Looking Forward in My Rear View Mirror

One advantage to blogging is that I get to journal my journey as I go. This means that I can look back in my "journal" and see how far I have come. And Facebook is quick to remind me to see where I was last year in my memories. As I get close to key dates I can read the sadness I felt facing my trials. I am quickly approaching one of those dates in just a couple of weeks. However I noticed something recently I hadn't noticed before. Much of what I have written over the years have been sad to read. And when I go and read them again a year, two, or even ten years later the tears flow again.

Recently I realized that after I get over this coming anniversary hurdle I will face a series of changes in my blog posts. And that makes going through the sad memories a little easier to take. You see, the anniversary of my daughter's passing may loom large in the windshield but just beyond that is the anniversary of my first date with my new forever. And my blog posts of two years ago are soon to pop up in my memory newsfeed. I look forward to reading that first blog post of joy next month. I know that to get to that post I'll be rereading a lot of the sad posts. But this time it is easier to read those because I know how the story ends - or at least how it continues.

I now am looking forward to reading the story of how we met and how my heart felt. It's kind of like watching a favorite classic movie all over again. You know how the movie goes but you look forward to watching it because the end of it always makes you feel good.

Today the Lord impressed on me that this is exactly the way we, as Christians, should view life. Scripture tells us in 2 Corinthians 4:18 "So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal." I don't believe this is telling us that we should turn our eyes from our troubles and pretend they aren't there. Instead I believe that this means that our ultimate focus should be our heavenly rewards.

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal. 2 Corinthians 4:18

As I get excited to see the tables turn on the painful blog memories I will still read them. It just makes the present that much better. And, as I look at this life I can truly get excited as I get closer to the day that Christ returns or that I get to join Him. I've read the book. I know how it ends. We win!

Happy Birthday to Her

"Don't weep for me when I'm gone
Those who knew me know full well that in love and in laughter I lived as a prince
And in my heart of hearts, I served my calling
waiting for this time to come, when I would see my king"

Lyrics from Requiem for the Living by the Christian group Allies echo through my soul this morning. Today my late wife spends another birthday in heaven with our daughter and the children who never got to breathe the air of earth. Today she celebrates with our King, the King of Kings. And today finds me in a better place than I was during previous birthdays. I often wondered how people move on with their lives when their purpose for breathing is gone. For me it was extremely difficult. I would live my life as full as I possibly could during the days and sob myself to sleep at night. Nothing could replace this gift that God had given me. He knew exactly what He was doing when He put her in my life. He knew she would fill in the gaps of my weaknesses and help me to be a better servant. She was a perfect fit and nothing would ever be able to fill that spot... but in the words of the great Lee Corso, "Not so fast my friend."

When the rib was pulled from the body of Adam to make his bride it left a gap, a longing to be complete again. When Wanda was ripped from my side it took more than rib, it took most of what was left of my heart. And, as with Adam, it left a longing to be complete again. I truly believed that I would find happiness again - but only when I reached heaven and got to see my King of Kings. As with Adam, He knows that we need to be complete. Sometimes we can find that completeness only in Him. And sometimes He finds that one to fill that gap that fits perfectly.

When we are in pain we often tend to self medicate. Why go see the doctor when you have leftover medicine from your last visit six years ago? And, when we treat ourselves versus seeing a physician we often make things worse because we are not truly skilled in the art of diagnosis and treatment. Pain in our heart is the same way. We would rather try to fix it on our own versus seeing the Great Physician. During the time after having my insides torn from me, I tried a number of home remedies. While some of those remedies bandaged nicely, they were not what the Physician recommended. It wasn't until I totally turned the healing over to Him that I got prescribed the most wonderful cure imaginable.

So, here I sit, facing yet another year of celebrating my late wife's birthday without her. Feelings tumble in my mind as I alternate between feeling the loss of that love in my life, feeling the joy that comes from the new love in my life, to feeling of guilt for feeling either. This is gut level honesty here my dear reader. This is something you don't understand if you haven't been there yourself. Even stranger yet, this is something you don't understand if you HAVE been yourself.

