We let go with hope

I am really struggling with blogging since this shooting.  I keep thinking of funny things to blog about, but it just seems wrong.  I used to work in a theater when I was in high school, and I immediately thought about all the poor teenagers that were undoubtedly working that night.

I keep thinking about those poor people trapped in the dark unable to escape.

I keep thinking about the poor survivors and the long road ahead.

I keep thinking about the poor grieving families.  Losing my dad was so hard, but we didn't lose him to the hands of another.  How would you deal with that?

I keep thinking about the poor emergency personnel who had to go into a terrifying unknown.  The men and women that bravely try to detonate this sick man's apartment.

In a few days, I will be able to blog about Katherine Jackson's apparent kidnap.  But for now, I think about those affected and I think of this song by Steven Curtis Chapman after his daughter was killed.

We hope.



This is not at all how
We thought it was supposed to be
We had so many plans for you
We had so many dreams
And now you've gone away
And left us with the memories of your smile
And nothing we can say
And nothing we can do
Can take away the pain
The pain of losing you, but ...

We can cry with hope
We can say goodbye with hope
'Cause we know our goodbye is not the end, oh no
And we can grieve with hope
'Cause we believe with hope
(There's a place by God's grace)
There's a place where we'll see your face again
We'll see your face again

And never have I known
Anything so hard to understand
And never have I questioned more
The wisdom of God's plan
But through the cloud of tears
I see the Father's smile and say well done
And I imagine you
Where you wanted most to be
Seeing all your dreams come true
'Cause now you're home
And now you're free, and ...

We have this hope as an anchor
'Cause we believe that everything
God promised us is true, so ...

So we can cry with hope
And say goodbye with hope

We wait with hope
And we ache with hope
We hold on with hope
We let go with hope

For Dad

Two years ago, my boss walked into my classroom and changed my life forever when she said "You need to go call your mom.  I'll watch your class."  I asked if it was about my dad and she did this little head wiggle, hesitated and said "...You just need to go call your mom."

My life would never be the same.  I knew it from the way her head wiggled.

The thing is, things were already changing.  In fact, it is safe to say that things in Non-Mommyland had gone from Threat Level Orange to Threat Level Red in a short time.  There I was, a single woman with two college degrees and a miserable life.  I hated where I lived.  A major, major part of my life hurt me more deeply than she'd ever understand.  The people I worked with were ugly and mean.  I was angry and scared with a boss that I felt I couldn't trust.  I felt like my life was wasting away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.  A new job wasn't an option.  I was trapped.  And sinking into a sea of despair.  There I was, a grown woman, and I would leave my parents' house on the weekends bawling at the idea of returning to my job and the town I was living in.

It came to head one day during a math lesson when I went down like an anvil.  By the end of the night, I was in my home, sobbing, unable to breathe, calling my mother and best friend/cousin over and over in hopes that maybe somehow one of them would magically be able to fix it all.

A few weeks later, I became ill with what seemed a normal cold.  Given my high stress levels, my body didn't stand much of a chance.  I contracted H1N1 and became ill very quickly.  I developed bronchitis, pneumonia and laryngitis.  I was too risky to be put in the hospital, so I laid in my bed, alone, for two weeks.  I was the sickest I have ever, ever been.  In fact, one night I laid in my bed, too weak to move and felt like this was it - I really was going to pass away.  After I recovered from the worst of it, the laryngitis lingered for a month.  I was unable to speak and had to teach by writing on the board, using the SmartBoard and typing, or whispering "Tell the class that I said..." into a child's ear.

My spirit was low, as was my body.



A few months later, I woke up in the middle of the night with severe nausea.  By the morning, I was in great pain.  I was able to take a shower, go to the doctor for blood tests, and return to my home in time to find out that I was suffering from appendicitis.  I stood with my forehead against the wall in such intense pain I could hardly see straight.  My parents came as soon as they were able, took me to the hospital, and I had what ended up being a very costly appendectomy.

Can stress cause appendicitis?  Medically speaking, probably not.  Do I attribute it to that?  Yes.

This brings us to a few weeks later when the assistant principal came in and told me to call my mother.  Deep in my soul, I knew.  In fact, I'd just had a dream that he had died.  I woke up worried about what would happen if he died in a hotel room and no one knew.  That weekend, I had gotten out a copy of their will to read it to see what would happen if he died.

So, my father, on a business trip, left his hotel room, went to a Panera Bread for lunch, got his food, opened his laptop, and it was all over as he knew it.

It had been just a typical Wednesday morning.  I'd had no idea that I'd end the day in another state, watching my poor father pass away while muttering "Oh, Dad.  Oh, Dad."



Two years.

I still miss him, incredibly.  But because of his death, so much has changed for me.  I've moved to somewhere that I love.  I've taken a new job.  The new job is a much, much healthier environment for me.  I am making friends that are so funny and nice.  My coworkers are pleasant, friendly and not mean and cold.  I've found a church in my new area, and I love it.

I feel like a new person.  I feel like the woman I used to be.  The woman I was meant to be.  Life is not perfect, no.  Struggles still suck and I'm not naive enough to think I will never go through hard times because I've made changes.  And yet, through the incredible pain, good has come.  Plans were coming together for me long before I could ever see it.  I miss my father every minute of every day.  But his passing gave me the courage, the desire, the opportunity to make life changes.  And I couldn't be happier.  I only wish he could see, and know that I'm ok.

