Just Because

Three times today kids mentioned me blogging.  Why?  Because even though I said I would, I haven't (much), so here it is kids...  The updated blog post.

Today is Memorial Day.  I have so much admiration in my heart for the men and women who serve our country.  I also can't think of this day without remembering the family members we love and miss.

A friend said on facebook today that she was thankful not only for those who served and loved their country, but also for those who served and loved their families.  I loved that.  I struggle to convey the meaning of this day in honoring our military, but also in honoring all our loved ones who have died, and that said it perfectly.  Thank heaven for those who serve and love their families.

Of course today found us in Cedar Fort.  Joie worked hard over the weekend on a few crafts she wanted to take out there for the graves.  One idea was three painted bottles that were supposed to be topped with solar lights to light up the graves at night.  (I think her mom, who loved cute things, and her dad, the geek, would have both been proud.)  However, we didn't find solar lights to fit the tops of the bottles, so maybe later...  (But probably not...long story.)

She also made this whirly-gig wind chime.  She tied all the spoons on the paper plate, and painted them...pretty cute, Joie!  As soon as we hung it up, it started spinning.  (Probably Audrey having some fun.)

When we arrived, the cemetery was full of people.  It looked like a Memorial Day program was just finishing up.  The Cedar Fort cemetery is a small town cemetery, and everyone seemed to know everyone else...except us.  So we walked quietly in and set up Joie's hand made wind chime.

After only being there for a minute, a man approached us.  He showed us where the grass was dying from having snow sit on it so long in the spring, then told us that he has been taking care of these graves, and trying to get the grass to grow back.

Cedar Fort cemetery is not maintained by anyone except the families whose loved ones are buried there.  We're pretty free to put what we want on or near the graves, and there is a lot of variety as you walk through the cemetery.  After Ruth, Nick, and Audrey died, the graves had no sod or anything growing around them.  We weren't sure what we'd do to the graves (some there are sodded, and some are not).  Sod sounded great, but we were so overwhelmed with all the other details of Joie's life and loss, and the estate that we couldn't even think about it then.  

We noticed, though, that each time we went to Cedar Fort, there was something new or different by the graves.  One day we arrived to find the graves sodded.  We asked around, but couldn't find out who did it.  

Over the years, we've seen people leave a lot of things at the graves.  We know we aren't the only ones who loved Ruth, Nick, and Audrey, but we haven't known who it is that cares so much for the graves.  Or who waters the grass.  (There isn't a sprinkling system out there.)  Sometimes we've seen signs and cards posted, and flowers.  Once we even got there to find some solar lights in the ground next to the graves.  

Mostly, we've wanted to thank the person caring for their graves.  Then today, there he was, standing in front of us.  We introduced ourselves, and I'm pretty sure he didn't think that was really Joie standing there in front of him.  Instantly, I was thanking him, and told him we didn't know all this time who had been caring for these graves, but deeply appreciated his generosity.  He made it sound like it wasn't a big deal, but he cared so much about the grass, and how it was growing, and the graves, we knew that this was more to him.  

He kept minimizing what he's done there, telling us how he just took care of the graves because he knew what happened, and because the graves were next to his family's graves.  He told us how he met my mom and dad once when they were out there, but in all these years, our paths hadn't crossed.  The next thing he said was kind of funny.  "Who put up those solar lights?" he asked us.  Then without pausing for an answer, he said, "They sure are a pain to mow around."  Of course we didn't know how they got there, but we took them down for him.  

He came and went, talking to us, and to other people he would see and want to go talk to.  His wife stood beside us the whole time, and commented on how beautiful and amazing Joie was, and how she couldn't believe this was the same little girl.  A few times we all shared tears.  People are amazing.  I'm so thankful they've been there...our own little cemetery gardner and guardian angel for the graves of our loved ones.

Today I really am thankful for all those who serve...  No act of service is small.  Maybe it was "just because" we were next to his family's graves, or because he'd heard what happened and somehow wanted to help out, or because he has a kind heart.  Either way, he has given care in ways we couldn't, during times our hearts were too burdened to even make a small decision like when and how to sod graves.  Heroes like him need medals too.

Last Dance

I needed a reason to kick start me into blogging again, and trying to find a way to pay tribute to this adorable couple has done it for me.

Meet Ross and Darlene Moser, parents to my brother's wife, Melissa.  The first time I met them was at Ben and Melissa's wedding, and I will never forget this soft hearted dad shedding real tears as he talked about his baby girl marrying my brother.  

Over the years, as we've spent time with their family during family events, I've come to love this family of in-laws.  I'm not sure I know any of my other in-laws the way I know the Mosers, and that's because they want to be known.  They're genuine and real...and really fun, the kind of people you just feel comfortable around.  

Last year we were all sad to hear that Melissa's dad had been diagnosed with cancer in his foot, but it was unimaginable when, only a few months later, Melissa shared the news that her mom had cancer as well. Over their months of fighting cancer, I'd laugh and cry as I read Melissa's email updates...which were just as real as her family.

But the one thing that always stood out to me in Melissa's emails was the spirit of living life her parents continued to embrace.  Even on days when it seemed her parents felt their worst, there were memories being made with children and grand children.

