Father's Day

A day that I know is difficult for Alex and Ashley.   It is also a difficult day for me.  It reminds me of several things.  Brian was without a doubt the best dad I've ever known and that there was such a contrast between what a dad should be and what my dad was like.  And how a "step"-dad that stepped in and stepped up gets so little recognition on this day.

This morning however, he got a sweet, sweet gift from Ashley and I just wanted to acknowledge it here.

This was her text to me:

I don't know if I have Papa's number but please tell him I said Happy Father's Day.  We listened to a message at church today about fathers having fathers and men that spoke into them and raised them to be good fathers and husbands and I am so thankful for Papa being there to speak into my dad and raise him to be the father that he was.  Because the generations continue with the things we learn from fathers and I'm grateful to have learned so much from mine.  I've only cried twice today already so far lol.  I love you both.

What a gift to him and what a sweet tribute to her dad.  

It's difficult to be a parent and it is sometimes the most thankless job in the world.  It has to be even more difficult to be the dad that took on three children that were not his; loved them, supported them and parented them through all the hard times while their own biological fathers walked away.

Ashley channeled her own dad today with this message as he is the only one of the three that has ever acknowledged that his stepdad did what he didn't have to do and was truly a father to him when his real father walked away and deserted him.

Brian's spirit was absolutely close to us today because as Ashley was writing this to us - the church handed out packets of "Skittles" with a reminder to pray about bible school!  Skittles.  Notoriously known as Brian's favorite candy - his house was never without a jar of Skittles on the counter.  Kara even had Skittles on his wedding cake!

Dear Brian,

I am thinking of you and Paxton a lot today for some reason.  It has been a sad day today.  I saw a movie that had a baby that looked so much like Paxton.  Even had on a shirt identical to one that he wore a lot and he was the same age.  I still see you both everywhere.  I  catch myself looking for both of you in crowds and sometimes when I see babies that remind me of Paxton I want to just stay close to them and soak in their sweetness.  Sometimes in stores I follow their moms down a few aisles just so I can see him a little longer and feel him close to me again.  

I've set Sunday afternoons aside as the time I give myself  to cry.  Dad watches the race downstairs and I have some private time to myself.  So that I don't "break" in front of people or in public anymore I designated a day when I know I can be alone and I come in the office and I can miss you both all I want and out loud if I need to.  I allow myself time to just sit with my grief, cry and be sad. And sometimes I just sit here and think of things I remember because I want to keep you both fresh in my mind.  I had you a long time but Paxton has been gone way longer than the two years and eight month that I had him so I am so afraid that I will forget.  Not him, of course but the essence of him.  His silent sweetness, his funny little ways, our little games and how much they amused him, his first words, the sound of his voice and the "baby" way he pronounced words. That sweet baby smell, his giggle, what he felt like snuggled up to me asleep.  Little sweet or funny things he did like pretending to sneeze when he was so little and laughing when I said "Bless You!" because he knew it was a joke.  And how we used to play hide and seek and he'd lead me to the linen closet and shut me in and then pretend to look for me until he would open the door and "find" me right where he'd left me.  

These are the precious things that I never want to lose but I am so afraid that I will.  

I know there were a million little things that you all did or said that I was sure I'd never forget - but I did.  So I know its possible and so I try to remember all the little details that I can so that they will stay fresh in my memory and he will stay alive in my heart.  

So today is Saturday --not my day and yet I'm sad and grieving fiercely today. Not sure what's up with that unless it is the baby in the movie. 

Sometimes those little coincidences, like dreams, seem like little gifts from God.  Little snippets of you or Paxton that I find in crowds or in movies that give me a little private visit from you. I will take them.  And I am thankful to God for them even if they do make me sad afterwards.

I think lately about how everyday I'm a little closer to being with you all again.  Until then I will see you in my dreams or at the mall or in the babies I see on movies and I will think of you all and miss you still everyday.

 

God's Strength in Your Weakness

As difficult as it has been to sit with my friend as she cares for her son in his last days I have been a first hand witness to God's gracious provision.  Her strength, stamina, resolve, faith and peace have been nothing short of a miracle.

