Run for Wayne 2016

Run for Wayne speech 2016

Hello Everyone,

I want to thank each and every person that is here today running or volunteering, for all of the sponsorships and donations, as well as those that have worked so hard to make this day possible.  Your involvement in this day, keeps my husband's legacy present and active, supports the community, as well as supporting a music scholarship in Wayne's name.

Our verse for this year’s race is from Isaiah chapter 40, verse 31: --- “but those who hope in the Lord will renew their strength.

They will soar on wings like eagles; they will run and not grow weary, they will walk and not be faint.”

When Wayne’s sister was sick also, as he sat by her bedside, these words came from him, when he was questioned about Hope:

Wayne said, “My hope, for my sister, is not that she will be healed. It is not that she will be pain free. It is not that she will remember me, as I sit here waiting …

My hope is that she knows Christ. That she knows that there is a room in His house, waiting for her. Where she can live forever.

And Wayne went on to say “My sister has lived with family that cares. She has 2 wonderful children, a granddaughter, and a loving husband. She will die with the same. Nothing can take that from her, not even death.

Wayne said, “Our bodies wither, and pass away. Our soul remains. Our memories...live on in others.”

And, I would say that the same is true for us today.  Death did not take away that Wayne is my best friend, or our son’s father, or your friend.  Death did not take away Hope.  The Hope that continues that one day, by the grace of God, that we too will be in one of those many rooms prepared for us.

So, my hope for you today is that as you run or walk, that it’s for a reason – perhaps it’s for health, perseverance, or in honor of Wayne’s legacy.   

The length of this race is 3.17 miles, to remember the 3 month and 17 day courageous battle that Wayne had with cancer.  The time to start is set at 12:01 to represent the verse from Hebrews chapter 12 verse 1 --- Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a great cloud of witnesses, let us throw off everything that hinders and the sin that so easily entangles. And let us run with perseverance the race marked out for us, fixing our eyes on Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of faith. For the joy set before him he endured the cross, scorning its shame, and sat down at the right hand of the throne of God. Consider him who endured such opposition from sinners, so that you will not grow weary and lose heart.

You could have stayed home today, but you chose to be here.   I may be the last one to cross the finish line, but that's OK, because it's about perseverance and Hope for me.  So, whether you run fast, or you run slow, or if you walk - today that doesn’t matter - because more importantly we need to finish the race. 

I treasure your help in carrying on Wayne's legacy and for blessing my family. With much gratitude, I thank you.

Cracked Window

Cracked Window

On March 25, 2009, we bought an SUV.  Whenever we bought vehicles, one of the determining factors was - Can a tuba fit in the back?  I've always preferred larger vehicles because of my height, and my husband always needed the large carrying capacity.

Over the past two years, I have tried to keep this vehicle going.  I have used it for the first day of school and other special or important days.  I took it to the cemetery.  I learned how to charge and change the battery.  I added a hitch to it so that we could use it for camping when the truck broke down.  I had never really driven this vehicle until Wayne was really sick.  I have a love-hate relationship with it.

I love it because it was Wayne's vehicle.  We went on family trips and had adventures in this vehicle. It was easily recognizable with the "I Love Bacon" magnet fixed to it, and the "I'd rather be playing the Euphonium" license plate cover.  I have pictures of the things we have done and places we have gone with this vehicle.

The hate part of the vehicle relationship is that it took my sick husband to the ICU, I had to pull him out of it, and then it came home without him.  Sometimes I can still see my husband hunched over in the passenger seat, which brings forth remembrances of all of the traumas that followed.

On March 26, 2016, the 2nd year mark of the day Wayne died, 7 years and 1 day after we bought it, I was driving this vehicle to the cemetery.  The radio that Wayne had installed himself, stopped working about 1-week prior, and on this day, as I went up the hill to my husband's site, lights started flashing - security, check engine, service - I turned off the vehicle, and the locks would not automatically unlock.  I felt sick to my stomach and realized that on this day of horrible remembrance and grief, that I had to let go of yet another thing.  And, I cried.  The release of grief bubbling out and pouring out onto the sidewalk.

