The Case of the Blinking Cursor Disease

So much going on here.

I could write ten pages about any one topic right now.

I sit and stare at the lap top screen.

blink

blink

blink


I sat and stared at the screen as we made huge changes to our summer,

stepping back,

stepping down,

stepping away.

Huge changes for two very {type a} people.

No words for so much change.


Feeling all of these little kicks and punches and inside somersaults. . . daring to hope and dream and searching and finding some amazing names and {endless} debate over perfect spellings and meanings. . .

But no words.


One year mark of our little man's Jesus-meeting;

It was as beautiful as a day like that could be, filled with

family

friends

support

love

sunshine

barbecue

lots of ice cream

trampoline

pool

little orange japanese lanterns. . .

strange, strange peace.

But no words.


Someday soon, again there will be words.

For now I think a blinking cursor kind of defines who I am.

Blink

blink

blink.

God. . . still not sure what You are doing.

blink

blink

blink

God, I trust Your heart.

blink

blink

blink

. . . .

I'll be back soon.

May

Nothing quite like watching one child read to another!

End of Awana year!

I stapled her last patch on cuz I couldn't find a needle and thread.  Confession time. 

Aww. . . my little Sparky.

Hi, my name is Earl. Or maybe Fred.

Calling Aunt E (imaginarily) to see "what she's wearing to the ball. . ."

California - Greek Pitas. . . Delish.

12-14 whole wheat pitas
1 bag of Dole 7-Lettuce Mix
1 pint grape tomatoes, quartered
2 cucumbers, peeled and sliced
1 container of feta cheese
1/3 cup Trader Joe's Cilantro Dressing

Mix salad ingredients and stuff into pitas.

My kids devoured these. . . quite the hit. 

Cambria brought this Clubhouse Jr. magazine to me and asked to make this recipe. . . too cute.  She couldn't wait for me to buy the ingredients.  She decorated everyone's pancakes this morning.  Overheard: "Whew!  This is hard work!"

So proud.

A ton going on in my heart as the days march on toward a year since our little man was here. . . this song ministered to my heart tonight and I'm sharing it here for the many others who ask "why me, God?"

gravel

Almost May.

One more day.

As I pick up crayons

finish Kindergarten with my JD

help Cambria learn to use scissors properly {cut fabric scraps, not hair}

answer texts from my crazy-hard-worker husband

wonder if the little flutters in my stomach are for real. .  .

I have this little edge on my heart, and at the weirdest times I will think of

gravel.


gravel in our hospital parking lot.

why is there even gravel there?

maybe it isn't gravel, maybe they are landscaping rocks.

i wonder about the insignificance of my wondering.

my heart wants to remember.

tears push at my eyelids at the oddest times as i remember. . .

the floor.

where i sank.

legs unable to hold me

weren't there chairs everywhere i went?

all of these odd memories of looking up at people from the floor.

the doorjamb of the trauma room.

where i grasped at straws and watched

frozen in unbelief

as everyone tried everything.

i think it's grey. and cold. and plastic. and probably imprinted with fingernail prints.

the floor.

again.

sitting there, numb and shocked, my voice not sounding like mine.

i can't call my mom.

i can't call and tell her.

if i call and tell her, it will be real.

Handing my baby to a nurse to take away wasn't real enough?

gravel.

again.

outside.

air.

mom.

you need to sit down

it's really bad.

gabe is with Jesus.

I kept saying that.  So weird.  I'd never even used that phrase before.  I see myself, standing on the sidewalk in my pajamas, saying in this odd high pitched voice to the neighbors. . .

he's with God he's with God he's with God

awful awful refrain.

with God with God with God with God.

not with me with me with me with me.

gravel.

mom.

no i don't know, mom.

there wasn't anything wrong.

i know i know i know

i don't knowwwwwwww what happened.

my babyyyyy.

gravel.

maybe i could throw the rocks.

or kick them.

or just lay down on them and die.

this isn't happening to me.

this is a nightmare.

but it wasn't.