She is caring for his needs almost around the clock getting up every two hours to administer medication so that his pain does not get ahead of them.  She is helping him to the bathroom and helping him shower and feeding him as if he were her small child again.  She talks to him like it was any other day, laughs with him, jokes with him and puts his heart at ease by keeping conversation light and breezy.

She has spent night after night in his hospital room before he came home; sleeping whatever way they could; in chairs or crammed together with her 76 year old sister on a small, vinyl, half moon shaped uncomfortable sofa - in a freezing cold room eating cold food out of bags.

I have yet to hear her complain and I have yet to see her break down.

God has blessed her with His strength in her weakest moments.  Some may assume that her strength and stamina stems from adrenaline and I'm sure that plays a part but nothing but God could account for the peace and resolve bestowed on her in the wake of the worst situation any mother can imagine.

He has provided, like He did for me --family, friends, neighbors, professionals to love her, provide food and supplies, to sit with her for moral support, to help with her son's care,or to minister to his spiritual needs.  God's people being the hands and feet of Jesus to help however she needs.

Speaking of which, I have never seen a family come together like her family has done during the last few weeks.  Never.  It is amazing to see the love and dedication that they have shown.

Her sister had just driven 8 hours to Jacksonville, FL when she got the news.  She turned the car around without a minute of rest and drove 8 hours right back to be with her.  She stayed at the hospital with Kathie every night she did.  Her sister's friend offered to stay at the hospital one night and let them go home get a shower, a hot meal and sleep in a bed.  He did not even know Kathie or her son. Her oldest son has been with them nonstop helping his brother with bathroom duties, clothes changing and just attending to his needs any way he could and sitting there as support for his mother.  Her sister's children have every one been there.  Her nieces staying the night over the weekend so she could sleep and not worry about his needs or medicine for one night.  Her nephew coming every day and helping with his needs.  And they do not live next door or even close.  They live 50 or 60 miles away through Atlanta traffic.  They all have families.  They all have jobs.  What an absolutely unheard of blessing.  To me, that is what family should be.  But so few are.  It is refreshing and amazing to see.

We spent the day with them again today and it does not look like he will make it through the week. And while I am so sad for her still - I feel blessed to be able to be a part of ministering to her and having the unique opportunity to see God's strength in action and be a witness to the way her family has pulled together to be there for her like they have.  Everyone should be so blessed.

I am humbled and awed. What a gift.

Dear Brian

June 19, 2017

Dear Brian,

I just got through reading your Journal to Paxton yet again.  It breaks my heart just as much two years and ten months later as it did that first week when we found it.  Still what a Divine Gift that was.

As I read back over it the words you leave to Paxton are like knives to my heart as you say things like you are writing these things down so that Paxton can come back and read at any time the things that you had to share with him; the musings and life advice. With every line I read I hear a man that adores his wife and child; plans on the baby growing up someday and reading this and knowing how much he mattered to his parents.  I hear a man that sounds as if he plans to continue writing this for years to come.  Every line stabs at me as I read how much Kara wanted a baby, what a good mother she was, how happy you all were, how hard you worked on your house, how proud you were of it, how smart Paxton was and how you wanted to give him a general idea of what life was like when he was born, what he was like at each stage of his growth and a record of each of his little milestones.  You wanted to tell him how you met his mother, how much you loved his mother and how much the two of you loved and wanted him. 

As I read it in retrospect I want to scream – “He will never read these words.  He will never know your love or your intention.  He will never need your advice.  He is two and a half – and he will never be three!”  I want to protest and stop time where you are on these pages and never let August 23^rd 2014 come.  Just to see the year 2014 written out makes me turn literally sick.  As I read the dates you mention in these pages my heart pays careful attention. It is November 2011 as you begin you are 38 years old – I pause and count up the time you have left on that date.  You go back in time now to the date you and Kara met – February 6, 2009 my heart lightens as I remember how happy you were at finding her and I remember exactly when you broke the news to me and your dad that you had asked her to marry you only days later.  I remember distinctly looking straight at her and asking “Are you crazy?”  You were not amused.  But you looked at me and said: “I know what you’re thinking and yes, she knows I’m in debt and that Alex has been in trouble and I know how crazy this sounds Mom, but I let her get away one time and I am just not going to make that mistake again.”  You mention your wedding date July 11, 2009 and my mind flits back to the events of that day.  I typed up your vows that you were to read to each other.  Hers were silly and falling right in line with the goof- ball you had portrayed to her.  Yours would melt my heart.  I thought that day – how yours and hers were going to be so vastly different and how yours would surprise her – but they would not surprise me.  I knew how serious you really were about this and what this marriage meant to you.  And while it was true that you certainly had a silly side and were constantly joking and cutting up – I knew what she did not, that most of the time it was a smoke screen to hide years of hurt and heartache not only from those you were with but from yourself.  It was a light-hearted attempt to detract from the tragic life of hurt that had plagued you for years. Intended to make you laugh and forget.

