I feel like I am beginning again. I have had so much to say, so many thoughts tangled in a soul for so long and haven't written them. I'm in another season I guess. I hate that, it sounds so angst-y. I hate angst. I don't want to be troubled, with issues, carrying baggage, all wrapped up in me. But, I am. I am some things I don't like.
Four years have passed since we moved to our new house. Four years and Rie was here when we came. Now three and half years she's walked in Heaven. Blows my frickin' mind. And three and half years of me learning who I am, who I want to be, that its okay if I'm different. Loosing a baby is a total mind fuck.
I've been soul searching, I've been out wandering and I think I'm beginning to know me. And I know what I want. One of those things is to continue this story of us. This family. I want to write it down because holy cow it's going fast.
So, a new beginning...
Hi, I am Shannon. I'm 33. No one ever uses my whole name. It's just Shan, and that's cool.
I am a Christian. Saved by a Lord who walked this earth and died for me and I don't deserve it. But I want to be good enough for Him. I was not raised in a church and my faith is a struggle and a choice every. single. day. Sometimes that pisses me off. It's cool, I'm forgiven. And I'm so grateful.
I have four daughters. Three walk with me, one walks with Jesus. That also pisses me off but it's okay. It is how it is and this rebel can't change it. I love each one like crazy and am so amazed by who they are and that they were trusted to me.
I'm married to Luke, father of the daughters. The farmer, the faithful one, the strong hands. He carries me. I saved me. Like, literally SAVED me. He pushed me to God when I didn't want him and took a wild girl and made her a wife. He's amazing. We have been together ten years, married nine.
I'm a Lutheran. I baptise my babies, you should too. Get over it.
My husband is a farmer. We're pro-GMO, not organic, although I guess I'm semi-crunchy in some ways. I'm also not politically correct. That used to make me insecure and I'd pretend to be to please people. I'm over that. We grow your food so that you don't starve. GMO's aren't chemicals they're genetics swapped between plants using science given by an awesome God. You can disagree if you want to, we're all entitled to an opinion just please don't push yours on me.
I'm a cook, and an artist though I use a lens instead of a brush more often these days. I'm impulsive, and passionate. I have a temper. I'm a work in progress.
For a long time I was Marie's mother, and that was what I did. I took care of her. There was nothing else to me than that. To be honest, I was too tapped out to be more. I had no outside interests. Her world and keeping it as good as I could was what all my effort went toward. In 2 1/2 short years it was over. The best days, over. But I still have good days. Most of them actually. Embracing joy because otherwise what's the frickin' point. And there's a million people out there talking about what it is to love a terminally ill child, to parent them. But not many talk about what it's like when that child is gone. And that's where I am. That's my reality every day. And I went through a period where I was ashamed of it, or hated that it defined me, or something. I could almost hear whispers "Oh that's Shannon, oh, her baby died". Or meeting new people and the dreaded "how many children do you have". And me with my steely eyes and my rebel heart defiantly saying "Four" when I obviously only have three at the time and they must wonder "what?". But I will not discount her or discredit her or stop talking about her and family and friends can just deal with that, even if it makes them uncomfortable. Because life is. Its' really uncomfortable. We just do the best we can.
And this is me. And this is a new beginning, on an old blog. And I'm going to be more honest. If I want to talk about fashion, or potty training, or rum recipes that's cool. And it doesn't make me less a person than I used to be when I was taking care of Rie and dealing with more serious stuff (I felt that for a long time, that I'm more shallow now or something). It is the time passing, and life changing, and it's okay.
Showing posts with label Marie. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Marie. Show all posts
Friday, July 12, 2013
Wednesday, September 19, 2012
Back.
Well... Summer happened. We were busy. I sort of just took off.
Josie and I did a ten week session with Judi's House in Denver. They do amazing group support/grief counseling and we came away with some new coping skills and understanding. Josie needed it. It was nice to have that one on one time with her every week while we drove. Six hours round trip, lots of car time.
It has been dry. Not a great year to be a farmer. Wheat actually yielded a bit better than expected, but we are now sowing wheat in dry ground and getting ready to pick drought stunted corn. It happens, it's a season of dry. It will change.
Sarah turned three. It was beautiful and her party was perfect and she sparkled all day.
We marked three years since Marie went to be with Jesus. Luke and I gathered our girls and packed up the pickup and the dog and found ourselves at the lake again this year. Soft sand, sunshine, wind... we had a good day just being with our three girls here and remembering the one who flew.
Eva is just growing like crazy. It's amazing how she went from this tiny being we didn't know to being a little girl in a years time. She is funny, naughty, cuddly. She is Daddy's and it warms my heart because he would never admit it but he has been so lonely with Marie gone. She is his too.
Luke and I are good. We will mark eight years of marriage on the 25th of this month. It is hard to believe that's all the time that passed. I feel that we've been together forever, that I've been with him longer. Sometimes I think it's possible that my soul has. We've been through more in these eight years. I am blessed to have him walk beside me.
I am good. I am finally feeling like we've gained ground. Like it's okay to be happy. We are a different family. So much has happened in three years, life is different. I am not the person I was before. In many ways I am but some parts of me have aged or wizened so much that I don't feel like I did before Marie being gone. I miss my innocence. But, God has carried us full circle and we have come to a good place. Things are marked by Marie's absence but also by the way that she is still here, still this family, still the second born. It's okay to be here and be happy and feel these blessings. It's a process. In three years time I imagine it will be different still...