A few months ago, Melissa sent out an email with the above picture attached.  (By that point, I'd learned to read Melissa's emails with tissue in hand.)  Of course the story behind this picture brought tears, but as always, Melissa's description had me smiling as well.  The family was having what her parents thought was a surprise party for her brother.  In Melissa's words, "As we were walking down the hall the band started to play.  It was awesome!  My Dad was really excited!  He kicked off his shoes (he didn't have his dancing shoes, so socks were better) and grabbed Mom and started dancing."

Melissa then described how, for the next hour as the band played, she and her siblings took turns dancing with their parents.

That was Ross and Darlene's last dance together.  Darlene passed away in January, and just yesterday, two months after his wife had died, Ross passed away as well.  It's bittersweet to think of them dancing together in each other's arms once again.  

When this picture popped up again on facebook yesterday, my mind filled with memories of times we spent with the Mosers, and how comfortable it always was to just sit and talk to Melissa's mom about anything...or nothing...or everything.  It just didn't seem like words or a card or flowers could honor the memory of this life-filled, love-filled family, and the battle they've been through this past year.

Then it hit me...  Random Acts of Kindness.  We already have the facebook page, and it just seemed appropriate to pay it forward once again in memory of Ross and Darlene Moser.

Please join us.  Forward this story.  Forward the link to the facebook page.  Tell your friends and family.  

Saturday, March 9th is Ross's funeral, and while friends and family are paying tribute to him, we will pay tribute to them by spreading random acts of kindness that day in their name.

Join us on facebook or comment here.  Share what you've done, or what you're doing, or how participating in another RAK day affected you...  We'll pass it on to the Mosers.

Ross and Darlene, you're missed.  Thank you for your inspiration and love (and for your amazing daughter, who is arguably the best thing that ever happened to my brother).  

I'm Declaring It Family Friday

The tragedy on my mind this afternoon is the same tragedy on everyone's mind...

As you all know, early this morning a gunman entered an elementary school and shot 26 people (20 kids).  His actions have left a lot of minds reeling today with questions about safety.

Personally, when I heard the news, I felt the same way I did on 9-11.  I couldn't wait to hug my kids this afternoon.  I wanted right then to go find them where ever they were at and wrap my protective parent arms around them and make sure nothing ever hurt them.  Ever.

My next thoughts were about our crazy morning.  There were too many things happening to fit into one day and it turned out to be one of those mornings.  (If you're a parent, you know what I mean.)

Nate was sporting crutches and a knee brace, courtesy of a wrestling injury that was really a cross country injury that hadn't healed and was re-injured, and I knew I needed to try to get him in to an orthopedic specialist sometime in the near future.

Megan had to be to school early to take a test, and Joie needed to leave with her to go to a study lab.

Gabby needed Mentos, Diet Coke, and Play Doh for a science experiment at school, and the two stores I had been to the night before didn't have Mentos, so I knew I'd be on some kind of mission that morning before work to find a store or gas station that stocked Mentos...

And Gabby was worried she wouldn't get what she needed for her experiment.

Jeran was rushing around trying to pack up the 30-something birdhouses he had made and was donating to Primary Children's Hospital for kids in the hospital to paint.

Tim, who was supposed to be getting ready to drive Jeran and the birdhouses to the hospital was on a cleaning frenzy, which stresses me out because if he cleans I feel like I have to clean and that just wasn't on my to-do list for today.

Somehow in the process of us arguing passionately discussing housecleaning, the topic of kids' chores came up and poor Gabby only heard which jobs hadn't been done, and didn't get much credit for all she had done.  I hate it when that happens, and I saw it on her face as soon as she heard it.

Never in a million years would I care more about a clean house than my children.  (I can offer a free tour of our messy house as Exhibit A in my defense.)  But that's the message Gabby got.

I also hate sending my kids to school upset.  I've been known to take the long way to school so we can talk, or park in the parking lot to finish a discussion, and even drop them off late on occasion just to make sure we don't part ways upset at each other.  It's funny what loss will do to you that way, and somewhere in the back of my mind there's always the thought that we can't part ways upset...  Call it residual grief or a life's lesson learned.  Either way, it's important to me.

Today was no different.  Gabby had stomped out the front door and was sitting on the porch.  I called her back in and we had a minute--just Mom, Dad, Gabby, and Jeran.  Gabby got to hear how much she was loved and even what an amazing hard worker she was (because she is), and in just a few minutes our priorities were re-adjusted and relationships became once again more important than a messy clean house.

Why do I share that?  Because today, like so many other parents, as soon as I heard the news, I thought of all those other parents who will never get to hug their kiddos again, and wondered what if...

What if that had been our school, in our town...students we knew and loved, or even one of our own children?  And I thought of our morning.

Then I thought of people I knew, and found myself sympathizing with comments on facebook about wanting to homeschool, and sending prayers and love to people affected by this tragedy...  All of us trying in every way like I was to make sense of senseless.

Then when school let out, I went to go pick up Gabby, and was relieved that (at least for now, until she starts hearing more about it) she was just happy with the goldfish crackers and apple juice I bought her for her snack before she went to tutoring.  She heard what happened and asked a few questions, but quickly moved on to other things.