After my time at the cemetery, the SUV did turn back on and the lights went off.  In my heart, I knew I needed to donate it to the Kidney Foundation, which I had done with the truck last year.  I need to know that this vehicle can help another in some way, and in Wayne's name.  I know that I could have probably sold it for someone else to fix it up locally, but I couldn't bear the thought of seeing someone else drive it.  I took pictures of the vehicle, discovering a small crack in the windshield, like the one in my broken heart, further emphasizing that it was time to let it go.

I went to the DMV, handing in license plates that had been with us all of our marriage.  I called the Kidney Foundation, and here yet again, I have to tell people that Wayne died.  His name is on the Title with mine, which by law, is transferrable to me.  However, I have to include a death certificate. because I have to prove that he died, and that I am not a divorcee looking for revenge.  To touch and pull out this document, feels like touching something unholy.  I cannot stand to hold it in my hands.  Yet, I force myself to do so.

Wayne's SUV, though driven by me for the past two years, has parts that have remained untouched.  His chapstick in one of the holders, the very deep storage bin under the middle console, and this little flip-covered storage part also in the middle.  I had to clean it all out.  I am around Wayne's things all of the time in our home, but here in the SUV, I uncovered new things.  Most would think it was junk or insignificant, but it was evidence of Wayne's life, and of our life together.

There were receipts, shells from the beach, baby sunglasses, 3D glasses from a movie premiere, a saxophone reed, radio station flyer, multiple chargers, masking tape, and a running headlamp.  There were coins in baggies used for camping, sunscreen, and magnets and car stickers of things Wayne loved and supported.  There was a splatter stain on the ceiling over my son's seat, where he probably pulled a straw out of a drink and flung it upwards.  There's an orange stain under my son's seat too - where a smoothie from a local restaurant had spilled.  Everything salvageable went into a box, where I know again that I will have to sort and touch all of these things again someday.

It triggered me to touch all of this, and to remember, and I sat there and sobbed in the SUV.  The doors were closed, sitting in the seat Wayne last sat in, the sun shining in through the windows, with the grief pouring out.  The deep storage that held Wayne's things, reminds me that the memories and love are still deep in my heart.

And, so today, I said a final goodbye to this vehicle.  I no longer have a vehicle that had Wayne in it.  There's a finality to it, and it is uncomfortable.  My new vehicle, while reliable and of high quality, is not something that I can fully enjoy - because I know, if Wayne were here, I would not have it.  I appreciate the help that I got in getting a good vehicle, and I know Wayne would like the one I now have, but I wish I could ride in it with him.  I did the best I could to keep our vehicles going, and I learned a lot along the way.  

I brought my son out to the SUV and we then said good-bye together, my son bouncing in his old seat, lightheartedly laughing about the splatter stain.  And, I choked back a sob, and again the sun shone down on us, whispering "I love you."


Reflection Verses:

All my longings lie open before you, Lord; my sighing is not hidden from you.  (Psalm 38:9 NIV)

Sing It Loud (Or Not)

Sing It Loud (Or Not)

Back in the Fall, my son decided he wanted to sing in Chorus.  Those of you that know him, know that he often is singing to himself, or making up a tune and words to go along with his thoughts.  When Chorus started, he was slightly disappointed – it is hard for him to stand for so long, and he has to learn and understand new terminology and sing someone else’s words – sometimes words that evoke emotion about his life and father.  We decided he would stay committed for the year, and to give more rehearsals a try, and he was assured that he would begin to feel more comfortable.

After a few months, it came time for the winter concert.  While my son was excited, I was apprehensive.  I always have this feeling that Wayne should be here, and it was pulling at me more intensely.  The selfish part of me didn’t want our son to be in music (keeping this thought to myself), but I cannot deny him that, and I must support him despite the pain.  Wayne would want him to love music and he does.  And, I know that I would feel differently if Wayne were here.