Today Luke started picking corn. Season's change. Things move. It is. We are. It's good. :)
Josie and I did a ten week session with Judi's House in Denver. They do amazing group support/grief counseling and we came away with some new coping skills and understanding. Josie needed it. It was nice to have that one on one time with her every week while we drove. Six hours round trip, lots of car time.
It has been dry. Not a great year to be a farmer. Wheat actually yielded a bit better than expected, but we are now sowing wheat in dry ground and getting ready to pick drought stunted corn. It happens, it's a season of dry. It will change.
Sarah turned three. It was beautiful and her party was perfect and she sparkled all day.
We marked three years since Marie went to be with Jesus. Luke and I gathered our girls and packed up the pickup and the dog and found ourselves at the lake again this year. Soft sand, sunshine, wind... we had a good day just being with our three girls here and remembering the one who flew.
Eva is just growing like crazy. It's amazing how she went from this tiny being we didn't know to being a little girl in a years time. She is funny, naughty, cuddly. She is Daddy's and it warms my heart because he would never admit it but he has been so lonely with Marie gone. She is his too.
Luke and I are good. We will mark eight years of marriage on the 25th of this month. It is hard to believe that's all the time that passed. I feel that we've been together forever, that I've been with him longer. Sometimes I think it's possible that my soul has. We've been through more in these eight years. I am blessed to have him walk beside me.
I am good. I am finally feeling like we've gained ground. Like it's okay to be happy. We are a different family. So much has happened in three years, life is different. I am not the person I was before. In many ways I am but some parts of me have aged or wizened so much that I don't feel like I did before Marie being gone. I miss my innocence. But, God has carried us full circle and we have come to a good place. Things are marked by Marie's absence but also by the way that she is still here, still this family, still the second born. It's okay to be here and be happy and feel these blessings. It's a process. In three years time I imagine it will be different still...
Thursday, May 03, 2012
Happening...
It's farming time again. Luke is in the field, I am on the home front. Keeping up with the girls and their doings, gearing up for the end of school and a busy June. It's amazing how days go by so quickly. I have chores, Josie has stuff constantly, just getting through dinner, reviewing her days schoolwork, and bath time is a marathon. Then Luke and I catch a precious few minuets alone watching something on TV and it's time to crash and do it all again tomorrow.
We got the garden in. Luke and the girls did. I didn't help. I don't enjoy it like he does. Luke loves the garden, and the soil, and the plants. I just tend it. Pulling weeds, harvesting, canning. It is good to watch him though, showing the girls just how to push earth over seeds. Hopefully he is planting more than lettuce, spinach, and green beans in their minds. Hopefully there are seeds there taking root. My real prayer is that they will grow up and see this little town, this farm, this simple as not so bad a way to live.
The business is a blessing. Life is always pulling forward and there is no choice but to move with it. Even though that hurts a little sometimes. Sometimes it doesn't hurt at all and there's a joy in the movement. It's funny that way.
Last Saturday was Kindergarten registration. It hit harder than I expected. Rie would be a kindergartner. Had life been different, had she not gotten sick... Who would her best friend be? Would she be getting her ears pierced now? Would she be fighting me over everything? No answers... I keep close the words:
You're meant for so much more than all of this, You're beautiful...You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His" Beautiful, MercyMe
There was a different plan for Rie.
So, I deal. I move. I help Josie heal. She's needed a lot of help with healing these last few months. I am so grateful that we have been able to provide that help for her. Her smiles coming easier. It's working.
Last night we had Ground Beef Pie for dinner with fruit salad, we sat on the patio and watched the twilight come in. Sarah tipped her chair over backwards and cracked her head on the cement. Eva was too busy watching the neighbor kids to eat her dinner. Today Luke is taking the drill home from the implement dealership to get it ready to plan millet the end of the month and Eva will get her first haircut. Next week we'll be planting corn. The wheat's green and tall and just barely starting to head out. The cottonwoods are starting to seed. I have floors to mop. And in all of that is the beauty.
If I squint my eyes looking hard enough that's the blessings. Those little moments with a cool beer on the patio and a sunset and kids playing with the dog. Blessed. And because Josie always asks me, that's where Heaven is. Just behind the sunset. Because the sun never sets there. We're that close to her, to Him. Jesus is just behind that streak of red in the sky.
We got the garden in. Luke and the girls did. I didn't help. I don't enjoy it like he does. Luke loves the garden, and the soil, and the plants. I just tend it. Pulling weeds, harvesting, canning. It is good to watch him though, showing the girls just how to push earth over seeds. Hopefully he is planting more than lettuce, spinach, and green beans in their minds. Hopefully there are seeds there taking root. My real prayer is that they will grow up and see this little town, this farm, this simple as not so bad a way to live.
The business is a blessing. Life is always pulling forward and there is no choice but to move with it. Even though that hurts a little sometimes. Sometimes it doesn't hurt at all and there's a joy in the movement. It's funny that way.
Last Saturday was Kindergarten registration. It hit harder than I expected. Rie would be a kindergartner. Had life been different, had she not gotten sick... Who would her best friend be? Would she be getting her ears pierced now? Would she be fighting me over everything? No answers... I keep close the words:
You're meant for so much more than all of this, You're beautiful...You are treasured, You are sacred, You are His" Beautiful, MercyMe
There was a different plan for Rie.
So, I deal. I move. I help Josie heal. She's needed a lot of help with healing these last few months. I am so grateful that we have been able to provide that help for her. Her smiles coming easier. It's working.