And as difficult as it was to not want to listen to the news on the radio, I turned it down and once again it was just me and one of my kids, and all was right with the world.  Then I dropped her off at her tutoring class and fought the urge to disrupt normal and just keep her with me today.  (Sigh.)

Then later when I picked her up, she was chatting about her day and asking for "Little Cheesers Pizza" for dinner because "Little Cheesers" is next to her tutoring, and she can't not ask every time we leave.  It was all oh-so-normal.

And I was oh-so-thankful that things were oh-so-normal...

And the sadness of the day hit me again as I thought about those whose lives are anything but normal today, and whose arms will feel especially empty tonight.

I know Gabby will have questions as she hears more about it, and I know over the weekend we'll discuss it more so she gets to process it first before hearing it from her friends.  The other kids have had questions too, and have already talked about it with their friends.

Sadly, tragedy isn't new to our family, and I learned a long time ago you can't make sense of senseless.  I also know, more than I wish I knew, that I can't protect children from life (but that doesn't keep me from wishing I could, and even trying...because I'm a mom and I'm human).

At the same time, the lessons I've learned lead me like an old friend through helping me process this new tragedy with my children.  I know without even thinking that my need to process isn't theirs.  And I learned a long time ago that hiding my sadness and grief won't protect them, and letting my grief show gives them permission to do the same, even when what we're experiencing isn't the same.  And fear...  My fear isn't their fear, but how I handle my fear is a cue to them about how to handle their fear.

And that is why today, like every day, they will see me doing what I always do...breathing in...breathing out...driving crazy carpools, and dropping them off at tutoring and practices and bossing them around all evening as they do their chores.

And tonight, as luck would have it, no one has anything scheduled, so we're declaring it Family Friday, and watching "It's A Wonderful Life" together.  And what do you know...the teens aren't even protesting (at least not much).  Some days I guess we're all just a little more thankful for each other than others.

And an awesome Mr. Rogers quote shared today on facebook:  "When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, 'Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping.' To this day, especially in times of 'disaster,' I remember my mother’s words, and I am always comforted by realizing that there are still so many helpers - so many caring people in this world."

Also some great resources about helping kids deal with tragedy can be found here.

Memories and Meaning Making

I don't know where to begin.  My heart if full of gratitude that helped us pay it forward today.  For all those who participated in Random Acts of Kindness:  Celebrating 5 years of Kindness, thank you, thank you, thank you.  Sometimes those words don't seem like enough, but it's all I have.

Thank you.

I've said before that we've always tried to make this day meaningful.  

I've explained before where the idea for Random Acts of Kindness came, and as always, it was a blessing to reach out--probably more of a blessing to us than to those who received Random Acts of Kindness (at least that's how I usually end up feeling).  I've asked people to share experiences, which I  have a hard time doing, because the anonymity of what happened is important to me.  I also encouraged the kids to just listen to their hearts through the day and act on feelings of kindness and helping others.  Isn't it an amazing feeling when you act on a impression, and it ends up being exactly what was needed?  It's the incredible nature of kindness. There is no end.

I'm not sure where the idea came from for watching the sunrise today.  Watching a sunrise with my kids was on my summer bucket list this year, and today seemed like a good day.  

The location?  Cedar Fort, home and burial place of Joie's family...about a 45 minute drive from our house.

I told the kids last night they could go if they wanted to go, but they didn't have to (and of course I added that we'd be stopping to get donuts for breakfast).  

By 5:00 a.m. we were all heading out the door.  

The Chevron by our house sells Krispy Kreme donuts...  What were they thinking not opening at 5:00 a.m. for us???  

Next stop, grocery store that sells fresh donuts...  Also not open.

We decided on donuts after the sunrise.  (Then saw a sign at another gas station on the way...  Donuts!  And chocolate milk.)

We made it to Cedar Fort before the sun.  Joie climbed out of the Durango first thing, and made herself comfy.  What a picture...more tears.

And everyone else did their best to get comfy too...

Megan and her BFF, Satori

I think he was having second thoughts...

Satori, Megan, and Jeran

Seriously...do you know any other family who is this comfortable at a cemetery?

Eventually Joie and Gabby decided on a better view...

Sitting on top of the Durango

All of Utah is smoky this year.  We haven't had many clear days because of all the wildfires.  The smoke made the sunrise bright red.

There is so much meaning in a sunrise, don't you think?  I thought of how we don't know what the day will bring, and how none of us know five years ago what that day would bring.

Mostly when I think of sunrises, I think of new beginnings.  New days are a gift--a chance to move forward.  

This afternoon we met family in Brigham City for the  Brigham City temple open house.  Brigham City is also close to where the accident took place.  It was the UHP office in Brigham City that got the call, and was on the scene taking care of all the details...  And with the  meaning of temples, families, and all, it just seemed like a good place to be today.

Becky, Larry & family; our family; my parents

And it was good to see this face again today...

Megan must have thought so too, because there are more pictures of Nate than anyone else on the camera.  (Nate has been back on the farm again for the past few weeks, and is finally home for the school year...and I only embarrassed him a little by hugging him in the parking lot when I saw him.)

