Tag: life

the best of times…the worst of times…


Thursday was our 26th anniversary. A lot of life has happened the last 26 years…

2 cities

2 apartments 

6 houses

numerous jobs

5 pregnancies

1 birth

1 international adoption 

9 foster placements 

1 domestic adoption 

more mistakes than I can count

more blessings than I deserve

The past three years of our marriage are in a category of their own. We never expected our marriage to be perfect or easy…and we’ve had our share of flawed and hard. We’ve also had our share of sweet and beautiful. We’ve seen each other at our best and worst. We’ve been selfless and selfish. We have seen victories and failures. We’ve lived with peace and chaos. We have agreed and disagreed.  We have grieved our son in some of the same ways, but we have also grieved in very different ways.

A lot of people will say (or have been told) that the divorce rate after child loss is 80%. That’s actually not based on any study. The reality is, if a marriage was struggling before losing a child, it will most likely not survive long term.

Since Paxton died, it has been the best of times and it has been the worst of times. January 25, 2023 was the beginning of the worst three years of my life. It was also the beginning of the best three years of our marriage and it has been the best three years of Paxton’s life. I am so grateful for the best God has given us and, at the same time, I still want my boy back.

Despite everything, we have never once given up on each other. I am so thankful for the husband God blessed me with. I’m thankful for his steadfastness and strength. I’m thankful for his love and leadership. I’m thankful for his gentleness and grace. I’m thankful he’s an amazing father and so, so thankful he’s my forever.

thankful you’re beside me

to walk this painful road

and help carry this heavy load

holding me when I fall apart

gently cradling my shattered heart

this is so hard

you are constant

the most important 

person in my life

showing me the love of Christ

grieving together

closer than ever

I never dreamed 

this would be our journey

but I’m so grateful you’re with me

through the best

and the worst

hopeful for eternity 

“hollow”een

Tonight, a lot of moms I know will be spending time with their kids as they trick or treat or attend Halloween parties.  I’ll be alone.

Tonight, a lot of moms I know will be handing out candy, delighted by cute kids and crazy costumes.  My front porch light will be off.

For a lot of people, tonight will be one of enjoyment, sugar overload and memory making. For me, tonight will be another night of grief, sadness overload and memories missed.

Chad is out of town and has been worried that tonight will be hard for me.  He was right. This is a hard night for me.  But sometimes, having a hard night can be a good thing.

Sometimes, I need to sit in the sorrow.

Sometimes, I need to hurt in the hard.

Sometimes, I need to pause in the pain.

Sometimes, I need to taste the tears.

And sometimes, I need to give in to the gravity of the loss of my precious boy.

My grief is no longer overwhelming on a daily basis.  I find myself able to catch my breath and find joy between the waves. But I am not better…I am different. I am not over it…I am learning how to carry it. 

I wish the biggest hurdle I faced tonight was keeping Paxton from eating too much candy. Instead, I’m facing another Holloween  without him. It’s hollow because when Paxton was here, he brought the hype and hilarity to every Halloween. Now it’s just another slow, silent day.

I wrote “I only miss you” the first Halloween without Paxton. It seemed perfect to share again because I am missing him like crazy. Enjoy your kids tonight…no matter how big they are. And maybe let them have an extra piece of candy in honor of Pax. 

I only miss you

when the sun rises

when I open my eyes

when there are tears to dry

when I cannot cry

I only miss you

when the seasons change

when the sunlight fades

on a cloudy day

when it rains

I only  miss you

when they sky is blue

when the moon is full, crescent or new

when the grass is wet with dew

any time I think of you

I only miss you

in my dreams

when I can’ t sleep

when I’m happy

when the pain is deep

I only miss you

when I breathe

I only miss you

when my heart beats

our nest is empty…

This past Monday we moved our son, Owen, to college for his junior year. Friday we moved our daughter, Jenna, to college to begin her freshman year. Just like that, our nest is empty. Six years before it was supposed to be. The rooms in our house will never be lived in the same way again. One room in our house will never be lived in again at all.

In September 2003, I joined a moms’ Bible study. I had just suffered my 4th miscarriage in under a year and I wasn’t sure I’d ever be able to carry a pregnancy past eight weeks.

The first week of Bible study, our leader brought a bird’s nest. Inside the nest were two empty eggs and one that had never hatched. She talked about how motherhood can look so many different ways. It made an impact on me because my “nest” to that point had four eggs that would never be baby birds.

