You said WHAT to a griever?

How are you doing? For those of us going through any kind of grief event we hear those words often. When it gets closer to special days we hear them more often. And, although we know that the asker means well and is really saying that they care for and even love us, they do not want the real answer. Because, for those of us struggling to get through whatever special days we may be facing, the answer is usually not one we want to face, much less announce. We are not doing well. Our world came crashing down on us and now we have to face a birthday, an anniversary, a holiday without someone who gave meaning to those days. 

So, what should you ask? How about not asking anything? I don't mean that in a bad way, I mean, why not share a statement instead? For the griever we have no new stories. I don't get to tell you about the gift that my daughter unwrapped this Christmas. I don't get to tell you what I got my wife for her birthday. I don't get to tell you about the anniversary trip, the special valentines dinner, or even the New Year's Eve party we attended together. I don't get to tell you how incredibly beautiful my wife looked in her dress or how those diamond earrings she wore sparkled almost as much as her eyes. BUT, I can tell you about a memory I have. Because that's all I have left. 

Depending on who is grieving and their personality, they will each handle what you have to say about what joyous time you had or what challenge you are working through. Personally I LIKE to hear what your family did for the holidays. I especially like to hear what your children did. I like to envision the joy in their faces when they opened their presents because I don't get to witness that in my own home anymore. And just because I don't doesn't mean you shouldn't either. However, another griever may not feel that way. Another griever may be so wrapped up in their grief that the only person that matters at that very moment is him or herself. So how do you know which kind of griever you are facing? You don't. You take a chance and if you guess wrong you remember and move on. 

What can you say to a grief stricken person - especially through the holidays? I believe that, surprisingly enough, they would like to hear you share a memory you have of the loved one they lost. Or, if the grief is for another event, share a good memory you have of your past with them. When we lose our loved one and we lose the ability to make new memories, then our loved one can only live on in through the old ones. I would rather cry over fond memories than cry over no memories at all. 

But what if you don't really know the person that well? What if you never knew the loved one that was lost so you can't share memories? What if you run into the griever at work, at church, or out shopping and the only thing you can ask is, "How are you doing?" Why not ask them instead what one of their fondest memories of a holiday in the past is? Try something like, "I know this year must be tough and all you probably have are memories now. What was one of your favorite things your loved one did during that holiday?" Then listen carefully to the answer. Ask questions about it. Show that you want to take some of those memories with you to share with others so that their loved one can live on in the thoughts of others. 

None of the above thoughts are by any means a one-size-fits-all approach. Each person grieves differently, but if you want to be a friend, a true friend, learn how that person grieves and adjust. Talk about their loved one if they want to talk. Don't talk if they don't want to talk. Tell stories of your own (but NEVER compare your struggle to theirs) if they truly want to remember what it was like to have a loved one around. Hug them if they are a hugger. Let them cry on your shoulder if they need. Above all, if you truly want to help, make that person the most important person you could be talking with at that very moment. 

And, if you and I should ever cross paths and you want to help, just give me a hug, tell me a memory you have of my wife or daughter, give me a hug, tell me about your kids, give me a hug, tell me about your grandkids, or you can just give me a hug. And don't be afraid to bring it up. It's not like I've forgotten. Don't be afraid that you will make me cry. I can cry all on my own. As a matter of fact I was probably crying ten minutes before you ran into me and probably will ten minutes after you leave. Be yourself. If we are friends it's what I love about you anyway!

'Twas the night before a widowers Christmas

'Twas the night before Christmas when all through my home

Not a creature was stirring, I am all alone

Stockings aren't hung by the chimney I swear

'Cause the people I want to be with, are not there

No one is nestled all snug in their beds

Just me and my iPad and a sense of dread

The holidays are not the same around here

No milk and cookies just bread and stale beer

No voices are lifted, just a night that's silent

No tree dressed in lights, no packages of white

When what to my crying eyes should appear

Why it's nothing, and it brings me to tears

No sound of Santa dodging the fire

No carolers singing, no heavenly choir

No jolly fat man shoved in a suit of red

My eyes are where you find that color instead 

Christmas without my family here

It makes me long for the first of the year

But before this poem starts breaking your heart

I'm learning to live, make a new start

Friends they surround me with love and with prayer

There's no doubt in my mind I have friends who do care

I have food on my table and a roof overhead

So much to thank God for this Christmas instead

Thank Him for grace, it's new every day

Thank Him for love He keeps sending my way

Thank Him for mercy and thank Him for joy

And most of all, thank Him for the gift of His boy

If you find yourself in my shoes this year

Perhaps you can find a source of good cheer

Find it in faith, find it in friends

Find it in others who are there 'till the end

Give gifts to someone that you may not know

Let someone out in traffic when it's your turn to go

I bet if you tried you could think of your own

Special ways to make others feel less alone

Doing for others, now that's a great gift

Giving someone else that much needed lift.

