Dear Reed – Today is your 20th birthday. I don’t know how or when it happened, but this is the first birthday since your passing that I didn’t feel like digging a hole and just lying there until the day was over. I really don’t believe that time heals anything, but I do believe that somehow my heart finally came to terms with what my head knew to be true. Please don’t misunderstand my words, I will miss you with every fiber of my being until the day that I get to see Jesus face-to-face and I get to hug you again. Can I change that? I will see Jesus face-to-face, and I know you will sneak up behind me with one of those great come-from-around-behind-hugs that you were so awesome at giving! Then after that, I am guessing you will introduce me to our babies, and we will have lots to catch up on.
Down here, things have been all sorts of extremes. We have had amazing times. But then, we have had some incredibly painful moments in recent days, but let me tell you something about your family, my sweet boy. We are tough. There are those who have meant to hurt us, but we have learned to forgive. And more importantly, we have learned to get back up. I think our family’s verses should be 2 Corinthians 4: 8-9
We often suffer, but we are never crushed. Even when we don’t know what to do, we never give up. In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again. (CEV)
So let me share a little bit about some of the toughness that will always be a part of our lives. We really know how to get up again because we know the end of the story (Love conquers evil), because it honors Jesus, and because we won’t let sadness rule our lives.
You know how Daddy always wanted us to march in his honor on Veteran’s Day. I know he was being silly, but I learned something very valuable this year about men like him, men of honor and integrity. What I have learned is that there is nothing worse than losing a man’s respect. It was a painful lesson for me to endure, but on the other side of it, I know there is nothing that he wouldn’t do for any of you children. Amazingly, God brought a complete stranger into our lives for a brief moment to acknowledge the honor that only another man could restore. Honor and respect are things our family will always value, and I remember how much they meant to you as well.
While you watch over three little Stevens there, we will watch over the three (although two are bigger than me) Stevens here.
You would be so proud of Sawyer and all that he has accomplished this year. I think you would have laughed at how much time he spent working hard on his studies and how much the tables have turned from the days he used to tell you to get your nose out of a book. You would have told him, “Well done, faithful sidekick” when he chose to invite all the first responders to his graduation party. Of all the things we have done since the day you died, that was one of the most healing things ever. It just felt perfectly right, and my heart (because of his actions) felt truly content. If we can’t really be superheroes, that night made me feel like we secretly had capes underneath our party clothes.
Erin joined the league of superheroes that we adore (organ and tissue donors). She chose to have a donor ligament instead of using her own in her recent knee surgery. We were so hoping it wouldn’t be necessary, because she would have to miss a whole year of basketball. Sadly, the worst scenario played out, and the donor tissue was needed. We were devastated and we thought she would be too. But this is where toughness and HONOR really sparkle like crazy. In the recovery room, we asked her if the doctor and nurses had told her which surgery was necessary. She told us she knew because she saw the clock and knew that it was five hours later. We thought she would cry and worry about basketball and ALL that she was missing. But your amazing sister did none of that. Nope! The very first thing she asked was if she could write her donor’s family and thank them for the gift of a lifetime and for giving her a second chance. I had to look away, Reed, because in that moment, my eyes poured out what my melted heart felt. In a year from now, on your birthday, she will be representing the great state of Minnesota as an athlete in the Transplant Games, and you better believe that she will be talking about you (her superhero) and her donor to every person she meets!
And Clo! Oh, Reed you would absolutely love her! She is just as much a fan of the underdog as you were. She loves superheroes as much as you and Sawyer ever have, and she has a flair for sarcasm, corny jokes, and just plain wit. This year one of her parent-teacher conferences, the teacher confessed she didn’t really have anything to say academically because she was doing great, but instead the teacher focused on how she would help others in the class. Again, melt my heart for a girl who has a heart just like yours. I wish that the two of you had more time to share together, because she misses you, and there are times that she grieves that she doesn’t really remember you. But I promise, we regularly tell her stories so that she will know the brother we all love and miss.
You share a birthday with a couple of my friends, just like you did in the picture below with an elderly neighbor. One of those friends wanted to check in and see if I was doing okay today. I told her the day was going well, and we were going to keep it that way if nothing else than by sheer determination and a WHOLE LOT OF GRACE. Then several other friends started referring to today as a day filled with happy memories. I really like that. So if it is okay with you, in heaven it will be “Happy Birthday” and here at home and in our hearts, it will be “Happy Memories Day”! Every day has a little bit of that, but today, your birthday, we remembered a lot of stories and shared a lot of memories of the boy who was the smiling sunshine of our world. No matter what we call it, today will always be very special to all of us.
Missing you always, but thankful for the grace that gives me the confidence to know I will see you again. Until that day, I will love you always.
Love, Momma
I think this smile from your first birthday says it all!
I remember the day like it was yesterday, even though it happened almost sixteen years ago. We had a very new baby girl, and I had just returned home from my first appointment with an asthma/allergy specialist for the Boy Wonder. As a young momma I had never encountered a doctor quite like this one. He had to have been in his eighties, and he (not his nurse or staff) made personal phone calls to all his patients just to check in with them. Growing up Southern and a coach’s daughter, it was just assumed that any male offspring would be involved in sports. After the visit with Dr. Goldberg, we quickly learned those dreams might not be the reality for both of our sons. From birth, the Boy Wonder had breathing struggles which culminated in our once finding him completely purple and breathless in the backyard, which is what finally prompted the doctor’s visit. The diagnosis: pediatric intrinsic asthma. There was a slim (very slim) chance that he would outgrow it, but for that afternoon, I cried for all things my sweet boy might miss out on. I was heartbroken for him.
Looking back now, how I wish that was the worst news any of my children would ever encounter.