Temple then fun (no pictures, but swimming and cousins are always a good combination).  And Jaci and her girls were kind enough to stop by when we were swimming.  Wish we lived closer!  It was so good to see them again for a few minutes.

And our day ended with a sunset...  Sunsets can be just as meaningful.

Yesterday Tim took the kids to lunch.  This was Joie's fortune in her cookie...  I love it when they're right.  

Support...  That's a good way to describe what we feel.  There's no way to ever pay forward all the kindness that comes our way, but it sure is good to try.  

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you.  

Wow

Wow.  That's all I really can say, and it isn't often I'm speechless.

Ok...  So I'm not really speechless, but close.

It has been an incredible gift to see this Random Acts of Kindness day spread.  I've had kindness on the brain all week.

Today I tried to get a picture in my mind of the world being filled with thousands of acts of kindness.

But it was the mental picture of people receiving these thousands of acts of kindness that brought tears to my eyes.  (And that was when I was speechless.)

I wish you all had the opportunity in your lifetime to get a Ruth hug.

Warmth.

And now that warmth gets to spread.

Thank you all.

Tomorrow morning I'm getting up before the crack of dawn to buy donuts and drive with whichever kiddos are willing (hence the donuts) to Cedar Fort to watch the sunrise.

And praying all day for opportunities to be kind.

Kind to my family...

Kind to those I come in contact with...

Easier said than done.  I posted this on our event page on facebook already, but for those who aren't on facebook:  Yesterday a woman pulled up beside me at a stop light and beeped her horn.  My first reaction in this random contact was a little guarded and defensive.  She motioned for me to roll down my window.  I did.  She told me my right brake light was out in back, and she just wanted me to know before I got a ticket.  I remember thinking as we all pulled away how my first reaction wasn't kind.  I expected something other than kindness, and my guard was up.

How did we get that way in our world?

I grew up in a rural area of Idaho.  (Hi, Juniper, Malta, Raft River, Elba, Almo, Sublett, Naff, Bridge...and all the other little spots on the map where I grew up.)  When we go there, my kiddos are intrigued with what we've started calling the "two finger Malta salute."  They notice that everywhere we drive, people drive with their hand on top of the steering wheel, then when we pass someone going the other way, they always raise two fingers in a sort of informal wave.  They think it's pretty cool that people do that.  It's quite a transformation for them to go from a world where we don't look at each other sitting in lines of traffic at stop lights to a place on the map where everyone acknowledges everyone.

One human being recognizing another.  Kindness.  Simple.  Random.  Human to human, making us all feel human and connected.

Pass it on.

Anytime.  Anywhere.  Anything.  Nothing is too small.  A smile.  A wave.  A kind word.  A phone call.  A helping hand.

I can't wait to hear the stories.

 (Comment here to share stories we can post later, or comment on our facebook page.  We can't wait to hear how this spreads...stories of kindness are already popping up there.)

Someone Hand Me a Tissue...

Joie wanted to use iMovie to make a video, so she took over my computer yesterday afternoon and has been busy since.       

This is the end result...

Someone hand me a tissue, please!  (No, wait...maybe the whole box of tissues.)

Don't Cry Because It's Over. Smile Because It Happened.

Nick's brother's wife, Heather, took this picture of Ruth and Nick and their little family when they visited Utah, the last time they were together.  She posted this on facebook:  I took this photo on June 8, 2006 in front of the Salt Lake City, Utah temple. That was the last time we saw Nick, Ruth and Audrey. I don't think we could've picked a better way to spend our last time together.

Another quote:  Nothing is ever really lost to us, as long as we remember it.  (L.M. Montgomery)

Memories of conversations...

Memories of hugs...

Memories of humor...

Memories of time together...

Wishing we had more, but smiling to see them in old photographs smiling back at us.

Crying (we can't not cry...it just escapes sometimes), then smiling because of something we remember.

When Joie was in the hospital after the accident, they (the hospital) was kind enough to give us a conference/meeting room where both families would gather when we were there.  The gift of that room was being able to be away from crowded halls and waiting rooms and just be ourselves together.  

There were tears and tissues...lots of tears and tissues.

But what surprised me then was the laughter.  I loved how we could be crying one minute, then laughing the next at a funny memory.  I remember almost feeling like I was watching myself laugh over funny stories and memories, and the relief of knowing we could still laugh.  (Then cry again the next minute.)  Isn't the range of human emotion amazing?  I love how memory preserves that for us.  

Smile because it happened.  Because of memory, it never goes away.

Ahhhhhhh...Sharing

Megan's BFF and soccer buddy is staying with us for the week.  Do you know that just today they spent 3.5 hours at combined soccer practices?  They're Energizer bunnies, I tell you!

I know this because at the end of the 2nd practice they both came jogging across the field like they had all the energy in the world, then came home and built a fire for s'mores, and are just now going to sleep (like I believe that), outside in a tent they also put up today.

Don't you ever wish you had that kind of energy?

My day started off with a fire inspection at my new office (we passed except they wanted us to make sure we re-hang the fire extinguishers after painting).

...Then a few hours of work.

...Then a presentation tonight to a local group of counselors.