For in giving away joy I'm sure you will see

Joy comes back in a large quantity. 

If you think Christmas this year will be blue

Think of all the good you could do

Then when you rest and say your prayers just right

You can say Merry Christmas to all, and to all a good night. 

I'm diving in

I have had a number of people speak to me and acknowledge how difficult this week will be for me. And I do appreciate the fact that they have recognized how difficult Christmas week can be on one who who must spend it alone. Having a spouse whose birthday is Christmas week makes it even more difficult. The most difficult thing is dealing with the emotions leading up to the actual event. 

When we lost our daughter my wife and I dreaded each upcoming event. The first Mother's Day. The first birthday. The first Christmas. We had some very good friends who had travelled the road ahead of us who told us that the first year was tough because the anticipation hurt so bad. And the second could be even worse because you let your defenses down. Since you are probably reading this on my wife's birthday, I can tell you that, so far, the first is worse. But the second will probably be even worse. 

To say the pain is bad would be like saying the Grand Canyon is a deep ditch. And the funny thing is there are some days that you can fool yourself into thinking you are doing better than you are. 

In the mid 70's I attended a church camp. I do remember the lessons we learned and the testimonies I heard. But this past week I suddenly remembered something else. It was recreation time for my group and we were sitting poolside at the indoor pool. We had our feet dangling in the water and it was very cold. The instructor told us how to get our bodies accustomed to the water temperature. We began by tossing water from the pool on our legs. Then we tossed some in our lap. Finally we tossed some under the arms and we were ready to slip into the cold water. That was great instruction but the 12yo me reached a little too far for the cold water and slipped into the pool. The instructor looked at me and told the others, "Or, you could do that." Total immersion was not the original plan but it was evidently MY plan. 

Throughout this past week, and even in preceding weeks, I've noticed that there were days I felt like I was doing pretty good. I would think that I had gotten to the point where I could recall memories and not be rid of them all. I would stick my feet in and think that things weren't so bad. I would splash more memories onto myself in an attempt to see if I could tolerate it. And then, before I knew it, I was totally immersed and struggling for air. It seems that I was not doing as well as I had thought. 

So, how do I face the day? How is it that I can breath? How do I find the oxygen that my soul is starved for as the flood of memories overtake and overwhelm me? And how can you learn from my pain so that you don't have to experience it yourself when grief hits you? The answer is... I don't know. There is only one thing you can learn from me regarding how to handle it and that is that you're going to have to handle it. And you're going to have to handle it in your own way. Some of you will ignore it in hopes that it will just go away. Some of you will lash out at others for not understanding. Some of you will wallow in self-pity throughout the entire day. Me? I will do the manly thing. I will cry. A lot. But I will let the tears wash me. Then I will reach down and pick up the joy and peace that I know are there but often misplaced and wear them like a coat against the cold the world is trying to show me. I will show that world that I may be struck down BUT I AM NOT DESTROYED!!!

I've never been more homesick than now

I would be lying if I said the holidays were not tough on one who is missing a spouse. I find it doubly so (I believe) when the spouse's birthday is the same week as Christmas. This past week, whenever I let myself get beyond the present and dwell in the past or future, the waves would crush me. Just today I sat having lunch alone and found myself asking God to bless OUR food when it suddenly hit me that I should only be asking Him to bless MY food. Peanut butter sticks bad enough in the throat as it is. When it has to work its way past the knot and the sob it takes some effort to swallow. 

I chose to do some shopping for my nephew and nieces on my wife's side. I truly love those children and I am so happy that they continue to keep me as part of that family even without the blood ties. But shopping without my wife along was like breaking in a new pair of shoes.  I liked what I was doing but it just didn't feel comfortable. I found a lovely friend to walk along with me so the pain wasn't as great as it could've been. Which was good because, without a friend along, Angry Me would have gotten some serious bah humbug stares from my fellow Toys R Us shoppers. 

After dinner and a basketball game (watching of course, not playing, because I would have to ask Santa for Icy Hot if I had played) I found myself at home alone again. I did what I usually do when home alone and decided to be with my Facebook family. I saw a beautiful picture taken by a friend ( and very gifted writer) of a couple who had been married 47 years. The wife claimed that home was wherever her husband was. What a wonderful sentiment and I am truly happy for them. But that quote made me realize how Job-like my trials have been. I've lost a child. I've lost a spouse. And, tonight I realized, I am homeless. Not a sleep on the street in a cardboard box or in the woods under a makeshift tent with a tattered blanket shivering against the cold. No, I am homeless because those who made me feel at home are gone. 