At the dress rehearsal, I was told that my son did not sing.  He said he was thinking about Star Wars, and I can imagine the scene that might be going through his head as he looked out at all of the empty seats.  Wayne loved Stars Wars too and coincidentally the movie trailers have come out, again making me wish he were here to see the new show.  I had not mentioned this to our son, yet here was with his mind on the same thing.

Our son has no problem reading in front of others, but in show performances, like the one back when he was in Kindergarten, where he stood behind and held a snowman, he was not a bold actor.  His choral group is huge – over 100 students – and I can imagine that one might feel lost and overwhelmed in such a size.  It didn’t bother me that he didn’t sing, I was proud of him for even getting up on stage.

I also knew that for the first time in 2 years that I would see the new band teacher conduct.  She’s lovely, but I want to see Wayne there.  This is the stage my husband stood on.  His feet have touched this place, his composed music has filled the auditorium with his voice and his music, and I could see and feel the love of his students and how far they had come and grown.  Now, that would be different, as if I was in … am in … a different world.

Now, when I go places, I have to have a plan.  I rarely hear live instrumental music anymore (other than keyboards and guitar).  It is still too painful for me.  I have to have a way to escape the room if grief takes over.  So my sister and her two children sat beside me, subduing the fact that I was sitting there alone, without Wayne holding my hand, taking pictures.  I know he would have helped backstage too, kept an extra eye on our son and his friends, and would have joined in on their excitement.  I sat in the balcony so that my perspective is different onto the stage; different than how I looked at it from up front; when Wayne was there.  I could be somewhat anonymous, but there are people that know me – however at least I could just be Mom.

The band was before my son’s group, and I tried to mentally prepare myself.  A friend patted my knee – when they played – which showed me that she too was thinking of Wayne. That was a gift that held me in place for a moment.  I found myself going numb to the music, as if I was an outsider looking in.  I noticed kids’ tapping feet, my mind grasping at tendrils of memories in fog, remembering Wayne’s red vest, Santa hat, and voice filling the auditorium.  I needed to leave – and thankfully my young nephew needed to use the bathroom.  I looked in the mirror while I was waiting and saw a pale and tired reflection.  Grief is exhausting.

Then, it was time for my son’s group to sing, and I felt more composed and ready.  My son wore a Peanuts Christmas bow tie (one of Daddy’s favorite Christmas themes), and it made it easier to see him in the large group.  I wondered if he would sing, and he did!  I could see his mouth moving from my bird’s eye view.  I sat in the balcony, looking down, wondering if God permitted Wayne a sneak peek through, so he could see his beautiful son.  I am so proud of him.  He was singing it loud, and beautifully so.

I was also recently asked to sing in Praise Band at Church, while I felt the pull to say “yes”, other circumstances put it on hold for a while, and now I know I wasn’t ready.  I cannot sing it loud yet myself, and that is okay.

After the concert was over, my son walked in a line with his group back to the holding area.  He saw me and flashed a proud sideways smile as he passed me by.  The same smile his Daddy would show.

My son will ALWAYS have a mom and dad ... I never wanted Wayne to miss his son's first concert, I never wanted to be the sole parent, I never wanted to watch someone suffer and die, I never wanted grief attacks because a trauma changed me in an uncontrollable way.  My grief is complicated. 

So, I do the best I can - My son is my priority - and I lean on God and those that just listen, validate, and support us where we are - imperfectly perfect.  I have to have hope that our journey can help another.

So appreciate what you have - if you have someone important in your life tell them so - don't wait - because you really do not have control over anything - other than your choice to be gracious, to love, and to forgive.  Whether your voice is singing out loud, or not, you can still show compassion, because everyone you meet is most likely carrying something. 

Reflection Verses:

Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres.  Corinthians 13:6-7 (NIV)

And he passed in front of Moses, proclaiming, “The Lord, the Lord, the compassionate and gracious God, slow to anger, abounding in love and faithfulness, … " Exodus 34:6 (NIV)

Choral Conundrums

Choral Conundrums

The swell of the music has crashed over me.  The day is here.  A day that would be considered quite "notable".

