Today is my very first Mother’s Day. I still can’t believe that God blessed me with the miracle of Shiloh. I’m out of town at a resort sitting on the balcony about to check out, but something has been heavy on my heart.
Honestly, I’ve been a bit of a mess. I’ve cried a few times thinking about the wonder of it all, but also remembering the all too familiar sting of pain at the loss of my first little angel. Granted, I was pregnant again the Mother’s Day after my miscarriage, but I still thought about the fact that my little angel would have been 4 months old.
Today my heart is heavy for those struggling with infertility. It’s heavy for those who have lost babies. It’s heavy for those who can no longer call their mother’s today to wish them a Happy Mother’s Day. It’s heavy for those in foster care or orphanages who don’t know who their mother is. It’s heavy for those who have severed relationships with their mother for whatever reason. Several friends come to mind, and my heart grieves for you, but my prayers continue for you.
When I say God blessed me with Shiloh, I’m not saying you aren’t blessed. We are ALL so very blessed. Some, in different ways than others. But we all have so very much to be thankful for.
So today, know that you are thought of, prayed for, and loved. Take joy in knowing that you can be a spiritual mother to many. There are so many hurting, broken children in the world. More importantly, never lose hope for the future.
“The LORD has done great things for us, and we are filled with joy.” –Psalm 126:3
It’s all about perspective. You know, the way we look at things—glass half empty or half full. Today would have been Daddy’s 73rd birthday. Today I would have been stopping by his place for a visit, presents in tow, greeted by his smiling eyes and soft voice. Instead, I am feeling the void of his presence, and clinging to a photo taken of us at his birthday celebration last year—the last time I saw him, touched him, heard him. It’s eight days before Christmas, eleven days before he joined the angels.
My birthday was two days ago. I missed not getting a “Happy Birthday” text from him for the first time. Life kept on moving, but a part of me stood still.
Can you relate? I imagine the holidays are difficult for anyone who has lost a loved one. I think of my friend Ryan whose beautiful wife Tammy graduated to glory the beginning of December last year. How quiet the house must be. But then, I am reminded of Jesus, his birth, his coming to fill the void of humanity—if we will let Him. To view life through a lens of “this is it,” is quite depressing, but to view life through the lens of “I am just passing through” creates faith and hope—expectation for what’s to come. Ryan and I view life through the same lens. That doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it means there’s hope.
This verse is a reminder that while we live in a world full of violence, pain, and death, the LORD has done great things for us, and we can be filled with joy. Joy is always possible. Thanksgiving proceeds the miracle. Always.
Prayer: Father, help me to remember the good times I had with my loved one, and not focus on their absence. Remind me to have a heavenly perspective when it comes to the ways of this world. Thank you for Christ in me, the hope of glory.
“Grief, no matter how you try to cater to its wail, has a way of fading away.”
― V.C. Andrews
I cling to this song now more than ever. So much has been happening, and I felt this urge to play my guitar (which I am still learning). I pulled up this song my Stephanie Frizzell Gretzinger. I played it to the best of my ability, stretching my fingers to play a Bm. After going through it a couple of times, I wanted to listen to it. I pulled it up on YouTube. I’ve always loved this song. It got me through the recovery from my last surgery.
Tears like lava ran hot down my face. Just a couple of hours earlier, mom’s Hospice nurse told me that the loss of appetite, the dehydration, the lack of will, normally signifies the end is near. “But she’s not ‘that far gone’ I rebutted. She explained that they are typically called in when a person has less then 6 months to live. But I called them in, not because she was “that far gone,” but to provide her with more care (or so I thought). Daddy was under their care for 6 years . . . She explained that mom was admitted because they thought she had less than 6 months to live . . .
The call came this morning as I was in my prayer closet reading my “One Thousand Gifts” devotional. Ann Voskamp wrote of a friend who was dying, yet still had joy and grace. She still had eucharisteo. I thought of mom, and how I had been sharing the very concepts from this book with her. To no avail. Then my phone rang with the call. It was a testing of my spirit. Could I give thanks in this? She had fallen again during the night, and apparently the night nurse didn’t pass on the message. Mom told the nurse this morning that she had fallen during the night, a nurse helped her into bed, said to stay on her back in case she had broken something, and she would be back. She never came.
Lord, you have examined me and know all about me.