He'd want the best for me.

But really?  He was the best.

I'm Befuddled

I'm easily confused.  I mean, hello, I am a natural blonde.  But there are a few things that I don't understand, and I'm hoping you'll explain the rationale to me.

People leaving their dogs in cars.

I've been noticing that there is an old woman that leaves her dog in her car during church.  The other day, I noticed that there were dogs in a car at the gym, too.  Can people really not leave their dogs for like an hour to go to church or the gym?  What do they do when it's too warm to leave them in the car?  And I doubt they are guard dogs, because these are fluffy little dogs.  What's the deal?

The LOST Liars

I was a huge, huge LOST fan.  The producers promised us that at the end of the show, they wouldn't all be dead.  This led me to religiously watch and analyze each and every episode trying to figure it all out.  Well, and let's be honest.  This guy might have been an incentive to watch, too.

So then we go through six years of the show, and SURPRISE, they're all dead.  What the heck?  Why lie about it?  And then say "Oh, yeah and as soon as the show is over, we won't give interviews either" because you know that everyone will be pissed at you.  Not cool, J.J. Adams and Damon Lindeloff.  Not cool.  And I'm still bitter.

People That Don't Use Their Garage for the Intended Purpose

Now, this issue really doesn't apply to people that live in warm climates.  But I never understand why people fill their garage with crap and then park their cars outside.  Do they like having to get up early and warm up the car?  Do they enjoy having to scrape the windshield every day, or brush off snow?  Why would you opt to do that when you could park your car in a warm, dry room that allows you to not step outside in winter's fury?  Really, if your garage is full of crap, are you using it anyway?  Shouldn't you just toss it and put your cars in the garage instead?

Sucky, Sucky Grief

It's coming up on two years since my dad passed away and I'm suddenly all emotional for no reason!  It's so weird!  You'll be going along mostly fine, pretty much accepting that he's gone forever and then all the sudden you're a soppy mess.  What's the deal?!  How long will this go on?

And finally, NETFLIX.

Netflix, how I loved thee.  For years I've been a member of yours and loved it.  It was affordable, I could get pretty much any movie I wanted, and life was good.  But then, you had to go and screw it all up with your price change, company name change, company name change redaction, and getting all those movie companies to yank their movies from you.  Now, the streaming movies suck and you keep not adding new content.  I'm just waiting and waiting for someone else, like iTunes, to come up with a similar service and then I'm switching for good.  I just don't understand what happened.  You had a total monopoly!  Did you get greedy?  Was it mismanagement?  Whatever it was, I have fond memories but I'm ready to move on from you.  I hope your predecessor will work with my Apple TV.

Not again

Bless you, sweet girls.  I am stunned at the news that you are gone.

Seriously.  No more student deaths, huh?  This teacher's delicate heart can't take any more this year.

I'm a Drip

Yesterday I decided to tackle a leaky faucet.  I have never in my life done anything with plumbing.  I have always had my dad to do things like that.  He loved being Mr. Fixit.  And let's be honest, I loved allowing him to be Mr. Fixit!

So, I followed directions for fixing it, went to the hardware store to get the new part that I needed, and I fixed it.  I was very proud of myself!  I know that my dad would have been very pleased.



I do have to wonder, though, when this grief crap will ever get over.  Going to the hardware store was hard for me.  My entire life, even as an infant, my father took me to the hardware store.  It was his favorite place!  He really believed that you should support the local Mom and Pop hardware stores.  I've spent unknown hours of my life looking at the weird odds and ends in those stores, waiting on my dad.  He'd stand there, staring at the item, thinking about it.  He was a slow thinker.  As I got older, I'd suggest something to him, or he'd ask my opinion about a purchase he was going to make for the house.  He'd stand there, hand on his hip or one finger over his lips, listen to what I'd say, stare at me intently while he visualized what I said, and then say "Yeah, you're right."

So going into the hardware store was difficult.  The smell hit me instantly.  That smell reminds me of my dad.  And his absence.  But, I know he'd be bursting with pride that I did it all by myself.

I wish very much that he was here, and that I could go to the hardware store with him.

Abiite Nemine Salutato

Life is good.  I'm not enjoying the new age group that I work with as much as my preteens, but they are cute and nice (just understand that my entire world at this time is kids picking their scabs and tattling on each other for things like So and So having a Starburst in their pocket).  I LOVE the people I am working with, the entire feel of the building I am working in is so totally the opposite of the Nazi regime that I was working with.  I am very, very blessed.

So, don't take this next part as a sign that I'm all down and out.  I'm not.  But I have to spill some stuff, and you are all the ones that I dump on.  Poor YOU!

Something very sad has happened.  A dear child that I know passed away.   Her name was Krystle. Krystle was a junior in high school last year.  She worked in my classroom every day.  She was a very positive, bright girl.   She would help me with small tasks, work with the kids, and just visit with me. Sometimes she annoyed me a bit because she wanted to talk more than anything, but you know, she's a typical high schooler.  She came to work in my room because her track coach, who I am friends with, connected us.