Last week, my son came home excited with the paper --- the one to sign up for chorus, requesting that I fill it out, so that he can immediately return it the next day.

My son frequently has a song in his heart.  If music plays that he likes, his body will bounce or move to the beat.  Recently, he was able to go into an electrical cage at a local Science museum, and he bounced his knees to the music as the bolts surrounded him.  He cannot resist the pull of music.  When he plays, he sings made up melodies to himself.  At times, he is found to have a conversation in song.  Like his Dad, he loves music, and even more so, it is embedded in him.

As I have previously written, music can be hard for me.  It is hard for me to NOT see Wayne there, involved, excited, passionate about the music.  It is hard for me to see others stand in his place.

Wayne sang in my ear when we danced our first song at our wedding.  Wayne would sing to our child when he was an infant, and I remember Wayne recording my voice with his on the computer to create a recording of "Amazing Grace".  He could even play and hum a harmonizing tune at the same time through his Euphonium - called multiphonics - a very cool technique.  Sometimes, I feel like I can still hear his voice in Church when the praise band sings, others singing with the same baritone quality to their voices, some of the songs the ones Wayne sang himself from the stage.

He also sang with his students in band when they put their instruments down and they sang the melodies and rhythm instead.  He was not afraid to sing in front of others, and encouraged introverted me to sing with him in a praise band when we were younger.  He had a way of drawing music out of others, with his grace, patience, and love for music.

While I have told my son that I wish his Dad could see him in Chorus, and that he would be proud to know that he is continuing a musical journey, the deeper layers and depths of grief simmer up during this time for me.  I will have to set foot into a concert again, I will see the places where Wayne has stood, surrounded by the beauty of music that for me, can rip through.  I want to find the inner strength to withstand this, for my son, for me, and for Wayne.  It is okay to grieve, to cry, but I hope for the strength to be able to stay put, to be able to listen, to appreciate the beauty of music.

The choral teacher in our school is new to the district, so I knew I had to tell her who we are.  Her open heart, willingness to learn about us, and her support of us on our journey connected our hearts to hers.  It will not be easy, for it never is, but I do know how incredibly proud Wayne is of our son.  And, so am I.

I can envision that in Heaven no one holds back.  The music produced in worship must pour out, without restriction, without grief, without pain, filled with joy.

Wayne is my song, a melody of my heart.  I talk about him to share my love amongst the longing and grief.  My son is my song too, another beautiful melody in my heart.   So even if I cannot sing, or play, or even listen at times, the music is there.  Inside, loving, reminding, and connecting still.

So on this first day of chorus, my son hesitantly stepped into the chorus room, and I simply left him there with a whispered I love you.  I busied myself with work, but in the hallway I could peek through to see him, standing, focusing, trying out the words of the song.  Looking unsure, but trying.  And, me hoping --- hoping he can find and share his song within.

Reflection Verses:

My harp plays sad music, and my flute accompanies those who weep.  (Job 30:31 NLT)

David and all the people of Israel were celebrating before the Lord, singing songs and playing all kinds of musical instruments—lyres, harps, tambourines, castanets, and cymbals.  (2 Samuel 6:5 NLT)

My Summer

My Summer


My summer:

     Missing Wayne.

Camping in a familiar place; Library reading; Chiropractor; Sparklers.

     Missing Wayne.

Bereavement Camp; Friend's cottage; Broken attic fan; Youth soccer, Eye doctor, Physical.

     Missing Wayne.

Beach at the lake; Museum camp; More cottage time; broken tailpipe; Physical therapy; Impossible birthday wish.

     Missing Wayne.

Boiler problems; Massage therapy; Dentist; Amusement parks; Appointments; My wedding anniversary.

     Missing Wayne.

Lesson planning; Urgent care; Crutches; Church camp; Haircuts; Cousin smiles.

     Missing Wayne.