Today I am complete again. The hole that was in my heart was larger than I realized. Thinking back again to the medical, when a wound is repaired by a physician the hole isn't simply sewn up. First the dead tissue around the would must be excised. I thought the hole in my heart was all that needed to be filled. So I looked for something to fit that hole. But the Great Physician knew better. He increased the size and changed the shape of the hole by removing the dead tissue that surrounded it first. Then he found the perfect fit for the new hole.

Perhaps that is what needs to happen in your life. And perhaps that surgery will be multi-faceted and take a long time to achieve. And perhaps that only thing that will fit that hole is the Great Physician Himself. Since I cannot give her a gift, I pray that God will give you that gift on Wanda's birthday and make this Christmas the best in years.

Merry Christmas and Happy birthday in Heaven to my Wanda where you get to spend it with your King of Kings - the greatest gift of all.

If You're Happy and You Know It...

The other day my wife asked me what I wanted for Christmas. Over the last ten years my answer has been the same; What I truly want I cannot have. I wanted more time with my daughter. Another day with my wife of 26 years. Another chance to see the things I took for granted. A chance to see the things I would never experience.

Christmas without people in your life that were responsible for shaping you into the person you are today can be tough. I have two very close friends who are learning what it is like to not be able to call home and wish Mom a happy birthday. Or Merry Christmas. Or just to say I love you. They, like me, are having to unwrap presents that contain a little bit of sadness during the holidays.

But for me, that has become the ghost of Christmas past. 2016 was an incredible year for me. One of utter joy - and not just because the Cubs won the World Series! This year there is a little more joy in shopping. This year I don’t have to leave my shopping cart in the middle of the aisle and go somewhere to compose myself. This year I don’t have to force myself to stop when the gift tags say “from Uncle Kevin” only. This year God has blessed me with an incredible gift. This year I get to wrap and unwrap joy!

Perhaps this is a year of sadness for you. Maybe this year it is hard to focus on the good that seems so small in comparison to the bad. And maybe you are facing the holidays with dread rather than joyous anticipation. Well I’m here to tell you to STOP. But hear me out. Stop worrying that you are ruining Christmas for everyone else. Stop thinking it is wrong to mourn your losses during a joyous season. Just be where you are in your journey down your personal road of grief. It’s perfectly okay to miss a loved one. And you can still find joy in the season.

So, what do I really want for Christmas? What do you get a man who now has everything he could ever want? God has blessed me again with an incredible woman and two equally awesome girls that I fell in love with almost as quickly as I did their mother. He has given me a chance to not take things for granted as I live my life with these ladies. I will get to see weddings, graduations, babies being born and other wonderful miracles that I thought I would never get the chance to witness. He has definitely treated me, over my entire lifetime, better than I deserve to be treated.

As I review the blog posts I have made over these last several years I have seen the same theme you have. I have cooked up a dish of grief and sadness. Left alone it is a bitter dish. So I have seasoned it with occasional laughter. I’ve stirred in rare bits of happiness to add just a little taste. Sprinkled it with my love for the Father. Set the oven on high heat and let it cook for as long as God has wanted. But what has been pulled from the oven is something I hope you found pleasing to your palate. 

It has been a journey of a thousand miles but God has managed to get me there in as few steps as possible. While in future blogs I hope you will realize that I will never forget those who were a part of my journey, but my focus will always be where God wants to take me. And I couldn’t be more thrilled with who He has along for the ride!

My prayer for you, dear reader and friend, is that God will bless you with the joy He has given me in 2016. I pray that He overflows your cup with goodness and mercy. I pray that the memories you have will be memories you will pass on to your children and their children. I pray peace over you and I pray that God gives you a smile at least half as big as the one He has placed on my face.

Missing in Action: What takes us away from that we know?