Last night we had Ground Beef Pie for dinner with fruit salad, we sat on the patio and watched the twilight come in. Sarah tipped her chair over backwards and cracked her head on the cement. Eva was too busy watching the neighbor kids to eat her dinner. Today Luke is taking the drill home from the implement dealership to get it ready to plan millet the end of the month and Eva will get her first haircut. Next week we'll be planting corn. The wheat's green and tall and just barely starting to head out. The cottonwoods are starting to seed. I have floors to mop. And in all of that is the beauty.
If I squint my eyes looking hard enough that's the blessings. Those little moments with a cool beer on the patio and a sunset and kids playing with the dog. Blessed. And because Josie always asks me, that's where Heaven is. Just behind the sunset. Because the sun never sets there. We're that close to her, to Him. Jesus is just behind that streak of red in the sky.
Tuesday, February 28, 2012
Two years, five months, and twenty five days...
That is how long Marie was with us. Today, that is how long she's been gone. Tomorrow we will have been without Princess Marie longer than we were with her. It's just another marker. Another milestone in the passage of time.
To be honest, I thought it would hurt more. I cried my tears Sunday night in Luke's arms. A Mommy and Daddy hurting for the little girl we don't kiss goodnight anymore. But Jesus does. He gives the hugs and the kisses, and I know that. I am grateful for that.
Still, we miss her here. This Saturday we will celebrate the day she would have turned five. We are going away as a family to the mountains. We are going to be quiet and be together. We are going to celebrate the blessing that she was when she came, and rejoice in every single moment of two years, five months, and twenty five days that we got Marie.
I have said it before, but.... "We would welcome you again Mama. And again, and again, and again. We love you!"
Wednesday, January 18, 2012
Worry...
Anxiety sucks. Worrying is a waste of time. So easy to say. Unless your worry is justified. We noticed Marie was not hitting milestones when she was about five months old. At six months our family doctor confirmed it and at eight months we were told to take her home and love her.
So until Eva hits six months I know I am going to worry. I will actually worry until she turns one. No, that is a lie. I will always worry. When she's two and stumbles I will ask if she's just being clumsy or is it something else. When she's seven and going through a string of sleepless nights I will pray it's just part of growing up and not a sign of something. I will worry about her hitting milestones, gaining weight, nursing well. I will second guess everything. Because it is my job. Because I love them so much. Because I am terrified.
Since our sweet Marie and all she had to go through I don't just have a fussy baby. I have "what if". I worry at every cold, every time that maybe she's teething. Is this crying a sign? Is she holding her head well enough?
And with Eva I am for the most part reassured. She is a very good eater. She is strong and according to her family doctor she is doing great hitting those milestones (we check in once a month). She is sensitive, she has a terrible temper, she gets overwhelmed and she cries and cries. But she sleeps through the night every night. She's huge. She just started chuckling when we tickle her. She has a favorite toy, a pink sock money. She like Daddy, loves me and doesn't dig strangers. She is really becoming a little person.
Still, that worry is there. That cold blanket that settles over my heart and lets the blackness creep in. What if? We'll deal with it. But having babies is different after you've buried one. My heart breaks missing my Princess Marie, my heart aches at the idea of watching another child go through what she did. And she did it smiling, she didn't know any different. That kills me. Kills me that I couldn't save her. Couldn't stop it. All I could do was cram as much love into the time I had as possible and let God do the rest.
I try to pray but the truth is that when you are anxious you forget to pray. I cry, and I know that the Spirit hears my pleas. The Spirit intercedes on my behalf and I am blessed by a loving Father who gave me the strength I needed to care for Marie. Then He brought her back to Him when it was time. He is in control of all this life that feels like chaos and I need to trust Him. But I'm a control freak and I am a mama bear and they are my babies and once one of them got sick and I am terrified that it could happen all over.
I just don't think I can do it again. And the worry creeps in and my heart aches cold. I fight for light and sanity and pray, but the worry still lurks frightening in the shadows.
She's three months old now and doing well, we're getting there. I love Miss Eva so much... I love all of them so much.
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27
Still, that worry is there. That cold blanket that settles over my heart and lets the blackness creep in. What if? We'll deal with it. But having babies is different after you've buried one. My heart breaks missing my Princess Marie, my heart aches at the idea of watching another child go through what she did. And she did it smiling, she didn't know any different. That kills me. Kills me that I couldn't save her. Couldn't stop it. All I could do was cram as much love into the time I had as possible and let God do the rest.
I try to pray but the truth is that when you are anxious you forget to pray. I cry, and I know that the Spirit hears my pleas. The Spirit intercedes on my behalf and I am blessed by a loving Father who gave me the strength I needed to care for Marie. Then He brought her back to Him when it was time. He is in control of all this life that feels like chaos and I need to trust Him. But I'm a control freak and I am a mama bear and they are my babies and once one of them got sick and I am terrified that it could happen all over.
I just don't think I can do it again. And the worry creeps in and my heart aches cold. I fight for light and sanity and pray, but the worry still lurks frightening in the shadows.
Likewise the Spirit helps us in our weakness. For we do not know what to pray for as we ought, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words. And he who searches hearts knows what is the mind of the Spirit, because the Spirit intercedes for the saints according to the will of God. Romans 8:26-27
Tuesday, January 10, 2012
New year, new me.
It is 2012. Hard to believe. Time is passing so quickly and for me the last years have been something I've fought. It has been a time of healing, learning, and struggling.