Now, sorry men, but like a typical man, the coach neglected to tell me some things.  Krystle had to be gone for a little while, but she had done some traveling, so I didn't think about it.  She never mentioned anything else.  Coach Dumbasaboxofrocks didn't say anything.

One day, she came to my room and she looked very pale.  I even mentioned this to my friend the dumb coach.  Did he mention anything critical that I should know at that time?  Noooooo.

At the end of the school year, she came to see me just to visit.  She really hugged me and I remember thinking that she was looking at me oddly, but I just assumed it was because she knew that I was moving away and would miss her senior year.

About a month ago, I got a mass email with her name as the subject line.  I opened it, and it started "As you know, Krystle _________ has been battling cancer and is struggling."  I could have fallen over.  I had NO idea.

I immediately called Coach Dumbasaboxofrocks and was like "Um, HELLO?!??!?! She has cancer?????"  He was like "Oh, I thought you knew."  I was like "COACH!! Are you kidding me??"  So he told me that Krystle had been diagnosed with ovarian cancer at age 15.  At the end of April/early May she began having abdominal pain.  The ovarian cancer was back, but it was also everywhere.  She'd been going through treatment when she was gone from school.

A few nights ago, Coach called me back.  Krystle passed away this past week.  I'm so relieved that her suffering is over, but I was upset all night long.  It will never be easy to accept the death of any human, especially one so young.  But irrationally, I was so upset because I had no idea she was sick.  I don't know how I didn't know, but I didn't.  I'm so upset that she was going through this without any support from me.  And my head KNOWS that she would have told me if she had wanted me to know.  My head KNOWS that she probably could tell that I didn't know and was relieved to come to my room each day and not be treated differently.  But my heart is so heavy that she came to me at the end of May, knowing she was going to die, and I didn't even acknowledge what she was going through.  I'm sick about it.

It was my honor to be a part of her last year of life, and that she knew I loved her and enjoyed being around her not just because of her cancer.  There was no pity.  It also speaks very highly of her that she didn't tell me, and still worked hard to live life as normally, and fully as possible.

I've been on the verge of tears all weekend. This is also bringing up some major emotion tied to my father's death.  I miss him terribly.  We had to watch a movie about the importance of father's in the home and school, and I was on the verge of losing it.

I can't believe I never knew she was dying.  My heart is very, very heavy.

Gracias, Pedro

I just learned of the death of a great man, and one that was extremely influential in my life.  Today, Pedro Hernandez passed away after many years with illness.  Pedro and his wife Donie are instrumental in forming a children's home and ministry for orphaned/abandoned/neglected children in the Guatemala City, Guatemala area.  Their ministry is called Casa Bernabe.  I first met Pedro in the year 2000 when I traveled to Guatemala to care for orphans.  I thought I was going for a few weeks of fun with adorable kids and travel in a beautiful, beautiful country.  When I stepped off that airplane and onto Guatemalan soil, I had no idea how my life would change.

To inadequately explain it, I fell in love.  Big time.  Pedro and Donie put all of their time, finances and lives on the line to create homes for children who were absolutely desperate.  These are children that have been prostituted.  They have been pulled from a dump, buried alive in garbage.  These children have been abused in every way possible and sniff glue to stave off hunger pains.  These are not children that are easy to love, and yet you can't help but love them.

Pedro and Donie created a safe place for children to be loved and cared for.  Pedro was so much fun!  He had an incredible zest for life and was always laughing.  When he would come in, the children would  flock to him, hanging on him and playing with him.  Pedro was officially a father to several children as it was, but he was also a dad to hundreds of children that would never legally belong to him.

As soon as it was time for me to leave, I knew I had to return.  I had to return as SOON AS POSSIBLE.  As in, like 10 minutes ago.  A few months later I went back for a three month stay.  I learned so much from Pedro about being selfless, using humor to break down barriers, and using love as your greatest resource to make a difference in the life of others.

It all seems so far away and so foreign now.  I spent extended time in a third world country with people I didn't know?  I was fluent enough in Spanish to be the only translator for a group of dumb Americans, Brits and Canadians?  I stayed somewhere that required me to know, intimately well, the Spanish words for lice and fleas?  I washed my clothes using a garden hose?  I could tell when the local volcano was going to erupt because of earthquakes?  For extended periods of time, I took showers without getting water in my eyes or mouth, and never flushed toilet paper?  ME??

And yet, when I think about it, or talk about it, a flood of emotions so deep and overwhelming crush me to my core.  It's hard for me to talk about, because it was such an important part of my life.  Sure, I love speaking Spanish and was completely fluent at that time.  Yes, I enjoyed teaching orphans in a private school.  Of course, I LOVED Guatemala - the color, the food, the sweet people.  But that wasn't what was so incredible for me.  It was the children.