I live in a nice house. I have plenty of creature comforts. I sit on a comfortable couch and type this using my iPad mini. A fire in the gas fireplace keeps the room warm. The air conditioning unit keeps the temperature throughout the house moderate. When I finish writing I'll take a nice warm shower and climb in a bed that I can adjust to just the right firmness. I have food in my pantry, money in my wallet, a nice Riesling in the fine crystal glass beside me. I should be a very content man. But of course I am not. I would gladly trade it all for life as it once was. I would struggle to make ends meet and do without so my child had plenty. I would drive a beat-up old car and add oil to it every week just to keep it running. I would throw an extra threadbare blanket on the bed and snuggle with my wife to stay warm. I would mow my own yard and clean my own house and not think twice about it if I could have the loves of my life back. But this is a Christmas wish that Santa cannot deliver. No matter how carefully I hang the stockings by the fireplace or how snug I would be in my bed, the only hope I have is to have visions of my own sugarplum fairies dancing in my head. 

I am homeless. And, as Mercy Me sings, I've never been more homesick than now. 

Butterfly kisses for Christmas

Christmas came early this year for some of my nieces and nephews. Due to their father's work schedule and a variety of upcoming Christmas programs and parties it was deemed necessary to have a little bit of the Christmas celebration earlier than I can ever remember having it before - regardless of how much I wanted to open my presents early as a child. And so, the first of the firsts began today. 

Every year for the last seven I have missed my daughter at our Christmas gatherings whether at my family's or her mother's family's. I was so proud watching her show her appreciation and how she matured as she got older. She had just reached that age where she enjoyed watching other people open their gifts as much, if not more than, opening her own. She wanted to see the joy in other's faces. And I can vividly remember her last Christmas both at home and at my parent's house. 

This year her absence was felt more than it has in a few years. This time her mom wasn't around to watch the cousins open their presents. And this time I wanted to make it a special Christmas. So each child was given a few things that belonged to my daughter. My nephew, quite the bibliophile himself, was given five books in a series of books that my daughter enjoyed. That and a frisbee she threw like a girl. Before I left the festivities I took him out back and we threw the frisbee back and forth (and into a number of objects) for a while. I would say that it reminded me of throwing the frisbee with my child but my nephew could throw whereas my kid... Well, she was a great singer. 

The oldest niece received a devotional that my daughter read through when she was close to the same age. It gives her something to read and discuss with her parents every day for a year. I also included a couple of fiction books geared for a pre-teen girl. But the most prized possession would have to be the scarf that her cousin knit herself. For the last seven years that scarf has been draped across a bench at the foot of our bed. The scarf had grand designs of being a blanket one day but my daughter never got the chance to finish it. Perhaps my niece will use it as a scarf for awhile and then, once she becomes proficient at knitting, she can continue the blanket project. 

The next niece, the one I remember feeding a bottle at our child's last Christmas was next. For quite some time now her Gran has called her "dolphin eyes" because of her big beautiful brown eyes. So she was given a dolphin mini statue that was cut from a beautiful stone. She was also given a travel tic-tac-toe game that uses Velcroed dolphins and whales rather than X's and O's. And lastly she received a orca beanie baby that was the closest thing I could find to a dolphin amongst the dozens of stuffed animals we still have. 

The youngest niece on my side of the family was given the biggest gift. My daughter had a pair of butterfly wings as part of a costume. She loved butterflies. So my youngest niece is now the proud wearer of butterfly wings. Also included in the bag of gifts (I'm a guy and we don't wrap) was a stuffed dog that was so soft and just seemed to call out to be adopted by another little girl. 

Not having my daughter there with me was emotional draining. Not having my wife with me opened the taps all the way. We did end the evening on a fun note with a gift for my mother she never saw coming that had us all laughing. But when the wrapping paper was all picked up and cake and ice cream was served I began to work my way toward the door (unfortunately leaving behind the wonderful hand-made gift from my nieces). It was time for me to go home and be alone. The first of my first Christmas days was over. They never are as hard as you expect them to be, but they don't make the next ones any easier. 

Christmas comes but once a year

Earlier today I began to think about all of the Christmas decorations I've seen in the neighborhoods and posted on Facebook. I recalled how, as a child, I loved to make the trip around the corner at my grandparents house to see what their neighbor had added to his house in the way of Christmas decorations for that year. It was the highlight of the trips to Virginia. I also began to actually think about Christmas this year for me. And that made what had been a good day a little less so. The way to get through the first year of grief - as well as subsequent years, is to focus on the moment and not on the future. Because the future is too darn big and too darn scary to face. 

Seven years ago my wife and I made the decision not to put up a Christmas tree in the house. We still put a small amount of decorations outside but nothing like we once did when our daughter was still with us. It no longer felt like Christmas. There was no longer a pile of blankets at the foot of our bed where our daughter would spend every Christmas Eve. There was no real reason to celebrate at our home. We still celebrated with the family as we watched the nephews and nieces tear into their packages while still at the age where quantity was better than quality. But for the last five years we found ourselves cruising the Caribbean on Christmas Day where it felt a little less like Christmas and where we did not expect to see our daughter at every turn. As it is I can still recall the first Christmas at sea and the poem I wrote about it. 