I straighten my stack of current books on the stand next to my favorite huge chair where I'm curling up late at night to read. . .

Strengthsfinder

Choosing Gratitude

When Your Child is Hurting. . .

I remember the stacks of thank you notes I kept there to write with him snuggled in my lap. . . such a loved little man.  So many fire truck outfits.  So many tiny jeans.  Newborn infant boy clothing has come a long way.  I grin, thinking of his uber hip jeans and his little grey hoodie and his dark dark hair and his super gorgeous self and then I cry.

tears that bottle up now. . .

it's not quite so raw. . .

i can hold it together if i go out.

actually i can hold it together for a long time.

i am making it.

there really is healing.

i do have hope, hope i didn't know even existed.

but still, always that missing piece to our crazy family puzzle,

that little ache that knows he would be saying daddy and mamma.

that incomplete heart,

the break

the edge

the frayed parts of it. . .

remember the reality of our loss and then i know why. . .

why my heart twists

and why I think of odd things like

floors

and

gravel

while I'm washing pink plastic cups

and folding grass stained jeans

I think of gravel. . .

probably because my heart knows there should be sippy cups with little trucks on them next to the pink plastic cups

and jeans that don't have grass stains next to the ones that do.


Ahh, my littlest man. . .

you are so loved,

every moment,

my heart doesn't forget you,

little man.

I wish your jeans could be in the laundry too.

wish i didn't know about broken hearts

wish you didn't have a grave

wish there weren't weird corners of ER entrances with rocks and gravel

wish you would have been here to have ice cream when your big brother finished Kindergarten. . .

wish you could have snuggled in with all of us this morning and enjoyed our Saturday morning at home

and pancakes

and syrup

and that you would have needed your sticky pudgy hands wiped.

love you, buddy.

Mommy.

(unproductive)

Could I just go to bed and pull the covers over my head and sleep until next year?

I wish I didn't have to face all of the decisions stacking up around me, everywhere I turn another dilemma facing my weak and weary heart. . .

Yes.

Sleeping until next year is a good option.

Oh.

I guess I can't.

Someone sprayed water all over the bathroom from the balloon pump. (I know because my socks are wet.)

{direct cleanup}

Morning spent with a precious girl. . . sorting out life over Starbucks and tissues.

{JD:  why do girls cry? 
 me:  girls cry when they are sorting things out.
JD:  wow
me:  the sooner you figure that out the better you will be able to deal with women.
JD:  huh
me:  the best you can do is pat them on the back, say "I'm sorry" and walk away and give them some space.
JD: [ l o n g silence. . . .] one more thing you could do is hand them Kleenex, mom.}

I cut out Cambria's Easter dress today (nothing like waiting until the last possible moment) and as I sat down to sew, discovered that the pressure foot to my machine is missing.

{search sewing area. search sewing cupboard. search whole house. decide to run and buy a new one. remember i don't have the van today. give up. pack Easter dress away.}

Found out this afternoon that Daniel would be home tonight.

{prepare man-friendly meal}

Discover that his floor hockey night starts an hour earlier than I thought.

{forget man-friendly meal. he sees my frustration. he stays to eat with us. he's way late. i pout. i fail. i stink at flexibility.}

Watch my Jacob Daniel (current occupation aspiration: architect) spend the entire afternoon building a house and furniture with cardboard, popsicle sticks and a mini glue gun.

{euphoric child. mess everywhere}


All the while, underneath, lurks constant strain and constant worry.  I am so afraid.  I am not strong.  I am so fearful. 

I know what miscarriage is.

We've walked that {more private} road.

Each little twinge. . . I wonder. . . is my little punkin. . . okay? Please, just be okay.  Please, let me make it to twenty-five weeks.  Please, let there be a heartbeat.

I told my mom today that I would like to be attached to a Doppler.  She laughed, because we both know that wouldn't really solve anything.