Just writing this makes me bawl.  Even after all of these years, I still cry thinking about the children.  It was my honor to care for them.  I loved every minute of it.  These poor children have nothing.  They are beautiful inside and out.  Life has dished out the crappiest things possible for them, and yet so many of them were so very grateful for what little they had.  They constantly would seek your attention.  I used to spend quite a bit of time watching a group of boys roller skate.  They would purposely crash and come to me to bandage them up, just because they wanted attention (of course I was more than happy to oblige!).  One little boy called me Mami.  I would always correct him, but I loved it.  Shortly before I left for good, we took the children to a water park and one of my little shadows, William, sat down beside me.  He leaned against me, very tired.  Instead of going to play with the others, he eventually made it to my lap and dozed off.  I let him sleep in my lap for an hour, a big 9 year old boy.  As I traced his hairline with my finger, his eyes fluttered open.  He reached up, put his hand on my cheek and said "Please don't leave me."

My heart burst into a thousand pieces.

I wish I could tell you more, but I can't honestly bear to think about it.

In the end, I chose to make my career a priority back home and leave that part of my life behind.  I would be lying if I didn't admit that I regret that a tiny bit every day.  For months I grieved after I left there.  I think that leaving behind those precious children was almost like a death to me.  When I see pictures of the children today, I can still tell you so much about each of the kids.  They have never left me, even though I left them.  Time has not healed that wound, at all.  I still get very upset when I think about that part of my life and that it's "over."  It is so odd.  Part of me wishes I could just live there full time.  Part of me wants to be here.  None of it would have been possible if it weren't for Pedro and his tenacity.   Casa Bernabe has changed dramatically since I was there.  They had very few resources, and lived in some pretty sad conditions.  But it still provided the children with at least two meals a day and shelter.  Today, Casa Bernabe is extremely developed and nice.  It is giving children with few chances a big step forward in their lives.

I'm happy for Pedro, because his suffering is over and I know that he's so happy to be with children who were sick and passed away while at Casa Bernabe.  He had such a heart for children and it would crush him to not be able to do more for the children.

Thank you, Pedro, for all you did for the children, and for the opportunities that you gave me to grow and learn more about myself.  Thank you for showing me how amazing adoption can be, and for planting a seed in my life for a family of my own.  Thanks for all the dinners at your house, and for driving me all over creation showing me your beautiful country.

Te exrano.

Argh

I went to an outdoor wedding last night.  The bride was a young girl that used to be a part of my life, and I loved her!  She worked in my classroom as a teenager, and I even spent a weekend with her and her siblings while her parents were out of town.

The wedding was lovely, but it was hot.  All was going along smoothly.  The bridesmaids came down the aisle, and then here came the bride, escorted by her father.

BAM.

I started blubbering like an idiot.  I'd like to blame it on the heat, or that this girl is special to me, or that I'm upset because yet another young person from my life is getting married and I am still not.  But it was about my dad.  All I could think about was getting married without my dad, and how hard that will be.  I kept thinking about the fact that some day I will get married to someone who will never even have known my father, and that kills me.  It will be the longest, loneliest walk down that aisle for me, but I wouldn't want any other person to take me down the aisle.  There's only one person that belongs in that spot.

It's been a year and four months.  So much has changed since then.  In pretty much every aspect of my life, I am happier than I was a year and four months ago, which sounds very odd to say because my dad was my world.  But I know that he's happy that I am happy.  It's still very odd to think that I will never see him again.

I dream about him almost every single night.  When I used to dream about him, the dreams would be me looking for him, or talking on the phone to him and not being able to see him, or I'd be sobbing in my dreams and wake up sobbing.  Now, though, I dream about him every night and they are just normal dreams.  I treasure them because I hear his voice and see him again.  I hope they never, ever stop.

Grief is very weird.

And, I miss him.

Thank You

He didn't die while in the service, but he died very proud to be a veteran. More importantly, he died being an incredible father, which is a service, to me, more important than anything.

I miss him so much.

One Year Later

In the past year, a lot has happened to me.  All the small things seem insignificant compared to the loss of my beloved father.  As the year mark of his passing approaches, I wanted to document a few of my thoughts and feelings.  Going through the grief process is incredibly wild - exhausting, frustrating, uplifting, and blessed all rolled into one.  While my intention for this blog is to remain generally lighthearted, I think it is important to not only document these life changes, but also to help others going through the same thing.  No one grieves in the same way, but maybe something I've experienced can help you.

If you're wanting something less serious, skip this post.  As I write more entries about grief, you will be able to locate them at the top under "Non-Mommy Gets Serious."


It's been a little over a year since I unexpectedly lost my dear father.  I wanted to write about it on the anniversary of his death, but the week of the anniversary of his death was extremely difficult for me.  I think that I cried more that week than I had the past year.


The past year has just been surreal.  It's really odd to understand that someone you love is really and truly gone.  The reality sets in.  If you're walking through a journey of grief, you may be wondering what it is like a year later.


First of all, you cry less.  You still cry, but not as often.  I find that on days where I am very stressed or tired, I think about him more and become emotional.  A year later, you find that little things catch you completely off guard, and sometimes, they will make you cry.  Recently, I was in church and a song my father sang often was played.  I've heard it a thousand times, but I started bawling like a baby (even though in just a few minutes, I would have to go up in front of everyone!).  


I also had an odd experience recently.  I noticed that someone was staring at me.  I had no idea who she was.  She finally approached me, and asked who my parents were.  I told her, and she smiled broadly.  She grew up on a farm near my father and attended a one room school house with him.  She recognized his face in mine.  It was difficult to swallow the lump in my throat.