With a good management plan, those tears shed in my living room were for naught, because he was able to play sports and live a fairly normal life (with the help of a bunch of medications). I remember the first day in intensive care the morning after the bus crash. The medical team was very concerned about his labored breathing until I explained his asthma. He did have severely bruised lungs, but thankfully neither was collapsed. For several summers, he even attended a summer camp just for kids with asthma and allergies. Ironically after his last summer at Camp We-No-Wheeze which happened to be the same year as our darkest day, almost all of his symptoms simply vanished. He hasn’t had one struggle with breathing since.
Yet, through it all (and by all I mean everything that my children have dealt with to this point), I have never once lost sight of the fact there are millions of parents who receive diagnoses that aren’t going to magically disappear, aren’t going to have a surgery or three dozen that will make it better, or aren’t nearly as easily managed with some medications. For some, their family struggles will consume almost every aspect of life that many (including me) take for granted. I was grieving future milestones for my chubby-cheeked toddler, while they will embrace each milestone met.
Please do not misunderstand my message as some of the best advice I have ever been given was “don’t apologize for being your child’s momma.” It is okay to grieve the little stuff . . . period. I’m not going to ever judge you or tell you “that is a first world problem” or remind you to count your blessings when you are feeling low, and neither should anyone else.
My point is looking back and looking forward, I know there are much bigger problems that many endure, some publicly and just as many privately. These families daily face moments when they are reminded how precious life truly is, how much is out of their control, and how often times, raising a child with a difference (any difference) is just as isolating as it is exhausting. Many milestones for these families are bittersweet. Some are never achieved, but many are in amazing, spectacular, and inspirational ways as the children in these families stop the world with their awesomeness. It is for the missed milestones, the hearts of mommas and daddies grieve. For all my friends who experience these moments of dreams deferred, my heart aches.
Recently I realized the ache in a momma’s heart creates ripples that vacillate out in enduring ways. The moment caused a lump to be stuck in my throat the night of graduation. Our school has a tradition whereby the graduates deliver flowers to their mommas. It is a simple and sweet gesture. The ripple that washed over me with a tidal wave of love was not the one pictured in my most recent blog, although that is when my son gave me my flower. My heart echoed God’s joy when he and one of his best friends since birth decided to give flowers to the mom of a former classmate.
There were a lot of perplexed looks in the audience when the two of them grabbed a bouquet they had purchased and went looking through the crowd for this momma. I quickly scanned our entourage of over twenty strong, and there wasn’t a dry eye among us. We all knew that it was a milestone being reached in another way and on another day for her son, but that doesn’t mean his absence didn’t hurt and wasn’t noticed. Those two sweet boys wanted to acknowledge the gift she had been in their life, never missing a game or concert even when their childhood friend could no longer attend school with them. Sure he would be graduating a few weeks later, but the plans they all had back in junior high weren’t the ones that played out in real life, before autism and mental health were nothing more than words they had heard.
Watching the ripples of love from my heart pour out in action through the Boy Wonder and his lifelong buddy was one of the most precious moments of my life. Not for one second did I mind sharing my son with another mom, and I know the momma of the other amazing didn’t either. Our boys were truly men, gentlemen actually, filled with compassion and integrity. They understood the sting of crushed dreams, and for one small second, they hoped to wash away a hurt, if for just a moment. Waves of love and pride and gratitude washed over me as a tender reminder of the Father’s love for each of us, and in one tiny glimpse, all got to see the men He was shaping them to be. These are my boys (all three of them), and for that, I couldn’t be more proud.
Oxford Dictionary gives two definitions for the word “commencement”. The second, North American in etymology, is a ceremony in which diplomas are conferred upon graduates. The former and more common is a beginning or new start. I will confess I had only ever really thought about commencement as the lesser used version, but after doing a little research, I clearly see how much I had previously missed. My vision myopic, other than my own degrees and diplomas, I have generally avoided attending graduation ceremonies, because I have always seen them as sad endings.
A few weeks ago, my heart was twisted and torn as the day of the Boy Wonder’s high school graduation finally approached. I tried so terribly hard not to let the feelings of being cheated out of Reed’s graduation cloud my excitement for Sawyer. Tried could definitely be loosely applied here, because eventually my broken heart blurted those words out loud. The gall-like taste of bitterness was choked down because I wanted the day to be amazing for Sawyer while the scab was still fresh from being treated like second-class citizens two years previous.
For me, it is often in the writing my fears or hurts that cause them to diminish. The giants are slayed. My confidence begins to bolster, as I remember that God’s light shines brightest in the darkest of places.
So it was on commencement day. I fretted about my feelings of loss, but once spoken aloud, I was ready as much as I could be. I did come fully supplied to the ceremony with plenty of tissues though, just in case. The tears did fall. At first they were tears of sadness, the end had come. (Remember I hate good-byes, but haven’t perfected the art of just slipping away quietly like my sweetie’s uncle used to do.) There were tears of laughter as I saw the superhero bedazzled mortar board atop his head. That’s my boy! There were tears of joy because we were surrounded by every one of Sawyer’s aunties, uncles, grandmothers and grandfathers (including the honorary ones), godmothers and godfather, and even his former nanny and her family. Even the few who couldn’t be there watched via the internet. Each one of those precious people had cheered him on through the darkest nights and hardest moments. For this boy-soon-to-be-man, these people (our people) had prayed.
We all basked in the miracle of the young man who was in front of us. The Boy Wonder who defied all the odds to not just persevere but to become a shining example of resilience, faith, and determination was supported by amazing love that evening. All those prayers were for him to live and hopefully to prosper (and no that wasn’t a Trekkie shout out), but God had so much more planned. . . to give him a hope and a future. God-sized dreams really do come true as he earned the distinction of being valedictorian.