Where have you been? 

Just the other day I had a friend ask me if she had missed a blog I had written. (It turns out that someone actually does follow these musings.) I told her that I had not written anything for awhile but promised to get back to it soon. Well, here I am getting back to it.

Why the absence? Why haven’t I penned anything for you to laugh or cry over? That’s a really good question. Why does any writer go through periods of not writing anything? Why does an artist not paint, a songwriter not compose, or sculptor not shape something from nothing? Come to think of it, why does a writer write, an artist paint, a composer compose, and a sculptor sculpt anyway? What inspires them? 

In ancient Greece a Muse was that entity that was considered the source of the arts. It was generally understood that there were nine Muses, each with their own domain. If I were to truly follow this mythology then I would rely on any number of them. Euterpe was the Muse for Music, Song and Lyric Poetry. So for the poems that I have written she would’ve been my Muse. Erato was the Muse for Love poetry so there are times I would reach out to her. Thalia, the Muse for Comedy, would also occasionally be consulted. But the Muse I would have spent the most time with would’ve been Melpomene. She was the Muse of tragedy.

In today’s terms I would say that for the longest time my Muse was a lady named Grief. She walked with me everywhere. She slept beside me and scripted my dreams. She was there waiting for me with a big cup of sorrow in the mornings. And there were times I drank deeply. But this Muse has taken a back seat of late. She has been replaced by a Muse that has caused me to reach out in other manners. Sure, I continue to write, but now I write personal notes. This Muse, Love, has shown me other ways to express myself. And, as she continues to work her way into my heart and fill up the cracks, crevices, and ravines, I find that I can write again but with words that bring tears of a different flavor. Tears of love and tears of joy are so much sweeter than tears of grief and bitterness. And while the tears of grief may still occasionally come, the overwhelming aroma of the tears of love and joy soon bring sweetness back to my life.

So forgive me for not being as faithful to my blog as I had thought that I would be. I’m busy being faithful to someone else.

How do those tears taste?

Here I Am, Dealing With a those Memories Again

Sometimes it's good to go back throughout a journal, blog, or your Facebook posts to remind yourself of the advice you so freely give. And sometimes you don't need to as it jumps in front of you. Case in point: I have to remind myself to live in the moment and be thankful for what I have rather than think in the future to what I won't have. I also have to remind myself that it's okay to visit the past just as long as I don't dwell there. 

This weekend made the latter of those two statements a bit difficult as I watch the calendar turn over for the eighth time since my daughter passed away. While I took some time away to get my mind off of things, the thought of the anniversary was ever present and I had to forcibly tell myself to think on other things. If you haven't been through the loss of a child you can still relate. When is the last time you ate more than you should because you couldn't resist the Oreos and a cold glass of milk? Were you a smoker trying to quit? How easy was it to walk away and not feel the longing for what you once had? If you have faced the extremes of an addiction I can only imagine it to be even worse. No matter how hard you try not to think of those things there is a part of your mind that refuses to let go. And that tug of war can be exhausting. 

But, when you face the drastic losses I've faced you can't force your thoughts too far forward or you'll find yourself in the future and it can be equally dismal. Let me give you an example of the mental gymnastics those who have experienced loss go through. Especially if they are in my shoes. 

I miss my child. My child is not with me. My one constant through the first seven and a half years through the grieving process was my wife. I miss my wife. My wife is not with me. There is no one there to truly hold my grief in check. Everywhere I look I expect to see them. Everywhere I look I cannot find them. Instead I find reminders. So, why not get away from the reminders? I'll go to the beach. They both enjoyed the beach so I better go somewhere I haven't been before with them. 

But I don't want to be totally alone because that only makes it worse. I'll invite a friend. My friend and I will enjoy one another's company and it will be a great distraction from loss. But everywhere I look I see memories of my family even though they aren't there and have never been there. And then the dreaded thing happens. It's about time to go home. That's it. That's the dreaded thing. I know, I know. We all hate to come home from vacation. But I get to come home to an empty house when I leave. And I don't want to leave. So I delay getting home by scheduling a meeting with one sweet new friend for breakfast and another for lunch. But then I have to get home eventually. And then I'll be all alone again. And, darn it, I've missed church so I won't get all my hugs. 

