Contentment

Ever have one of those days when being content just simply isn't possible? That’s today for me. They come along every so often, the days when my mind refuses to shut off, causing me to relentlessly live through every mistake, every wrong word, every failure, every poor decision-you get the idea-over and over again. These are the days when living feels like being on one of those hamster wheels in continuous motion with little or nothing to show for it. They are usually triggered by some passing milestone, although occasionally it happens for no reason at all that I can see. Sound familiar to you?

I, like most of us, have lived a pretty decent life. I haven’t gotten everything right, of course, but I feel as though I've done OK with most of the big things. I raised a fabulous son of whom I am extraordinarily proud. He is kind, loving, hardworking and responsible, and has become the kind of man that anyone would be proud to have for a husband and father. Although we will never know for sure, I think Mandy was well on her way to being a responsible adult, too. I have done my very best to be a good wife and partner to David and I think I have done OK there, too. I am certainly working hard to be the best mother-in-law I can be, and I hope to be the “world’s greatest grandmother” J one day in the not too distant future (and no, that is not a hint for Matthew and Caroline).

All that being said, why do I have these days? Days during which all I can bring myself to do is think about the times when I haven’t been a good wife, mother, mother-in-law, friend, co-worker, church member or follower of Christ? These are dark days, not just fleeting thoughts, but real, soul searching self-loathing over my failures and shortcomings. Why do they happen? Am I the only one who has these days?

I expect some of you might be surprised that I ever have times such as these. My co-workers see me as a confident woman with no self-doubt whatsoever, and in reality, I am that way most of the time. I am extremely intelligent, relatively comfortable in my own skin and usually the first one to say, “if you don’t like who I am, that is your problem, not mine”. Some days, though, that shy, backwards little girl finds her way out of the person I have become and I can’t shove her into the background. The least little “rejection” or insinuation that I am not good enough sends me into a tailspin. I can hear my dad saying things like “women can’t drive and women don't do anything right” or my mom saying “why do you want to go to college” even though I was valedictorian of my high school class. I can feel my dad’s disdain for women in general and me in particular and his lack of interest in any of my accomplishments in school as strongly today as when I was growing up. Is that “rejection” what triggers these times? I have thought for many years that I was long past any of his opinions bothering me, and he actually told me I was a “very good daughter” the last time he came here to visit, something I truly thought he would NEVER say to me. 

I think we all know that our past very much affects our future, our self-esteem, our behaviors and, if we are honest, the way we view ourselves throughout our lives. Knowing this and overcoming it are 2 entirely different things. On days like these, I find myself turning to the scriptures for words of assurance and comfort such as these found in Matthew 11:28-30. “Come to me, all you that are weary and are carrying heavy burdens, and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you, and learn from me; for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls.” I find solace in the reminder that God is always with me, helping me to carry those burdens and insecurities. No matter how many times I have laid all them at his feet, no matter how many times I go back to the cross and pick them up, He loves me, and carries me, and allows me to bring them back....over and over and over again. 

Our Response to Loss

In light of yesterday's tragedy, I am reposting a previous blog offering my thoughts and opinions on how we can best support those who are left behind. I don't pretend to understand, but these are a few of the MANY things that we learned when Mandy died. We have all suffered losses of many kinds, so feel free to add any thoughts you might have to the comments below. Before Mandy died, I had said, done, and not done some of these things many times before....it is hard to know what is right and wrong until you have been there, and it is different in every situation.

