes. 'But His grace is sufficient for me, His strength is made perfect in weakness.'

I hate death. I love a death with hope.
I want 5 kids in my house. I am glad two are healed and no longer suffering.
I want "that big thing" that will make me feel better. I know that there may not be a 'big thing' that is tangible. But God loves me and hasn't forgotten about me. He will make me get to the next day, and the next, and the next.

For Christmas this year, won't you try to see how God loves you and Blesses you when you are down and don't feel in tune with Him? It's hard. I know. It's really hard. But I bet you will be surprised.

Happy 7th Emily and Alexa!

On Emily and Alexa's 5th Birthday Ava went to the hospital. It was the last time they held her. On their 6th Birthday, the cried during the Birthday song, and walked around with long faces all day. I asked what was wrong and Alexa replied, "This is hard for us Mommy." It truly was one of the worst days of my life. (I suppose that is saying something!)

For 2 years I've been trying to put as positive a spin on their 5th birthday. I've been very frank with them, I've cried with them, I've expressed my anger about it as well. From the time Ava went to the hospital I've grappled with the 'why did she have to go on THEIR birthday' as much as the Bugs.

It's exhausting. It's frustrating. It's just H.A.R.D. They needed another memory. Something to be thrilled about.

Last week we packed up and headed to The City. We stayed over night. We took the Bugs to the top of the Empire State Building. We had a birthday dinner at the American Girl Store. We agreed to frivolous spending on things that are normally not even worth asking about (doll hairstyles and ear piercing ~Really?!). We had AMAZING cupcakes at Magnolia's Bakery. We saw Times Square, Rockefeller Plaza, Central Park, St. Patrick's Cathedral, the New York Public Library. Of course we rode the subway. We spent the morning with my childhood best friend who lives in Manhattan and I haven't seen for 11 years! We ate hot dogs and pretzels from street vendors. I soaked in the rhythm of NY speech patterns and was seriously contemplating moving back. WE HAD REAL PIZZA!!!!!!!!!!! We were TOURISTS and I was not ashamed!

On the way home, we stopped in Jersey and stared at the back of Lady Liberty from Liberty State Park. We stared at the NY skyline. We showed the Bugs the Empire State building and talked about perspective and size. We talked about September 11th and the Twin Towers. I am ALWAYS humbled by how sad I feel when I look at that skyline now. It grips me in a way I don't think I understand.

For those of you who don't know. I grew up in the Hudson Valley, north of the City. I drink cawfee and when I'm tired, I still say tawlk. I can do a pretty good Cawfee Tawlk impression. Just ask my college friends. I never "knew New York" like some of my friends. But I have always loved the City. I love it's pace, the things to see. I love the architecture. I love that if you turn right there is going to be something cool to see. Oh and, I love the Yankees.

What was the best part? The love of the City that our Bugs- who are rapidly getting BIG- developed. I loved being able to show them things that I have seen numerous times. I loved seeing the City through their wide and brimming eyes. Mostly, Allan and I both loved the joy excitement and twinkle in their eyes leading up to our trip, during our trip and since we've been home.

We can't ever ever take away the fact that Ava went to the hospital on their birthday. Nor do I want to. It's a part of their story, her story, our family's story. And let's be honest, if I were to start taking stuff away from our family story, I would be a (more) crazed Mom with an 8 year old, 7 year old twins, a 4 1/2 year old and a 2 year old! But we can teach them that it's OK to have a hard memory on a special date and know that it's OK to have a good and fun memory on that date another year. We can help them break out of the tomb of grief and know it's OK to move on. You know what, Allan and I learn that in the process too.

We were talking after we put our new 7 year olds and our 4 1/2 year old to bed in our awesome hotel room (and the least expensive thanks to discount sites). We were worried that we over did it. (Which we did). You know what? Sometimes it's worth it. It's worth to see the gleam in their eyes, the joy and excitement . It's worth it to feel a happy in a way that cracks the hollowness inside.