As he spoke to the audience, tears of pride for all he had overcome to achieve the goal he set in the eighth grade fell down my cheeks. Despite all the surgeries and days of missing school, he never wavered in his commitment to coming out on top . . . God-sized dreams, for sure.
Sitting next to one of my best girlfriends whose son also happened to be graduating that nigh, we both shed bittersweet tears. Our boys were leaving, but both grew to be amazing young men. Both a part of the day that changed our county forever. Tears welling up, we held hands. Then, it hit me. Yes, my son was growing up and leaving. No matter which way you look at that, it would be heart wrenching to have another son gone from our home. My revelation came from the true meaning of commencement, this was a new beginning. The boy who had endured so much came out on top, but more importantly along the way touched the lives of many. In the next steps of his journey, I can only imagine what God has in store for him.
All smiles while giving his teary momma a hug! photo courtesy of his godmother
In the days while we were waiting for the phone call that could change EVERYTHING for our family – again, I was preparing for an amazing speaking opportunity. My local newspaper hosts an annual event, Exceptional Women of Southwest Minnesota, and I was asked to be the speaker for the evening. After working with the organizers, I chose taking care of you as the theme of my address. I shared I was downright giddy at being asked because I was very familiar with last year’s speaker. I follow her work, and it felt like big shoes to follow. To say the least, it was a huge honor for me. I will confess I wasn’t quite ready for the marketing campaign for the event as every other day the paper had my picture and just about every business I went into had a poster with me staring back at myself.
Some days I just felt unworthy of all that attention because the beautiful polished photograph of me looked back at the no make-up, hair pulled into a ponytail, clad in workout clothes version of me. Many friends and neighbors gave me such positive encouragement, even despite my efforts to deflect all the attention. I was consistently asked one question before, during, and after the event, “Do you get nervous when speaking?”.
The honest and simple answer is I don’t, but for this event, I poured my heart into my thoughts and preparations because of the significance of the evening. Our small town paper, the Marshall Independent, not only hosts this event, but they also share with their subscribers and readers excerpts of the nomination letters as well as thoughts from the nominees themselves. I was truly humbled to read what these amazing, incredible, and well . . . EXCEPTIONAL women were doing in our community. Their stories made me smile, brought me to tears, and generally inspired me to learn of all the ways they were giving back. Every nominee’s story touched my heart profoundly. For these women, I prayed in the days leading up to the event. I prayed God would give me the right blend of wisdom and stories to encourage them to invest in themselves because without them there would be huge holes left in our communities.
As usual with every time I go off (or stay home) and speak, following the event there was a big line of those who want to hug me. I savor every word of their story, relish in every smidgeon of encouragement, and covet every prayer. Telling our family’s story in an honest, raw, and, at times, humorous way, is draining, but if sharing helps one person do anything better, I will do it every chance I get.
After all the hugging and story swapping, I went home to take a day or two to reflect on all that goodness and let’s be honest, worry that the phone call I was waiting on might not be the one I wanted to hear. When the call finally came in, I hit my knees in praise and adoration, before I cried for all those who wouldn’t receive good news. Then I got up to tackle some cleaning in preparation for our upcoming graduation party. Only the girls and I were home when the doorbell rang.
As soon as I opened the door, I had a huge smile on my face (which for the record was not made-up and my hair in a messy bun). On the front step was one of the nominees, holding a vase with some roses. I quickly invited her in and was completely blown away with the message she came to share.
This sweet new friend is a business owner and when she woke up to start her day at her family owned operation, she noticed something amiss in the parking lot. She rises really early to make sure that all her customers’ needs are met. When she ducked out in the darkness to check on the odd sight, he husband accompanied her for safety. They discovered a broken vase of roses that had been left on the pavement. Quickly cleaning up the glass and retrieving the roses, they returned to the busyness of their morning routine. Finding a replacement vase, she placed the flowers by her kitchen sink and got busy doing the dishes. As she finished that chore and went on to tackle others, her eyes kept being drawn to various words of inspiration. Two in particular kept drawing her in. Those words were “peace” and “family”. Eventually, she felt that God was bringing her close to those words. After a few hours of this repeated drawing near, she knew that God’s message was persistent. She announced to her husband, “those flowers aren’t for me, but I know who they are for”.
I can only imagine his perplexed look as she shared that she thought they were from a red-headed boy. Now here she stood on my doorstep, long-distance roses in hand. Tears quickly pooled in my eyes as she lovingly showed me how the one rose had to have fallen from quite a height in order to have the small indentation that it had on its side.
She couldn’t stay long, but her thoughtfulness and caring lingered for days. I did need that message more than she could have ever known. The sweet messenger was simply God’s instrument of love that day, and for that I love her. I don’t really know how the flowers ended up in the parking lot, but for me they will always be the roses from heaven.
It was a long and agonizing wait when the Boy Wonder was in the MRI machine to determine the correct diagnosis for the lump on his leg. I refused to sit and search on my phone for all the statistics and logistics regarding sarcoma, because I knew that would do nothing but stir up my heart even more than it already was. Having had an acquaintance battle sarcoma, I already knew some details – none of which were good.
I did what any person trying to avoid her feelings would do when sitting in the lobby area of a hospital or clinic. I picked up a magazine and tried to redirect my horse galloping heart to slow down, peruse the pages of a battered and worn Better Homes and Gardens, and attempt to calm down. For a little while it worked. I did text a friend who had asked me to apprise her of the situation, and I prayed for a while. She joined me in those prayers, her heart echoing my own fear.
After a short while, another friend and mom of a schoolmate of my children came in with one of her sons. We chatted about all sorts of things, before she asked why I was there. When I said my son was in the diagnostic machine, she grew a little concerned. All I could comfortably share was “it may not be good”.