When Bible study ended that next May, I was 7 months pregnant with Owen. I remember on the last day sharing how much that nest analogy meant to me. When I started that year, I wasn’t sure I’d ever be a mom. What I realized is that I was already a mom, my nest just looked different than I had hoped and dreamed.

A lot of times motherhood has been different than I imagined. Sometimes it has been better and sometimes it has been worse. I’ve made a lot of mistakes and have needed to grow just as much as my children, if not more.

I always knew being a mom would be hard. I knew that when I brought them home I would one day have to let them go. I never thought letting them go would be easy, but I never dreamed (or considered the nightmare) one of them would never fly.

My nest has never been perfect. I never expected it to be. But I never thought it would be this hard. I never dreamed it would be empty at this point. And I NEVER imagined my baby would be gone forever.

I was supposed to protect them. It was my job to cherish them, feed them and teach them. It was my job to launch them. But, the truth is they were never mine to begin with. God blessed me with them, but ultimately they are His. And even thought Paxton never got to fly, he is now in the safest, most peaceful home he will ever have. As long as the days seem without him, I’m one day closer to being with him for eternity.

the nest

built with care

piece by piece

ready to

love

protect

nurture

now sits empty

I’m thankful for

the ones that have flown

while aching for

the one not grown

heart breaking

even thought I know

he was never really my own

the Creator who cares for sparrows

and lilies in the field

embraced my broken, baby bird

and took him home

completely healed

I was supposed to live

the rest of my life with him

instead

he got to live

the rest of his life with me

I’m so grateful for the hope of heaven

and promise of eternity

it’s complicated

One of the things that has surprised me about grief, especially child loss, is even simple things have become complicated.

Happy Mother’s Day!

Is it? Is it really that simple? Is it really as easy as the cards, flowers and celebration our society inundates us with?

What about the mom who no longer has a mother? What about the mom who has a strained relationship or difficult history with her mother or child? What about the mom that has suffered a miscarriage…the hopeful mom that is walking through infertility?  What about the mom that relinquished her child? What about the mom who has buried a child or children?

It’s complicated. 

Simple questions are now confusing mazes littered with landmines.

~How many kids do you have? How old are they?

How do I answer that? Do I say three? Do I say Paxton is 10 or 13? Do I say two on Earth and one in heaven? Do I open myself up to the follow up question of what happened? Is the person asking safe? Should I invite them into my grief garden? Will they see me and honor that sacred space or will they trample on my heart and pain? Am I dishonoring my son if I don’t share his story?

It’s complicated.

~How are you?

Do you really want to know? Are you prepared to hear the truth? Would it shock you if I said there are days I’m disappointed that I didn’t wake up in Heaven? Are you asking to be polite or are you open to embracing the answer, even if it’s not pretty?

It’s complicated.

~Are you sad your youngest is going off to college?

Isn’t the goal of parenting launching your child? Do you know what a true “last” really is? Do you know that you will experience the last of a certain stage but I am living the life of no new stages ever again?

It’s complicated.

~Should I turn on the radio or listen to music, knowing I might hear one of Paxton’s favorite songs or a song from his memorial service?

~Should I watch tv, knowing I might be blindsided by a scene that shows the sickness, injury or death of a child? Or even worse, a commercial like Life360 that has a mother glibly singing about the ways her child could die? 

~Should I never go to Walmart again, knowing that an aisle, toy or snack could cause a wave of sorrow to flood my heart?

~Should I look at pictures and watch videos, knowing they could either bring me joy or heighten the loss of what will never be?

It’s complicated. I wish there were easy questions with easy answers. I wish I didn’t have to view life through the glasses of grief. I wish I didn’t have to think about purchasing spots at the cemetery to make sure we’re by our son. I wish I could yell Happy Mother’s Day to every mom I see and not worry if they really are happy.

It’s complicated.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

what I used to think was hard

was really a walk in the park

even the blackest night

wasn’t really that dark

and I hadn’t really suffered a broken heart

until I started this journey of grief

walking through life without you beside me

no more lasts

just never again

longing for easy

living in complicated 

grief gauntlet

Usually, my grief is like an ocean wave. Sometimes it softly laps at my feet, touching me with gentle sadness. Other times, it’s like an angry surf, knocking me off my feet, taking my breath away and pulling me back into the undertow of sorrow. Often, I never see the wave coming or know the intensity it holds until it hits me.

