Birthday Letter to Dad

Happy Birthday Dad.  Today we would be celebrating 74 years that you walked the Earth.  We will honor you today.  I will also choose to celebrate the 77 days that you've been in the presence of Jesus - whole and healthy and strong.

I'm wearing a lot of blue today.  Not because I'm sad.  It's your favorite color.

Did you know I bought you a birthday card?  Actually I bought it in March.  I was perusing the cards and came upon this one.  It was perfect.  I remember hesitating - asking God if I should buy it.  I made the purchase and have kept it in my planner - in the November section - waiting to give it to you.




I never told you that I bought you a card.

Now it might be more for me.

The card reads...

Dad, the older I get, the more I appreciate everything you've done, the more I admire and love you.

You steadied my wobbly two-wheeler, you made yourself lend me the car, You tried to look calm and unruffled when I left the house looking bizarre.

You held me, supported me, steadied me...but loved me enough to let go.

You're my anchor, my safety, my hero, my dad...and you're loved more than you'll ever know.

HAPPY BIRTHDAY




Of course I would have added my own words - repeating the cards sentiments and telling you how much I love you and how special you are to me.  All true.  Still is.  That will never end.

Your girls are going to lunch today - at one of your favorite restaurants.  I'm trying to decide what I will eat a little bit of to honor you.  Haven't decided yet.  I'm purposefully choosing something that I don't normally eat.  Tapioca pudding?  Maybe.  Raw sushi?  Love you Dad, but no.  I still stick with cooked.







Walking Barber to the bus stop today, he asked me what we are going to do tonight as a family.  If we were doing something special "because today is Poppy's birthday, Mom".  He then rattled off a number of ideas.  Ice cream cake topped his list.  I told him if we were to have cake, I'd want to bake your classic favorite - vanilla cake with chocolate mint frosting.  He smacked his lips together, agreeing that would be a good choice too.

I made a Christmas stocking for Mom this week.  Barber suggested that I make one for you too.  I asked him what we would put in it.  He suggested we put in some of your favorite things.  I asked who would have those things?  He said "Grammie could have them all.  But she could also share them with us if we like them too."  Reminds me of how your little girls would save their money to buy you a candy bar from the store (or lifesavers or gum) as a gift for you.  You barely got the wrapping paper torn and we were asking you to share it with us.  And you always did.  With a hearty laugh and joke to boot.

Thanks Dad for being you.  For loving me - no matter what.

I love you.  Always and Forever.

Hearts and Black Holes

Finally I summarized all of the questions swirling in my head...it's all of it.  He was so much to me and now, even though I have peace as to where my Daddy is, he isn't here and what is left behind is an emptiness.

That's where I was left.  Feeling the emptiness.    

I remember when our son Jeter was born and Simms and I experienced this phenomenon of our figurative hearts growing because a greater amount of love was added.  It was awesome and amazing and we felt filled to overflowing.  I remember contemplating having another child - not wanting to share the love we have for Jeter with anyone else.  But we didn't have to.  Once again, when Barber entered our lives, we felt our hearts grow with the addition of love that was just for Barber.

We didn't have to divide a set amount of love among those that are treasured in our lives.

What then happens when someone that you had such a huge amount of love for isn't here anymore?

And this was the next reality for me to deal with.  The next layer was being peeled off.

There was a hole in my heart.  

One that no one could ever fill.

So there I am in the pew of our church, tears rolling down my face as this new reality sets in.  Conversing with the One who I know loves me - even though I feel broken, fragmented, messed up, etc.

And I hear Him say "I can fill it if you want me to."

"Yes.  Please.  Do it.  And hurry up.  Please."

Later that day, Jeter and I had some time together and I shared this with him. This is how he responded: 

"You know what this reminds me of Mom?  Stars.  They fill the sky and each has it's place.  When a star dies, a black hole is formed and it sucks in everything that gets too close.  

That continues until it fills up.  And if a new star forms, it's because God created it.  It doesn't come from anything else.  

Poppy isn't here and there is a hole that has been left behind.  It could keep sucking you in but you've asked God to fill it up.  And He will."

Oh the wisdom of my sweet 12 year old.  I hugged him and he hugged me back.

It was exactly what I needed.