• Say, "I love you", and "I am sorry" and "I am praying" or tell the family what an impact their loved one has made on your life.  Please do not say "this is part of God's plan" or any variation of that statement. That may be your belief and that’s perfectly OK, but that statement gives comfort for some and causes anger and hurt for others and I believe it is better left unsaid. There will be time for wrestling with the theological questions of loss later on.
• Do not try to keep the family from crying and do not think there is anything wrong with them if they don't cry, some people just don't. Just as important, don't be afraid to cry in front of them-there is nothing wrong with showing genuine love and concern for their family with your tears. It reminds them of how much their family member was loved by others, too.
• Do not say "Call me if you need anything at all." Instead, just do something-they have no idea what they need right now or for the foreseeable future. Mow the yard, clean the house, wash dishes, answer the phone, go with the family to the funeral home or the cemetery-the list is endless. However, be sensitive to the family's need for time alone as well. This is not the time that the family needs to feel like they must constantly have their "game face" on nor should they have to worry about routine chores than can be handled by someone else. This applies for many, many months, as grief makes even the simplest of tasks seem overwhelming.
• Do share happy memories of their loved one, and do not be afraid to say their name or talk about them. Many times, after the first few days, people stop talking about the person who died, believing somehow that they will make the family sadder if they bring it up. Listen to me people, it is terrifying to think that someone you loved so much will be forgotten. If you have stories to share, write them down and give them to the family. I have every card and picture I have been sent relating to Mandy's death and I cherish every single one. If you have pictures that the family might not have, scan them and make sure the family gets them-these are priceless memories the family might not have seen before. Our favorite and most cherished gift was a never before seen (by us) picture of second grade Mandy wearing a friend's mom's wedding dress.
• Do not disappear after the funeral. Respect the family's need for rest and alone time, but send texts, call, go see them, and continue to include them in the normal activities in which you would have naturally included them before their loved one died. Allow them to choose whether or not to participate and respect that decision, but do not stop asking, no matter how many times they decline-one day they will say yes again.
• Do not say, "I know how you feel" because you don't. You know how YOU feel. Even if you suffered the same relational loss (husband, parent, child, sibling, etc.) you simply do not know how they feel. You may understand some aspects in the light of your experiences, but their relationship with their loved one is unique to those 2 people and you simply cannot fully comprehend their thoughts and feelings. Also, do not make the assumption that everyone in the family is feeling the same thing. Each relationship is different, each person left behind is different, and each person feels the loss differently. Be respectful and mindful of that when you are with the grieving family and understand that these feelings may change daily, even hourly, especially in the beginning.
• Respect their decisions in the way they choose to honor their loved one's life. If they choose a party instead of a funeral, so be it. Celebrate and participate wholeheartedly. One of the most hurtful things when Mandy died was the criticism we encountered of how we chose to honor her life and remember her. It is entirely up to the family to decide how to best celebrate and honor their loved one, and there simply is no right or wrong way.
• Facebook and other electronic media is wonderful for sharing memories, pictures, and encouragement when you can't be there, but don't think for one minute that it can replace the power of human touch and your actual physical presence. It doesn't. Go to the funeral if at all possible. Until you have experienced loss, you cannot fathom what your presence means. You may think you are one person in a swarm of people and your presence or absence makes no difference but it does.
• Finally, pray without ceasing. Understand that all the family can do right now and for the foreseeable future is take life one minute at a time. Love them, carry them and be there for them with your prayers, your words, your stories, and your actions. Remember that you get to go back to your "normal" life after the funeral, but life is completely different for them now and there is no going back. Be God's hands and feet for this family for the long haul.

Finally, as Mandy said, "Life is Short". Don't let small disagreements turn into big ones, and don't let a day go by without telling those you love that they are valued and appreciated. If there are issues that need to be discussed, do it today. You do not know when you might not get another chance. Life is a very fragile thing.

Fabulous at Fifty?

Fabulous at Fifty?

Someone posted on David's FB wall on his birthday a couple of weeks ago that fifty is the new forty, whatever that means! Since most of you probably know that I am a scant 17 days behind him in hitting this milestone, I started thinking about just what it means to begin the 6th decade of your life.

David was diagnosed with type 1 diabetes at 25, so honestly, we have wondered for years what his health would be like at 50. Having watched his dad's health deteriorate through his thirties and forties as a result of this disease, we expected to deal with many of those same complications. By age 50, David's dad had multiple health issues related to his diabetes. Fortunately, David has very few complications from this insidious disease so far. I have had a couple of breast biopsies in the last year or so and have been battling some other issues, and of course, we both have the aches and pains that come with aging and not living the healthy lifestyle that we should, but, overall, we are both incredibly fortunate to be in good health.

For me, turning 50 has caused me to look back on my life, more so than at any other age. I guess I was too busy at 30 and 40 to be introspective. While I don't know that I would say I am "struggling", I can say that this milestone has caused me to do some serious reflection on past decisions and behavior. What I see in the rear view mirror pleases me in some places, not so much in others.

·       I see a young woman who found the love of her life very early, at age 15. He didn't see that nor did our parents, but I knew just a few weeks after I met him that David was "the one”.

·       I see a young woman who was so eager to be a wife and mother that I took the easy road in college just to get out as quickly as possible instead of challenging myself more. I should have been a nurse or a teacher and left the business degrees to someone else. 

·       I see the look of sheer joy and sheer panic on David’s face when both of our children were born and knowing that mine looked the same.

·       I see a very young, clueless and impatient mom who missed many moments of my children's lives because I was busy cleaning house or something equally unimportant.

·       I see a young father who, in a span of less than 6 months, had to deal with a diagnosis of Type 1 diabetes at 25 and the illness and death of his mother all while working himself to death to care for his wife and young daughter.

·       I see all the up and downs in David’s dad’s health as years of diabetes took a huge toll on his body, including the miracle of him receiving a donated heart and kidney in 1994, but then ending with his death 9 years later.  