Of course, we now have a problem as a certain 4 year old would like to go to NYC for HER birthday and he wants "to stay for one, two, three (holds up four fingers) nights. No let's stay for four". She also wants to go to American Girl. So we are going to have to explain to her that she will need to get a job.

Mud, mud, mud

All of a sudden it's November 15th! Last I knew the days were rolling into September. The Joy-Hope Foundation just had it's "Music for Memories" concert and I was getting ready to run my second half marathon.

I ran Rock and Roll Philly Half marathon. It was an amazing event. It was fun, the weather was perfect and I had a great time running with some dear dear friends. After the race, 20,000 participants strong, I was roaming to our meeting place. Got stopped by a group of happy finishers and was asked to take a picture of the crew. I handed the camera back and heard someone shouting my last name. Turned around and there was my college friend, whom I haven't seen for about that long! What a special moment. It was her first half since she's had children. She kicked my butt by the way. In our brief meeting, she told me that she thought about Eric and Ava during her race. Then she said something that I will never forget- She told me that I now have run a "Half for Each". I didn't even think of that!

I am routinely surprised by the impact my sweet babies had on those around. Another dear friend of mine had a PR (personal record) and she told me that it was because she was thinking about my babes. What an honor.

The week after the Half Marathon I ran a "5K". The Delaware Mud Run. You do it as a team. You get really dirty. It is physically demanding and it makes you complete all these obstacles that I was not prepared for. I did it to "help out a friend". She needed another team mate or they couldn't do the race. I had no idea what I was getting myself into. I thought I'd get dirty (which I hate BTW). I thought the obstacles were the mud pits at the end (which I was having anxiety about as I don't like to get dirty, sticky or put my face in the water). So there we were getting a nice rhythm and bam. We had to wait in line - for what we had no idea.

It was a 40 foot slippery incline that we had to navigate up using a rope. I got started, and slipped down, into mud. Then I couldn't get my footing. My sprightly team mate was shouting from the top for me to try the side of the hill. You could get better footing. She was right!

When I think about all the obstacles on the course that day. I realized that it was such a metaphor for life. You are just running along and wham!- there is something smack dab in your face that you never thought you would have to do or face. You stop, regroup, dig deep and ascend. Sometimes there are obstacles that are demanding, others are downright frightening. But before you know it, you are attacking them. You are hanging on for dear life. You cry out for help and you realize that God is guiding your every step. Sometimes you fall, and the recovery takes a little longer. You complete your obstacle and just when you think you are recovering, something new is lurking, waiting, challenging you. By then end you wonder if you have enough to dig deep and keep fighting. Part of you wants to roll over, hide and walk off the course. Another part of you will be so disappointed if you don't give it your all, stay the course and cross that finish line. You have a choice. You see what you are made of. You cry out because you can't do it alone. You think about what others have to endure and it propels you to the finish line. When you cross you have such a sense of accomplishment. You just did things you never did, you stayed the course and God was there with you every step of the way.

The trouble is that the obstacle course that we live is different than that of a race. On facebook you see so many statuses with the sentiments of "I wish I had a blueprint, how long can this go on, when is it over." HOwever you never know where the finish line is. In a race you wonder the same thing. "Where is the finish line? Why does this mile seem like five? When is it over?" You know that the distance will end. There will be a finish line. If you dig deep enough you will cross it, hopefully with a smile, a sense of accomplishment and with an air of gratefulness.

In life being thrown obstacles what seems like left and right makes it hard to dig deep and persevere. I struggle with it every day. I wonder when it will be "over". I spend Aug-Dec trying to live a full life but feeling mostly hollow inside. (who am I kidding, I feel like that most of the year.) I know that there are obstacles year round, some bigger than others. But for me those are intense months. There are flashbacks, smells that facilitate memory, the angle of the sun through the windows of my living room.