I am a fighter. I don't like change. When Marie went home I fought hard. I fought the reality that my daughter was in Heaven. I fought the passage of time. I thought that if I could keep things from changing it would bring Marie close.
After Rie went Home it took me a year to cut my hair. Because she held my hair as she'd fall asleep. I resisted cutting those strands as long as I could. I refused to rearrange our furniture. I made sure that every day when I got dressed I wore something that I had owned when she was with us. I remembered what nail polishes I had used on her, what I had been wearing and I stuck to those colors. Somehow I needed not to change.
Then I began to slowly realize that by not changing little things it wasn't keeping her close. I was told Marie being in Heaven is like Josie being in school all day. I have to learn to let go. It does not mean I love her any less. It took a long time to learn this.
Slowly I began. I cut my hair. I bought new nail polishes and used them. I made myself stop stressing about what I was wearing (what little girl really cares about her mothers clothes that much anyway? Well, Josie cares very much what I wear but she is nearly eight not a toddler.) I moved our bedroom furniture, Josie's bedroom furniture, Sarah's bedroom furniture. Part of this was forced, we were getting ready to welcome a baby. It was a blessing, I was learning to embrace the change.
Right before Thanksgiving I made a big step. I moved our living room and the pictures on the wall around. The couch is now in a different place than it was when I would rock Marie to sleep every night. Do you know what? I remember doing it just as well even though the couch moved. I didn't loose anything by making that change. After Thanksgiving I made another big step. I changed my hair. I cut some bangs, embraced my curls.
I am getting there. It has taken me more than two years to be able to do this. No one tells you that. No one tells you the odd little things that you will do when you have a child in Heaven. The rituals that you put yourself through. No one tells you how healing is weird.
This is a new year. I am a new me. I am okay with being a different person than I was when Marie was with us. I look back at myself and I was so happy despite the worry in my heart. Marie flew Home when God called and I started a journey. I have been through the valley. Sorrow is heavy and I've carried that. I've learned, I've gotten stronger in different ways. I see the world differently now. I am still happy, even with sorrow in my heart.
This year I'm going to embrace me. Who I am now. It's okay. Little Mama wouldn't expect me to be the same person I was two years ago. She loves me no matter what, and I love her no matter what. No matter what little changes take place. It took a long time to learn that.
If I could tell myself two years ago. That shell shocked mother with a newborn in her arms and a heartbroken five year old. That broken woman who had no idea what to do or how to put it back together. I would tell myself of two years ago that it was going to be okay. Sorrow is weird and I'm still getting through. But I'm going to be okay, I'm going to change and it won't mean letting go of Marie.
New year... new me. Blessed.
Philippians 4:13 ESV
I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
I am a fighter. I don't like change. When Marie went home I fought hard. I fought the reality that my daughter was in Heaven. I fought the passage of time. I thought that if I could keep things from changing it would bring Marie close.
After Rie went Home it took me a year to cut my hair. Because she held my hair as she'd fall asleep. I resisted cutting those strands as long as I could. I refused to rearrange our furniture. I made sure that every day when I got dressed I wore something that I had owned when she was with us. I remembered what nail polishes I had used on her, what I had been wearing and I stuck to those colors. Somehow I needed not to change.
Then I began to slowly realize that by not changing little things it wasn't keeping her close. I was told Marie being in Heaven is like Josie being in school all day. I have to learn to let go. It does not mean I love her any less. It took a long time to learn this.
Slowly I began. I cut my hair. I bought new nail polishes and used them. I made myself stop stressing about what I was wearing (what little girl really cares about her mothers clothes that much anyway? Well, Josie cares very much what I wear but she is nearly eight not a toddler.) I moved our bedroom furniture, Josie's bedroom furniture, Sarah's bedroom furniture. Part of this was forced, we were getting ready to welcome a baby. It was a blessing, I was learning to embrace the change.
Right before Thanksgiving I made a big step. I moved our living room and the pictures on the wall around. The couch is now in a different place than it was when I would rock Marie to sleep every night. Do you know what? I remember doing it just as well even though the couch moved. I didn't loose anything by making that change. After Thanksgiving I made another big step. I changed my hair. I cut some bangs, embraced my curls.
I am getting there. It has taken me more than two years to be able to do this. No one tells you that. No one tells you the odd little things that you will do when you have a child in Heaven. The rituals that you put yourself through. No one tells you how healing is weird.
This is a new year. I am a new me. I am okay with being a different person than I was when Marie was with us. I look back at myself and I was so happy despite the worry in my heart. Marie flew Home when God called and I started a journey. I have been through the valley. Sorrow is heavy and I've carried that. I've learned, I've gotten stronger in different ways. I see the world differently now. I am still happy, even with sorrow in my heart.
This year I'm going to embrace me. Who I am now. It's okay. Little Mama wouldn't expect me to be the same person I was two years ago. She loves me no matter what, and I love her no matter what. No matter what little changes take place. It took a long time to learn that.
If I could tell myself two years ago. That shell shocked mother with a newborn in her arms and a heartbroken five year old. That broken woman who had no idea what to do or how to put it back together. I would tell myself of two years ago that it was going to be okay. Sorrow is weird and I'm still getting through. But I'm going to be okay, I'm going to change and it won't mean letting go of Marie.
Philippians 4:13 ESV
I can do all things through Him who strengthens me.