I came home from the latter exhausted, but somehow when I went to pick up the girls from soccer and witnessed their display of youthful energy, I got a boost.

When energy gets shared, it's contagious.

When kindness gets shard, it's contagious.  (We're over 850 people attending our Random Acts of Kindness Day, just on facebook).

When emotion gets shared, especially difficult emotions, they somehow diminish.  How is that?

Yesterday I couldn't shake the funk that was in me.  I could even hear it in my voice.  It felt like I could choke on emotions that I was trying to ignore.  (Distract yourself, Mary...don't focus on grief...keep moving...)

Then finally at some point Tim called and I started telling him (through a few tears) how I felt.  I told him it was Monday, and the last time I talked to Ruth was the Monday before the accident.  I remember the conversation well.  I was trying to be a mom to her--telling her what I thought she should do about a problem she had.

That's how our conversation ended.  A million times I've wished I could go back and get a do-over on that one.  I would have been more supportive, and less bossy.  I would have called her back to tell her so.  Instead I let myself get pulled back into my busy life, knowing I'd see her in Idaho that weekend, and knew we'd all relax and have fun together.

Hard facts to face.

It was good to say all that to Tim.  Ahhhhh...sharing.

What happened next surprised me...  Remember how I said Tim and I got in the habit of just carrying our grief alone?  Well, we somehow both remembered our quest to share the good, the bad, and the ugly, and Tim started talking about how he had also been thinking about Ruth and Nick, and some of the conversations he and Nick had.  He recalled Nick bringing a tarantella they caught near their home to our house about a month before they died.  Nick left it as a present for me.  I somehow convinced a neighbor kid to take it on as a pet.  (I'm sure his parents thanked me.)  Tim also remembered he and Nick trying to hack into our home wireless network together.  (Unsuccessful, by the way, just in case you were thinking of doing a drive by.)

And other memories.

Then after a few kleenexes I felt better, and that huge lump of emotion stuck in the back of my throat went away.

Note to self:  Don't fight it.

Worth Posting Twice

Last year, during our Random Acts of Kindness season, Joie created a smilebox and posted it to her blog.  I posted it last year, but it's so worth sharing again.

Click here and be awed by the amazing wisdom of a (then) 12 year old.

Want to join us for Random Acts of Kindness:  Celebrating 5 Years of Kindness?  It's easy.

• Mark your calendar for August 18th, 2012 and do something (nothing is too small) for someone else that day.
• Spread the word.  Get others to join you (see previous post).

Wow.  We can't thank you enough.

(For more on how Random Acts of Kindness has grown over the past five years see here.)

Random Acts of Kindness Day: Celebrating Five Years of Kindness

Random Acts of Kindness is an August tradition around here.

It's hard to believe we've been doing this for five years.  Tonight I read over my first Random Acts of Kindness post.  I remember well the feelings of the pressing weight of an upcoming anniversary none of us wanted to acknowledge, but couldn't forget.

I also remember the need to escape the weight of that grief.

Which lead to thinking of the kindness that had surrounded us during an incredibly tragic time...

And also thinking of the kindness that had been characteristic of the lives of Ruth and Nick.

And so it was that the idea for this day was born.

Once again, this year we ask all of you to join our family in commemorating the lives of our loved ones by celebrating kindness on the anniversary of their deaths--August 18th, 2012.

Each year this event grows.  Through facebook and blogs, people spread the word, and we've been amazed at the response as complete strangers join us in celebrating simple acts of kindness in honor of people we love.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for spreading the word...  Because really, what an awesome opportunity this is to practice kindness.

You can help us spread the word one of the following ways:

• Post a link to this blog post on your blog, facebook, or other social media site.
• Visit our facebook event page here and confirm that you are going to this event.  From there invite friends.
• Pin us on Pinterest.
• (Drag Mary into any other forms of social media/sharing that might be easy enough for her to learn)

Again, thank you, thank you, thank you.  You know that feeling of being surrounded by love when things are difficult?  We feel it every year.  We've felt it from the beginning.  That love and support has always been there when we need it.  We've never been alone.

I love to think that we can share that feeling with others.

(For more about the history of this day see Random Acts of Kindness.)

Joie Turns Thirteen! (Warning: Long)

This morning I woke up thinking of the pictures of Joie's 8th birthday--her last with her first family.  (Truth is I think of those pictures each year on Joie's birthday.)

Joie left this morning for a week of Beehive Camp, but after she left, I went on a digital hunt for the pictures of that day.  

No luck.

But something in me still wanted to see those pictures.  Eventually, I remembered that at some point someone had scrap booked those pictures (and many others) for us, so I found the scrap booked version... (But if anyone has a digital version of these pictures, please, please, pretty please share...thank you very much.)

For today I'm sharing pictures of pictures in the scrap book.  (Just go with it.)

And looking at those pictures can't help but make me think about how five years ago today, our beautiful girl woke up celebrating her birthday with another family.  Nothing in her face in these pictures says, "I know in 12 days I'll be saying good-bye to all of you."  