Then I think of that log over the water pit, the 2 inclines and the rope, the mud. I completed that course. I wasn't trained for it. I had some great girls to encourage me along the way. When I want curl up and stop trying in life, I can remember that I can do more than I think I can. God is right there guiding me on the path that He chose for me. And yes, He gives me great friends along the way to get from one step to the next. I have to decide how I want to get to the finish line- do I want to give up and wallow in my sad circumstances (yes, sometimes) or do I want to attack the course in front of me, not knowing what's around the corner: an obstacle or a reprieve? I choose to keep going. I know there are blessings in the muck. There is growth in the quagmire. So I pick up my hollow self and move.

Carpe Diem

The other day while we were having story time in our Home School, we had a moment. Alexa was full of questions about God and how Jesus rose from the dead. How was that possible? Come to find out that this question stemmed from her thoughts that if Jesus could rise from the dead, he could do anything. If he can do anything, then why didn't he let us keep Ava? We spent a long time reading some scripture about the accounts of the resurrection. We spent some time talking about how while God can do anything, He does not always CHOOSE to do what WE want Him to do.

It's a tough one to swallow. How can we worship someone that can do anything and everything, but not give us what we think we need? My little nearly 7 year old grapples with questions we all wrestle with.

God loves us. He created us. But He did not create us so that we can demand from Him so He will serve us. I love my children. I do serve them from time to time. Do I always give them what they want? No. It's not good for them. It's not good for me. It's the same with God. I tend to view death as a gift. Some think of it as a sacrifice. For the person who dies, if they are Christians, gets to finish their race. They complete their task her on earth and get to have their eternal reward. To want Ava to come back would be selfish. Don't get me wrong I want both of my kids back. I wish they were not gone. But would I want them to live in the condition they were in? OF course I wished that God chose to heal each of those babies so that they could have stayed with us. But life on earth is not forever.

Sure it feels like forever sometimes, but it's not. So I told Alexa some of these things. We talked a few days later and she told me that she is angry that Ava died. I told her that it's totally OK to be angry and to be mad with God. We talked about how sometimes we get mad with each other, but that never changes our love for one another. We talked about how Mommy and Daddy are mad too. She knows it will take some time, but we will talk it through and we will work it out together. I told her that it was OK to tell God how she feels about Ava's death, He won't be upset.

When we moved on to History, we talked about Egyptian tombs. All of a sudden I looked at Emily who was screwing up her face. I asked what was wrong and she burst into tears. I pulled her on my lap, rubbed her back and told her to let it all out. When I looked up at her, I could tell she was having a flashback about Ava's graveside service. We talked about it and I held her. We were able to talk about why we buried her sister and how we all feel about it. Then we finished our lesson.

By the time we had to leave to go get Miss Elaina Pants from preschool, I was pretty much wiped out.

I got to thinking. This is why we home school. So that we can take the time to talk about what we need to talk about. This doesn't necessarily have to be about Ava. It can just be about what's going on in their little expanding minds. Then I thought about things would be different if they went to school somewhere and had to carry those thoughts that burden them around all day. That they had to suppress them and have no one to talk to.

There are so many children in our schools hurting everyday. I remember when I first got on Facebook and started to connecting with friends from my school days. I began to learn and see what they were dealing with all those years. I would glibly float through the day. Never aware.

I am so grateful for the opportunity to teach our Bugs. I love nothing more than to watch them high five when they get it. To watch their eager little faces as we talk about things they love. I love that we are afforded the time to talk about the things that are important to them. Or to talk about the things that are locked up and begging to pop out. I am just so sad for those other children in our school systems that are so heavily burdened and so desperately need to unload.

I think of the children that are bullied. But I think about those that bully as well. What burdens do those children have locked up so tight that anger and violence is the only escape?

Our God can do anything, and He can heal and reach those hearts of those fore lorn kids. I think that we should pray for them and for their teachers as they are predominate influences in their lives.

Basketballs

Last week Allan and I were interviewed for 99.5 WJBR's Sunday morning "Focus on Delaware" show. One of the questions, which I now paraphrase, was 'How do you as a Mom take care of your other children after the deaths of 2'. I'm not gonna lie I had Allan go first because I was nervous, but then he got 'tell me about the Joy-Hope Foundation'. (Lesson learned).