Christmas Without You

Another Christmas passed without you in it

Your mother and I tried to escape

As we loaded up the car, you weren't there

As we traveled down the road, you weren't there

As we looked out over the ocean, you weren't there

As we walked along the beach, you weren't there

You were so missed

Then I felt it...

In the laughter around the pool, I heard you there

In the smile of a toddler, I glimpsed you there

In the eyes of your mother, I saw you there

In our hearts, I felt you there

You were not there to great us when we returned

How could you be?

You were with us all along

As I began to reflect on my first Christmas without both my wife and daughter I thought that perhaps it was time to add decorations to my living room. Something to mark the season other than the cinnamon candle I found and lit. I could string garland along the fireplace mantle and place candles and bows in the windows. I could put great big Christmas balls on the front porch and put greenery around the columns. I could make the house look and smell like Christmas. Perhaps that would lighten my mood. 

Yes, I could do all of that and was seriously considering it until I rounded the corner tonight and saw a neighbor with a beautiful Christmas tree in their window. It was wonderfully lit and made me think it was time to bring mine down from the attic after 7 years of hibernation. But then I realized something. I would have nothing under the tree. No presents. No one to buy presents for and leave under the tree until Christmas morning where we could waken and rush to open them. This year I don't have to worry about whether or not I got my wife the perfect gift. I don't have to hear her gripe at me for getting her something when we agreed not to do so. I don't have to see her pull out the gift she had gotten me that also broke the agreement. 

No, Virginia, there is no Santa Claus in my house this year. And I'm not sure how I'm going to handle it. Dad always told us as kids that Santa didn't want milk and cookies. Santa wanted beer and pretzels. It will be difficult not to join Santa in his diet this year. But that's not who I am and not how I'll deal with it. 

So, do you want to know what I want for Christmas (aside from the obvious that I can't have)? I want to pretend that December 25th is just another day off. I'm not even sure where I'm going to do my pretending. But regardless of where, please know that I will be wishing you the merriest of Christmases possible.  And don't worry, the spirit of Christmas will still live in my heart - just like it does all year round. Because if you treat every day as Christmas, then it makes the actual day a little less painful. At least that's what I'm hoping. 

All I want for Christmas is my two front teeth...

"You'll know when it's time." No. No I won't. I'll know when it's not time, but only because I thought it was time and found out it wasn't. 

Some well meaning people have told me countless times that I would know when it is time. And maybe I will eventually. But what I am finding out is that I am learning when it is not time. But just what exactly is it that I'm supposed to know it's time for? What if I feel it's time to get rid of some of the stuff that makes this house a home. The clothes, the trinkets, the jewelry, the make-up, the other objects that hold so many memories. What if I think I'm ready only to find out, after its all gone, that I wasn't ready after all? 

I was ready to take off the wedding band one day, and then later that day I rushed to put it back on. Eventually I managed to take it off my finger and move it to a chain around my neck. But I still find my thumb searching my ring finger for that thing that gives it it's name. I try to spin the ring on my finger only to be reminded that it is no longer there. I tap my hand on a table expecting the sound of the ring striking the hard surface only to hear a different sound. Different than I have heard in the last quarter of a century. 

I was ready to pass along some items to family and had more success there. Perhaps because I know my family values those things and I can see them whenever I want. I won't ask for those things back because they aren't really gone. Like the ring that once announced to the onlooker that I was taken, they are merely residing in a different location. 

What about other things in my life? I know when it comes to dating that I am not looking for a replacement for Wanda. For similar reasons, I didn't replace Beth with anything. As I've mentioned before, Beth and Wanda have already been replaced. Everywhere they once resided grief now fills that void. What I am looking for now is to replace the grief. However grief doesn't get replaced as easily as the thing that once held the space grief now occupies.

I've spent some time with a number of people in the last six months in an attempt to find something to replace the grief. The toughest part is recognizing my feelings for what they are. Am I developing feelings for a person or am I developing feelings for something to replace the grief? I've know too many people who, in an attempt to replace grief, have acted quickly. I know a few friends that have chosen wisely but I've also know people who regretted those choices. Don't you think they thought they knew it was time?

My friends know the grief that fills my heart. That grief that pours from my eyes in a cascade down my cheeks. It happens every day. Still. And they want so much for me to not hurt. And I can admit to myself that it would be nice to not hurt. And there have been several nights lately that I have not cried myself to sleep because I had a nice day or evening that left me focusing on the good. But replacing the grief with something long lasting is a bit more difficult. The last thing I want is to anchor myself to something or someone that I will (or more importantly, they will) regret a few months down the road. 