And there you have it. All of this before I've even packed up my toothbrush. 

But my breakfast company was wonderful and seeing one of my daughter's friends and her son at lunch made the extra 5 pounds from this weekend worth it. And, although they weren't at my house, I did have two little girls waiting for me to come tuck them in at their house as Uncle Kevin resumed his Sunday night visits. 

And then the roller coaster drops again as I miss having someone to tuck in at night. I miss when she would tuck me in occasionally. I miss having someone to hold in my own bed at night. Then I have to face the realization again that I will never get to tuck in my grandkids because I'll never have any. And now I've come full circle. I've begun to dwell on what I don't and won't have rather than the fact that two little girls are waiting for Uncle Kevin to come play pretend school with them and then take them and tuck them in. 

And that is where my focus must lie. I am so blessed. I had a beautiful woman actually agree to have breakfast with me. I had an incredible young lady and her handsome little boy truly want to have lunch with this old man. I had a mother and father looking forward to my visit and I had two little girls lean in for a kiss goodnight as I pulled the covers up just under their chins. How much greater can my life be right now? This is where I am and this is what I choose to make of it. And although the tears of what will never be may have me standing outside a house trying to collect myself, the joy of what is to come will have me marching up the steps and scooping up some precious joy. 

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!!!

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. 

Sorry Charlie

Good grief. I'm sorry Charlie Brown, but is there ever really such a thing? It may be a good thing to grieve over something but, in an of itself, grief is not good. It signifies that something has ended. A life. A relationship. Good health. And grief is no respecter of persons. It rains on the just and the unjust. 

This evening I received a phone call from another friend who is fast becoming a very close friend. (Not so close that her husband has to worry though!) I had put a prayer request out there for my brother who was experiencing some pain and fever that was severe enough for him to go to the hospital. And trips to the hospital are almost as rare for him as they are for me. In other words, he doesn't go just to see what lollipop he can get that day. When my friend called her first question was, "Where are you?" She asked this because I believe she was on her way to the hospital to sit with me again if I would just tell her which one I was at this time. I told her that I was home watching football. Then she wanted to know if everything was okay. I told her that I had a cold but that was about it. Then it became clear that it wasn't my health she was concerned about - at least not my physical health. She was concerned how I was holding up based on the fact that my brother was in the hospital. I assured her that, while he was in pain and running fever, that it was not life threatening. If it had been, then my answer to her previous question would not have included the words "home" and "football."

Yes I have been through a lot. And to have my brother hospitalized with something life threatening would have probably pushed me over this razor's edge I find myself on. But I remain on the edge for now (but still would appreciate prayers for him). 

But even if the rest of my world comes crumbling around me I will always recognize two things. One, my God is in control. And two, it could always be worse. I have no monopoly on grief. If you are grieving the loss of a pet, you are still grieving. If you are grieving the fact that your child has moved away or that your husband left you or that your great aunt twice removed fell off her rascal and broke a hip, you are still grieving. And I have no right to say that my grief is greater than yours. 

It would do us all good to recognize that to each of us, our grief is a very real and large part of our lives and we all have the right to grieve. But we all have an equal right to joy amongst the grief. Maybe not happiness, but at least joy. And if you don't have that joy amongst the grief and the pain then I would love to introduce you to that which gives joy that is sweet as fruit from the vine. Because the fruit of the spirit is love, JOY, PEACE, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self control. And in that spirit you can find good in the grief. 