Monday, September 19, 2011
Mitochondrial Disease Awareness Week
Mitochondrial Disease Awareness Week is September 18-24.
Mitochondria are:
About one in 4,000 children in the United States will develop mitochondrial disease by the age of 10 years.
THERE IS NO CURE FOR MITOCHONDRIAL DISEASE.
All families can do is treat symptoms, and try to slow the progression of the disease.
Marie had Leigh's Disease, it is one of the most severe forms of Mitochondrial Disease. She fought hard and we are so proud of her... still, there are so many children and adults who are fighting. It is hard to loose someone to a disease no-one knows about or understands.
Please, in memory of our Little Mama pass along the information about Mitochondrial Disease this week.
You can learn more by visiting MitoAction.
On Wednesday join us in Light a Light for Mito and light a candle in memory of all of those who have fought Mitochondrial Disease and were called Home.
Every day we miss our Princess... Please join us in the HOPE FOR A CURE!!!
Mitochondria are:
- Tiny organelles found in almost every cell in the body.
- They are known as the "powerhouse of the cell."
- They are responsible for creating more than 90% of cellular energy.
- They are necessary in the body to sustain life and support growth.
- They are composed of tiny packages of enzymes that turn nutrients into cellular energy
- Mitochondrial failure causes cell injury that leads to cell death. When multiple organ cells die there is organ failure.
About one in 4,000 children in the United States will develop mitochondrial disease by the age of 10 years.
THERE IS NO CURE FOR MITOCHONDRIAL DISEASE.
All families can do is treat symptoms, and try to slow the progression of the disease.
Marie had Leigh's Disease, it is one of the most severe forms of Mitochondrial Disease. She fought hard and we are so proud of her... still, there are so many children and adults who are fighting. It is hard to loose someone to a disease no-one knows about or understands.
Please, in memory of our Little Mama pass along the information about Mitochondrial Disease this week.
You can learn more by visiting MitoAction.
On Wednesday join us in Light a Light for Mito and light a candle in memory of all of those who have fought Mitochondrial Disease and were called Home.
Every day we miss our Princess... Please join us in the HOPE FOR A CURE!!!
Marie, wide eyed at the Downtown Aquarium in Denver, CO August 2009...
Saturday, September 03, 2011
Mercies...
Last Sunday marked two years. Two years since Mama flew home. Two years since God stepped in and said "Enough!" and wrapped her in His arms and took her back. And thank you Father... but it still hurts.
The truth is I am having a really hard time. I am so very pregnant with this fourth baby, and while that is a huge blessing that I cannot give thanks enough for, it also means my emotions are ruling me right now. And right now they scream for that child. I miss her so much. I miss everything about being around Marie. I am going to have a baby soon, and the last time I had a baby I lost one. That sort of messes with your head. The waves of grief keep rolling in and I am struggling to keep myself above water. That, along with the day to day business of a second grader, a two year old and a farmer husband and I feel spread thin.
So last weekend we celebrated Sarah, and we grieved Marie. Sarah's party was Saturday, Sunday in an attempt to get through the day Luke and I decided to take the girls up to the lake. We loaded up the pickup, and the dog, the coolers, and the chairs and left. The weather was beautiful, the lake was empty. We spent the day being together, I prayed a lot and watched my children in the water and it was good. There were still a lot of tears because how can you not shed tears in missing that baby. She was really something and we were blessed with two years, five months and twenty five days of Marie... And even if it had been 100 years it wouldn't have been enough.
Still, there were some mercies last weekend. I think that God sent us a few amazing gifts...
On Saturday, Sarah's birthday, it was hard. Luke and I had to leave Marie that day to go to the hospital for me to be induced. It broke our hearts to leave. Since she went Home there have been a lot of butterflies. Actually, just days after she passed my flowers were covered in literally clouds of monarchs like we have never seen before. On Saturday there was a huge yellow butterfly on Marie's flowers (Josie picked one of these flowers and put it in Marie's hand before the funeral home took her body away). It was as though God said "See, she is with Me".
This spring we planted a crab apple tree for Marie. One grew at our old house and many hours were spent lying beneath it with her staring up at the branches. Her little tree had a tough summer. After we planted it we got seven inches of rain in four days. Then it got hot and the leaves withered up and a lot of them blew away. Finally this August the tree seemed to take hold and thrive. It is a little thing, only about five feet tall. After Sarah's party Saturday we were cleaning up the back yard and Josie called us over to see this. One tiny branch on that little tree had bloomed with two snow white flowers. Just in time for the day of the year that we dread most. Out of season, there were crab apple blossoms for Marie's anniversary day.
The plaque we placed beneath her tree.
Sunday the lake was beautiful. No wind, no big waves, not too hot. Just sun and sand and quiet.
Two years... and it's not getting easier. The waves of grief don't hit as often but when they do they hit just as hard. We are so grateful that we know where Marie is and we'll see her again. It just doesn't make being apart right now that much easier. She was something special and we miss that baby so much.
We love you Isabella... Little Mama... Rie Rie.
The truth is I am having a really hard time. I am so very pregnant with this fourth baby, and while that is a huge blessing that I cannot give thanks enough for, it also means my emotions are ruling me right now. And right now they scream for that child. I miss her so much. I miss everything about being around Marie. I am going to have a baby soon, and the last time I had a baby I lost one. That sort of messes with your head. The waves of grief keep rolling in and I am struggling to keep myself above water. That, along with the day to day business of a second grader, a two year old and a farmer husband and I feel spread thin.