January 26, 2013 – I read and quickly calculate that you have one year and seven months to live.  You mention to Paxton that he was born on December 10, 2011 – I go back…to the hospital the night of his birth, Kara is in labor, you are a basket case.  You cover it trying to fidget with the medical items in the room like a 12-year old boy and you pace.  They take her down for an emergency C-section and I quickly assess the panic that crosses your face for just a split second before you hug Kara and tell her everything will be okay. 

You tell Paxton then that you moved into your new house in February of 2012 and I remember the pride and excitement you both had at having a home that you made your own with the blood, sweat and tears of weeks of intense hard work as you both side by side patched a thousand holes, hung doors, replaced plumbing fixtures, painted over bright red enamel paint that spanned the 20-foot cathedral ceiling, I remembered feeling so proud of both of you but maybe especially Kara – at her age – digging in and working night and day beside you to lay custom tile in the kitchen, put in new countertops, hang and stain new cabinets.  She was learning as she went and never complained but actually seemed to enjoy it and she actually saw the beauty in the two of you doing this together.  I was amazed.

Your next entry is December 2, 2013 – My breath catches and my heart skips a beat as you inch closer and closer to the date. You mention Paxton is about to turn two.  It is 8 days from his birthday – his last birthday.  You say it is creeping up on Christmas –the last Christmas; the last Christmas you will ever see; the last Christmas I will ever enjoy.  December 2013 was our last Christmas with our complete family; my last Christmas with the baby; Kara’s last Christmas and the last Christmas her family will ever enjoy.  Then I remember two events from that Christmas – the baby yelling out “NANA, I MISSED YOU!” when I never heard him put two words together.  And then I remember what I said when everyone left that day.  As the last one got in their car to go, I turned to your dad and I said, “I will never do this again.”  I had my feelings really hurt because I had worked for weeks to decorate and plan, cook, shop and wrap for Christmas and everyone stayed about 45 minutes and ran out the door saying you all had plans to go to a movie – I was devastated - movies play 364 other days out of the year.  Christmas comes once a year.  Jamie and Marie had driven over 400 miles and spent 45 minutes with us.  And after weeks and weeks of planning and days of working - I was alone on Christmas day hurt and angry.  And I said, “I know you think I don’t mean this – but I’m serious I will never do this again.”  And prophetically, I never will.

June 22, 2014 – your last entry.   I realize I am sitting here “accidently” rereading this and writing “this” exactly three days shy of three years since that last entry.  Countdown.  Two months and one day.  You tell Paxton some of the funny stuff he does and what he is like at this age, you mention things you do together and talk about his new puppy.  Then you cut to the chase – you talk to him about God, you tell him again how great his mother is, you relay life lessons about women, marriage and patience.  You tell how much he means to you, and you talk sweetly of your special time with him and how much you value that time.  I realize as I read from an almost three-year perspective that though you thought you were writing this for him – you were in fact under God’s instruction – writing this for all of us. 

I am both sad and extremely thankful.

Whatever you do for the least of these...

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about how I have felt abandoned by God in all of this misery. 

So I got to thinking about where I have found my comfort and support.  Of course my family first and foremost my daughter, my son in law, my husband, my sisters, my brother & my best friend but where was God in all of this?  Well the first help and comfort I received was from my church family – all of whom were with us from the moment we found out and there for us throughout that entire horrific day.  Then throughout the week following their deaths – we heavily depended on them for so much.  There was the Preacher and his wife – to preach the service and play the piano and to be there to sit with us, cry with us and pray for us.  There was a steady stream of Deacons and their wives, and the rest of the church family all there, at one time or another bringing food, drinks, paper goods, hugs, tears, offers of help in any way we needed.  They continued with phone calls, cards, emails and sporadic visits for many months even bringing us fresh vegetables from their gardens.  And even this past week a drop in visit as they remembered that the anniversary was coming up and they thought I may need someone to be with me.