She smartly changed the subject to prom and graduation, inquiring how planning was going on the latter. We talked for quite some time about my worries (and hers for next year) and getting everything just so, noting that not one of our guests would ever know the difference. I shared what another friend had said to me, and she quickly breathed a sigh of relief.
“I have been sitting here thinking exactly that.”
The sentiment was one of finally getting to have a graduation party. In all the ways that counted, the day was all about Sawyer, but in some inner recesses of my heart the day would also be for Reed and all the ways he and his classmate were not celebrated two years ago. This sadness going all the way back to the e-mail we received from the school stating that our “student” would have been graduating. The caged agony had been brewing. Come on! Are you serious? He was in a class just shy of 40 and no one had the decency to use his actual name? Did you forget that he died as a part of the normal school routine, riding the bus home? I would be lying if I said that shocking correspondence doesn’t still hurt, because it deeply and profoundly does.
The friend sitting there knew nothing of that nor the agonizing months we waited to hear if our son would be remembered at all, but what she did know was how much we love our children and how incredibly difficult it had to have been to not have a party for Reed. Her words of acknowledgement of that hurt soaked deep into the pores of my soul like the soothing balm of Gilead. Her words were healing, as if she had scooped me into her arms and we rocked together on a peaceful front porch, wiping away locked up tears, and sipping some iced tea for good measure. Her words so simple, so sweet, began to cover the ingrained scars on my heart for a loss of something I didn’t realize I was grieving until I was confronted with it for my second son.
In this world, we have the opportunity to do the right thing. I am learning as life goes on not as many people as I would have hoped choose to do that. For those who love out loud, please know your gifts of encouraging words, calls, texts, e-mails, prayers, unending love and support matter. Without those two women speaking truth into my heart, I don’t know how well I would have made it through the ensuing days – waiting for the phone call, preparing for graduation day, and surviving the party we had while thinking about the one we didn’t.
Maya Angelou once said, “There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” Whether it is the ravishing scars of grief or a possible cancer diagnosis or anything that brings hurt to your heart, keeping such things locked inside is an anguish that I wish on no one, but one I intimately know.
For one small moment, in a sterile clinic waiting room, battered magazine in my lap, I was incredibly thankful for a friend who let me open the cage for the bird, hiding in there, to fly away. The gentle flutter of the wings of sadness passing by the crevices of my heart created a feeling of being beautifully lighter once released.
photo by Laura Kok found at http://sgsushant.blogspot.com
I couldn’t help but imagine that is how God’s heart feels when he is waiting in the throne room for me to bring the hurt to him. Sadly, more often than not, I embrace the hurt before I carry it to him. I think he often uses friends, family, and yes, even strangers to speak the words I need to hear to relinquish the hurt for which he is so much larger and his grace is more than sufficient to cover. He is waiting with his bottle to collect my tears, a lap big enough for my hurts, and a promise to love me through it all. A perfect reminder: I will always be his child, the one worth waiting for.
With a month left of his high school career, my Boy Wonder was swamped with papers for several of his college classes. Unfortunately he had to skip out on a family outing to support my mini-me at a volleyball tournament. When we returned home from the day’s games, he informed us he had a lump on his leg that concerned him, and he had called the Ask-A-Nurse number for advice.
Insert screeching halt sound effects – Do what? You have a lump? You called Ask-A-Nurse? Since when do teenage boys call Ask-A-Nurse? Is my boy now a man? Do I have to change his pseudonym from Boy Wonder to my Superman?
After all those swirling thoughts calmed in my brain, we dissected the advice given by the voice on the other end of the line. He needed to get in as soon as possible. We made an appointment, not too worried because cysts have become a routine part of his story since the bus crash. I have lost count of the number of those that have had to be surgically removed. The one that required a delicate three hour procedure definitely hasn’t been forgotten.
Our meeting with our family doctor did not go at all how I had expected. After examination, he gave us four possibilities: a hematoma, a cyst, a benign fatty tumor, or a cancerous tumor. At that last one, I think I began having heart palpitations. Due to the size of the lump, he lowered another blow. My kids adore our family doctor, but his best advice was he was not the doctor we needed. A surgeon was required. I don’t care that my children have had over 25 surgeries in the last seven years. I turn to mush every time the “s” word is uttered. I am so tired of my children hurting.
The meeting with the surgeon came the day before the prom, and I was hoping that if a procedure was needed we could, at least, let him enjoy the final dance of his high school years. I never in a million years imagined what happened next. The doctor quickly ruled out the hematoma and the fatty tumor, and really didn’t think it was a cyst. He then went on to say that the lump was presenting as sarcoma.
The Boy Wonder was fast and furious taking notes on his phone so that he could do some more research later. Have I mentioned lately that he hopes to become a doctor? While he went into future physician mode, I wanted to ball up on the floor in the fetal position. I fought back the tears in my eyes and tried (very unsuccessfully) to be brave for my son.
Miraculously, the MRI machine was currently empty, and we jumped at the chance to get a diagnosis sooner rather than later. After about a half hour, the technician came out and asked if I was “the mom”. She then explained how the radiologist didn’t like the images and had asked for a dye injection. She assured me that the procedure would take only fifteen more minutes. Are you kidding me, lady? I would wait until kingdom come if needed for my son.
Fifteen minutes it was not. Forty-five minutes later, he emerged famished and eager to get back to school. We got into the car, and my steely resolve vanished rapidly. I tried to ask if he was okay, when he noticed the tears in my eyes.
All I could get out was “we’ve come so far”. I didn’t have to say anything more. He knew what I meant. He was weeks away from graduating from high school and clearly more than ready to spread his wings to soar. A diagnosis of cancer would change all that. Not to mention the surgeon’s words echoing in my head, “if it is sarcoma, then we wouldn’t be able to operate in that location”. Oh sweet Jesus, please let this cup pass our family. I lost it.