Truck towed twice; Workshops; Financial decisions; Multitasking; Worries.

     Missing Wayne.

Flat tire on camper; Lesson learning; New camping place; Trampoline parks; Overloaded.

     Missing Wayne

Hot air balloons; Hot days; Swing set in the shade; Swimming pools; Friends.

     Missing Wayne.

Kitty cat cuddles; young son snuggles; sleeping in late; Sunsets

     Missing Wayne.

Back to school; Leaves fall; A different busy-ness returns

     Missing Wayne.

What-ifs; Longing; Remembrance; Grief; Grasping onto hope; Sunshine; Butterflies

     Missing Wayne.

Life moves forward; But Wayne is not here with me; Do they notice?

     Missing Wayne.

No length of time; No constraints of space; These will never change my love for him; Missing, Loving; Always thinking of ..

     Wayne.



Reflection Verses:

And may the Lord make your love for one another and for all people grow and overflow, just as our love for you overflows. (1 Thessalonians 3:12 NLT)

We grow weary in our present bodies, and we long to put on our heavenly bodies like new clothing. For we will put on heavenly bodies; we will not be spirits without bodies. While we live in these earthly bodies, we groan and sigh, but it’s not that we want to die and get rid of these bodies that clothe us. Rather, we want to put on our new bodies so that these dying bodies will be swallowed up by life.  (2 Corinthians 5:2-4 NLT)

And endurance develops strength of character, and character strengthens our confident hope of salvation.  (Romans 5:4 NLT)

Becoming a Lefty

Becoming a Lefty

Wayne was my partner, on my team, completing the spaces that I didn't know were there, but now gape wide open.  Wayne was my right hand, the one that knew what to do, how to guide, the strong one.  Now, my right hand is gone, and I must learn how to be a lefty.  I cannot be the same, and must use something different, something that is left.  Using my left arm will make it stronger over time, but it will never be like my missing right arm.

When Wayne died, I was numb and in shock.  Sometimes I read what I posted or wrote in the months after he died - and while I know there is truth in there - I recognize that I was trying to convince myself that I would be alright - and I was trying to convince the world too.  I did and accomplished things in that time that were important but in this season of grief I now no longer have the energy for.  The reality of the world has come at full force, and I simply cannot do it all, and have to accept my limitations at this time.  I cannot be everything that I was once, and I cannot be everything I am meant to be all at once ... yet.

When my son and I are tired or sick, we miss Daddy even more.  Wayne was calm, introspective  and had the ability to think clearly even when tired.  When I am sick myself, tired, or in pain, I tend to feel quite inadequate. When I am awakened in the middle of the night, I can feel like another creature roaming in the dark.  Since Wayne died, I have been roaming quite a bit, hunched over, exhausted, feeling the absence of my teammate. 

Back in the winter months, my son had a cough, no fever, but a very sore throat, as well as being sick to his stomach. Our pediatrician has walk-in hours, so we arose early and headed into the suburbs. We came to find out that he had a bad sinus infection and the post-nasal drip from that was affecting his lungs, causing reactive airway disorder (asthma/tightening in his lungs). 

They brought in the nebulizer, and Adam asked if he was going to be intubated. His perfectly rational question, brought tears to my eyes, because I realize that this young child has seen so much.  We then had to go to get a chest X-ray, and ended up at the facility where Wayne had procedures done as well. I sat in the same chair, hoping to remember and feel the presence of him, as if he were there. I could feel the memories flooding in, and how we sat in the double bench so we could be near each other, instead of separated by an arm rest. 

When it was time for the Xray, I panicked a little when they closed the door and I could not see my son for a long 20 seconds. The Xray was clear - so no pneumonia.  Thus 8 over the counter and prescribed medications, one of them administered every 4 hours, had begun.  I remember being so grateful we were NOT admitted to the hospital, and didn't need an ER visit.  Although we have no control over anything, I have learned to be more grateful even in hard and tiring situations.  