Do you remember losing your first tooth? The adult tooth came up and pushed the other out.  Eventually it was replaced by a larger, permanent tooth that eventually fit in with other teeth as you began to lose those. But until it did there was a noticeable gap. Especially if the front two teeth, those most prominent, are gone. You look at the grin of a six year-old missing his incisors and you can't help but have an emotional response. When it comes to losing baby teeth, that emotional response from that toothless grin usually results in a smile of your own. However, when you see me and recognize the gap in my smile, in my life, the emotion is not usually marked with a smile. And, until what is supposed to grow in that spot finally shows up, I guess we will all keep our smiles to ourselves. 

So today I am just going to admit that I probably won't know when it's time for whatever it is supposed to be time for. Instead I am just going to try to recognize when it isn't time. Sound confusing? You should see it from my side of things. But then again, I pray you never have to. 

For Better or... What???

Grief changes you. No doubt about it. There is no way that you can't let it change you. But you can decide how it will change you. Especially in the loss of a spouse. Never before has "for better or worse" rung so true. 

During my first journey of grief I can recall sitting at a pizza place waiting for the order I called in 30 minutes earlier. They asked my name. They asked my phone number. Then they came back and told me it should be just about ten more minutes... What kind of pizza was it that I ordered? Everything in me wanted to say, "Really? Can't anything go right?" Here I was a couple of weeks out from losing that which was so precious to me and now I can't even get a pizza order? What did I have to do to get a break in this life? I sat in a chair and just glared at the empty pizza rack. Then it struck me. How does the displeasure of not getting my pizza order in a timely fashion compare to the gut wrenching pain of losing a child? It doesn't. It's petty. And thus there was my turning point. In the pizza restaurant, flour floating in the air, God came to me and made me adjust my priorities. From that point on my wife and I both made a point to say to ourselves, "This is not a life and death situation. Treat it as such."

It's not that I don't still get angry at the little injustices of life. I do. But just not as quickly. I still want my pizza on time. I still want people to admit that they have made a mistake rather than give me an excuse. I've always felt that there is a fine line between an excuse and a reason and I don't like excuses. But if they aren't life threatening then they aren't worth threatening someone's life! And maybe not even their job. 

During my second lap on grief's track I must confess it is a little more difficult to let some of the injustices go. It gets harder and harder to again keep from saying, "Really? Can't anything go right?" Or its sister quote, "How much more can life throw at me?" It's like I decided to throw all of life's crap right into a fan but didn't step out of the way as it flew back on me. But then I remind myself how blessed I am. I live in the greatest country in the world. I have the best parents and wonderful family and in-laws. I couldn't ask for a better group of friends. I have gotten so much more than I deserve. I got to spend most of my life with the most beautiful woman in the world and for 15 years of our life together we got to spend time with the best daughter anyone has ever had the honor of raising. 

I would be lying if I said that grief hasn't changed me. What I'm praying is, as my journey continues, that the changes are for the good. I promised my bride, "for better or worse." But that promise wasn't for her. That promise was for me. And it was a vow I intend to keep. For the honor of the most beautiful woman in the world.  

Thanksgiving in Heaven

I imagine that Thanksgiving, that purely American holiday, is still celebrated in heaven. But I imagine it is celebrated every day. All day.

This morning, as I was trying to force myself to get up and face the day I began to think about how my family is celebrating in heaven. I realize that the average day in heaven is quite different than what we go through here on earth, but if it went like an earthly day perhaps it would go like this:

My wife awakens in her bed and rolls over, without morning breath (because I can't imagine morning breath in heaven), and gathers her sleeping children to her. Beth is enjoying being a big sister to her siblings (I can hardly wait to meet them), but she refuses to give up her mother's arm as she snuggles close. Wanda was never a morning breakfast kind of person but she sits up and lets the little ones bring her breakfast in bed. The breakfast tray has eggs and toast the way I taught Beth to make them. There are also pancakes with designs on them just the way Wanda used to do for Beth. The setting is pure silver and the plates are of the finest China trimmed in gold. Small salt and pepper shakers made of the clearest crystal are at the right side of the tray. There is a fine linen napkin beneath the silverware but it's not needed because no one spills anything in heaven. 

After breakfast and some time of play my family gets up and dresses in the most beautiful clothes. I imagine they are all dressed in matching outfits (I'm sorry if one of our children was a boy but Beth would insist you wear one like your mom and sisters). When they venture outside they don't need sunglasses even though the light is blinding. There is no need to climb in a car but there is one parked in the mansion driveway because Beth insisted they have one so she could name it. They leave the car in the driveway and walk to the street. Of course it is made of gold. The ground is so clean that Wanda lets everyone keep their shoes on when they are in the house. The sky is the brightest blue with fluffy white clouds. The kids run up and down the road saying hi to all of your loved ones that are up there. Everyone is walking. And they are all walking in one direction. 

"Are we headed to the throne, mom?" asks our littlest one. 