But that is exactly what happened.  You never know, people.  Hug your family.  I know I hugged this beautiful girl before she walked out the door for camp this morning, and I'll be hugging her again when she gets home.  And after looking at these pictures, I wonder how we ever got out of the habit of two hugs...one for me, and one for her first mommy.  When did we stop doing that?  When do you ever not need that any more?  That thought and those pictures made me want to run up the mountain to where she was camping and hug her again--a birthday hug for both moms this time.

And now the pictures:

The breakfast in bed tradition that she remembers so well...

And of course, the presents...

And cake, including help from little sis licking the bowl...

Wow.  Aren't you glad Ruth took a lot of pictures?  (I am.)

As I look through them, I can hear Joie telling me the stories of those pictures (way back when we first looked at them together).  

She talked about how messy Audrey was when she licked the cake batter from the bowl...

And it breaks my heart to think of that first year she was with us, when she woke up on her birthday, sitting in bed waiting for breakfast in bed that never came, because her new family was clueless about birthday traditions.  Sad.

I also think of the next year when we tried breakfast in bed only to have it end in an uncooperative sibling melt-down and no future attempts at breakfast in bed.  (Maybe we should try it again next year...or is it a tradition that has passed?  The pictures make me want to try.)

And that Eragon DVD in one of the pictures...  I remember sorting through DVD's a year or two after she came to live with us and wondering how we ever ended up with an Eragon DVD.  Mystery solved.  

And she still has that white horse (the one in the blue package).  At least I think she does.  The last time I saw it, it was pretty beat up definitely well loved.

So, so, so many memories.  Thank goodness for memories.

But there's more to this story...  While I was flipping through scrap book memories, I found some other pictures...

...Pictures of our family with Joie the day she was born.  

Want to know something amazing?  I don't have any other pictures of us with any other nieces and nephews on the day they were born.  In fact, Joie is the only niece or nephew we ever went to see on the day she was born.  Tim and I both come from large families, and when babies are born, both families tend to give the new baby space for a few days.

But I remember being so excited for Ruth that Joie was born that I couldn't not go.  I don't remember exactly why.  I've thought maybe it was because Ruth had actually been at my house when I went into (early) labor with Jeran.  (Translation:  She was with me when my water broke, folks.  We had a bond.)  

Regardless of the reason, we were there with Ruth and Nick that day, and forever we'll be thankful we didn't not go...

Because if we hadn't gone, we would have missed this...

Aunt Mary holding Joie

Megan couldn't get enough of her new cousin.

Jeran, on the other hand, was about as interested in Joie as he is in every baby...

And proof that Nate once thought Joie was the coolest thing on the planet.

(Photos courtesy of Uncle Tim, who was there too, and also held Joie that day...and I can't help but notice the kids are all in pajamas...makes me wonder what time of day we went, because I'm also looking quite comfy in that huge white t-shirt.)

Life is full of twists and turns.  None of us knew back then that after eight short years with her family, she'd be spending the rest of her life as Aunt Mary's and Uncle Tim's daughter...as Megan's sister...and as a sister to Nate and Jeran as well...and now as a sister to Gabby, who needs Joie as much as Joie needs her.

But here we are in 2012, celebrating 13 years of Joie's life with donuts for breakfast this morning before she left for Brighton Camp...

I love that smile.  I remember pictures the first year of Joie being in our family, wondering if she'd ever get that smile back...

I remember when her mouth would pose in a smile that really wasn't...  

That smile is a gift--evidence of a life of healing, and of love that lives inside this girl that won't ever die.

Because she's Joie.  

And folks, she's officially a teenager.  

(She woke up at midnight to create her own facebook account before leaving for camp.)

And there is an awesome birthday present waiting for her when she gets back.  (Hint:  She couldn't take it to camp, but she might be texting you soon!)

Wow.  Looking forward to many more years with this girl (who will for sure get two huge hugs when she gets home:  one from me, and one from the mommy who couldn't hug her daughter today.)

He Said, She Said...

Starting to talk about grief again brings up all kinds of things.

It's not rocket science that men and women experience grief differently.  Along with that experience is also the understanding that grief itself is a very individual process.  None of us grieve the same way, and none of us communicate the same way.  Life puts us in situations together, but experience puts us through circumstances alone.

On the surface, it would seem that Tim and I both experienced the same loss.  Underneath, our losses were quite different, and sadly, in all those years of just getting through, we were so buried in our own grief experiences that it was too easy to dismiss the grief experiences of the other person.

I remember Tim expressing that adding Joie to our family created a loss for our children of their own former sibling relationships.  Before Joie came into our family, Nate, Megan, and Jeran were close.  After Joie came into our family, the boys went through the loss of their sister.  Megan was still there, but now she had a sister.  Megan felt the loss too.  She felt pressure to be nice to Joie, and sacrificed her relationship with her brothers, who she missed.  Then she'd get mad at Joie...  And at Nate and Jeran...  And Nate and Jeran were mad at Joie...  And at Megan...

Tim also expressed grief over the loss of our family as we knew it.  For nine years we had been a family of five, and in less than a week, following indescribable loss, we became a family of six.  Of course we were happy that Joie was still with us, but when Tim would express grief over the loss of our family as we had known it, I got upset because I felt like that burden was too much to put on Joie.  I dismissed his grief as "wrong," because "She doesn't have a choice.  She didn't ask to lose her family and insert herself in our family."