And then I shared this with him:

"You see the pain.  And I'm know you've experienced your own level of pain.  It could cause someone to not love deeply.  Or to be afraid to.  To hold back because of not wanting to experience the loss.  The pain is real.  And it hurts a lot.  But it's worth it.  I will never hold back the love I have for you or your brother or your Dad or anyone that is treasured in my life.  But there is a caution here.  Be careful who you choose to give your heart to.  You want to choose wisely."

Always a Mom.  Always a teacher.  I just can't help that.  

My journey continues.  There are still tears but I'm sensing healing from His salve of LOVE.  The kind that is patient, kind, rejoices in the truth, always protects, trusts, hopes and perseveres.  The kind of love that doesn't fail.  Which is good.  I'm counting on it.

The lyrics to Laura Story's "I Can Just Be Me" has been timely.  Here is a link to a video on YouTube if you're interested.  I've also written them below.  It's amazing how much of what I'm feeling is captured in these words.

I've been doing all that I can
To hold it all together, piece by piece
I've been feeling like a failure
Trying to be braver
Than I could ever be
It's just not me

So be my Healer, be my Comfort
Be my peace
‘Cause I can be broken
I can be needy, Lord, I need You now
To be, be my God
So I can just be me

I've been living like an orphan
Trying to belong here
But it's just not my home
I've been holding on so tightly
To all the things that I think
That satisfy my soul
But I'm letting go

So be my Father, my mighty Warrior
Be my King
‘Cause I can be scattered, frail and shattered
Lord, I need You now to be
Be my God so I can just be me

‘Cause I was lost
In this dark world
‘Till I was finally found in You
So now I'm needy, desperately pleading
Oh Lord, be all to me

So be my Savior, be my lifeline
Won't You be my everything?
‘Cause I'm so tired
Of trying to be someone
I was never meant to be
Be my God, please be my God
Be my God so I can just be me
So I can just be me
I can just be me

Peeling Away the Layers

How are you doing?

A common question.  One that the typical answer is 'good'.  I'm not going to debate whether this should be our response or not but will say that due to those who have been inquiring and the why behind their asking, I haven't said 'good'.

I'm okay.  I'm taking it one day at a time.  I have my moments.

These have been my responses.  And they are true.  Just not the raw truth.

How do I share what I still haven't figured out?  How do you put raw emotions into words?

I self-evaluate.  Shocked? I want to know the why of how I'm feeling because then I can own it and deal with it.  Obviously the general answer of "why" is that my Dad is no longer here on Earth with us.  But that generalization isn't good enough for me.  Because if it was that simple, I'd be good.  But I'm not.

I still have had times of full blown guttural cries - thankful that no one else is around type of crying.  Or driving back home from the dentist and tears start running down my cheeks because I realize I always called my Dad after an appointment.  And now I can't.  Worship at church - it's pretty much a given that I'm wrecked every Sunday.

I stopped wearing mascara.  And that kind of annoys me because I think my eyes look prettier with it.

Just being real.

So I've been working on having layers peeled back one at a time.  And just when I think I've reached a place of 'good', another layer is discovered.

A couple of weeks ago, the only way I could describe how I was feeling was numb.  Like I wasn't feeling.  This didn't include my family.  Or God.  I love them passionately.  But the everyday stuff.  And this wasn't normal for me.  I'm a passionate person.  I didn't like this feeling of indifference or apathy.  And I didn't know how to fix it.  My only hope was that God did but I didn't know how He was going to do it and I really wanted it taken care of quickly - like yesterday.  I was feeling hopelessly hopeful.  That might not even be a possible feeling.  Whatever.  It makes sense to me.

In my hopelessly hopeful state of mind, I couldn't help but wonder how people go through this without Him?  Where is their hope?  I could imagine how easy it would be to turn to other things - albeit temporary - to just feel something and get rid of this numbness.  The desperation of wanting to feel 'normal' and to get rid of the nothingness.  I didn't take that step.  I couldn't.  Not because I'm better.  I'm not.  But Jesus is.  And He's my friend.  That and the fact that I'm still passionate about my family and I want my choices to empower my boys.  They aren't blind.  They see my hurt.  They need to also see me live with victory...regardless of what it takes to get there.  But a new level of compassion birthed inside of me for those who do...