One year later, I dream about him a lot more.  I remember, vividly, the first time he was in one of my dreams.  I saw him, and I couldn't stop crying because I was so happy to see him.  I didn't tell him that I was crying because he was dead, and he didn't ask.  I just remember sobbing with joy.  Later, I had dreams where I would be speaking to him on the phone and I'd ask him where he was.  He'd never answer, just say "It's three o'clock.  I have to go."  Someone later asked me if 3:00 meant something, but I don't think it does.  Now, a year afterwards, I dream about him fairly regularly, but it's not me searching for him, or crying as much.


I still think that I see him, occasionally, but not often.  This makes me sad in a way, because it's like I am accepting that he's really gone.  It almost makes me feel guilty somehow, but I couldn't tell you why.  Every once in a while, though, I'll see a man that looks like him and I catch my breath.


It is easier to talk about him a year later.  It used to be that talking about him would send me into a very sad state, but now I can speak about him without crying (for the most part - although I am crying typing this).  I still refer to him as alive every now and then, but less than I used to.  Again, this makes me incredibly sad and feel guilty.  


It's been one year and I have about the same amount of desire to visit his grave as I did when he was buried - none.  I don't know why, but I don't really care to go to his grave.  It doesn't feel like I'm visiting him when I am there.  In fact, I think I've been there maybe twice since he passed away.  Sorry, Dad, but you're not there, and I don't really want to hang around your headstone.


I have to take a moment to brag on my mother, too.  My mother has been incredibly strong.  I am so proud of her.  I cannot imagine having to live her life without my dad.  But she is moving forward, finding a path that works for her, and I am daily amazed by her ability to keep going.  If my father were here, he would literally be crying and telling her how very proud of her he is.  Well deserved praise indeed.


A year later, I have found that I have made it.  Even as an adult, I could not possibly imagine how I could live without one of my parents.  Now, I've done it.  It's not perfect, but I made it.  You can't expect everything to be ok.  It will NEVER be the same, and I still have to face a very sad prospect of life without my father.  It is still going to hurt, and you wish that everyone could keep his memory alive forever, but by God's grace, you will make it through. 


A year later and I still would absolutely love to hear his voice one more time.  I'd love to have him hug me so tightly, smelling like soap and toothpaste.  I wish he were here to give me a hard time about owning a Mac, or about how messy my car is, or telling me corny jokes.  One year down, how many more to go?


(I'm listening to this song very, very often right now.  Reminds me of him.  About three minutes in, it really gets to me.)

Happy Birthday, Buddy

Dear Former Baby,

Three years ago tonight, you were born.  It was a cold and rainy night, and, typical of your personality, even your birth was on your own terms and rather long and drawn out.  Late that night, your hot uncle (Hunkle, I like to call him) and I went into the nursery with your mom and dad to meet you.  You were so cute.  Just a little blonde squishy ball.  You also looked just like your grandpa.  I had no idea that night how much you would change our lives.

Aunt Non-Mommy, why are you taking pictures of me at 3 a.m.?

I will admit it.  I was upset when I heard that you were coming.  It wasn't you that I was upset about.  I was upset that it wasn't me having the baby.  Being single and childless hasn't been easy on your old aunt.  But then I saw you and my heart melted - that is WHEN I could get my hands on you.  Your grandparents liked to hog you!

When you were born, I was very busy in grad school.  I was working full time, completing a full time internship, and taking night classes.  My time was very limited.  Your parents were very tired, so I offered to spend the night and take the night shift with you a few times.  You were such a sweet boy.  You didn't cry much.  You were wide awake all through the night.  We spent hours upon hours just staring at one another.  With you snuggled on my chest, making those precious baby noises, I fell completely in love with you.  Those nights together are very special to me.

As you have grown, you have developed such a fun personality.  Being an aunt has been so much fun!  I love drawing and writing with you.  You are completely obsessed with swimming pools.  That makes me so happy!  When you were an infant, I used to make you practice your swim strokes.  I look forward to years of going to the pool together.  I like to wrestle with you and teach you things that are slightly naughty.

Former Baby, in your very short time, you have been through quite a bit.  When your grandpa passed away unexpectedly, it rocked all of our worlds.  Your grandfather was completely crazy about you.  You were such a joy to him in his last two years here on earth.  When he passed away, everything changed.  It made us so sad when you wandered around the house looking for your grandpa.  Yet, even in the midst of such turmoil and chaos, you helped keep us all going.  You kept us laughing and gave us hope.

Recently, you were playing in my house when you suddenly stopped and said (completely out of the blue) "Where is Grandpa?"  It has been a year since he passed away, and you are so little.  I was completely taken aback, but I simply looked at you and said "He's in Heaven."  You were satisfied, and went back to playing.  Where did that question come from?  It makes me very sad to know that you will never remember him, so I want you to know how very much he loved you.  You were his special boy.

Life with you is so precious and fun.  I never dreamed that I'd have a nephew that I would see so often, and be able to do things with all of the time.  The time we spend together is very important to me.  Some day, you will be taller than me.  You will be too old for me to hug and kiss all of the time.  You won't want to go swimming with me.  You won't want to sit down and play.  But I hope you know that I will always be there for you, whether you like it or not.