Then there were all the cards and the beautiful and thoughtful “comfort basket” from my daughter’s Sabbath School class.  A group of ladies from the Seventh Day Adventist Church my daughter attends – all women that did not know me but sent me inspirational books, cards, a special coffee mug, picture frames, soft cuddly throws and CHOCOLATE!  It was the sweetest gesture.


I have even received, right along with my sister, a steady stream of funny, sweet, uplifting cards for a solid year now from the mother of the preacher at my sister's church.  

Then we attended Grief Share classes at one of the largest Church of God churches in Atlanta where we were given books, advice, comfort and support while we met in a group of people who had all experienced loss and watched inspirational, helpful & hopeful videos to give us hope and teach us ways to survive this loss.  I also made a good friend there that has kept in touch and I’ve had dinner with several times.

And when my sister went home and the grief blind-sided me again – she (as if she had nothing else to think about!) contacted a church sponsored group called Stephen Ministries.  Where they have volunteers that train to be paired up with someone in an emotionally trying situation of loss to listen and offer friendship and comfort.  I have been meeting weekly with the sweetest lady that sits for a couple of hours a week and listens while I tell her the details of this horrific story.  A heavy burden emotionally for her yet she keeps coming back.  She actively listens.  She isn’t judgmental or disgusted.  And, when I want to talk about my love for my son, I don’t get “The Look”.  She is kind and considerate and thoughtful and she also meets with a group of “prayer warriors” weekly in a Prayer Shawl group and they knit or crochet shawls or afghans and the entire group prays over it and then they give them to someone in need of prayer.  She brought me the most beautiful blanket that all of the women in her group had prayed over for me!  They are from a Methodist Church fifteen miles away.

Days after the kids were found, we received a letter in his mail box addressed to the "Family of Brian, Kara & Paxton" expressing sympathy and telling us how sorry they were and how they were praying for us.  It was from a church fifty miles from us.

I have spent days and days listening to the comforting messages of Charles Stanley, a minister from the largest Baptist Church in Atlanta.  He is on the radio and his sermons are broadcast on TV and online from their website.   I listen every day to what has -- at times been a life-saving message.

I have also for the first time in my life begun listening to Praise and Worship music.  I am a Southern Gospel old Church Hymnal kind of girl and have never cared for the new age modern worship music but the very first person to contact me from my blog sent me a link to a song by Mercy Me called the Hurt and The Healer and I fell in love.  And I’ve been listening to them and all praise and worship music ever since.  It has become such a comfort and such a help to me and I have found a new love that I will no doubt hang onto from here on out.

So what is the common denominator here? 

Yep, God.  That same God that I felt had abandoned me. 

There have been Churches  -  Baptist Churches, Seventh Day Adventist Churches, Methodist Churches, Church of God Churches, Presbyterian Churches – all sending help and comfort my way continuously.  All God’s people --doing God’s work; “being Jesus to the least of these.”  God was bringing me help and comfort in my grief and pain – through the kind acts of His people.  I couldn’t feel Him or find Him but He was there all the time; sending His earthly workers to be the music that soothed my soul, the inspirational teaching that got me through that day, various formal ministries to be my listeners and my guides through the strange and hostile world of catastrophic grief, new friends and even strangers to be my comforters and my own church family to be my physical help. 

He has been there for me --through all of you!

If you ever think that what you do does not matter – think again.  If you have a talent (and everyone does) whether it be carpentry, gardening, crocheting, knitting, talking and being an inspiration to someone, or listening to give someone an outlet for their pain, cooking to provide a meal, singing, preaching or praying – God can use it if you let him.  And trust me when I tell you, it makes a difference.  Some days the difference between life and death.

Sometimes You are all of the God some people ever see.  I know because I have been one of them.