With another layer peeled back and in my hopelessly hopeful state of feeling nothing we go to church on Sunday.  And every single song could have been chosen for me.  Just like that I go from nothing to pain.  And I'm asking why.  Not out loud.  Because that could be weird.  But my insides are screaming - asking for answers.

Is it because he was the first man to believe in me?
Is it because he was such a great example of love?
Is it because he (with Mom) taught me how to be family?
Is it because he was my first valentine? my hero? my confidant? my best friend?

Finally I summarized all of the questions swirling in my head...it's all of it.  He was so much to me and now, even though I have peace as to where my Daddy is, he isn't here and what is left behind is an emptiness.

...to be continued...

Traversing the Valley

Life's journey.  It might be nice if it was like a plateau - flat and predictable.  But even in the landscape and topography of our world, areas of relatively level ground are surrounded by those that are not.  And so it is with life.  There may be portions that can seem level or even predictable but there is plenty of ground that is rough, slippery, possibly uncharted - and it all needs to be crossed.  What if you fall?  What if you get hurt or broken?  These are very real things.

The Lord is my shepherd.  He leads me perfectly.

It's not easy being a parent.  Anyone that tells you otherwise is a fool.  Like anything that is worth something, it takes work.

I know there have been plenty of times where I would have liked to smooth out the terrain that my child is crossing.  Take out the bumps.  Ensure their footing keeps them from a fall.  But it's not really possible.  And it's not healthy for them either.  They need to learn how to handle the bumps.  How to steady themselves before and even after a fall.  They even need to learn what to do when something "breaks" - how to mend, how to heal, etc.

I've called these times life lessons and have often kept my eyes fixed beyond the current circumstance that one of my boys is going through.  That doesn't mean I devalue what they're facing and the impact it is having on their young lives.  That is very, very real.  Rather, it gives me focus as to the why I desire them to learn how to navigate this rough terrain - so when they come upon it again in their future (college, job, real life experiences and interactions) they are better equipped to get through it with fewer bumps and bruises.

I'm on the cusp of another birthday.  It is quite clear that at almost 43, I still haven't arrived.  There are still lessons to be learned.  Maybe that's the real meaning of one who is a life learner.

As I look over the landscape I've traversed these past 42ish years, I can clearly note moments - some more difficult than others - and the lesson(s) that I learned as a result.  Those lessons have resulted in treasures - core beliefs that I have held onto.  They have even shaped who I am - my character.  As a teenager, the truth of my identity, who I am in Christ, was etched into my heart. When my mother-in-love was diagnosed with stage 4 ovarian cancer two days after the birth of our oldest son, the first grandchild, I felt the terrain under my feet change.  This was uncharted territory.  Multiple things were added to my life and heart as we paralleled her 15 month battle.  One of the greatest treasures that resulted for me is the truth regarding trust and placing it in God.  Simply stated, it's a choice.  If it's based on circumstances, it will waver, ebb and flow.  This truth reminds me of the lyrics On Christ the solid rock I stand.  All other ground is shifting sand. 

My latest life lesson has resulted from our parallel walk with my Dad who battled cancer for 15 years in total - metastatic prostate cancer since 2006. Unconditional trust in God helped to keep my feet sure but my heart...oh, that's another story entirely.

A month or so ago, as I was talking with God specifically about Dad, I heard Him ask "What if my healing doesn't happen the way you want it?  Will you still love me?"

My eyes filled with fresh tears, overflowing and trickling down my cheeks as I responded "Yes.  Yes, I will still love you.  I will always love you."

And I do.  My love for Him is unconditional.  Even when I do not understand.  Even when I entertain the thought of what could have been better if...

Once again, I find myself navigating through terrain that is uncomfortable and even painful at times.  H.Norman Wright says, "Grief is a journey that moves across unknown terrain that includes valleys and mountains, the arid desert with an occasional oasis." and later notes "When you enter into grief, you enter into the valley of shadows."