-Psalm 139:1
The night supervisor said the night nurse denied her falling. Hospice said she had fallen the 21st, and the story was similar to the one she was reporting this morning . . . I was there yesterday and she didn’t mention it. And why did no one call me on the 21st? Her mind isn’t “that far gone,” or is it? She cried about having been left on the toilet for two hours when a nurse said that she was going to be right back. My heart hurt. Why hadn’t she told me this?
She had a UTI awhile back that made her delusional. I found out yesterday her pneumonia has returned. She has lost a significant amount of weight. Seeing her lying in bed, pale and frail in a diaper is too much. I see flashbacks of my Uncle Chuck who died with Hospice when I was 9. Daddy went to the Hospice House in December, but I was away in Wisconsin when he departed this earth. A blessing in disguise.
Mommy and I last year on our mobility carts.
She wanted some of her country-fried chicken that had just been delivered to her room for lunch, so I cut it up and cut the breading off, thankful that she wanted to eat. I fed her a bite after doing the “airplane” with the fork, and after a second she started crying. “It’s peppery,” she cried. “It burns my mouth.” She spit it out. I gave her some fruit, and she ate a little. My sister Janet proceeded to feed her while I stepped out to talk to the Hospice nurse in private.
She complimented my shirt, and I glanced down to see what I was wearing. Jesus Culture. She said she hasn’t seen them in person yet. She is a sister in Christ. She then told me that mom’s symptoms are normal for someone that is on their last leg of life—that I need to prepare to let go. I fought it. I argued. Then I broke down, torrents of tears bursting from behind the dam that I had so carefully built up around my heart.
“It’s a good thing you have your faith,” the nurse said.
“It’s the only thing that keeps me going,” I replied.
She noticed that mom doesn’t have peace, and asked about her salvation. I assured her that she is saved, and mentioned that when I took her to counseling a few weeks beforehand she told my counselor that she wasn’t sure she would go to heaven. What?! My mom had been slain in the spirit, and spoken in tongues before I was born. She read her Bible daily and listened to worship music when I lived with her. How could she question her salvation? She was led through the prayer for peace of mind. But where is the peace?
Just a month ago she had a vision during the day while my sister was visiting of a circle that had a meadow, and in the meadow was my grandma, her mom, calling her name. “She wasn’t upset like that time I ran away,” mom said. “She was just calling my name, ‘Barbie, Barbie.'” I was at my pastor’s house when I got the call from my sister. I lost it. But wouldn’t that give her peace? Give me peace?
In the parking lot after visiting mom today I embraced my sister as she started to cry. I cried too, and began to release peace over her and pray for the Lord to give her supernatural strength. She prayed for me as well, and for mom. We held one another for quite sometime. She told me that she doesn’t know how anyone can not have faith to get through times like these. She hadn’t heard the conversation between the nurse and I earlier. I told her I don’t know. But mom has lost faith, and that’s half of the battle.
While playing the guitar I had the urge to write—to bleed on the screen of my computer. So here I am. Bleeding. Could it be that within one year I will lose both of my parents? Do I have what it takes to get get the back room cleared out and ready for Hospice to move mom in for her final days, weeks, months? Casey and I finally moved out of her house last November and got a place of our own. We were newlyweds. And caregivers. It was too much, especially with my disability. Can I take that on? Could I forgive myself if I didn’t?
Yet, what get’s me through this is knowing that He knows me. He knows my thoughts, my desires, my fears, my weaknesses. Nothing is hidden from His sight. Lord, You are God, and you don’t miss a thing. Still You know me. You memorize me. And for that I am thankful. ❤
The guitar Daddy gave me years ago. This photo was taken several years back at my apartment in Virginia.
I picked up the guitar again after much too long. It is my most prized possession from Daddy. He gave it to me years ago (I can’t recall when). I remember being SO concerned when I was in the hospital after my accident because it was in the car. Thankfully, the case was the only thing damaged. I am learning a song called “It is Well” by Bethel Music, because in spite of everything I am going through, it IS well with my soul.
I taught myself how to play using a chord book, and spent many a day playing it on the ship while in the Navy as well as while deployed to Bahrain. I’ve had to relearn the chords pretty much each time I’ve picked it up because I let so much time pass in between playing. The same goes for the book I am “working” on. I let so much time pass that I need to reread 22,000 words before continuing to work on it, and I end up polishing the thing instead of adding new content. Back to the guitar (squirrel)! It’s a classical wide neck guitar from Spain (a real beauty), so it’s a bit difficult for me to play having fractured both wrists in the accident. If need be, I may get a modern guitar with a smaller neck, but I love the way nylon strings sound! Of course, I imagine I could put nylon strings on a modern one.