I hope for a future with our fourth child, my fifth pregnancy. 

I hope for hope.

I feel lost.

I feel . . . a lack of motivation.

I feel. . . unproductive.

I feel. . . like sleeping for a year.

Did I already say that?


"I have labored to no purpose;  I have spent my strength in vain and for nothing." {Isaiah 49:4}

{unproductive}

God said:

It is too small a thing for you to be my servant

I will also make you a light

I will. . . restore. . .

I will. . . keep you. . .

[I will] say to the captives 'Come out'

and to those in the darkness 'Be free'

Though a [mother may forget her child] I will not forget you!

See, I have engraved you on the palms of My Hands.

[from Isaiah 49]

Only God gives such amazing hope to the unproductive.

Pajama Partaa

invitations. . . little sleeping bags. . . *with pillows*


Am I the only person who gets overwhelmed by the amazing parties people have for their children?

The bloggers only make it worse.

Seriously, handmade favors for each child?

Beautiful photography covering each moment?

Never mind the amount of $$$$$$$ spent on exquisite little treats and extras.

I love parties, in fact, I live and breathe them.

However, my imitation Pottery Barn style would probably be scoffed at by the PB designers and I don't have time to create tiny nightgowns made out of vintage sheets (snatched up at antique stores on my free Saturdays). . . although those would make great favors for a pj party.

Our favors were bead necklaces ($2 total) and a bucket of lipglosses ($1). Just call it Hayley-free-embarrassingly-cheap style.

The reason I'm writing this is not to complain about finances, but to point out that really . . . who cares if your parties aren't perfect or you don't have a real fondue pot?  Seriously? Just have fun.

Little people are the absolute easiest guests EVER.

They are thrilled with the ordinary.

So our pj party.

Ordinary mommas  living on regular streets driving regular vehicles wearing J. Crew via Goodwill - - - be inspired.

We colored.

We played beauty shop.  ($1 spray misters filled with water = drenched little heads + tons of fun)

We ate "fondue." Actually Cheez Whiz.  + snow peas + carrot sticks + pretzels + mini hot dogs.

Daniel built us a little fire and we traipsed out in the back yard to roast pink marshmallows. . . {hilarious side note. . . as he instructs 8 little girls to stick their roasters in the fire, he was unprepared for their prompt obedience.  About 8 little marshmallows instantly lit on fire and then 8 little sticks zoomed up and then he's like "oh, oh, oh, don't wave it around!" Definitely new experience. . . fire + firefighter + instruction = normal. Adding 8 little girls at a slumber party = not normal.

Another side note. . . if you take eight little girls outside in the dark, four flashlights are not enough.  I wouldn't have made it if Sarah, one of the moms, hadn't had pity on me and stayed to help.

The girls talked constantly.  Why does this still surprise me?

They also had a very hard time going to sleep. I put on some quiet bluesy jazz for them to drift off with and I guess I didn't know the CD very well because it only intensified the giggles and wiggles. Daniel: "That CD is not working."

We had a midnight snack run, too. . . I looked at the three little girls sitting on chairs in our kitchen, eating by the glow of the water dispenser light on the refigerator and I thought. . . wow. . . I have so looked forward to this stage of life. . . seeing my kids and their friends happy in our home. . . {if this makes no sense to you it is probably because your toddler children never *bit* their friends}

On a whim I grabbed Rhodes frozen cinnamon rolls at WalMart and my breakfasts for overnight guests will never be the same.  They were totally amazing.  I have made homemade rolls since I was eleven. . . but if you can buy the exact same thing for $3 and put it together in two minutes then I say, retire the rolling pin.

It was truly a blast.

It is also true that I drank a ton of coffee the next day.

Pajama Party. . . <---------- here. . .





Remember that great quote "If Mamma says there's a pink elephant on the roof, there's a pink elephant on the roof"?
No?
Your mom didn't say that?