Stick with me, kid.  We'll always be a team.

Happy birthday.

Things I'd Rather Do

I don't get it.  Really.  When I watch football, I am not paying attention in the least.  I like parties as long as there are other people for me to talk to.  Pro games are kind of fun, only because there are more interesting things to watch.  I hate going to high school football games.  You are either frying like an egg on a hot metal bleacher, or you are frozen to the metal bleacher, hoping that hot chocolate will thaw you out enough to get you to the car.  The only good thing about football is visiting with people.  That's it.  So, I present to you:

Things I Would Rather Do Than Watch Football


Shave my legs

Get my teeth cleaned (maybe even a filling, that's how much I don't like it!)

Do my taxes

Put away clean laundry (does anyone else not like doing this?)

Listen to my crazy grandfather rant about how most people in this world are going to hell

Break down all the boxes I need to take to the recycling center

Cross stitch

The infamous "Well-Woman Exam"  (hey, I'd rather just get it over with, unlike a football game which can go on forever and forever and forever)

Things That Helped

In the past year, a lot has happened to me.  All the small things seem insignificant compared to the loss of my beloved father.  As the year mark of his passing approaches, I wanted to document a few of my thoughts and feelings.  Going through the grief process is incredibly wild - exhausting, frustrating, uplifting, and blessed all rolled into one.  While my intention for this blog is to remain generally lighthearted, I think it is important to not only document these life changes, but also to help others going through the same thing.  No one grieves in the same way, but maybe something I've experienced can help you.

If you're wanting something less serious, skip this post.  As I write more entries about grief, you will be able to locate them at the top under "Non-Mommy Gets Serious."


The unexpected death of my father was really a culminating activity of my very own "annus horribilius."  If I told you everything that happened, you'd think I was lying.  So not only was I reeling from the death of my father, with whom I was very close, but I was also challenged both physically, emotionally, and spiritually.  Nothing can make grief, or life suckiness, go completely away.  However, a few things really helped me keep going, or lifted my spirits.  Here are some of my "must haves" for going through a rough time.


1.  Ann Taylor Loft

I don't know what came over me.  Truly.  One minute, I was a hesitant, cheap shopper.  The next moment I'm burying my dad and burning through my future children's inheritance one sparkly shirt at a time.  Truly.  OK, I didn't turn into a total spend-a-holic, but man oh man, did I ever replace like my entire wardrobe with clothing that really pushes my public educator budget.  But you know what?  It made me feel good, and gave me a little extra confidence.  I never spent more than I had, and dang, I looked good, too!


2.  Phil Wickham

I had never even heard of Phil Wickham before my dad died.  I was sitting in church and this most incredible song was performed.  My mother and I were together, and we both cried.  I immediately went and looked up this album and was it ever worth the money.  Seriously.  This is a Christian artist who has an entire album devoted to Heaven.  It is completely inspiring, gorgeous, and therapeutic.  This would be a great gift for someone that is grieving.


3.  Steven Curtis Chapman

While I'd never been a huge fan of his music, I was aware of Steven Curtis Chapman.  More specifically, I was very aware of his work assisting families in adoption.  I was also aware that a few years ago his daughter Maria was killed in a tragic accident in their driveway.  When an opportunity arose to see Steven Curtis Chapman in person, I went because I'm a celeb-a-holic.  I was completely amazed at the ministry that he and his wife have created to help people deal with grief.  It was awesome.  I also purchased his album.  While I'm not crazy about all of the songs, I have listened to "Spring is Coming" about a bajillion times, as well as "Beauty Will Rise" and "Yours."  Very helpful.


4.  Boxes of Trader Joe's goodies.

I'm a huge fan of Trader Joe's, but there is not one close to my house (HINT HINT, TRADER JOE'S!).  A very dear friend has taken some time to randomly mail me boxes of Trader Joe's goodness.  Somehow, these packages always come just when I am needing a lift, and the fun of pulling out boxes of weird (yet wonderful!) items that I can't get is more fun than Christmas.


5.  Lots of time in the sun and swimming.

As a former Albino (just kidding), I avoid the sun as much as possible.  I want to love the sun, but the sun won't love me back.  This means that I typically am extremely well covered when outdoors.  This summer, however, I spent a lot of time outside in the pool.  I'm very self-conscious, and don't want to blind anyone with my pasty whiteness, but I truly believe that being in the sun was VERY good for me.  Being in the pool and getting regular sunshine "healed" me faster than anything else could.  I truly believe that.  This summer, I plan to take out stock in the sunscreen industry.  Who knows, I could become a billionaire!


6.  Lots of time with a two year old

I am so fortunate that my job gives me summer breaks.  This summer, I was fortunate enough to spend a tremendous amount of time with my two year old nephew, Former Baby.  Being with a child is beyond therapeutic.  When I needed a hug or a cuddle, there was a little blonde guy to do it.  When I needed to laugh, the little blonde guy was there to crack me up.  His presence allowed me to slow down and just be.