One of my biggest regrets is selling the $900 viola Daddy bought me in middle school after I had auditioned and been accepted to Blake High School. (I have NO idea where he got the money for that!) Instead, I ended up going to Robinson High School, and no longer placed first chair since I couldn’t afford private lessons like the other students (at least that was my excuse). I had made first chair every year in middle school, and even during competitions with other schools in the area. I made third chair all county which was a big deal. I loved the trophies and medals, but I especially loved that Daddy was SO proud of me. I struggled with music theory, so began falling behind in high school. Put a piece of music in front of me and I could play it. Ask me what the notes are and I couldn’t tell you. But hey, I am actually learning the chords with the guitar! 🙂 Anyway, I sold it for $300 to a 70-something-year-old man who wanted to learn how to play. I asked Daddy first, but I could tell he was disappointed. He always attended my concerts and encouraged my musical gifts. He was so proud of me. I felt like I had let him down, so wanted to throw in the towel all together.
A photo Daddy took of me after he bought me the viola.
Daddy and I had a lot in common. I definitely got his creative genes. I wrote a short story in my creative nonfiction class about my dad’s talents, one of which being the ability to produce music. He was a sound engineer for many years, and he produced the single hit “Love Can Make You Happy” by the band Mercy. He was actually given a golden record of the song that he proudly displayed on his apartment wall. I will have to share the story I wrote with you all one day, or perhaps post the audio file to the story told by him. I thank God for Reverbnation, and for the music my dad has “remade” on there, as well as created himself. It’s comforting to hear his voice. Here is a song called “Jesus My Lord” that he sang and composed years ago:
I recently listened to the song after his death and realized what it was about. I had a good cry needless to say.
I’m sure there will be many more posts about Daddy, as I am still grieving him. We shared so much together. I’d stay the night at his place and we would share music. He would introduce me to new music, and I would do the same for him. We enjoyed trips to Busch Gardens mainly for the entertainment, as well as trips to Buffalo Wild Wings to hear music from one of the singers at BG who had his own band. May the music live on, and may the memories of music with Daddy live even longer.
Daddy and I after one of my orchestra concerts in high school. I guess white eyeliner and dark lip liner was the thing. Or at least I thought so! 🙂
Oh come, let us sing to the Lord; let us make a joyful noise to the rock of our salvation! -Psalm 95:1
Our tree that keeps us from needing to purchase furniture for that side of the living room (another reason I don’t want to take it down). 🙂
I stare at the Christmas tree in the living room of our new home and am hesitant to take it down, just as I was hesitant to pull out of the driveway of mom’s old home yesterday after gathering the last of my belongings. I sat there gripping the steering wheel as the rain crept down my windshield, wondering why it was so difficult for me to take my foot off of the brake and press onto the gas.
I had taken mental snapshots of the hallway, the bathroom, the bedrooms, the kitchen, the living room—the spaces I occupied for so many years. The spaces Dad had occupied. They are no more. He is no more. He passed away four days ago while I was on vacation in Wisconsin. I never dreamed that I would be starting 2015 without my daddy.
I took an actual snapshot of the house with my phone before driving away, as if the picture could capture the years of life inside of that house. It’s the letting go that I find most difficult—the letting go of moments, of memories. Yet somehow, I know they are safe deep in the caverns of my heart.
Today marks the beginning of a new year—the first without my father, but a new one nonetheless. It’s going to be a journey, but thankfully not one that I have to walk alone. For me, this will be a year of letting go of things that need to be released: guilt, clutter, bitterness, unforgiveness, stress, etc. Most importantly, I will let go of the need to beat myself up when I end up grasping onto something for too long before letting it go, like this Christmas tree . . . Now that I have finally started this blog I better put it away already. Slowly but surely, one ornament at a time, it will get done. I won’t be emailing my dad to ask him to proofread my post this time (he always loved reading my blog posts). But hey, with a degree in writing and a minor in professional & technical writing, I shouldn’t need him to, right? (Yeah right!) 😉
What have you resolved to do in 2015?
See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it? I am making a way in the wilderness and streams in the wasteland. ~Isaiah 43:19
The picture I snapped before driving away. Yes, there was a vacuum out on the curb. 🙂
The Wind, the Waves, and the Anchor 