In this past year my son also fell at the local bowling alley, and I felt myself go into a zone.  People watching us would say that I went right into caregiving, calming my son, checking him over, putting an ice pack on his head and arm.  I was hyper focused on him, but there was this piece in my mind that knew I had to take him to the doctor and this inner dread started to build up.  I have dealt with far worse things but going to see the doctor strikes this bit of fear in me - everytime I took Wayne to the ER or hospital he ended up with complications that just further weakened him.  My sister met me at urgent care, and thankfully my son did not have a concussion or broken arm.  She made us and the doctor and nurses laugh, giving me a gift that doesn't come in packages.  

Over the past year, there are others that have done this too - letting me cry on the phone as I talk, sitting with me and listening without words or advice, driving us places, grocery shopping for me, and watching my son so I can be alone - to walk, to go to the cemetery, or to sleep.  I must admit that it takes a lot of energy to have more people on my team, and sometimes I simply prefer to be alone.  It is part of my learning to be a lefty.  Letting others help me, but also being independent, with a huge learning curve, is part of strengthening my left arm.  However, becoming a lefty can be lonely, even amongst the willing people that offer help.  It is because no one can fill that space like Wayne did.  This is not meant to be ungrateful, for I am thankful for support, it is just that it is always different whether people help or whether I am alone.

Our world is a busy one, and I have found myself withdrawing, so that I am protected somewhat from the disappointments and the fragility of people's emotions, mine included, as well as the cares of the earthly world and politics that take place.  Early on after Wayne died, I had this numbness and shock and I was able to do things then that I cannot do now.  I cannot speak in front of large groups of adults without a wavering voice, I may struggle to make eye contact with other adults, my singing voice is muted with tears, and I am weary physically and mentally from constantly putting up a pleasant front, care-taking, and working.

We all have a multitude of responsibilities in life.  Within these responsibilities I take on the roles of mother, sister, child, employee, and I even need to be father-like - these are roles, that I shift between, or carry out at the same time.  The role of widower is placed upon me too, although this is one that I still struggle to accept.  It is a word I cannot bear to hear.  While I can never be my son's father - I can instill the same things in him that Wayne did - reinforcing them, and keeping his memory and legacy active and alive. 

My life with Wayne was very busy - and he was busier than I was.  Now, I find it very hard to do what we did as a family of three and have enough energy left to properly take care of the home or even myself, because I am doing the work that two once shared.  Retirement is very far in the future for me, but I know that God created us for work.  I must admit I now know the daily struggle that single parents may face as they balance each day.  My son comes first, and my goal is for him to feel safe, secure, and loved.  

My back gives me much trouble, and recent events have made it much worse.  I still go out and do things with my son.  Sometimes our extra curricular activities involve going to appointments, but even the simple things, like eating out once in a while is a treat.  Summer is when the bulk of home care and activities take place.

I feel that I used to be incredibly lazy at home.  I am on my feet all day at work, busy mentally and physically.  All I wanted to do was sit in the recliner and put my feet up.  All of my life, I have experienced physical pain and tiredness ... and Wayne stepped in and graciously did more than his fair share of housework for me.  I remember sometimes waiting until the recycling bin toppled and hoping I did not have to take it out.  I would put dishes on the counter instead bending over to put them in the dishwasher.  Even though Wayne stepped in and did these things, which may seem small, I feel this flash of guilt that I just let him, instead of helping.  Now, I must be efficient and precise in order to keep the house in order, and I can see the importance of even taking care of the little things on a daily basis, so they do not become big things by the end of the week.  Wayne taught me that, and I can live it out now.   I am finding and managing the time to get these things done, somehow becoming a stronger lefty.

Wayne was also the chef, meal planner, and grocery shopper in our home.  My skills in the kitchen are very limited, and my son's palate is very limited as well.  In my house cooking means if it's covered with cheese, it's edible.   I avoid buying things in a jar, because I struggle to open them.  I buy food that allows me to prepare it quickly.  We tend to eat the same things over and over, but there is some comfort in the routine of that.  I do not have to think much about what I need to buy or prepare.  It's a treat when we get to eat out because it's finally something different.