8.  Just saying "NO!"

I am an extreme people pleaser.  I will typically do whatever anyone wants, so long as they are happy.  This isn't very healthy for me, but it's something I struggle with.  After my dad died, I felt much better about saying no to things.  It's good for others to step up to the plate at work, and it's good for my own personal needs as well.  Saying no helped me realize that not everything will crash down if I don't do it myself.


9.  Making a book on Blurb.

I knew that I wanted to make something special in honor of my father, so I decided to make a book about his life.  This began a very lengthy project involving scanning about a billion pictures and creating a book that took on a life of its own.  I knew that I wanted to make one for my mother and sister, and I wanted to do it well.  In the end, the book became quite large and costly, but it was worth every single penny.  Making that book, putting down family memories on paper, and celebrating the life of my wonderful father was awesome.  I can't put into words how much fun I had with this.  I was sad when it was done (and sad I'd made it so big that I couldn't afford to send copies to everyone he knew!).  


10.  Spending lots of time with family.

After my father's passing, all I wanted to do was be with my mother and sister.  In fact, I went back to my parents' house every weekend after he died for four months.  It was just a safe and comfortable place to be.  It was really hard to explain to people that I felt like I needed to "withdraw" in a sense and just be with my family, but it was (and still is, to some extent) what I needed to do.  It may not make sense, but that's what needed to happen.  The cool thing about being together is that we all fall apart at different times, and are there to clean up after one another.  His death has brought us all closer, and I know he'd be pleased.

Things You Won't Know Until You're There

In the past year, a lot has happened to me.  All the small things seem insignificant compared to the loss of my beloved father.  As the year mark of his passing approaches, I wanted to document a few of my thoughts and feelings.  Going through the grief process is incredibly wild - exhausting, frustrating, uplifting, and blessed all rolled into one.  While my intention for this blog is to remain generally lighthearted, I think it is important to not only document these life changes, but also to help others going through the same thing.  No one grieves in the same way, but maybe something I've experienced can help you.

If you're wanting something less serious, skip this post.  As I write more entries about grief, you will be able to locate them at the top under "Non-Mommy Gets Serious."

Losing my dad was hard.  Really, really hard.  His unexpected death was the closest death of a loved one that I have experienced.  Everyone grieves in different ways, but looking back, these are some of the things that I never knew about grief, and now wish I had always known to support others during a time of loss.

When you watch someone die, it can be very difficult to replace the images of their dead body with healthy memories.  Watching my father pass away was an experience I would never miss, but I'll be honest.  It's taken months and months for me to not think of his body as a yellow shell.  I also replay his death in my mind over and over.  Watching him struggle to breathe was hard.  I remember it less now, but it's there still.

Watching death is not scary.  It isn't pleasant, it's not pretty, but when you love someone, you simply want them to be comfortable.  It's sad.  It's a...very unique experience.  And, was I ever bummed that after I watched him pass away, I couldn't see thestrals (Harry Potter geek alert!).

Wow, do you ever get hugged a lot.  This is a tough situation.  When you see someone suffering, you want to give them a hug.  And I so appreciated the hugs and comfort.  But it can be wearing as well.  During my father's visitation, I was hugged approximately 500 times (literally).  Then the funeral.  Then the return to work.  It got to the point that if one more person wanted to hug me, or turn their head to the side and look at me with pity, I thought I was going to scream.  It's a fine line.

Food, food, food.  After my father passed away, we had truckloads and truckloads of food delivered to our home.  It was amazing.  There was so much that we never could have eaten it all.  And since his death was near Easter, we received at least one ham meal a day for seven days.  It is so touching that people want to provide for you during your time of loss, but think about other things besides food.  Great items to donate could be a roll of stamps for thank you cards, paper items such as toilet paper, paper plates, and napkins, or other things to help the person deal with the constant stream of visitors and family.

People want to help you.  Every single person that gave me a hug, or talked to me after his death, asked me "Is there anything I can do to help you?" or "Call me if you need anything." What a kind thing!  I will say, though, that asking at such an emotional time for you to tell them if you need anything can really put people on the spot.  It's fine to offer to help, but try to think about them a few weeks later, when things have settled down and the grieving person knows more about what they need help with.  During this time, I literally heard God say to me "Let people help you.  They want to do something, and you need help."  That was not an easy thing for me to do.  However, I see that this was actually a healthy decision for me to make, and that I should let people help more often, no matter the circumstance.  The truth is that everyone can help you in such different ways.  Maybe you have a friend who will listen to you cry.  Another friend will help you sort through the person's things.  Another friend will send you random gifts, even up to a year after, that just brighten your spirit.  Let them help you.

Physical reactions happen.  When I first arrived at the hospital to find my dad on life support, I was very sick to my stomach.  I sat there, thinking "This isn't happening" and willing myself not to vomit.  After he passed, the next few days (and maybe even weeks) were literally a blur.  I truthfully was so fuzzy in the head.  I couldn't remember anything.  I wasn't crying all the time, but I'll be darned if I could even remember all of my students' names.  Give people a wide berth and some understanding at this time.  They may not be fuzzy headed.  They may be crying all the time.  Angry.  Cutting others off.  Give them time.