·       I see the sudden death of David’s dear Uncle Buds in August of 2002 that nearly killed all of us.

·       I see the suffering of my mom as she battled breast cancer and lost in March of 2003, the death of David's dad in August of 2003 and how hard it was for Mandy and Matthew to lose so many loved ones in such a short period of time, yet still feeling relief that Memaw and Poppy weren't suffering anymore.

·       I see a lot of financially difficult times. I remember lots of conversations with my kids about why they couldn't have the "stuff" that their friends had and why we couldn't go to the beach or Disneyworld every summer.

·       I see the conversations as they got older that told me that all those lean days were worth every gray hair. I remember one in particular when I went to work full time, right after Mandy got her driver’s license. Of course, things were tough, extra car insurance, gas, etc. so the timing seemed right. After a few months, Mandy and Matthew came to me one day and said, “We don’t need your money, we need you.” I quit and came home.

·       I see many hot, cold, rainy days at the ballpark with Matthew and Mandy, cheering them on in baseball and softball, church basketball, rec league basketball, and then later cheerleading and high school baseball.  I am thankful that we made it to most games, and I think it meant a lot to them that David and I were there. Certainly there was no place we wanted to be more. When David had to travel and miss games, I would stay on the phone with him constantly, trying to provide play by play so he wouldn’t miss out.

·       I see lots of church activities, teaching children’s choir, children’s Sunday School, nursery duty, singing in the adult choir, Adoration (the a capella group David and I sang with for many years), and all sorts of other activities at CBCFC for the past 24 years. We made a conscious effort to teach our children that church community was important and not something you did when there wasn't anything better to do.

·       I see many years of not always being the kind of wife I should have been, yet always knowing that I was loved, valued and cherished by one of the finest men I have ever met.

·       I see the unthinkable nightmare of losing a daughter to a random accident and watching our world change forever in just a few hours.

·       I see the pain in David’s eyes when we went to the car after we said goodbye to Mandy for the last time, and I hear the sound as he sobbed in my arms that night and being helpless to take away the pain.

·       I see Matthew looking so lost and yet trying to be so brave because that is what teenagers do, knowing that his biggest fan and fiercest protector was gone and again, being helpless to take away the pain.

·       I see the day that David was asked to be the Worship Leader at CBCFC for Catalyst, just a little over a year after Mandy died. I see the joy and purpose that this “job” has brought him and the passion with which he plans and leads worship each week over the last 7 years.

·       I see and remember meeting Caroline for the first time and knowing that this was someone very special.

·       I see Matthew struggling through college, but never giving up on his dream of being an engineer, all with Caroline right beside him, pushing him and encouraging him.

·       I see Matthew’s pride in Caroline as she received her degree and met her goal of being a deaf interpreter.

·       I see the look on Matthew’s face as he watched Caroline walk down the aisle to become his wife.

·       I see the look of absolute joy on David’s face every time I walk in a room that still amazes me after all these years and reminds me of just how blessed I am to receive that kind of love.

There are SO many more things I could list here, but the bottom line is that we have a wonderful son and daughter in law of whom we are extremely proud, and we have each other.  We also have a loving God who walks through both the good times and the bad ones with us, holding us in His arms as we continue to strive each day to be His hands and feet here on earth. Ultimately, I can say that in our house, despite some real struggles over the years, fifty truly is fabulous and I can’t wait to see what the next decade will hold.

Moving Forward

So….several months after Mandy died in 2006, maybe March or April of 2007, we made the decision to turn her room into an office. Although we had already given away many of her clothes and packed lots of other items away, it was extremely difficult to pass her room and still see her furniture sitting there, unused. We found a young friend whom she loved to take her bedroom furniture. We repainted her purple and green walls to match the rest of our house, and we bought some lovely office furniture with a distressed red finish and redecorated the room in red and black. We had Mandy’s letterman’s jacket put in a shadow box and hung it up, along with some fantastic pictures of Matthew playing baseball that we had been given by dear friends. We purchased a beautiful, double door library cabinet in which to display not only things that Mandy had loved, but also various items we had been given in her memory in her favorite colors of purple and green. Over the past 7 years or so, we have added memories from the Rose Parade, pictures from Mandy night at the football games at CHS, etc. and everything in this cabinet has been about Mandy.

On a side note, I doubt that this is unique to me as a grieving person, but I find it incredibly difficult to touch Mandy’s things. Clothing is the worst, but honestly, almost anything that is connected to Mandy is likely to bring tears if I have to touch it. Consequently, that library cabinet has been touched very little over the last few years; I just find it so painful that I open it only when I absolutely have to do so.