My incredible son looked me in the eyes and these are the words he said . . .
Oh momma, don’t cry. I don’t think it is sarcoma. I just don’t feel it is. Mom, I get it. You are worried, but here is what I know: there isn’t a challenge I have met in life that I couldn’t handle.
Although I was momentarily reassured, my thoughts kept running away from me again. When did he grow up? When did he stop being my little boy and become a man ready to make more of a difference in this world than he already has? When did he become the comforter?
The next few days were agonizing. We told only a handful of friends and asked them to pray. We plastered smiles on our faces, and we pressed on. We pretended that our insides weren’t melting to goo, our crisis survival skills weren’t kicking into high gear, and our thoughts weren’t questioning if we could endure another blow. Lots of prayers were sent heavenward. Memories replayed an MPR show from winter stating that 1 in 2 Minnesotans will be touched by cancer in their lifetimes. One in two? And very little sleep transpired.
The call finally came five days later. (In their defense, there was a weekend in there.) The radiologist found that it was NOT sarcoma (THANK YOU, GOD!). I only heard very little of the rest of what the nurse explained. The name of the diagnosis was extremely long and basically may or may not go away on its own. It will need to be watched, but it won’t take my son’s life.
After spending some time on my knees, my heart began to take its own roller coaster ride. As much as I wanted to celebrate, I couldn’t because my heart hurt for the mommas (and daddies) of the world who wouldn’t be receiving the same good news we did. They would be gearing up for the fight of a life (literally), and they would be enduring sleepless nights, searching for countless hours to find ways to help their child, fielding phone calls and e-mails and texts from well-meaning friends who have offers of miracle cures, and learning just how powerless they really are when it comes to their child’s health. All the while, they will be savoring each day, each moment, and sometimes each breath they have with their child. They will celebrate milestones and will put on plastered smiles and will cry in the hospital corridors and elevators so as not to scare their child and will do anything to make it a good day for their sweet babes. My heart cried out for them all.
Sometimes, I think God gives me these moments to remind me of those who so desperately need my prayers because I know firsthand how such prayers can give you that extra ounce of energy to take the next step forward. Prayers have bolstered my family in the darkest moments of our journey. A literal life line! I know I haven’t reminded us of this in a while, but please, please, PLEASE hug your kids tonight and be thankful for every day you have with them.
Yesterday, I came home to a surprise sitting on my kitchen island, which will always be called “the buffet” because that is what it was for 15 years at my house and about hundred years before that until last fall we converted it into its new state. There was a bouquet of roses along with a card. The Boy Wonder was home most of the morning so I thought they were from him. Tears immediately pooled in my eyes when I realized that the gift was from a classmate of Reed’s, whom I have the honor of calling one of my other sons. His own mother is a woman I adore and every moment I share with him is one that I thank God for her and her willingness to share. Throughout the day, my thoughts wondered to all the types of moms in the world.
Today I am thankful for each of thoses mom. So here’s to you . . .
- Moms of newborns who are just starting your journey. Welcome to the best and hardest job of your life. There will be moments of doubt and fear, but every time you look in your child’s eyes you will know whatever heartache you face will be worth it.
- Mommas of little ones running around. The faster you pick up toys, wipe dirty faces and hands, and clean up spills, the faster it seems that they appear. I promise you, exhausted ladies, that someday they will pick up after themselves, and you will wonder how are you going to spend your time.
- Moms of school agers who are starting to form the beginnings of their wings. Teach them to fly, sweet ladies – even when sometimes they pretend they don’t know what nest is home.
- Mothers of teenagers and beyond – These are the bittersweet moments when you realize just how sturdy your knees really are. These are the times when you watch your children soar . . . until they don’t, and then you help them pick up the pieces and soar again.
- Moms of babies who died in utero. There is no pain like the pain of never meeting your child, counting fingers and toes, or smelling your baby’s hair. I am sorry that often the world doesn’t recognize your motherhood. Please know I do and always will.
- Mamas whose arms ache for a child carried in their womb, but that day has never come. I wish I could magically make that happen for you. Every friend’s child is a reminder of the hole in your heart. I am so sorry for the pain you face.
- Mothers who have to lie about how many children they have because it is just too darn complicated to explain that one of your children has passed away. I know your pain. I have walked in your shoes. We close on houses and business deals, but never our children. A mother is not defined by the children you count, but by the ones we hold in our hearts.
- Moms of children who are ill from disease or addiction or who are dying. Thank you for your steadfast love and encouragement. Your prayers and presence are guiding lights in so many lives.
- Mommas who only recently learned that their child has a terminal diagnosis. You have every right to ache with every fiber of your being. Please know that there are legions of moms and friends who stand with you to lift you up for the days ahead.
- Mamas whose own mothers had their own struggles and left holes in your childhood. Thank you for your forgiveness and for persevering and for being a voice of change for the next generation in your dedication to mothering your own children.
- Mothers who work two and three jobs just to keep ahead of the bills and yet exhausted, still find time to be the best mom in the world to your kiddos. You inspire me.
May God cradle all of you mothers in safely under his wings.
Here’s to you . . .
- Grandmothers who due to life circumstances stand in the gap to mother their grandchildren. You are an incredible gift to mother not one but two generations. Thank you for giving so selflessly from your heart and years of experience.
- Mothers who have answered freedom’s call. You stand on every shore, soar high in the sky, and walk your boots on every continent on earth. Thank you for the sacrifices you make so we can sleep in peace. To your husbands and families who do all the “mothering” in your absence – May God grant them peace every day you are away.
- Mommas who are holding down the fort while your soldier, sailor, airman, or Marine is far away on deployment. You are mother, father, counselor, comforter all while trying to hold yourself to together. Yours is a sacrifice often forgotten. Your family endures, every second your loved one is gone is a deep longing ache of terror and worry, mixed with pride. In my book, you are saints.