My simple answer was God. Really that is how I can do anything. I went on to talking about the day to day, less ethereal parenting. Working the tricky balance of having Eric and Ava be apart of the family without going overboard and having the focus all on them.

I didn't talk about trying to meet the needs of little ones whose needs are so important without screaming "your brother and sister went through medical Hell and you are crying because you bumped your knee!!!!" I have always had enough restraint to not do that. I know they are two separate situations and that that knee bump hurt. But sometimes I did think it.

I didn't talk about how there is no time to cry when you have little ones at home. No time to work it out and get lost in your head. No time to open the flood gates and pour it all out for the length of time you need to. A luxury (?) I had immediately after Eric died. With kids around, these things definitely eek out, but are not attended to through to completion. Usually someone needs a drink, a hug, a snack, some space from a sister... And in the midst of your process, real time living jars your thoughts and off you go.

The problem is the build. The pressure cooker of emotion that has to escape. It will and it does. For me that is never a positive balance. I snap at the kids. Their seemingly innocuous questions turn into chirping in my ears. I put my feelings of being unsettled on them and they become unsettled. They whine, cry, pick at each other and yell. How do I react? The same way. Then I want to escape and hide never to come out. They seek my attention and want lots of hugs. I want space and to not be touched. Then need to be reassured. I guess I do too. We spiral downward. I feel out of control and all a buzz since the kids are "driving me nuts." Until, I let it out, blow off some steam and just flat out cry.

The problem is being able to cry in a way that is healing to your soul. I'm not talking about the tears that roll down your face when a memory flashes, or someone does something so sweet and touching. Rather it's that deep inner wail of intense pain that there are really no words that can possibly describe. It's hard to hear your child do it. It's hard to hear your spouse do it. It's so hard do allow it to happen yourself. What's worse is that as time marches on that "cleansing good cry" need crops up- more spaced out- but still appears. It's never convenient and always painful. With it comes the memory of how far deep in grief you were when_______. With it comes a fear that you are, as a family, slipping back to square one.

When you let it out, you see the other side and realize that it's another step on the rung on the ladder of grief. It's like dribbling a basketball. Keep it low to the ground you will not get out of the pit. The harder you bounce it the higher out you climb. When it crashes to the ground, it rebounds higher and you have more hang time and a brief encounter with the crap you need to get out of your head.

I struggle with the balance of it all. I know I am not the only one out there that does. No one likes to feel different. No one likes to be in a social setting and only see the holes life has left. No one really wants to face grief head on. I know I don't. I also know that I need to or that ugly ogre Mommy will be around to stay. The ball will bounce low and get stuck at the bottom of the pit.

Rosebuds (not the sled)

After two weeks of VBS at two Wonderful churches, I look around and our house seems to have exploded. So on this deemed "lazy" Saturday we've been trying to regain control. At the same time Allan and I are planning what needs to happen next to get our Music For Memories Concert which happens on August 20!

It's hard to find balance between housekeeping, working, mommying, training for a second half marathon, getting ready to home school and to get ready for the Joy-Hope Foundation's events in the coming (weeks) and months. Sometimes, like when I typed out all that I have on my schedule, I get a little overwhelmed at what I am doing. On the whole, I know that I am going in a direction not of my own planning and so I will be just fine. On the days that I feel overloaded, I suggest that you look out. I may be grumpy. :-)

When I am the absolute most frazzled is when the house explodes. I can't think straight, I look at all the more I have to do and *KA-BL-OW* it becomes a work day, a recycle day, a "lets see how many toys we can throw away" day.

I am learning that with the crazy busy schedule we have we need to have some semblance of organization. So I am diligently trying to keep up with the systems I am trying to establish so I don't get over come when something takes over in life and we are back to square one. It's a long work in progress, but the operative word here is progress.

One observation that I find intriguing: I can not fold laundry on a messy floor. So I clean and vacuum the family room before I fold. If I can't get the job done and the basket sits, the floor is infiltrated by all kinds of laziness that my Bugs love to exhibit: tiny papers, crayons, toys, blankets whatever. If the laundry is folded and put away, this does not happen. It's a phenomenon. Or is it? Kids really do as we do and not as we say.