So last weekend we celebrated Sarah, and we grieved Marie. Sarah's party was Saturday, Sunday in an attempt to get through the day Luke and I decided to take the girls up to the lake. We loaded up the pickup, and the dog, the coolers, and the chairs and left. The weather was beautiful, the lake was empty. We spent the day being together, I prayed a lot and watched my children in the water and it was good. There were still a lot of tears because how can you not shed tears in missing that baby. She was really something and we were blessed with two years, five months and twenty five days of Marie... And even if it had been 100 years it wouldn't have been enough.
Still, there were some mercies last weekend. I think that God sent us a few amazing gifts...
On Saturday, Sarah's birthday, it was hard. Luke and I had to leave Marie that day to go to the hospital for me to be induced. It broke our hearts to leave. Since she went Home there have been a lot of butterflies. Actually, just days after she passed my flowers were covered in literally clouds of monarchs like we have never seen before. On Saturday there was a huge yellow butterfly on Marie's flowers (Josie picked one of these flowers and put it in Marie's hand before the funeral home took her body away). It was as though God said "See, she is with Me".
Two years... and it's not getting easier. The waves of grief don't hit as often but when they do they hit just as hard. We are so grateful that we know where Marie is and we'll see her again. It just doesn't make being apart right now that much easier. She was something special and we miss that baby so much.
Wednesday, August 24, 2011
Another week....
School started and another week has flown by. Luke has been in the tractor spraying weeds, getting fields ready to sow wheat in September. The millet is ready to cut, we went to Nebraska to the big county fair. I am 34 weeks and getting baby clothes ready. Sarah will be two, Marie will be gone two years...
Life is weird.
This summer I have felt like I've walked this path before. Being pregnant again, my due date only just about a month later. Only Little Mama is not here with me. And I remember falling asleep in the afternoons with her talking herself to sleep. Rubbing the back of her neck behind the curls because she'd calm down then. And chocolate kisses in the afternoon, snuggling her to sleep at night when she'd hold on to my hair or hold my necklace in her fist. And today I bought her new flowers for her tombstone, for her anniversary.
That is something no mother should ever buy. I should still be holding her here. I should still be kissing her goodnight and washing her clothes and painting her nails. Life is weird. Two years and this life, while blessed, is not as full without Marie in it. Everything is different now. I have changed.
I am now a compulsive list maker. It helps me to keep my anxiety in check. I never had anxiety before and I loved thinking I was this free spirit who could just roll with it all. Not so much. Now I make a note, I cross it off, I have to.
I check over and over again at night that doors are locked, babies are breathing, lights are off. I always turn around before I leave the house, I double check before I close the garage door. I cannot shake the feeling that I have forgotten something.
I question myself more. Am I doing a good enough job, am I good enough in prayer, am I leading my daughters the right way? Am I a good example to them? Somehow Marie gave me confidence in those things, I struggle to find that now.
I keep to myself in ways I never did before. I am closed off with my emotions when asked how we are doing. The same as we were, we still hurt. But that's the hard answer and I don't want the conversation so I say fine.
And again I am getting ready for a baby and praying it will be healthy. I am snuggling a two year old (almost!) again. I am getting used to Josie being back in school... and life cycles back to where it was before. And I should be used to that, the wife of a farmer. Every year we cycle through the same work in the same seasons again... And I suppose it will be this way until I go Home...
I cannot believe another year has come and gone... how have I gone without kissing that freckle on her forehead so long? Though we are better at coping now the pain is still the same. And this weekend we will celebrate and mourn. The Bittersweet... And life cycles on.
Life is weird.
This summer I have felt like I've walked this path before. Being pregnant again, my due date only just about a month later. Only Little Mama is not here with me. And I remember falling asleep in the afternoons with her talking herself to sleep. Rubbing the back of her neck behind the curls because she'd calm down then. And chocolate kisses in the afternoon, snuggling her to sleep at night when she'd hold on to my hair or hold my necklace in her fist. And today I bought her new flowers for her tombstone, for her anniversary.
That is something no mother should ever buy. I should still be holding her here. I should still be kissing her goodnight and washing her clothes and painting her nails. Life is weird. Two years and this life, while blessed, is not as full without Marie in it. Everything is different now. I have changed.
I am now a compulsive list maker. It helps me to keep my anxiety in check. I never had anxiety before and I loved thinking I was this free spirit who could just roll with it all. Not so much. Now I make a note, I cross it off, I have to.
I check over and over again at night that doors are locked, babies are breathing, lights are off. I always turn around before I leave the house, I double check before I close the garage door. I cannot shake the feeling that I have forgotten something.
I question myself more. Am I doing a good enough job, am I good enough in prayer, am I leading my daughters the right way? Am I a good example to them? Somehow Marie gave me confidence in those things, I struggle to find that now.
I keep to myself in ways I never did before. I am closed off with my emotions when asked how we are doing. The same as we were, we still hurt. But that's the hard answer and I don't want the conversation so I say fine.
And again I am getting ready for a baby and praying it will be healthy. I am snuggling a two year old (almost!) again. I am getting used to Josie being back in school... and life cycles back to where it was before. And I should be used to that, the wife of a farmer. Every year we cycle through the same work in the same seasons again... And I suppose it will be this way until I go Home...
I cannot believe another year has come and gone... how have I gone without kissing that freckle on her forehead so long? Though we are better at coping now the pain is still the same. And this weekend we will celebrate and mourn. The Bittersweet... And life cycles on.