Don't ask if they were close.  I got so, so sick of this.  Everyone would ask "Were you close to your dad?"  As if death is less painful if you weren't close.  Just assume, regardless of the situation, that the loss of an important person is painful, no matter what.  Also, try to be cognizant of saying things like "I'm not close to my dad, but I can't IMAGINE losing my mother!"  It makes the person feel like their loss is less important, or like you really don't know pain until you lose your mother.  Just think before you speak.

Heaven talk.  About a billion people must have told me things like "Your dad is up in Heaven, right now, riding a motorcycle and telling jokes."  Again, they mean so well.  I do appreciate it.  But it doesn't really help you feel any better.  I know without a doubt in my mind where my father is, that he is in a much better place and happier than I can understand, and I don't wish him back.  But for me, I'd rather people just be honest and be like "Dude, this completely sucks.  Even when you know that he's in a better place, it doesn't change the fact that death is painful and changes everything."  Or cry with them.  Don't try to sugar coat it.

Grief is very, very weird.  One minute you'll be going along totally fine, not thinking about it at all, and the next minute you're a total wreck because of something silly like needing your tires rotated.  It's up and down, constantly.  Also, it makes people feel uncomfortable, so they won't talk to you about the death, but truthfully?  My sister and I both noted that we wanted to talk about it.  We wanted to tell the story.  We wanted to talk about him, and his last moments.  It's hard to not talk about something that is so life changing.  But I get that people don't want to upset you, or don't feel like they know what to say.

Finally, death is a blessing.  It truly is.  It completely hurts, it messes you up, but there are so many positives along with the negatives.  I can look back and see very clearly that God was preparing us for this loss.  I can see some truly beautiful things that have happened as a result of my dad's death.  I have a greater sense of what God is doing in my life, and that small things are trivial.  It isn't something that I want to go through again, but the reality is that I will.  The other reality is that you have to choose to see the beautiful things, and move forward.

We were built to carry on, and we do.

Life After Death

In the past year, a lot has happened to me.  All the small things seem insignificant compared to the loss of my beloved father.  As the year mark of his passing approaches, I wanted to document a few of my thoughts and feelings.  Going through the grief process is incredibly wild - exhausting, frustrating, uplifting, and blessed all rolled into one.  While my intention for this blog is to remain generally lighthearted, I think it is important to not only document these life changes, but also to help others going through the same thing.  No one grieves in the same way, but maybe something I've experienced can help you.

If you're wanting something less serious, skip this post.  As I write more entries about grief, you will be able to locate them at the top under "Non-Mommy Gets Serious."

(Taken from my personal diary, March 2010)

You know, twelve days ago my whole world turned upside down.  Twelve days ago, I became fatherless, and my mother, who has always had my father in her life, became a widow.

I went on autopilot.  My head was very unclear.  I couldn't concentrate.  I couldn't stop worrying about if my dad knew that I loved him enough.  I couldn't stop sleeping.  And then the strangest thing has happened.

I'm going to be ok.  I have peace right now.

Don't get me wrong.  I know that this is still very early.  I know this will never be easy.  I know things may get more tough.  But right now, I have a peace that is very comforting.  It helps that I have this week off and can just rest.  I'm so thankful for this time to rest and recharge.  The day of the funeral, I was washing my hair, and I could hear my grandpa's voice saying "You're a Farfenugenleiderhosen [not my family's real name, but close haha].  Buck up."  So very German and Finnish of him.  And then a friend told me that we were built to carry on, and we do.  I needed to be reminded of that.

I also have the comfort of my faith, and knowing that in retrospect, this all happened in ways that only God could have ordained.  There are so, so many things to be thankful for.  You know, since September my health has gone to total crap.  I passed out at school and had to go through lots of tests.  And stay with my parents.  I got Swine Flu, pneumonia and bronchitis.  And my dad came to stay with me.  I had to have an emergency appendectomy.  And had to stay with my parents.  How lucky am I that even through all these horrible life crappy events I was able to be with my dad?

I talked to my dad almost daily on the phone.

The weekend before he died I spent the weekend with him and we laughed and had a great time.

I had just eaten lunch with him two days before.

The last thing I told him ever was that I loved him.

He recently drove through my town and left me a note in my mailbox that said "Missed You.  Love, Dad."

Two days before he died, my sister and I both had thoughts that he was going to die.  I dreamed he would die in his hotel room and no one would know.  My dad left his hotel room and then died.  He didn't die while driving, thank God.

He died in a place far away so that now my mother never has to drive by where he died and relive that.

He never knew what happened.  One minute he was eating a contraband bagel and the next, hello Jesus!

I was able to watch his body stop fighting, and as sad as that was, I'm so very thankful to have had that experience.

I have been absolutely surrounded with love and support.

There is so very much to be thankful for.  Even more than this.  I'm still worried about my mother, and her finances.  I'm still unsure what to do about my job situation.  But I know that I can take it one step at a time, and everything will be ok.  In the next few days, many things need to be accomplished:  my parents' taxes need to be done, we need to sell his motorcycle, sell a car, and a whole workshop full of tools and saws that I don't even know the names of.  But I also have the luxury of being able to snuggle with a little blonde nephew whenever I need to, and to go to bed whenever I need to.  I don't have to think about my job.  I don't have to do much of anything.  My dad is in a better place, and he would want me to carry on.

We were built to carry on, and we do.