Wearing grief like a second skin

An upcoming trip had me packing to leave. Getting away is not as good as some may think. Grief troubles follow you and the house never looks more vacant than when you return. However, the packing itself can be a challenge. First of all, I've forgotten something. I know I have. I just won't realize it until I get to my destination. And it will be something important. The missus always double checked for me. And I would always get annoyed that she checked. And even more annoyed that she would find that I hadn't packed a belt, or shoes, or socks. Not having my love here to check on me makes packing that much more difficult. 

She also always made sure things were in their place and the house was locked up tight. We couldn't leave until the towels were washed and dried. If we left the dryer running then we always had to check the exhaust hose on the outside of the house to make sure it wasn't blocked so we didn't come home to ashes. So, in my effort to make sure everything is okay I decided to do something she never did. I've asked someone to house sit for me while I'm gone. I've given her the alarm code and the .357 so the house should be secure!

To keep from being late I also decided to wash all the clothes tonight. And I do mean all the clothes. I'm now going to ask you, dear reader, to do two things. Ask the children to leave the room while you read the next part and try your best to envision someone else you would rather see when you let your imagination go wild. Maybe Brad Pitt. 

There are some activities that you should not do without being fully clothed. For example, anything domestic. Dinner tonight was a can of pineapple slices eaten while standing up at the bar. There are some places you shouldn't place your naked butt, even if you're Brad Pitt. The kitchen barstool is one of those places. In fact, don't place your naked butt anywhere that isn't made of porcelain and you're pretty safe. 

Also, washing clothes is an okay task, as is drying them. However, folding clothes fresh from the dryer should be done cautiously. Especially clothes that have metal snaps, buttons, clasps, or zippers. It is amazing to me how quickly hot metal can brand you. On a good note, I have a very nice Levi logo branded into my skin. On a better note, you will never see the brand!

Sometimes grief can overwhelm you, but sometimes you need a good laugh. Laughter is the best medicine. I hope this break from grief brought you some smiles. And, ladies, if you pictured Brad Pitt being domestic around your house wearing only his wrinkle free suit (who are we kidding, he has wrinkles), shame on you. And men, if your women are picturing Brad Pitt doing laundry while not wearing any and it got them all hot and bothered... You're welcome. 

The Crying Game

Over the years I have developed a fairly high tolerance to physical pain. I cannot remember the last time I shed tears due to suffering an injury. This includes sprains, broken bones, and even kidney stones. You also can’t speak poorly of me and expect me to cry. That ole “sticks-and-stones” thing has evidently stuck with me. With that being said, I will confess, I am a crier.
Who knows when this began, but it becomes very evident when I watch certain movies. Toy Story 3 and The Blind Side are recent culprits. Sports movies like Radio, Rudy, The Rookie, and We Are Marshall, not to mention Brian’s Song, are no escape. TV is guilty too as Home Makeover requires a box of tissues every week.
Grief is a given, but a variety of other emotions can turn on the taps. As we near football season I have to steel myself to the National Anthem being played as my patriotic heart swells and I think of all the men and women who have given their lives to make this country great. Tears of joy have also overcome me at times. It’s gotten to the point where I am being invited to parties. “Ladies and gentlemen, introducing the Incredible Crying Man.”
Tears come when I see a child hurting, a loved one suffering, or when I am overwhelmed by love and generosity. I cried watching the news reports of the 9/11 terrorist attack and the effects of Katrina on our own gulf coast. I cried even more witnessing the generosity of friends from across the nation as they attempted to help us recover.
I keep telling myself that crying is okay. It is a natural reaction. And, as long as it’s not in baseball, crying is acceptable (because everyone knows there’s no crying in baseball). I have now come to believe that crying doesn’t make me less of a man. It just makes me more of a human.
Musician and lyricist Bob Carlisle penned the following words, “When a grown man cries, you can feel the thunder. He can call down angels with signs and wonders. He’s a powerful man with a weary soul, and his tears can touch the very heart of God.”
Who’s Bob Carlisle? He’s the man who shared the story of his daughter growing up in the song “Butterfly Kisses.”
Yeah, that song gets me every time.