"Not yet, sweetheart. We are headed to a banquet. We are going to have Thanksgiving lunch with the King!" replies my wife. 

The banquet hall is spacious and filled with more people than you could ever imagine. In spite of the crowd Beth instantly spots Papaw and then Granny. They look so beautiful. So full of life. Beth sees Great Uncle Bill and runs and jumps in his arms like she did when she was just a little child. He takes her over so they can sit with GiGi and, although she never got to meet him on earth, GiGi's husband - her great-grandfather. 

As everyone sits and prepares to eat, the prayers are said. Only this time everyone is keeping their heads up and their eyes open as they gaze upon the God that is great, the God that is good, that they are thanking for their food. 

And what food there is! The three youngest are asking for their second helping of manna while Beth, her mom, and the second oldest child are already on to dessert. And, knowing Wanda, the dessert will be something made of chocolate resting on a bed of chocolate topped with chocolate sauce. Whatever sweets they want to indulge in are available. Vegetables even taste good. No one moves food around on their plates or sneaks food to a dog at their feet because they don't like something. What looked like only a small amount of food before the blessing, never runs out and yet there are no leftovers. 

Now they get to go to the throne! The kids are so excited - as are the adults - as they gather across the crystal sea. Here they are reunited with all of their friends and family members. They look to the throne as the king comes out. Songs of praise ring out across the sea. Millions raise their voices to sing holy, holy holy to the Lord God Almighty. After their praise subsides the crystal sea becomes like a large screen TV and they all surround the sea and begin cheering for their friends and family as the race on earth continues. Beth thinks it is so cool to be standing next to Moses and hearing him cheer her daddy on. 

As the day comes to a close, my family joins hands and walks back to our mansion. The littlest one holds both Beth and her momma's hands so she can run and jump and swing as mom and Beth half carry her home- just the way Beth did with her mom and dad when she was little. As they reach home they stop on the doorstep and watch to see which colors God is going to use for the sunset. Beth put in her request, but tonight the colors some from someone else's palate. Perhaps, dear reader, it was your loved one whose request was heard this time. Regardless, Beth is not disappointed as the colors are still beautiful. After the sunset they turn to go back inside and Beth stops and whispers to a butterfly who leaves her side and flutters to earth so that dad can be reminded that he is still loved. The butterfly joins thousands of others as they descend to earth to wait for their morning delivery to their intended audience. 

Bedtime comes with no fussing. Instead the children are excited to sleep so they can visit loved ones in their dreams. Sleep comes easy. And, just before she closes her eyes, Wanda rolls over and looks at Beth and tells her she loves her but she is only keeping daddy's spot warm until he gets there. Beth's only response is a smile as she closes her eyes and dreams of visiting daddy again. 

At least that's how I imagine it to be. Happy Thanksgiving to all. 

Bbbbbbird, bird, bird. Bird is the word.

I'm thankful for my family and my friends. I cannot count the number of people who have invited me to spend Thanksgiving Day with them. And each one of you are such a blessing to me even as I turned your invitation down. There are just too many good memories to be shared around your Thanksgiving dinner table. Memories to share of holidays past. Great memories. And you don't need me there to spoil that.  You will probably make even more memories as you look at the spread before you and wonder how you will ever eat all of it. And you won't. Many of you come to the meal with containers empty and ready to take leftovers home with you. You'll laugh and eat until you are about to burst. The men will all unbuckle their pants to allow a little more breathing room and retire either to the living room to watch football or to the fields for hunting. 

This Thanksgiving I will not be making wonderful memories over a freshly carved turkey. I will not have to turn down someone's offer of a spoonful of dressing or cranberry sauce. I will not smell the apple pie baking or drink my weight in sweet tea. I have chosen to be alone. 

Please don't worry about me. I will be fine. I will treat it as I would any other off day. I will sleep in. I'll probably work in the yard. I will sit on the couch and watch some football. I do have some deli sliced turkey in the fridge so I will probably have a turkey sandwich to remain true to tradition. I will probably fall asleep in the middle of the afternoon and blame tryptophan. And I'll probably dream of John Madden trying to say tryptophan. I love Jesus, but I do drink a little. But not to forget. I can never forget and will never try to drown sorrows that way. Instead I will raise a silent toast to those no longer with me. 

The family I no longer have with me physically will look at me behind wooden and plastic frames scattered around the house and wonder why I am still there. I am still there because they are still there. Their very essence permeates the rooms. It is here that I feel closest to my wife and daughter. It is here that I feel I need to be. It is here that most of my memories can come flooding back. 

Don't weep for me. Don't worry about me. I'm learning to be alone and this is my first major test. I have friends coming in the evening so I will not be alone the entire day. I'm even trying my hand at cooking... well, at preparing snacks. I think my first solo run at the homemade cheese ball is a success. I've even bought stuff to fix a real breakfast in the morning. 