- Birth mothers who have given the name of mom to another woman with the gift of life. Life – precious life. Thank you for courageously giving a priceless gift. To the moms who have adopted or fostered the children loved beyond measure, thank you for being an earthly example of our charge to love the widows and the orphans.
- Moms who are absent from their children due to circumstances they could have never imagined. Whatever your story, I can only believe that you never wanted to spend a day away from your children. Please know that wherever you are, I know you carry your sweet babies in your heart if not in your arms.
- Divorced moms who “share” their children with another “mom”. Thank you for being full of grace and love and mercy to show your children that love comes in many diverse ways. Your gift is one that will free your children some of the pain of their life’s story.
- Teacher, counselor, social work or nursing mommas who love children in the hours that they are in their presence. What you do is hard work to love on a child in their darkest moments when often they are often struggling to learn or dealing with life’s curveballs. Thank you for giving from your heart and often generously from your wallets as well.
- Mamas of influence. No, I am not talking about the amount of dollars in a bank account, but rather the amount room in a mother’s heart to love all the children and sometimes adults within her corner of the world. You pour out love in ways that may not always be recognized, but what you do matters. Someday, you might be surprised to find flowers on your kitchen counter too!
- The spiritual mommas who love on those in their churches, houses of faith, neighborhoods, and communities. You are a rare gem. You give of your time to love others because you can, because it is the right thing to do, and because you have a gift to share. Yours is a commitment far beyond a blood relation but you love anyways in many amazing ways. Thank you for being the stitches that hold together the fabric of our society.
To the moms, mothers, mommas, mamas, mas, grandmas, nannies, grammies, grandmothers, and mom figures –
You are rocking this thing called motherhood!
I know there are long days. There are days that you make a thousand selfless sacrifices in a hour, let alone in a day. You worth could never be paid. Your love could never be measured. Your value could never be assessed. Without you, this world would be a really dark place.
You are important. What you do matters. Simply put, you are AMAZING!
And I am proud to stand among you!
Happy Mother’s Day for all the ways you love the world and its people.
To those who have lost their moms, my heart aches with you. I wish I could hug you all and whisper “a mother’s love never fades away”. Each of you are an echo of your momma’s dreams and hopes for the world.
For good measure, this is my own sweet momma as a little girl.
It’s been a while, dear friends. I needed to process my grief for our latest surgical news, support my child who is doing her own grieving, and prepare for our upcoming celebration – our first high school graduate. I’ve been learning all sorts of things about myself through this process. Before I go any farther, I must admit that I LOVE (I mean love, love, L-O-V-E, LOVE, truly I do, love!) to throw parties. I am a planner and a dreamer which can be both a blessing and a curse. To have a party as significant as celebrating this milestone is something I have been dreaming about for years. Once we (as in I asked the Boy Wonder what he would like to do at this shindig) made our selections, I have been sketching, sorting, eliciting help from others, and doing a lot of behind-the-scenes prep work. I won’t give away any details until the big day.
For years now, my parents have asked me to assist them when hosting dinner parties and various assorted soirees. I have created invitations, menus, shopping lists and suggested decoration ideas from thousands of miles away. So other than the obvious fact that he is a guy and really only had a couple of things he was incredibly passionate about for the party, I have had free reign to create. The path has not been without troubles, the first disaster was our choice of an accent color. Somehow for a school with colors of Laker blue (think: royal) and black, the Class of 2015 chose tangerine and silver for their class colors.
Whether or not Leigh Anne Touhy actually said this, the line in “The Blindside” movie has never left me. I gave my best: “I will not use that gosh-awful orange . . . it is not in my color wheel!” He comes from deep Southern roots and decided a nice preppy navy would be his choice. I fully supported his choice for its amazing pairing with our theme décor.
Do you know how hard it is to find a true navy in fabric stores? Before anyone thinks otherwise, I am FULLY AWARE this is a first world problem and that no one other than my family will know the difference anyway. We spent four hours searching (to no avail) to find wide navy ribbon for our tables. I had almost given up hope when I had a spark of creative genius hit me at about three in the morning. Why not search for table runners? Voila! A great deal was found in navy and ordered promptly.
My excitement was giddy, only to have hopes be as swiftly dashed. Instead of the navy prominently featured in the picture on the website, the box contained Laker blue table runners instead. Curses, foiled again! This was a crushing blow which was followed promptly by the ordeal known as: “Oh good gravy! Who knew that mini-cheesecakes were this much work?”! In the words of Sweet Brown, “Ain’t nobody got time for that!”
To most people, they would just roll with the punches. I. AM. NOT. MOST. PEOPLE. Thankfully, one in the inner circle was able to talk me off the ledge. Here is a sample of our conversation:
Friend: Hey Kan! How is graduation planning coming? What can I do to help you?
Me: (forlorn, but not so forlorn as to vow never to go hungry again while simultaneously planning my next ball gown out of the drapery) Not so well.
Friend: Oh? What happened? The last time we talked things were going great.
Me: I can say this to you and you won’t judge me. . . (long pause for dramatic effect and just good form in Southern story-telling) . . . why can’t I just be average?
Friend: (absolutely in stitches as evidenced by the fit of laughter on the other end of the phone) That ship sailed away a LONG TIME AGO.
Instead of suggesting I was thinking a little too highly of myself, she knew my heart. She knew that the Boy Wonder never (and I mean NEVER) asks for anything for himself, and here I was left pretty much feeling like a failure because I wasn’t producing the two things that he most wanted for his party – mini-cheesecakes and navy as an accent color. I just wanted to give him the desires of his heart because . . . Well, that’s obvious.
He’s my son, and I LOVE HIM.