Animals waiting on the porch swing to greet our small guests. . . (note the snake, courtesy of JD)



I went to the library right before the party to check out "Bedtime for Frances" which is ALWAYS there, but of course,
the night I wanted it *really bad* it wasn't.  So we settled for some other cute ones. . .
like "Llama Llama Misses Mamma" (I thought that might come in handy.)



before we were married and Daniel was living here alone, he saw this humongous mirror sticking out of a dumpster behind a hospital where he was waiting after running a call.  He drove back later, off duty, and loaded it into his tiny ranger (I just laugh thinking about it).  That mirror was the most honkingly heavy mirror I have ever seen in my life.  It graced our newlywed dining room for . . . . an embarrassingly long time.  It was like living in a house of mirrors.  Eventually we Daniel cut it up and so we have all of these cool mirrors in our basement. I brought one up and leaned it against the wall for the beauty shop.




My mom gives these little fur families to the kids.  they adore them.  we made them a treehouse home
on a cakeplate next to a plant that I'm desperately trying to keep alive. I thought it added to the decor.



I love to change everything up in my house when we have parties.  I brought a lamp down from upstairs
and pushed the table next to the chalkboard wall to make a buffet. . .
that way I had room to drag in one of the overstuffed chairs from the living room and
create a puzzle-putting-together area in the dining room.



Yes, here is the hidden Wal-Mart advertisement.  They're paying me for this.  *I wish*
Organic cotton pjs $5!!!
The tutu was a birthday gift, but it was only $5 too.
I know because I went and bought one for my niece.
(Sorry Deeann, now I made your gift sound cheap.  Sorry Edith, I also made it sound like I got a very un-sacrificial gift for Kamie.)



Oh my. I can't believe {once upon a time} I told God I wanted to be a mom to just boys.



{*practicing the hostess part* "hi, thank you for coming to my party. here is a necklace for you. . .
Mom, what if everyone wants pink?"}



this is an extremely original game. . . musical necklaces. when you don't have enough little chairs, improvise.

{my fondue assembling assistant the lovely ms Kaylin. . .}



{endless beauty-shop-ness}





this just cracks me up




don't all girls love looking at catalogs and magazines??

 

Breakfast. . . Rhodes Cinnamon Rolls with {pink} frosting



tiny little heartbeat (little #4)

The stick turned blue.

I'm pregnant!

God is giving us another little person to love!

I'm so scared; are we out of our minds?

This week I heard a tiny little heart beating inside of me. . . tears are pooling now, just remembering Tuesday morning; this is our fourth little beating heart, created out of our love and the mighty hand of God. 

The awe doesn't wear off.

I hope the fear will.

I stood in our bathroom, peering down at a tiny plastic stick,  hoping, hoping, hoping. . . and then those two blue lines.

I jumped up and down.

I screamed at myself in the mirror we're gonna have another baby!

I cried out to the heavens in the direction of the ceiling Oh God, let him live for seventy five years! I'm begging You, I'm pleading with You!

I sat on the floor and wept.

We are so thankful.

We are so terrified.


{What monitor to use; or should we even go that route?}

{Googling innovative, uniquely designed cribs}

{How will I ever lay the poor child down? He'll have to sleep sometime}

{Fielding the kids' earnest questions. . .I hope it doesn't die, right Mommy?}


I tell myself each morning, Hayley, statistically this is not going to happen again.  And then I hear the haunting echo of statistically it shouldn't have happened to Gabe.

My faith in God as a Giver is being stretched and tried.  I know the answers.  Trust Him.  Trust His heart.  I want to. 

My reality is still arms that ache to hold a child torn from our family.

God, You won't take again, will You?

The answers are not mine.

What is mine is today.

I thank God for today, for life each night as I rest my hand on the chest of my sleeping son and feel his beating heart, as I smooth tousled hair from my daughter's face and rejoice in her warmth and even breathing.