As I look toward the next few weeks, the ocean has disappeared and a grief gauntlet has taken its place. This time, I see it coming. There’s a pit in my stomach and I’m wearing a heaviness that I can’t shake. I don’t want to face the gauntlet, but I have no choice…it’s there, challenging me head on.

Tuesday, April 29 is Paxton’s 13th birthday…his 3rd birthday in heaven. Wednesday is academic signing day for our daughter Jenna, who is graduating high school next month. Friday is a tradition at our school…a day where all of the seniors are celebrated. A day when they participate in our “Warrior Walk”. The seniors line up and walk around campus, through the mass of all the other students cheering them on. I am so exited for Jenna and cannot wait to celebrate her, but I hate that her little brother will not be there to yell for (or at😜) her.

Sunday, May 4 is Senior Sunday at our church. It’s also Bereaved Mother’s Day. Two extremes in one day…the joy of honoring Jenna as she graduates and launches, and the agony she is my last senior and wasn’t supposed to be.

I have to face Mother’s Day as the last challenge in the gauntlet. I am still a mom…I’m still Owen’s and Jenna’s mom. I’m still Paxton’s mom. But, I’m not the same mom I was three years ago. I am bruised and bloodied from battle. I am weary and scarred. My faith is deeper, I hope I am more gracious, and I am learning how to carry both joy and sorrow.

There are days when I can tuck sorrow away and embrace the joy God sets before me. There are days sorrow pushes joy aside and makes me sit in and with it. There are days they have learned to coexist, but they are both my companions now…always there even when they’re not seen.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

the gauntlet

joy

sorrow

which one will be louder today?

will i be able to keep the tears at bay?

will my heart feel the sunshine

or drown in the pouring rain?

bracing for what’s ahead

moment by moment

step by step

approaching the gauntlet

trying to catch my breath

i can’t go around

i have to go through

ready to get it over with

unable to move

carrying the pain of missing you

spring (heart) break

It’s the last day of spring break. I have a love/hate relationship with spring break. Prior to 2023, I loved that we didn’t have to get up and be anywhere, but I dreaded the inevitable sibling arguments, complaints of “I’m bored”, and incessant requests to go and do. An ideal spring break would consist of quiet, rest and relaxation, but anyone who has young children knows that those moments are few and far between. Since Paxton left, my love/hate relationship with spring break has changed. I still love not having to get up and be anywhere but I hate the silence.

I have never liked silence. Don’t get me wrong, I love quiet and stillness, but I need white noise, music or some other noise in the background. Silence may be the absence of physical noise, but when it’s completely silent, my mental noise volume becomes deafening. It’s in the silence that the doubts, guilt, questions and his loss become unbearable.

I tried to embrace the silence Friday, but the sound was overwhelming. All I could hear was…why didn’t I do more? what did I miss? was he scared? The loudest thought that occupied my mind, and one that has been on my mind a lot lately, is that Paxton is missing out on so many things.

I’ve been so sad thinking about all of the firsts Paxton will never experience. He’ll never have a first kiss…not that we know of anyway. I would not be surprised at all to discover he not only had a first kiss, but multiple. 😂 He never got to drive, will never go to high school, will never fall in love or have kids..he was robbed of so many things! But, the reality is, those things are nothing compared to the joy of heaven. He can’t miss out because he’s in the most perfect, beautiful, peaceful place and he is living the fullest life possible.

So I realized that my sadness is not really about what he’s missing out on…I’m sad because the world is missing out on him. As difficult as he was at times, Paxton was an amazing kid and taught me to look at and embrace life differently. He lived more life in ten years than some people will live their entire lifetime. I wish everyone could know the boy I knew…

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

~missing out~

I never knew silence

could be louder than sound

but that’s what I’ve found

since you’ve been gone

I long for chaos

unending noise

the sweetness of your voice

there’s so much

you’re missing out on

all of your firsts

that makes my heart hurt

then I realize it’s the world

that’s missing out on you

and that hurts worse

the joy and fun you brought to life

you’re beautiful smile

the sparkle in your eyes

why did I waste so much time?

sadness

December 11, 2022 was the last “normal” night in our family’s life. It’s surreal that it has been two years since our lives imploded. It’s excruciating that it’s been two years since Paxton’s accident. Last year, reaching all of the first milestones was hard. This year is hard too, but this year I’m overwhelmingly sad.