At the same time, I was grieving the loss of my baby sister, and was overwhelmed with the loss Joie and our children were facing, along with the adjustments we were all making as we tried to become a family.  Some days it felt like every ounce of emotional energy was spent getting everyone else through the day, and I had nothing left for me.  Tim lived this every day as well, but not in the same way, and there was something in me that said he was so wrapped up in the logistics of taking care of the estate and horses, and details I hadn't even thought of that I couldn't burden him with my grief.

Still, he knew how difficult this was for me.  Then five months after the accident, I said I wanted to go with  my sisters to see the police report.  I wanted to know more than we knew, and I didn't care what I was about to find out.  I just needed to know.  Tim response:  "No.  I won't let you go."

We do not have one of those relationships where we ask permission.  In fact, that is the only time I think I've ever heard either one of us forbid the other from doing something.  I remember walking away from him saying, "I'm not asking permission."

He followed me downstairs where I was changing laundry.  I don't remember the whole conversation after that, but I do remember Tim saying, "I can't have you fall apart."

Part of me loved that I was needed, and in a vulnerable, sweet way Tim was saying he relied on me to be me.  At the same time (who knows why) under the self-imposed pressure we were already both feeling to get it right, those words burned into my brain and didn't leave.  No matter what, I wouldn't fall apart.  I'd be fine.

Viewing the police report actually went well.  What we had imagined was far worse than anything that was actually in the report.  At the same time, I know from that point on, I didn't try much to share my grief with Tim.  In my mind, I thought I'd heal, and he'd heal and we'd get back to being who we were before.

Meanwhile, if Tim would bring up concerns that we weren't sharing things with each other, I would, in my overwhelmed state, dismiss his concerns.  I couldn't handle one more thing.

I paint a pretty tense and difficult picture of our relationship during that time.  In reality, quite the opposite was true.  We were close in a lot of ways, and even though we weren't understanding each other's grief, we were moving through this whole experience together, and watching our family collectively and individually heal from tragedy.  Spiritually, emotionally, and physically our whole family grew closer.

...And farther apart in other ways.  It seems like for a both Tim and I, if things didn't fit in the happy, healing box, neither of us wanted to hear about it.

...And as I've said before, it's what we weren't sharing that became the issue.  This year as Tim started traveling, we started into the same patterns.  I wouldn't burden him with my stress.  He was too exhausted.  He wouldn't burden me with his stress.  I had enough on my plate.  The end result:  No outlet...  Actually, that's not true.  Stress finds it's own outlet, eventually...sometimes in not so healthy ways, which of course, just added to the stress.

At the same time, some extended family problems and conflicts added to the tension.  What had been my support system felt like it was crumbling.

So Tim and I find ourselves turning to each other, and hearing stories about our experiences in all of this we haven't shared before.  I heard for the first time the other day about his friend at work who would walk up to Tim when they were on shift together and say, "Man, you look like I felt a few years ago."  This man was raising his grand daughter, and recovering from the double suicide loss of his son and daughter-in-law.  Tim found a friend in him, and was able to talk.

The other day someone in the family had asked about a picture from the funeral, and I pulled them up on my computer.  There, in front of me, were all the images of loss, and the feelings along with it, just as real as the day it happened.  My old self would have just grieved alone.  Instead I asked Tim if he had time to look through the pictures with me.  We talked for several hours about what we remembered and experienced.

And guess what?  During times when we both felt alone, we were also able to identify ways we were there with each other and for each other.

After all is said and done, I still sort of wish there was a reset button.  Wouldn't that be great?  But really, if we had known then that our individual response to grief would lead to relationship stress now, what would we have done differently?  To be honest, what could we have done differently?  It's just one more in a long list of things we have no control over in this process.  (And as long as there is a reset button, we all know the real reset point would be Joie not losing her family...just saying.)   Ultimately, I guess as long as we're here, and as long as the end result of relationship distance is relationship healing, that's a good thing...

Sort of...

(Wishing for that reset button again...)

Ultimately, none of us would choose this, but if we could unchoose it (spell checker is saying that isn't a word, but I don't care), that would also mean unchoosing the life we're living now and the people we're becoming because of having to dig down deep to discover healing.  None of us would do that.  (Ok--maybe sometimes.)

My relationship analogy the other day as Tim and I were talking:  Remember when Megan was 4 or 5 and playing soccer?  We knew she was awesome--a gifted athlete, even back then.  But what if she stayed that same 4-5 year old soccer player?  What if she was never coached, and never improved?  It wouldn't matter how gifted she was, she wouldn't be playing soccer in a grown-up kid game.

...Same with relationships.  Good relationships grow.  They have to, or we'd all keep playing as pre-schoolers.

So here's to growth...  And digging down deep...  In a story that is never over, because as soon as it seems like it's over there's just one more layer...

Sort of like this:

(Image credit:  goodtherapy.org)

More About Relationships

Still talking about Tim and I and relationships, and still thinking out loud.  (This picture is Tim and I in thirty years...just in case you were wondering.)

There's a saying that a good marriage isn't defined by the absence of problems, but by the way partners handle the problems they have.