Today is all we are given, tomorrow is not promised.

Today I thrill for the life inside of me.

Today I cry that our fourth child will never know his chunky-monkey older brother.

Today I thank God for a man who loves me.

Today I ache for the pain that life brings.

Today I google baby names, holding onto hope.

Today I look at photos of other children's headstones, searching for the perfect way to honor our precious little man.

Today I thank God that my kids were more cheerful than they were yesterday.

Today I hold Cambria as she weeps for a worm died in the street because a car ran over it.

Today I sit on the couch and play UNO (and lose) with my Jacob Daniel.

Today I share lunch with a dear friend.

Today I pack a NON pb&j sandwich for my man.  Today I make him take a few minutes out of his day and sit. And breathe. Today I love him.

Today Tonight the bedtime battle looms.  JD it is your turn for the shower { x 4 }

Tomorrow is not promised.

Jesus is promised.

Hope is promised.

Heaven is promised.

Grace for each day.


It isn't tomorrow.  I don't know what the future holds. 

It is today, and today. . . we rejoice in the life that God is giving.

Do You Want to Know?

Sometimes we don't want to know about pain.

It hurts too much.

It's too messy to get involved.

Why should you be responsible? asks Josh Wilson in his beautiful plea to open our eyes to see people as God sees them.

Once you see a world that's in need

and a sorrow you just can't ignore

your heart will break

and you'll lay awake

cause you'll know you could do so much more


Do you want to know?

Christ is Risen

I've been thinking a lot about Easter. . .

The empty grave has new significance for me this year. 

Daniel and I have always made a visual image of a tomb and Jesus' body for the kids on the days preceding Easter Sunday.  We wrap the little stick figure in perfume drenched white cloths.  We paint flowers on a tiny clay tomb.  We seal a stone over the door. 

And then, Easter morning we roll away that little stone and show them the linen cloth on the floor of the tomb.

He's not there! 

I am always so thankful at the remembrance of what He did for us.

This year, my heart thrills  at the remembrance of what He did.

That He defeated the grave is just so unthinkably staggering.

The more I listen to this song, the more I love it.

Christ is risen from the dead

He trampled over death by death

No scheme of hell

No scoffer's crown

No burden great

Can hold You down

In strength You reign

Christ is risen from the dead

Trampling over death by death

Come awake, come awake

O, church, come stand in the light

The glory of God has defeated the night

SMS Shine

Jacob and Cambria love this.

{Watch for the frog. It's Cambria's favorite part.}

Shelter

This is what we want our lives to be

our home to be

our hearts to be

refuge

shelter

safety

so that the hurting around us

will never walk alone.

Forgiveness (7 x 70)

I was driving through Lake of the Ozarks several weeks ago when I heard this song for the first time. Navigating unfamiliar roads, I frantically grabbed at a pen and post its so I could scribble down the artist and title.

What speaks to your heart through this song is that life is hard. Sometimes we're told that we shouldn't let hard stuff or cutting words or abandonment define us.  But that's kind of a joke, because hard stuff does make us who we are.  There usually isn't the option of just moving on or getting over it.

Tonight, besides our ever-popular {ever-patiently playing 10 games of UNO with JD and Cambria} Henry, we had another young man sharing our dinner table.  He spoke about a life that I can't even begin to imagine.

abandonment

little brothers and sisters torn apart by neglect, lost parental rights, adoption to different families

phone-call relationships with parents

unanswered questions

why didn't they care? 

That  kind of stuff does define you.

I love how Chris August writes (and sings) that forgiveness makes a way.  It doesn't erase;  it wraps around.

playlist replacement

So this week I am removing my playlist and posting our current top ten "songs."

Songs.

I need a better word.

Beautiful therapy?

Musical theology?

I don't know.

I'm posting two today, since I was a little busy yesterday with a pajama party for eight little girls.  {More on that later.}

The first, Hero, is the best way I can think of to decribe the Jesus I call God.