Tuesday, July 26, 2011
Running, watching radar, cooking far to much, and dessert...
We are nine days in to this harvest. So far the weather has been good and we have been in the field every day. There are storms west of here today and I am watching the radar and praying they stay west and pass beside us. We still have four fields to cut over by Nebraska, where the hail was bad. One of them is good, the other's all are dinged up a bit.
The girls and I have been living in the car. Last night I drove out to a field we simply call "29". It's up north, a half hour one way. There was no wheat on that field last year. The last time I drove those roads Marie was in the back in her car seat, bringing dinner out to the guys. Marie was mad that Josie got to ride in Daddy's pickup and she pitched the biggest temper tantrum on the way home. Marie was mad at me when we got home, mad at me all through her bath, and when her Daddy got home I told him he'd better deal with her. All she wanted was that Daddy.
I cried most of the way out to the field last night. Just remembering. God, I am so grateful I have so many memories of that child. Thinking of her doing things that I haven't remembered in awhile, it feels good. Driving that familiar road, it feels good. We all miss her so much.
Time doesn't ease that. I've learned to smile easier, and I've gotten used to carrying this cross of grief now. But still she's always in my mind, always right on the edge of my tongue. The coming of this new baby doesn't change any of that. In fact, in many ways I think Luke and I are feeling the ache of Marie's absence more now.
Today they are finishing up the little field on the west side of the county and moving east.
Today I mowed the lawn, ran Josie to gymnastics, baked.
Today Sarah pitched a fit wanting to wear her green dress again. It's too big but she wears it every other day anyway.
Today I'm praying for Abigail, that it doesn't rain, that baby is healthy. And I'm praising Him for all this business, this craziness, and this harvest.
Today my girls are fighting and I've got to be honest. It's a blessing, I love it. I love that they have each other, that Sarah gives Josie a run for her money, and I've dealt with this sibling fighting before when Marie and Josie did it. But I've just about had it. It is obnoxious. I'm over it and my patience is frayed.
I need to start dinner in about 20 minuets.
These are what we're having for dessert and they are amazing, and easy!
One Hundred Thousand Calorie Bars
The girls and I have been living in the car. Last night I drove out to a field we simply call "29". It's up north, a half hour one way. There was no wheat on that field last year. The last time I drove those roads Marie was in the back in her car seat, bringing dinner out to the guys. Marie was mad that Josie got to ride in Daddy's pickup and she pitched the biggest temper tantrum on the way home. Marie was mad at me when we got home, mad at me all through her bath, and when her Daddy got home I told him he'd better deal with her. All she wanted was that Daddy.
I cried most of the way out to the field last night. Just remembering. God, I am so grateful I have so many memories of that child. Thinking of her doing things that I haven't remembered in awhile, it feels good. Driving that familiar road, it feels good. We all miss her so much.
Time doesn't ease that. I've learned to smile easier, and I've gotten used to carrying this cross of grief now. But still she's always in my mind, always right on the edge of my tongue. The coming of this new baby doesn't change any of that. In fact, in many ways I think Luke and I are feeling the ache of Marie's absence more now.
Today they are finishing up the little field on the west side of the county and moving east.
Today I mowed the lawn, ran Josie to gymnastics, baked.
Today Sarah pitched a fit wanting to wear her green dress again. It's too big but she wears it every other day anyway.
Today I'm praying for Abigail, that it doesn't rain, that baby is healthy. And I'm praising Him for all this business, this craziness, and this harvest.
Today my girls are fighting and I've got to be honest. It's a blessing, I love it. I love that they have each other, that Sarah gives Josie a run for her money, and I've dealt with this sibling fighting before when Marie and Josie did it. But I've just about had it. It is obnoxious. I'm over it and my patience is frayed.
I need to start dinner in about 20 minuets.
These are what we're having for dessert and they are amazing, and easy!
One Hundred Thousand Calorie Bars
Friday, July 22, 2011
Fingerprint Friday...
There is a song by Steven Curtis Chapman that says:
I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know its true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God
To join visit Beki at The Rusted Chain.
This week has been busy. Everything has been focused on the harvest, feeding the guys, Josie going to a sleepover... In the midst of everything that goes on though there are always a few constants. God's love, the blessings He gives us, knowing that Marie walks with Jesus...
And for me, there's always Luke. And all of us girls are just crazy about him.
He's been in the sprayer from 5 am on and in the combine from about 10am to dark every day. He's been gone since long before they wake and he comes in the door when they make their way to bed later than usual. The girls haven't been able to see him unless we go to the field. I only get to be with him when we fall into bed at night and he is asleep before his head even hits the pillow.
This week, I am grateful for the man that God has blessed me with and how hard he works to take care of us.
And he's pretty cute...
And a really great Dad...
And he has this amazing faith...
And he lets each of us know that we're loved...
I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know its true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God
To join visit Beki at The Rusted Chain.
This week has been busy. Everything has been focused on the harvest, feeding the guys, Josie going to a sleepover... In the midst of everything that goes on though there are always a few constants. God's love, the blessings He gives us, knowing that Marie walks with Jesus...
And for me, there's always Luke. And all of us girls are just crazy about him.
I am proud to be his wife.
Sunday, July 10, 2011
A Labor of Love...
Last year, July heat beating down while we watched our kids swim in the inflatable pool in our backyard my friend Brooke asked me a question. "Would you help me" she said "get something going to redo the playground at the fairgrounds?". I agreed, thinking of the baked in the sun, splintered wonderland that my girls don't play on. Too old, too dangerous. And our county had just finished building a state of the art events center at the fairgrounds too. Such a bummer. It could be great place to play.