Since Paxton left, it’s been comforting for me to look at pictures and watch videos of my boy. Recently, that has changed and been a new facet of my grief. When I think about the fun things we did as a family, like going to Great Wolf Lodge, Disney World or Cedar Point, the memory of our smiling, carefree family is now tainted. It’s like I’m watching a horror movie…I can see the tragedy approaching in slow motion and there is nothing I can do.

I wish I could go back and tell that family to soak it in. I wish I could wrap that family in a bubble, freeze them in time and keep them in the wonder, fun and excitement of water slides, roller coasters and togetherness. I wish I could protect them from the chaos and heartbreak that will gut them in a few short years. I wish I could have just one more moment with Paxton.

I’m sad…more sad than I’ve been in a long time. I miss my boy so much. I miss his silliness, his mischievousness and his smile. I miss holding his hand and being wrapped in one of his bear hugs. I miss the person I was. I miss the person he was. I miss the person he would now be.

Two years seems like a lifetime and an instant at the same time. Our grief is different, but it is no less deep, heavy or painful. God has given us sweet gifts the past few years…things that probably wouldn’t have happened if Paxton hadn’t left. We are grateful for those glimpses of joy, but we miss our sweet boy with everything in us.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

like fog

heavy and dense

sadness is settling in

a familiar

but unwelcome friend

taking me back

to the day when

chaos

devastation and

heartbreak began

my arms ache for your hugs

my ears long for your laugh

my eyes drown with tears

how has it already been two years

since I’ve seen your smile

heard your voice

held your hand in mine

I wish I could

turn back time to have

just one more day

one more hour

one more moment

to feel your warmth

to hear your heart beating

in your chest

on more chance to say

I love you

you’re my best

writhing

are those tears

or raindrops on my cheeks?

it seems the sky is also crying

a silent scream

comes from within me

my body bent in half with grief

from pain there is no relief

sorrow brings me to my knees

Jesus!

the only word I can speak

my soul is writhing

the three Ws…part 1

WRITHING…wrestling…worship

writhe (verb)

  to twist from or as if from pain or struggling

  to suffer keenly

Writhing, wrestling and worship are three words that have been prominent in my grief journey. Some days, I only have to deal with one W. Other days, I finally make my way through the maze of one W, just to find myself faced with the maze of another. Then, there are days I feel like I’m on a ride at the fair. You know the rides where what you’re sitting in is spinning one way, but the ride itself is spinning another? Those days, the three Ws have me spinning so many different ways, I’m not sure I’ll ever stop.

I’ve experienced pain before. We’ve had hard in our lives, marriage and our parenting journey, but nothing has compared to the pain of the past 21 months. Actually, when it comes to child loss, I would say the word pain does not come close to naming what bereaved parents feel.  I think writhing is a much more accurate description.  When I think of writhing, I think of immense pain to which there is no relief.  That is child loss.  Immense pain, that is, at times, less intense, but will never be fully gone this side of heaven.

Today I am writhing because the next three months we are facing a gauntlet. There aren’t just two hard dates ahead, there are multiple dates that will bring joy, sorrow, or most likely a mixture of both. They all have the possibility of being a trigger. Starting with Halloween…my birthday…Thanksgiving…the anniversary of Paxton’s accident…Christmas…Jenna’s birthday…our wedding anniversary…Paxton’s heaven day…Chad’s birthday…and the date of Paxton’s memorial service.  I wish I could go to sleep Wednesday and wake up February 3, 2025.

Another bereaved parent, who has become a precious friend, used a scene from The Avengers to describe the life of a bereaved parent.  The Avengers are in New York and need Bruce Banner to become The Hulk.  Captain America tells Bruce it might be a good time to get angry.  Bruce replies “that’s my secret Captain…I’m always angry”.  I’m not always angry (although I do get angry…but that’s for another post), but I am always writhing.  There are times it’s not visible, but it’s always there, under the surface.  I twist and turn to try and find permanent relief from the pain of Paxton’s death, but it’s always there and always will be.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

are those tears

or raindrops on my cheeks?

it seems the sky is also crying

a silent scream

comes from within me

my body bent in half with grief

from pain there is no relief

sorrow brings me to my knees

Jesus!

the only word I can speak

my soul is writhing