A few years ago Tim and I got sideswiped by life, and to be honest, we've done our best to get through and patted ourselves on the back for being so amazing.  (We've decided as we've talked about all of this that we deal well with challenges.)  And before I jump into talking about the resulting problems, I feel the need to say when we talk about problems it's important to keep it all in perspective... healing of grief and trauma in our family is huge, and along the way we've also shared the joy of seeing that dark cloud lift and the joy of bringing two new child into our family...an amazing journey, for sure.

In the process, it's what we didn't share that has been the problem.  And it feels good to be talking about that again.  We have referred to it as being real with each other.

It feels a little Velveteen Rabbit-ish.

“What is REAL?" asked the Velveteen Rabbit one day... "Does it mean having things that buzz inside you and a stick-out handle?"


"Real isn't how you are made," said the Skin Horse. "It's a thing that happens to you. When [someone] loves you for a long, long time, not just to play with, but REALLY loves you, then you become Real."


"Does it hurt?" asked the Rabbit.


"Sometimes," said the Skin Horse, for he was always truthful. "When you are Real you don't mind being hurt."


"Does it happen all at once, like being wound up," he asked, "or bit by bit?"


"It doesn't happen all at once," said the Skin Horse. "You become. It takes a long time. That's why it doesn't often happen to people who break easily, or have sharp edges, or who have to be carefully kept. 


"Generally, by the time you are Real, most of your hair has been loved off, and your eyes drop out and you get loose in the joints and very shabby. But these things don't matter at all, because once you are Real you can't be ugly, except to people who don't understand... once you are Real you can't become unreal again. It lasts for always.”   


The good news is we don't break easily, or have to be carefully kept.  The bad news is we're loose in the joints and shabby (but I'm not giving up my make-up or giving up coloring my hair any time soon).

Real feels vulnerable but good, and certainly better than self-imposed pressure.

Real also means sometimes we still struggle...and disagree over dumb things like driver's ed and taking down a tent (yes, really).  It also means that we can be honest about what we really need, and get over it quickly.  (Huge, yes?)

Real is also recognizing that even people who are amazing at getting through challenges can feel the odd effects of trauma--even all these years later (and I'm sure I have so much more to say about that but not right now).

Real is also remembering all the times in the overwhelming deluge of events in the past few years that we have been there for each other.  Tim was remembering some of those times tonight, and as we started recalling, it felt good to look back and re-write that narrative with both of us in it together, because really we were.  We just couldn't see it at the time--kind of like standing in front of a grizzly bear and trying to notice the songbirds in the trees behind the bear.

Aren't relationships interesting?

Dear Ruth

Dear Ruth--You would have been 35 yesterday.  When I told Joie, she said, "No offense, Mom, but you're old."  


I am old...at least older than you.  I'm old enough that I remember your dark brown eyes, and cute dark brown curls as a baby, and that your hair didn't fall out.  And I'm old enough to remember your huge smile, and how much I adored you when you were born.  I was eight years old when you were born, and I carried you around and called you, "Dolly" because I thought it was horrible that my parents would name such a cute baby, "Ruth."  (I thought Ruth was an old lady name.)

Ruth, it was too soon for you to leave us.  I wish almost every day I could see you again, and hear your voice again--to hear you talk about your girls.  I know they were your world, and I loved the way you told stories about them.  So many times since you died, I've wished I could sit down and talk to you about Joie.

Better yet, I wish you could just be here, being Joie's mom.  When I see her do and say things I tell myself that you're watching, and you know, but it's just not the same not having you here--not seeing your face light up as you watch your beautiful daughter grow.  Sometimes (especially in the beginning) I feel you near, whispering to me what to do.  I feel like I'm raising her with you, even though you're not here, but I wish we could just sit down and talk...and at the same time I know if you were here, we wouldn't be raising Joie.

When Joie was little, I remember you telling me you loved the song, "In My Daughter's Eyes," by Martina McBride.  Now every time I hear that song, I cry because every day I get to look into your daughter's eyes is a gift, but it's a gift I wish was yours.  The song ends with:

When I'm gone I hope you see,
How happy she made me,
For I'll be there,
In my daughter's eyes.


It's almost like you knew, and you were telling me.

I do know how happy she made you, because I could see it in your eyes every time you talked about her, and I do see you (and Nick) in her eyes.  I also hear it in her voice.  She talks like you.  Sometimes it's just the sound of her voice, but it's also in her mannerisms and in the phrases she uses, and in the way she thinks.  It cracks me up sometimes.  As I watch her grow, I know you'd be so proud of her.

Ruth, your life touched so many people.  Yours was a heart of friendship--something I know was a gift to everyone who knew you in the short 30 years you lived on this earth.  After you were gone, that was one thing I heard over and over again about you, and I know it's true.  You had the heart of a true friend.  I might have taken care of you when you were a baby, but when you grew up, you took care of me, through your love, through listening, and through your heart.  I wish I could still talk to you.  I miss our conversations (and my kids miss all the stories you used to tell on me).  Can't you just come back down and talk?  Just once?

I love you, Ruth, and I can't wait to see you again, and to really, really feel one of your hugs again.  Keep watching over us, because I know you do.

Love,
Mary