Fast forward a few weeks and Brooke and I are sitting in a golf cart waiting for the parade starting our county fair to begin. "We need something to make this project really special, to make it stand out", said Brooke. "You know" I said, my mind on Little Mama, "it would be really wonderful if that park could be universally accessible".
And it began. We worked fast. We applied for a Great Outdoors Colorado (GoCo) Grant the end of August. And we were turned down. Not enough community support they had said. Not surprising, we hadn't had much time to raise any. And stubborn farm wives don't give up. The team of four stay-home moms and the county commissioners had applied for other grants and we had received them. We worked hard, secured donations, raised support in the community, made pancakes, applied for some more grants. And we applied to GoCo again.
Then in June sitting in the sun on bleachers watching Josie play t-ball against the team from one town over. Another friend sits beside me and asks "did you find out yet, did you get the grant"? Huddled together over a smart phone as our kids battle it out on opposite teams we pull up the website to see if GoCo had made a decision... and they approved us! We received a $200,000 grant from Great Outdoors Colorado to build a universally accessible playground here in northeastern Colorado!
We are blessed to be able to put a facility like that here for children that don't have a lot of the fancy stuff you can find in the bigger cities. For kids who have a hard time playing on the parks that are here now. But soon, they will be able to play and be part of things, just like everyone else. And that fills my heart like you cannot believe!
Because I think back two years ago, carrying our Princess Marie at the city park. Daddy helping her through the parts that he could. Me sitting cross-legged, the metal floor of the play structure cutting in to my ankles. Holding her up and helping keep her hands on the wheel so that she could drive a pretend firetruck and we could see that smile... And she was just a kid for a little while, having fun at the playground and she wasn't different from the rest of them. She was happy, and that meant more than anything else. Watching Marie play just like any other kid... priceless. Watching her swing in her special swing at home, beside Josie, the two of them making memories. Priceless. My favorite memories are her playing.
And we will be able to share that with other kids. Because they're out here, in this farm town. In the other tiny towns surrounding us. Over in Nebraska, those kids are there. And soon they'll have a place to play and I am blessed to have gotten to be a part of that.
It's been my labor of love, in memory of our perfect Princess. My Little Mama, Daddy's Isabella. Our Rie Rie. If feels so good to still be able to do something good, in some sort of way, for her.
Fast forward a few weeks and Brooke and I are sitting in a golf cart waiting for the parade starting our county fair to begin. "We need something to make this project really special, to make it stand out", said Brooke. "You know" I said, my mind on Little Mama, "it would be really wonderful if that park could be universally accessible".
And it began. We worked fast. We applied for a Great Outdoors Colorado (GoCo) Grant the end of August. And we were turned down. Not enough community support they had said. Not surprising, we hadn't had much time to raise any. And stubborn farm wives don't give up. The team of four stay-home moms and the county commissioners had applied for other grants and we had received them. We worked hard, secured donations, raised support in the community, made pancakes, applied for some more grants. And we applied to GoCo again.
Then in June sitting in the sun on bleachers watching Josie play t-ball against the team from one town over. Another friend sits beside me and asks "did you find out yet, did you get the grant"? Huddled together over a smart phone as our kids battle it out on opposite teams we pull up the website to see if GoCo had made a decision... and they approved us! We received a $200,000 grant from Great Outdoors Colorado to build a universally accessible playground here in northeastern Colorado!
We are blessed to be able to put a facility like that here for children that don't have a lot of the fancy stuff you can find in the bigger cities. For kids who have a hard time playing on the parks that are here now. But soon, they will be able to play and be part of things, just like everyone else. And that fills my heart like you cannot believe!
Because I think back two years ago, carrying our Princess Marie at the city park. Daddy helping her through the parts that he could. Me sitting cross-legged, the metal floor of the play structure cutting in to my ankles. Holding her up and helping keep her hands on the wheel so that she could drive a pretend firetruck and we could see that smile... And she was just a kid for a little while, having fun at the playground and she wasn't different from the rest of them. She was happy, and that meant more than anything else. Watching Marie play just like any other kid... priceless. Watching her swing in her special swing at home, beside Josie, the two of them making memories. Priceless. My favorite memories are her playing.
And we will be able to share that with other kids. Because they're out here, in this farm town. In the other tiny towns surrounding us. Over in Nebraska, those kids are there. And soon they'll have a place to play and I am blessed to have gotten to be a part of that.
"
It's been my labor of love, in memory of our perfect Princess. My Little Mama, Daddy's Isabella. Our Rie Rie. If feels so good to still be able to do something good, in some sort of way, for her.
Friday, July 01, 2011
There is a song by Steven Curtis Chapman that says:
I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know its true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God
I can see the fingerprints of God
When I look at you
I can see the fingerprints of God
And I know its true
You're a masterpiece
That all creation quietly applauds
And you're covered with the fingerprints of God
This week the fingerprint was simple...
I saw God's hands in the same cotton dress, plaid on one side and flowered on the other. And that two sisters who were together only briefly can still wear the same dress... And from Josie, to Marie, to Sarah, that dress will pass down again. They're all tied together whether their bodies are together or not. Someday all of my girls will walk together in summer dresses up in Heaven. This week it did my heart so good to see Sarah and Marie wearing the same dress.
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