Getting through the last several holidays without my little girl has been tough. But together Wanda and I made it. Getting through the holidays without either of them will be a greater challenge. How I handle this day will determine my approach to both Wanda's birthday and then Christmas. Personally I think it will all hinge on the cheese ball. 

Grey Skies are Gonna Clear Up

In case you haven't figured it out, life just isn't fair sometimes. We don't get what we deserve sometimes and sometimes we do. And sometimes that's a good thing. And other times it's not. In talking with a friend this weekend I commented on how we must focus on what we do have rather than what we don't have. When we have a lot of good things in front of us to focus on its much easier to focus on that. But in moments of stillness, that which we don't have becomes more prominent. It fills up the window we are looking through making it impossible to see what we have to be thankful for. 

Driving down the road today through the neighborhood I couldn't help but notice how vibrant the colors were. Reds were a little deeper. Yellows a little brighter. And, in the waning hours of daylight the colors left the trees and moved to the horizon. As I topped a hill where I could see better over the trees I could see the colors bleed across the sky into eternity.

I came home to a lawn blanketed by a layer of leaves that were not the pretty reds and yellows. Instead there was a carpet of dirty brown as the life and color leached out of what was once quite beautiful. It was then that I came to the realization that I am in the Fall of my life. The color is fading. What was once filled with beauty is now covered with scars of pain and grief. 

Beneath the dirty brown leaves life continues. But all that is alive is now below the surface searching for what once was. The nourishment that's been missing for the last five months. Fortunately the roots of life go deep. The life is not over, I've just come to a new season. And winter isn't far behind. 

Winter. Although it doesn't happen here in South Mississippi very often, a few inches of snow can cover the brown with a false sense of clean. A beautiful blanket of white that, if thick enough, covers the dirty brown completely. But it's only a momentary beauty. The ugly remains a warm spell away. 

But I haven't given up hope. I know that there are plans for me. I know that there are people to reach out to. People for me to help heal. And people to help heal me. 

Fall will be painful and winter will only serve as a reminder that I no longer have anyone here to help keep me warm. 

But I've got news for you. Spring is coming. 

Play the Game Tonight

The remains of the storm had blown through as I prepared for a step in my journey I knew I needed to take but didn't want to. In this year of new firsts I was about to face another. And although I knew I had a network of friends to support me, I let very few know what I was about to do. You see, there comes a time when you get tired of seeing that face. The one that we all possess. And this morning I had spoken with someone else who knew she too would see that face. It almost makes a soul not want to venture out. It is the face of sympathy. The head is tilted slightly as you hear the words, "So, how are you doing?" I didn't want to see that face or hear those words because to do so meant that what I was about to face was as difficult as I imagined it was going to be. 

The event I was about to endure was a worthwhile event. I've attended faithfully for the last 7 years around this time each year. And, one advantage of going to this event was that I would not see the sympathy face since others attending would be focusing on their own losses. 

Today I attended my first Christmas tree decoration of the year. But this tree is unlike any one you will encounter in a home. This tree does not have gifts shoved under the lowest hanging boughs. Instead the gifts are already given and pictures of what once held those gifts are scattered on nearly every branch of this tree. You see, this particular Christmas tree is placed in our local mall to honor those individuals who gave the gift of life to others through the selfless act of organ and tissue donation. Each year the Mississippi Organ Recovery Agency invites donor families to place a picture of their beloved donor on this tree in honor of the sacrifice they made. But the true sacrifice was witnessed on the faces of the dozens of people gathered around this tree. The donors had given what they would no longer need while those gathered around the tree had given what they would love to have back - their loved one. 

It was my hope that the sympathy face would not show up at an event that brought together so many that had lost so much. And, had I only placed one picture on the tree, that's probably what would have happened. But I had a second picture to place this year and the sympathy face came out in full force. And if you've ever experienced an overload of the sympathy face you know that it becomes even more difficult to hold it together. 

Tonight I placed the pictures of the two people I have loved most in my life on this tree. I know that the people whose lives they saved are very thankful that those pictures are there. And I know that Wanda and Beth would be proud of the lives they were able to save. But, being brutally honest here, I wish someone else had stepped up to save those lives. I wish I didn't know as much about organ donation as I did. I wish that I had gotten to know all of the new friends that I have made through organ donation some other way. But I don't get my wish. Instead I get to fight off Angry Me one more time. 

This year, as you think about the things you are thankful for, be thankful for two things specifically. Be thankful that you have your loved ones with you this holiday season. And, secondly, be thankful that there are individuals and families who were willing to make the sacrifice so that others may experience Christmas with their loved ones. For they received the greatest gift - the gift of life. 

And, if like me, you can't be thankful for those things, then I pray that God brings you peace for Christmas. That, and very few sympathy faces. 

The Leader of the Band

Sometimes we can find things to keep us from our grief. And sometimes those can be good things. And sometimes they can be not so good things. This week I experienced a lot of the latter. 