If you don't know this Jesus. . . listen.  This is the Man who loves you beyond anything your heart can yearn for.  He is amazing.

If you do know this Jesus. . . listen and remember why you love Him.

The second speaks so loudly to my heart right now. No one needs to have all the answers for pain and sorrow. . . but everyone needs someone to pray them through. My challenge to you: be the person who says if you fall down. . . let me carry you. . . I'll carry you. . .

the grief scale (not)

How much pain is a ton?

Is there a measuring device for pain?

Rate your pain today on a scale of one to ten, one being least, ten being greatest.


What tips the scale of grief?

Is there even a scale for grief?

Loss of marriage < loss of child;  unloved and forsaken < terminally ill;  living the horror of abuse < picking up the pieces after the suicide of one you love.


As a society, don't we make mental notes as we observe the broken lives of humanity?  Johnny's pain is way worse than Susie's pain!  We need to flood Johnny with sympathy; but Susie needs to suck it up and get on with life.

How do I know that Susie's pain isn't great and crushing and almost more than she can bear?  What if it is?  What if, because of our unspoken but universally understood grief scale, Susie's pain got rated 0.6 on the grief scale of one to ten?

And then there's another whole encampment of pain: the unlucky souls who somehow find themselves in the They Deserved It part of our grief filing system. Desperately trying to make sense of a world gone wrong, we grasp for reasons.  For some people the reasons spring quickly to mind.  That's unfair.  You can be very sure that if a fault or failing in the life of a grieving person is not obvious to you, it is only because you don't know him well enough.

I've thought about this a lot over the past few weeks as I have been overwhelmed by all the pain in the lives of people around me. Is anyone's life easy?  I don't really think so.

We have been on the receiving end of a massive amount of attention and encouragement; a child's death isn't supposed to happen, and for that crushing reason, it seems society has marked our loss 9.5 on the little grief scale.

But there are lots and lots and lots of other things that aren't supposed to happen.

This week I remembered the story of Jairus' daughter.  She was twelve.  She was dying.  Jairus went to Jesus, Who has always been a Healer, always is a Giver, even in the darkest moments of life.  He fell at the feet of the Maker of his daughter and pleaded for her life.

While he was pleading, a woman who had been battling a bleeding disorder for twelve years reached out to touch the robe of Jesus.  Miraculously, incredibly, against all odds, she was instantly healed.

I think that Jesus' response to her is incredible.  He didn't send her away. 

He could have said  "Lady! Go see a specialist!  I am dealing with a dying child!  Surely you can understand that I am very much about giving life! Sorry, but later!"

He could have said "Oh, my, a bleeding disorder. . . did you live the way you should? Perhaps this is an STD and you totally deserve this."

He could have said "I'm sorry ma'am, but I'm busy with wayyyyyy more important things. Please, can we reschedule?"

He could have thought "I felt her touch me but I won't even stop and listen.  I need to get to this little dying girl."

But He didn't.  He stopped.  He wanted to see her, to know her.  He wanted her story.

Who touched Me?

And she came, trembling and scared.  Didn't she know that a dying child was more important? Of course she did, because two thousand years doesn't change human nature.  Of course she  didn't want to bother or be in the way of important stuff.

Here is the beauty of Jesus. . . He saw her.  She was important stuff. He didn't push her away.  He didn't rate her pain or mark her grief on a scale. He saw her faith, He saw her needs, He saw twelve years of unanswered questions and He cared.

She wasn't a bother to Him.  He healed.  He loved. He sent her away in peace.   

Jesus didn't leave Jairus needs unmet, either.   He heard the awful news.  He calmed the distraught father.  He walked the dusty streets.  He denied the power of the grave. He brought life where there was death.

That's what He is all about.   He brings clarity to the muddy waters of the whose grief is worse game that we love to play. He doesn't rate pain; instead He brings life when there is only death. 