Over the past couple of months, I have become aware that perhaps a change is in order. While I have struggled with this idea and have not been entirely happy about it, I do believe that perhaps the Holy Spirit has nudged me to make another step in the journey forward. Understand, in this mother’s heart, I will never truly let Mandy go; no mother ever really lets her children go completely, and death has little bearing on that fact. Yet, the time does come when you realize that hanging on to the visible signs of a person’s life might no longer be healthy for you or for others you love. Over the holidays, I began by putting away many of the photographs of Mandy still on display at our house. We put her beautiful tree (made by her friends) in our backyard as usual, but we did not take a Christmas tree to the cemetery this year and actually didn’t even go over there through the holidays. Then, a few days ago, I spent the afternoon tackling the cabinet, aka “the shrine”. I pulled everything out and forced myself to look it over, assess its value as far as being kept or disposed of, and then divided everything up into categories: continue to display or pack for storage. I managed to reduce four, 4 foot shelves down to a shelf and a half of items to continue to display; the rest were boxed up and put in storage and some things were even thrown away.

Knowing in my head that this is the right thing to do has little effect on my heart. In my heart, I have betrayed Mandy. I have reduced her life to the contents of a box and put her away. While I am aware that those who knew her won't ever forget her, I am also aware that "out of sight, out of mind" is very much a reality, and if I put her things away, it feels as though I am relegating her to a distant memory, at best. Not matter how much my head tells me this is right, my heart will forever scream that it's wrong! Even now, there are so many people that never knew Mandy and don't even know that she ever existed. The majority of my co-workers have no idea I have more than one child, which feels so wrong. Those who have heard me speak of her know only what I share and never got to experience the joy of truly "knowing" Mandy personally. For a parent, or honestly, anyone who has lost a loved one, I think this must be one of the most painful aspects of dealing with that loss. Attempting to convey from your own thoughts and memories what a person was truly like is virtually impossible. I can’t make you understand how she made me feel, how angry she made me when she rolled those eyes, or how wonderful it was that no matter how angry or upset she was she still said she loved me at the end of every phone conversation.

Despite all those conflicting feelings for me, time marches on. There is nothing that can bring Mandy back and there is no possible way to help anyone understand what it feels like to let her go. It hurts…..all day, every day. It affects every aspect of life, and as hard as I try to keep that from happening, it seems inevitable that it does. A piece of my heart is gone. That piece can never be replaced and every milestone in life that comes along accentuates the hole. Matthew got married and she wasn’t there to see it. Matthew is going to have children that will not know her and she will never get to love. David and I are going to grow old and Mandy won’t be here to help Matthew deal with all of the inevitable decisions children face as their parents age. Thank goodness he has Caroline, but it is not the same as having a sibling to bear that burden. Mandy’s friend are marrying and having children at breakneck speed, and none of those children will ever experience the joy of having someone like Mandy to love them. Even while I am doing my best to truly live in and embrace all of those moments, enjoying these wonderful milestones with and for Matthew and others, the joy felt with them doesn’t take away the bittersweet ache that comes with Mandy’s absence.

I owe so many people a debt of gratitude that I can never repay for their continued love and support over these past 7 ½ years. Perhaps the most important of those people are the ones who stepped in to help us support Matthew at a critical time in his life, when I could barely get out of bed most mornings-especially Caroline, who was willing to step into the craziness and become Matthew’s best friend and biggest support when his mom and dad were too consumed with their own grief to remember his. Certainly, David, who has in the midst of his own grief and pain supported me so lovingly and so well. The people at Tennessee Donor Services, who have allowed us to remember Mandy through the Rose Parade and other ways with such generosity. Larry Rains, a stranger to our family, who took the time to learn the story behind the wooden cross Mandy’s friends erected at Windrock and has made a point to make sure it continues for many years to come to be both a symbol of her life and a reminder to all who ride there to be cautious.

I have always wanted Mandy’s death to “matter”, for her death to have value and meaning beyond being just another life cut short by carelessness and poor decision making. Certainly, being an organ donor matters, especially to her recipients. Her story has caused some who would never have considered being an organ donor to make the decision to do so. I have heard stories of others for whom her death was a wake-up call to change the direction in which their lives were headed. Personally, Mandy’s death has made me more conscious of the pain of those around me. It has given me a desire to minister to those who have lost a loved one, to be able to say to them, “you are not alone.” I have led a small, informal grief support group for several years now, and led a different group this past fall at Central Baptist called “GriefShare” that is continuing to support each other. This is my way of saying thank you to those who have loved and supported me and to pay it forward, so to speak, as best I can. Our society is ill equipped to deal with grief and grieving people, which seems so strange since all of us experience loss in our lives. My goal is to share my experience as you journey through yours, and perhaps together we can make the path a little less lonely for everyone.