 

Shipwrecked

I’ve been thinking a lot about my biggest fear and greatest loss through this.  And with so very much loss it seems I have a lot to choose from.  And as hard as it is to believe, the clear winner is the loss of my faith as I knew it. 

Some days are better than others but I have to admit I still struggle and any one of you that choose to judge – I challenge you to walk a mile in my shoes – if you dare - before you say it could never happen to you.

I feel terrible for it – certainly.  And I worry that I won’t be forgiven for the doubts and anger that have plagued my days for nine months now.  The anger has let up some – thank goodness but now I live with the constant guilt left in its wake.  

What has taken the place of that anger is a cavern of emptiness.   I have days when I feel better about things and there are days when I look at the way I used to “know” God and realize that there is no way that could have ever worked.  But what is worrying me is that I seem to have had far more clarity on that months ago.  There are days when I see clearly that God had to destroy the self-centered, worldly image that I had of Him in order for me to know His real, true nature – but I also know that we’re only half-way there.  He destroyed the image that I had – that’s for sure.  But I haven’t found the replacement image as yet to know who He really is because He seems very far away right now.  And I’m a little afraid of rebuilding that “house of cards” as C.S. Lewis put it. Like if you tried handing me another baby and saying “Here fall in love with this child and let’s see how this one works out.” 

Not going to happen.

And I’m not sure I can build another belief system out of the shreds of faith I have left either.   I hope and pray that I can and that though I am not there yet – in time I will be –but at this point, I honestly do not know.

As I look back over the months and I reread here what I’ve written along this horrific journey, it appears that in many ways I seem to be going backwards.

 

I was in counseling.  I was reading a lot of grief books, self-help books and inspirational books.  I was watching videos.  I was going to Grief Share.  I had my sister to talk to a lot and had daily responsibilities that kept me out of the closet and after nine months you’d assume I’d be on my way up out of the depths of despair. 

When the numbness wore off and I was so devastated and so broken and so fragile I was running 90 MPH trying to “do” everything I could think of, to keep me from wanting to die every minute of every day.  

I lived with the daily fear that I would succumb and wreak more havoc on my already devastated family.  I wrote on the blog the first entry that I was not sure I could live through this but this was my attempt to at least postpone “not living through it” as long as possible.  Even I, thought if I could just postpone it for some reasonable amount of time that I would be kind of past the danger period.  Not over it -- I knew better than that -- but dealing with it enough that I was comfortable that I would not do anything stupid.

So I bombarded myself with every avenue that I thought may help.  Everything anyone suggested – I tried.   I devoured everything anyone sent me – books, articles, videos, inspirational quotes cards and letters.  I was doing what I do -- being obsessive about it and hitting it with everything I had in my arsenal. 

Still I went to bed at night hoping and praying that I would not wake up.  I didn’t want to be the actual cause myself of any more pain to my family but if it happened ---well I’d have been perfectly happy.   And when I woke up every morning I was pissed off.  But human nature is such that I still continued to fight.  If I wasn’t going to die then I was going to have to find whatever it took to give me the will to live. 

So I prepared for the battle.  I have never known this kind of profound grief and despair and I had to literally learn how to survive it.  So I found out what to do and what not to do in order to heal.  I learned grief was messy and had no defined timeline.  I learned that you lean into the grief and you do not hide it or run from it or attempt to cover it up if you want to heal and not get stuck.  I learned you should feel and express your emotions.  I learned the language and what to expect: “melt downs” and “ambushes” and “triggers”.  I learned we all grieve differently and on different timelines.  I learned it was work and that you needed to talk about your loss and acknowledge your loved ones. 

I attacked it like I would any other project.  It was here.  I couldn’t avoid it.  So I would research it, find out all I could about it and just deal with it head on.  I was fighting; fighting to survive it though I didn’t even want to – I was doing it for the rest of my family and my few closest friends.  As it turns out two thirds of the family and friends I was so concerned about “sparing” any additional pain, have chosen to walk away and cut all ties so there was very little need to worry.  I'm kind of thinking they would have been just fine.

My sister has gone to her own home now.  I am back at work fulltime.  I am out of the rental house and back home where all of their memories were (and still are) and where every weekend I had breakdown after breakdown as the triggers here slapped me in the face the minute I arrived and stayed long after I left.