This morning as I donned my cleaning clothes and set the Ipod to "loud" I found I did not get angry as I usually do about my ineptitude in organization. Instead I began thinking about all the amazing people I talked to , worked with, and volunteered with over these last two weeks. I was thinking about all that God is doing in our lives- individually and as a family. Then I realized that many of these people that are dear in my life are here as a result of Ava's life and death. I wish I had my daughter there is no doubt about that. But the people that God placed in our lives as a direct result of Ava's life richly bless us and we are so very honored to know them. Through tragedy, there are always blessings. You have to work hard through the tears and negative thoughts to see them, but they are there.

I've been really missing and remembering Eric and Ava a lot lately. They would have been celebrating their 8th and 2nd birthdays in the coming weeks. There's been many moments lately where it's been highlighted that I am missing my "baby" phase as I watch who would have been Ava's playmates turn two, visit a new baby born or take my children and two others to a classroom. Those moments are sweet and tender because I love each of those kids so much. But they are not without the pang and twinge of grief and what if.

Always on the other side there is a smiling face, something that needs to get done, or an uplifting message that propels me through the moment. Sometimes a good cry can wash it away. And of course there is my "Eric" rose bush that has been horrifically neglected, greeting me with only two yellow buds in time for some birthdays.

Arms Length

There's been a steady stream of unsavory news from many friends lately. Some is a big deal, some could become a big deal, some a big deal in the moment, but will end up a blip on the screen.

When I was telling the Bugs about the latest friends who are in need of prayer, Emily pipes up and says, "What is happening to our friends?" I was thinking the same thing!

Yesterday a Facebook friend posted that she was "feeling blue". Two weeks ago I was talking with someone at our church and found out that his wife is a cancer survivor. Allan and I noticed some years back that he was going with some "Surfer Hair" and then suddenly it was cut. We assumed he got a new job. Nope. Locks of Love for his love.

I am being made aware right now that we will all hallowed hall at some point in time. Depending on where I am in my walk will greatly impact my ability to reach out and listen. The people we encounter day in day out are faceless strangers, an acquaintance, a good friend, even family. But as we rub shoulders and get annoyed for the invasion of our personal space do we really KNOW what is going on in their lives?

I sometimes feel guilty that seemingly the whole world rallied around our family in our time of crisis, yet I can't seem to get it together enough to rally and support all those who are in need.

Some days, with laundry piled up and a pantry seemingly bare it's hard to dig into my hollow emotions and empathize, support, love those around me. Instead, I hold the bad news at arms length- "Whew, I don't really know them. Now I don't have to rally." "Wow that stinks, well it's their walk now."

See if I let their crisis into my soul, into my heart, I am afraid that I will fall apart. I live in a delicately balanced state of comfort, peace, emotion. Of course it's OK to be grateful that a particular crisis is not ours to walk. I don't know too many people who would be jumping up and down with arms raised to walk our walk. I think that is OK to feel that way. What is not OK is to brush it off and not follow up in someway. Even through the darkest times, I know that I care. I may not be able to be there in a way I usually would. But I will pray. But I will still stay an arms length away.

I feel like I am waking up to the world around me now. I am capable of looking outside our little world we are desperately trying to rebuild and redefine. As I take my baby steps back out into society I have to hunker down and be ready for all the crappy situations that happen to people to hit me like a ton of bricks. I have to remember that while it is that person's walk and experience but I can support, love, pray and be there for that person.

I can not believe how broken we all are. How we struggle to hang on to what is good and what we think is right. I can not believe how much God loves me and how as I move through each day that He gives me He protects me. I am amazed at the protection He provides for all of us. Just because the situation may not be ideal, the circumstances may even be horrific, but yet there He is loving and protecting us. That is the Good that I am going to hang on to. The Good that comes from the the One who protects and loves me no matter what I do or don't do.