Often, I now wake early in the morning to take care of budgeting and housework.  I think about how in the past I would get annoyed with how much time Wayne spent on the computer, but now I realize that he was paying the bills, balancing the budget, and not really doing fun things but was taking care of us.  I wish I had appreciated that more because he took on the worry of such things so that I didn't have to.  It is my hope that as my son grows older that he will be able to help more with the daily housework, but for now, he can be a kid.  For now, he can cook his own mac and cheese in the microwave, hold doors open, set the table, and do some light cleaning.  My left arm is getting stronger, and so is his.

Wayne was my earthly protector.  His presence would ground me, keep me rational, and helped me gain perspective.  Isn't that what a marriage is for?  The person helps balance you out.  So at times, without that balance that I relied so heavily on, I feel disoriented and unsure of myself.  It can feel like I am in two different worlds.  This sense of living in an alternate universe is one that wants to be in the past tinged with the longing to see Wayne again, and the one where I must step forward physically without him.  

I still try to use my right arm.  Sometimes I have moments where I feel like the "old me", which helps shape who I am to be; my foundation.  The old me still works with my left hand.   I will always have a relationship with myself (I am stuck with me!), and I must take care of me too.  In the early months after Wayne's death, I tried to be who he was, but I realize that I can in no way ever be him as much as I try to do that.  I found pronouns like "us", or "we", were a difficult thing to say, because it doesn't refer to Wayne and I in the present anymore, but I realize that Wayne too is holding my left hand, the one that wears our wedding band, and that he is still affecting and changing who I am. 

We still do things, even though I often feel separated from the world.  Sometimes I catch myself distracted from the conversation, the presentations, the activity, and so on - my mind in grief, in memories, or just tired.  Sometimes I startle easily because I am not fully present in the moment.   I also think 'I hope I am acting "normal", like a real person'.  There are moments when I forget my sadness for a while, and I find myself laughing, carrying on a meaningful conversation, or having a moment of peace - feeling fully present in the world.  To be fully alive with grief is not easy, but it can be done.  I try to make plans, and show up and I can accept that whatever I am is okay for that day, or that moment.  I can say that what I am doing can be enough or it is too much. 

Since Wayne's death, there are times that I do not know how to comfort my heavily grieving son.   I grieve the future relationship of father and son.  I can hug him and pray for God to comfort his soul.  I was speechless once, when he said "I have not had any joy inside since Dadda died", tears running down his face, and then hiding under the table.  Over time, bereavement camps and programs, and through conversation, my sweet child is maturing and putting a deeper voice to his feelings and understanding of them.  His grief work is important, valued, and life changing.  In this current season, he is trying new things, feeling confident, and is experiencing joy.

I have a huge responsibility in raising my son, and while they say it takes a village to raise a child, I am learning that I have to bring the village to my child.  I entrust his care to teachers, to programs, to organizations, to friends that have his best interests at heart.  So when I don't necessarily have the energy all of the time, he is still getting experiences that will continue to instill Godly and moral character that shape who he is, from those that are also in his life.

My right hand still grasps air to hold Wayne's, yet there is the gentle tug of God, pulling on my left, lifting me up, guiding me forward.  He has got me in both of His hands.

Reflection Verses:

Give your burdens to the Lord, and He will take care of you.  He will not permit the godly to slip and fall.  Psalm 55:22

God will do this, for He is faithful to do what He says, and He has invited you into partnership with His Son, Jesus Christ our Lord.  1 Corinthians 1:9

But the dove could find no place to land because the water still covered the ground. So it returned to the boat, and Noah held out his hand and drew the dove back inside.  Genesis 8:9

We can make our plans, but the Lord determines our steps.  Proverbs 16:9

Instead, be very glad - for these trials make you partners with Christ in his suffering, so that you will have the wonderful joy of seeing his glory when it is revealed to all the world.  1 Peter 4:13