I can no longer attend Grief Share since it is not close and my spare time is now spent in a nearly four hour daily commute. 

All the books began to run together and all the information I'd read was pretty well internalized so I felt I was ready to let go of all of the external efforts and obsessing and put what I learned to practice so I could finally begin to heal. 

I knew the Kubler-Ross  five stages of grief (denial, anger, bargaining, sadness & acceptance)  I was aware of the danger signs of depression and I was prepared so as not to fall off a cliff there.  I knew to steer clear of temporary “feel better” fixes like alcohol, drugs, shopping, over-eating or having an affair.  I knew not to make major changes in my life or make major decisions while still in this state. 

The plan was to fix it in whatever way was in my control – I guess I was going to “Type A” it into submission.  And apparently while I thought I was facing it head-on – it was just another way to throw the focus on my "obsession with dealing with it" and avoid the obvious.  And now here I am nine months down the road...wondering if I am any better or actually worse --again?

In looking back over the previous nine months of posts – which is also what I was supposed to do in order to “realize growth” – I'm not sure that is what I’m seeing...There are no longer sweet baby stories, or amusing anecdotes of our time together, no more inspirational epiphanies about life or love or God; no more accounts of miracles in the face of this tragedy. 

My mind keeps drifting to thoughts of a shipwreck.  Someone stranded in a lifeboat on the high seas.  The first few days they fight with blind determination to make it through.  That is of course when they still have plenty of food and water.  They pray.  They cling to hope.  They look diligently for the rescue boats to come.  But then as days stretch into weeks, the food runs out, the fresh water runs low and they see hope draining out of the bottom of the near-empty water source.  Then come the rains and hope is rekindled.  They have a measure of relief.  They praise God for the gift of the fresh Heaven sent water.  Suddenly the gentle welcome rain takes an evil turn as swirling, menacing darks clouds appear; lightening begins popping all around; thunder roars, gale-force winds whip and the waves become huge and raging.    The little boat is tossed and battered as is the struggling soul on board.  Finally, the storm subsides and hope springs forth - a little slower this time and not quite as high.  The sun comes out - a welcome sight then it begins to beat down relentlessly until the suffering soul on board starts to hallucinate; slipping in and out of consciousness. "Surviving" has lost its momentum.  Then one day without any foresight or fanfare - he just slips quietly under the water…

My latest gift...

I had had a particularly difficult week again last week and was feeling like God was so far from me.  I was finally able to sit down in the quiet and pray a little.  All I could pray for was for God to let me know He was in fact, still there.  I just needed to hear from Him in some small way to give me the little bit of assurance that I needed to get by another day or another week.

The very next evening I received yet another gift. 

He gave me the gift Brian’s humor.  Words straight from Brian that literally made me laugh out loud.

I had been sending photos that I had of the baby and Kara to Kara’s mom and had decided to go onto my Shutterfly account and see what was on there that she may want.  Turns out I had not been on the site in a couple of years.  The last time I’d signed in and downloaded some photos I had “apparently” set up a family page so that the kids and my sisters would have access to the pictures that I had taken.  As I told Kara’s mom about the pictures I was sending her – I love taking pictures and sometimes I would just randomly take Paxton outside and let him play and just snap away.  So consequently, I have hundreds of pictures - bad shots, shots of him crawling away, shots of him crying and sometimes that rare --perfectly timed, just the right lighting, just the cutest expression – “perfect shot.”  I had downloaded an afternoon of that kind of session to Shutterfly and sent Brian a link. 

Two years and seven months later I go back to find he has left goofy comments on a few of my crazy pictures.  Comments I had never seen; comments so typical of Brian until I could almost hear his voice as I read them and then for the first time in many months I thought of him and genuinely laughed out loud.  It felt so good and so right and I was so grateful. 

Thank you God for answering that prayer in the sweetest way.  

Enjoy!

brian m "so if I slip you this $5 bill, then did you still see me poop my pants? 

brian m

"and she kept taking these pictures of me doing dumb things...I told her I had enough but..."

brian m "so I was like, give me my keys.  I'm good to drive home...then it hit me - I'm a baby, how the heck did I drive here?!"

August 31, 2012•