When I read that, Psalm 23 immediately came to mind:

The Lord is my shepherd; I have all that I need.  He lets me rest in green meadows; he leads me beside peaceful streams.  He renews my strength.  He guides me along right paths, bringing honor to his name.  Even when I walk through the darkest valley, I will not be afraid, for you are close beside me.  Your rod and your staff protect and comfort me.  You prepare a feast for me in the presence of my enemies.  You honor me by anointing my head with oil.  My cup overflows with blessings.  Surely goodness and unfailing love will pursue me all the days of my life, and I will live in the house of the Lord forever. NLT

  

The valley experiences they sing about are not identical to the one I'm traversing right now, but the truth of who is with me is the same.  It is real.  And I will not be broken.  It will not break me.

Facing the Grief

Four weeks ago, I spent the last full day I'd have here on earth with my Dad. That morning, while holding my hand, he told me that he had to tell me something.  He then told me he was going to die.  I held back the tears as best I could and told him I knew that, but we also knew that he wouldn't truly die.  Because he was united with Christ, he would move from life on earth to life with Jesus.  We also exchanged lots of "I love you. I love you too." throughout the day.  My mom, my sister and I each took time to tell Daddy once again, how precious he is to us and thank him, again, for all he has instilled in each of our lives.  Moments that I will cherish.  Glimpses into what he has meant to me my entire life.

And then we said good-bye, or as he would say Auf Wiedersehen, until we meet again, on Tuesday, September 3rd.

I know the peace of God covered me throughout the week, preparing for the service, honoring Dad.  Truly miraculous.

The last three weeks, I will say His peace is still here, but I'm a mess.  It might not look that way to everyone that sees me.  Activities are sometimes a welcomed distraction from my new reality - life with one of the most important people missing.

I know I am not the first person this has happened to and I've had loved ones leave this earth throughout my life.  But this is a whole new magnitude.  And quite frankly, I don't like it.  Not one little bit.

I expected tears to be part of my reality.  Just wasn't truly prepared for how hard and fast and often they can hit.

Paperwork.  There is so much.  It can feel so overwhelming.  So we tackle a little at a time. Dealing with the stark reality of why we even have to do this.

I prepared myself for the fact that the first year following would be the worst - experiencing every important event without Daddy here.  The toughest part of having a family as close of ours is that major events are not the only times that stir the sense of loss.  I talked to my Dad almost every day.  About nothing.  About everything.  About my goals of the week or what I was going to tackle this morning.  About what I was reading or the conversations I had with my boys before they went to school.  What was on the menu for our family that week and if I had my shopping list done.

And now that's missing.  There is this emptiness that nothing can fill.

I thought I'd be fine by now.  And I am - where my head / thoughts are concerned.  But my heart is a wreck.  I told a friend I feel like my emotions are stretched and are existing in extremes.  I need to live balanced again.  But nothing seems to be balanced in my life right now.  Not despairing.  I know eventually I'll get there again.  Meanwhile, I'm attempting to be patient with myself in the process.

I picked up a book that was given to me by a friend - Experiencing Grief by H.Norman Wright.  I appreciated her thoughtfulness but was not at all ready to crack it open before this morning.  And that's okay. Timing is relevant and the Lord knew that this morning, it was time.

"The world is full of faces.  Some familiar, some unfamiliar.  Many are constant companions.  They belong to those closest to us - a friend, a parent, a grandparent, a spouse, or a child.  But one day a face is missing.  Its presence is no longer there.  There's an empty spot, but not for long.  A new face emerges to take its place.  It's unfamiliar and unfriendly.  It's the face of grief.

Grief - what do you know about this experience? We use the word so easily.  It's the state we're in when we've lost a loved one.  It's an inward look.  You've been called into the house of mourning.  It's not a comfortable place.  It's not where you want to reside, but for a time, longer than you wish, you will.  Often it will hurt, confuse, upset and frighten you.  It's described as intense, emotional suffering or even acute sorrow.

In grief, the bottom falls out of your world; the solid footing you had yesterday is gone.  It feels more like a floorboard tilting or soft pliable mud with each step you take.  The stability of yesterday's emotions has given way to feelings that are so raw and fragile, you think you are losing your mind.  We feel alone with it, yet we're not for Jesus himself was there 'a man of sorrows acquainted with bitterest grief' (Isaiah 53:3)."

Yup.  That's me.  Messed up.  For now.  I think this will be a helpful 85 pages of reading for me.  And this blog...therapy.  Writing has always been that for me.