Last Monday found me planning a trip to the hospital to check up on my brother who had to spend a few days there due to surgery. This followed a trip earlier in the month to see him in the same hospital as the doctors diagnosed what was going on with him and the steps needed to remedy the problem. So, in other words, I've been to the hospital twice this month. Fortunately it was not THE hospital. I still can't do that. But it was a hospital nonetheless. The same whirs, buzzes, beeps, smells, and sights exist in every hospital. Whirs, buzzes, beeps, smells, and sights that I'm all too familiar with as I sat by Wanda's bedside the last five days of her life here on earth. But, when its family, you do what you have to do. And I love my brother very much and needed to see him even if he didn't need to see me. 

During this last visit we had a few minutes alone and I sat and watched him sleep. The quiet and stillness in the room worked their magic on me as well and I nodded off for a couple of minutes myself. That's all it took for us to have a couple more visitors as my wife and my daughter walked in the room hand-in-hand. Wanda was wearing dark blue scrubs and Beth was probably about nine or ten years old. They walked right in the door and smiled at me and then at Uncle Paul. And then I woke up. But that picture is seared in my mind. 

The nurse came in a few minutes later to check on him so I stepped out of the room. I hated to see my brother in pain and I knew there was about to be a little pain as she cleaned his surgical incisions. I stood in the hallway trying to grasp what I had just seen in my mind's eye. My wife and daughter had to come check up on Uncle Paul. I have had a number of dreams about Wanda the last five months but this was the first I could remember of both of them together. 

When my parents walked up a few minutes later I was standing in the hallway. I couldn't tell them about the dream. As a matter of fact, they are finding out about it probably through this blog. I couldn't tell them because I knew what it was like to sit and watch your child in a hospital. And the last thing I needed to do was to start the waterworks. And this time at the hospital was not about me and my loss. It was about my brother and the focus needed to remain on him. But I did send him a text to tell him that Wanda and Beth came to see him. 

If I had not been there I wouldn't have seen my family. I doubt I would have had the same dream in the comfort of my own home. I think sometimes God puts us in places where we are going to be uncomfortable. He tests us to see if we are willing to put our own needs aside and still value others better than ourselves. (Philippians 2:3) In the midst of this uncomfortable time God can give us peace and reward us for our faithfulness. God gave me a gift that day. And I didn't mind sharing that gift with my brother. Not at all. 

You put your heart in, and you shake it all about

Earlier this month I recognized (there is no celebration this side of heaven) my daughter's birthday. Unlike other times, I did it without my wife at my side. And the week leading up to it was extremely emotional. But the days that followed have been surprisingly easier. I have filled those days with people and events that have been wonderful distractions. And there is no doubt that has made it easier. As I have been making progress at replacing the grief in my life with new relationships and functions I find myself in a moment of peace. But those moments can be fleeting. Today, with no real thought in my head but recapping the day's events and preparing for the busy day and week ahead I was suddenly overcome by another tsunami of grief. And, like an underwater earthquake, the source was unseen but the effects were devastating nonetheless. 

I know what it is that I want to replace the grief. I want what the grief replaced. I want that same person at my side that has helped me grieve the loss of our daughter through her last seven birthdays. But I also know that I will not get this wish. Rather than focus on the difficult days to come in the coming 6 weeks I flashed back to the lyrics to an unsung song I wrote around the ten week mark. I went back and retread it and realized that I cannot say how I feel now any better than I did then so I will share it with my blog readers rather than just my Facebook followers. I hope you recognize the grief that comes out of nowhere. But I also want you to recognize the hope that comes in the future. 

Night Falls

The days are long but filled with friends

Friends who help to carry the load

But they can't help but ask me again

How I was able, able to let you go

And I smile and say it's all in God's hands

That I am able as I lean on His grace

That I know, I know He has a plan

And one day I'll finally see her face

But when night falls it falls so hard

And the silence the silence is so loud

And I cry out and wonder where you are

Cause there's nothing I want more than to see you now

Another day another smile on my face

Placed there for all the world to see

And if they ask me, I know what I'll say

My God has given, He's given me this peace

And I'll turn away these tears in my eyes

And do my best to show you I'm strong

You'll see I can, I can put up the fight

And tell you that it won't be too long

But when night falls it falls so hard

And the silence the silence is so loud

And I cry out and wonder where you are

Cause there's nothing I want more than to see you now

And in that moment I'm weak

And I fall to the ground

When all that I seek

Is the joy I'd found

And I lift up my eyes

And I lift up a cry

And lift up the question

And ask you why

Then you wipe all my tears 

And you help me to stand

And you calm all my fears

And you show me I can

When night falls and it falls so hard

And the silence the silence is so loud

And I cry out and you show me you are

There for me, you're there for me now. 

You're there for me now.