Our minds only view death as death, and a beating heart as life.

But what if death is oppression and pain and bitter tears and no desire to live and regret and mistakes and deep scars and wounded hearts and shattered dreams?

And what if life is hope?

What if

life

is

Him?

oh the things my kids say. . .

Cambria drew a picture of me last week. . .

It's really frightful.  My hair is sticking out all over my head (but my eyes are green- correct color) and I oddly only have a head and stick legs.  I asked what the strange loop in one ear was:

"Oh, Mom, that's your earring.  You don't have one in the other ear because you losted it."

Well, it's true that no one has ever accused me of being organized; lost earrings are pretty much the way I roll.


JD at the breakfast table this morning: {out of the blue} "How do babies come out?"

I stall.  "How do you think they come out?"

*Shrugs* "Cut 'em out."

Oh I wish I would have had C-Sections. . . they're so much easier to explain. . .

Briefly I inform him.  Matter of fact is the way to go on these things.

"So if you have to push the baby out do you have to push it in?"

Why is Daniel always at work during these conversations?


Cambria to me: "Mom, please write vitamins on yoah list on the fridge. It's im-po-tant not to foah-get things foah yoah kids."


JD:  "Mom, I love you." 

Me: (teary) "Ohhh. . . . Jacob. . . I love you too.  Thaaaaaaank you, buddy."

Daniel: "Hey, what about me?"

JD: "Daaaaad. . . of course I love YOU."  {implied} "Dad, you hung the moon- you know that- let's just throw a few crumbs of affection to Mom for a minute, here."


Cambria, observing Jacob weeping over his math workbook:  "When I do school I won't cry!" Totally self righteous as she blissfully uses markers and art supplies, {fun stuff} free as a breeze.

Jacob: *blubbering* *pile of kleenex next to math page* "Oh I bet you will cry, Cambria. . . [sob] I bet you will!"


JD to Daniel: *conversationally* "Dad, I know you're almost thirty but you look like you're forty."


Cambria, worried that we will run out of oatmeal, her all-time fave breakfast: "When we run out of that one in the cupboard I will *re-wind* you to get more." Do ya think she meant remind?

We weren't planning on using this pictures for our annual Christmas greeting so I thought we could put them here.

Ha ha ha!

when the story isn't mine to write

I'm not good at faking life.

I'm just not into fake.

I find so much joy and release in just spilling my heart out and being honest.

I'm brutally honest with the people closest to me. . . but pretty honest with those who aren't, too.  I've been known to confess to my Bible Study group that I have thrown spoons in anger and I can cry with complete strangers.

Is this a personality trait or because I am a woman?

Probably some of both.

I know that writing about Gabe has been so incredibly healing for me.  It has helped me sort out my thoughts, my heart, what I still believe about God, and helped me grieve the loss of my son.

Men aren't as open.

I am always baffled by this.

Is it because they don't want to admit weakness?

Putting themselves out there and admitting doubts and fears is probably just not helpful to them.

Endless personal reflection?

Not any guys I know!

So as I watch my husband grieve and walk through steps I walked through months ago. . . my heart breaks.  I feel a little bit like you all must feel as you stand on the outside of our grief looking in, wanting to help, but not able to take away the pain.

I want to write about it; but it's  his story and not mine to write.

So I don't have a lot of words right now.

I know that Daniel has been so strong for me. . . for so long.  You can only be strong for so long. 

I tell him it's okay.

He doesn't have to be happy.

He doesn't have to be strong. 

I cry.

I physically ache to take the pain away from him, knowing that there's no way to go but through.

I tell him I believe for him like so many have believed for me

that when the road is too dark

and the way is too long

and little places where Gabe should be are too quiet

I'll still be here. . .

and we are going to hang on. . .

and I don't know what to say

but I love him.

Ahh. . . he is such a good man.

I pray that God will bring healing to his heart and that I will be a refuge for him. . .

I love him so much.