Even with all the graduation planning and end of the school year ta-das for a busy houseful of children, I have been trying to spend time doing some things just for me. Exercising, reading, and crafting have been my escapes. Ironically, one of those big lessons learned about myself occurred at the same time as my disappointment with table runners and cheesecakes. With all the remodeling we have done in the last few years, I have allowed a few odds-n-ends to stack up. One of those undone items was to sew new hand towels for our new kitchen. I had purchased the linen toweling last fall, but there it sat, still in the sack on my crafting table.
I took one afternoon to cut, iron, and hem the ends of my future towels. Let’s just say what I envisioned in the quaint little fabric store in St. Paul is not what occurred in my basement. For some reason, my machine was sticking at the folded layers of linen and created what could best be described as a jumbled mess.
For several years, the Boy Wonder (who has since outgrown the severity) attended a camp just for children diagnosed with asthma. The weekend camp was in the heart of Amish country in Minnesota. While he and the other no-wheezers (seriously that was the name of the camp: We No Wheeze) were having the time of their lives, we were camping and enjoying the local farmer’s market where Amish families had their wares on display. The quilts were absolutely stunning. I’ve been told that the seamstress will purposely make a mistake because only God is perfect. I could say I was channeling my inner Amish, but even I know that would be more than a Mark Twain embellishment.
For some reason as my shoulder blades were approaching my earlobes as my frustration grew more intense, God reminded of one amazing truth. Like my towels, I was and am, at times, a jumbled mess. I am not AVERAGE, because I am daughter of the most high KING. Even though I sometimes take my desire for things to be “just so” a little too far, he sees beyond that moment. He also reminded me no matter what my party or my towels look like, he would always be with me because . . . Well that’s obvious.
I am his child, and HE LOVES ME.
And after all, isn’t that all that matters.
We mommas do what we can. Need some medicine . . . Mary Poppins comes to mind. More than once, I have sang “Whistle while you work” especially after spending the whole afternoon out in the garden. Dolly Parton and I are best friends (only she doesn’t know it) when I am balancing the checkbook online. Singing for me makes any day just go better, and some days, it is the best I have to offer.
Over the weekend, I drove my children crazy! It was a nice role-reversal, I will confess. We are in graduation mode, preparing for our first high school commencement, and thus, are really trying to keep on top of all the details. At the same time, it means that we must be ever vigilant (that right there would have caused at least one of my kiddo’s eyes to roll) at keeping the house clean. As we were cleaning this weekend, we were simultaneously scanning in thousands (no joke) of film negatives and finalizing DVD’s which hold hours of our children’s early lives. The trip down memory lane has been well worth it.
To most people who have visited our home the whirlwind of frenetic activity which describes our weekend is definitely not surprising. We do crazy busy – well. For casual readers, my confession about disliking messes (okay, I loathe disorganization) was shared in my annual blog on the leprechauns a few days back. A few mommas were intrigued not by our wee visitors, but by my explanation of the cleaning day list. When I still worked full-time (outside of my home – do not ever think this is not work) AND had three small children under the age of five, we had a cleaning lady.
Back in those days our life was blur! So much so that one time my parents came for a visit but were leaving for the airport after we had left for school, work, and daycare. When I got home that night, I was shocked (SERIOUSLY SHOCKED) that my sweet parents cleaned my house top to bottom. It was sparkling clean. Tears in my eyes and lump in my throat, I called to tell them how much their efforts meant to me. My dad stopped me cold. “Toot (don’t ask), we were enjoying our coffee, when this lady came right on in and started cleaning your house. We assumed you knew all about it.” First of all, there is something seriously wrong when my parents don’t check for credentials, but even more so that my life was so busy that I completely forgot it was cleaning lady day. On that second one; I am sure she was shocked because even though she always did a superb job, we ALWAYS cleaned for the cleaning lady. Lest she think we were living in a complete pig sty.
One day, we got the bright idea (I am telling you that sometimes we are parenting geniuses) we were not doing our children or the future college roommates any favors by letting them skip out on the day to day maintenance of this house. Who I am kidding? Once again, it is all about appearances. I did not want the college roommates to think my children were raised in barn. But seriously, mastering the skills of wrestling the world’s largest dust bunny, scrubbing a bathroom until it sparkles, and removing mystery stains from laundry should be required on college entrance exams. So with many tears (mostly shed by our children), we let the cleaning lady go to another lovely family. I’m pretty sure that “Help us!” sign I found later had been scribbled by one of our progeny. The sure give away was the “p” looked like a “d” and the “s” was backwards. Traitors! Sorry future college roommates! That day started the list method of cleaning.
While the list went well, there are other things (not list worthy) I just could not “let it go” (and yes, I did just totally sing that out loud) along with various other songs that just sprang forth over the weekend.
Here are a few examples:
After tripping over my children’s shoes at the front door, I decided to devise a system to say that unless they want me to break a hip and come to live with them in a few years, they better start lining up their shoes along the edge of the wall, toes touching the baseboards. I broke into “It’s all about the base, ‘bout that bass, no tripping. It’s all about that base, ‘bout that bass or you’re in trouble”. My kids then asked me how I knew that song. When I said I saw it over Thanksgiving, they informed me I was completely clueless because my version is a parody song about basting with butter.
The next shining moment came when one daughter stepped over the salad greens she had dropped on the kitchen floor to get more ice for her sweet tea (well, she is her mother’s daughter). This time I broke into, “Stop! In the name of love before you break my heart. Stop! And put that lettuce into the garbage can. Think it over! Do it now –ow- ow!”
My vast song memory (and although not required for this, my ability to sing) came in very handily this weekend. There was a brief rendition of “Don’t stop believing” when the faint-hearted among us thought the work would never be done. A few other songs joined my repertoire according to whatever grumble my children had at the moment.
This wasn’t my first foray into using song to get my point across. Long ago, back when our little town only had a small mecca of the South before it supersized, my children were asking me begging incessantly for a new toy. I finally had enough, and right there in aisle 17, I broke into a completely impromptu rap song about wanting more and more stuff. My children were astonished. My voice carried across the store, and I DID NOT CARE. Parents in the area were surprised, but I received more than a few “Atta girl’s”! The song was such a hit, that one dad even asked if I could sing it again. It was one of my proudest moments as a momma! Of course, this was long before cell phones where I am certain I would have been an internet sensation: “Crazy mom loses it in Wal-mart”!
Song-a-palooza or not, we got all the work done. The house was cleaned, another bazillion film negatives of precious memories were scanned in, various odd jobs were completed, and I think through the magic of music, I got my point across. Well, mostly. . . just watch that first step. Hope they are saving up for in home care!
My view while typing this blog.
And if it helps any momma (or daddy) out there needs it, here is the cleaning day list!
Yesterday, our family was dealt another blow in what seems to be a never ending litany of challenges. A little over a week ago, Sister had a one year check in (on a partial tear of her left ACL) with the orthopedic surgeon. I was unable to go, but I was not expecting the phone call I got afterward from my husband. Our doctor did not like the pain she described, ordered a second MRI, and asked us to return in a week.
For the entire week, I prayed desperately not to let fear rule my days. We only told a handful of people, until the night before our visit when I rallied the prayer warriors to flood heaven’s gates. Their response was immediate, bringing tears to my eyes. If you get nothing else from today’s blog, know that we are loved and know that we know it.
At first, our doctor was very happy to see her ACL was unchanged. It had not gotten worse which could have happened. All was looking really good until he spotted a small tear in her medial meniscus. His suggestion was to repair the tear which will require a six month over all recovery and rehabilitation process. What pushed me over the edge were his thoughts that while he was in there he should just make sure the ACL is not really in need of repair or reconstruction. If it is, then an additional surgery will take place and her recovery will be twelve months.
I cried. The doctor cried because he knows our story. My tough girl held back her tears. And my husband asked a bunch of questions.
For as long as I can remember, this sweet girl has loved the game of basketball, attending her first clinic at the age of three – just to be with her boys. Now once again, she will have to sit out while her peers are getting to play. To add insult to injury (no pun was intended there), she loved swimming, but due to a severe allergy had to give up swimming competitively. Because of the injuries she received to her shoulder in the bus crash, she was forced to choose between softball and basketball.
My heart was broken for my girl, who didn’t do anything to cause any of this. She has the heart of a competitor and a love for the game. My spirit was crushed because I know the uphill battle she is climbing, chasing a what now feels like an elusive dream to play at the college level. My soul was searching, pouring my heart out to God asking “Why can’t you just fix this?” For the record, this will push us over thirty surgical procedures in seven years for our children. I am thankful that my children are still here, but in my book that is about twenty-nine too many surgeries.
Outside of brokenhearted and crushed, I was simply mad. A WHOLE LOT OF MAD! Mad because this keeps happening to us. Mad because instead of support last year, what she had to deal with was a lot of rumors about her faking her injury to get attention. Mad because those rumors persist today. Mad because my children have to continue settle, because disappointment is a part of their vernacular. Mad because our big family vacation will have to deal with a child who cannot bear weight on her leg or our dates will have to be changed altogether. Mad because I now have to cancel all of the camps and clinics she had signed up to attend. I am sick and tired of dealing with plans B, C, and D. I just want to get up in the morning and not have to deal with changing every aspect of our lives because once again, we are in hospital and rehabilitation mode, where making plans and moving forward are really just plain tough.
Oh, we can do tough. If it isn’t in our DNA, it certainly is in our collective experience. Some days, I just want to do easy. I want to get up and not have the hurts of our story be so blasted time-consuming. I want to get up and fly by the seat of our pants, not worrying about medications, crutches, braces, and appointments. Yesterday was the first time I wanted to just simply quit. I wanted to jump on a plane, land anywhere there was a beach, and add my salty tears to the briny water.
When the doctor was crying, I said I remember when Sawyer was two and diagnosed with severe asthma after we found him blue and nonresponsive in the backyard. I thought that was the worst possible news we could ever receive. I COULDN’T HAVE BEEN MORE WRONG! All the days I played momma as a little girl never once did my imagination think I would encounter all of this.
But I won’t quit. My children deserve better than a momma who throws in the towel. I will resolutely stand on the sidelines cheering them on and working to help her get better. I am not promising what might happen to the next person who tells me that my children are faking it, but I will remember that pledge when I hear someone else talk about anyone with a hidden hurt. Trust me, there are millions of people who look absolutely fine on the outside, but who are dealing with invisible pain or loss every day. EVERY. DAY. I will figure out how to balance the needs of a surgery of one child mixed in with the graduation of another one. I will cry because that’s what mommas sometimes do when we know that there isn’t a single thing we can do to make any of this better outside of praying. I will pray A LOT, even when my prayers are ones of anguish, despair, rage, and bitterness, because even though I don’t FEEL it right now, I KNOW God has a plan for all of this. I will beseech everyone to pray that the lesser surgery is all that is needed, and I will cling to that hope. I will do my best not to let tomorrow’s challenge rob today’s joy, but that will take every last ounce of energy I have to do it.
But first, I will have to change out of my sackcloth and wipe away the ashes. Along the way, a big glass of sweet tea with extra ice probably won’t hurt either. Taking a little liberty here, it would help to remember that perhaps I was chosen to be their momma for such a time as this. (The book of Esther, chapter 4)
My little baller in one of her first basketball t-shirts (which of course, she had to wait until her brothers outgrew it).
kandynolesstevens 