A Grief Observed: The Mind and Body

I would be true, for there are those who trust me;
I would be pure, for there are those who care;
I would be strong, for there is much to suffer;
I would be brave, for there is much to dare.

(Howard Arnold Walter)

Remember this post? I wasn't kidding when I said that that Grief and Stress can greatly affect the body.

In October, I learned of some health issues that I was experiencing that were likely brought on by the overwhelming stress caused by multiple and major Life Changes last year. So I began treatments and started to simplify my life. I thought I had everything under control.

And then November hit.

One evening, I was sitting in bed, going over the digital files for our Christmas Card before we sent them to print. I remember looking over the content with David, shaking my head that this was REALLY our card this year. I couldn't bring myself to sign our individual names and not include Bennett and so I opted for signing our surname. Who would have thought these little things would be so hard?

Awhile later, the kids were tucked in their beds, long asleep, and David had drifted off into Dreamland. I had just switched off my lamp and laid my head on the pillow when the world began to cave in on me. I started choking, I couldn't breathe, my entire body was shaking, my heart was going crazy and I felt like I was going to black out.

In short, I felt like I was dying.

In fear of passing away in my sleep without David knowing, I shook him and muttered that we needed to get to the hospital. Fast. I was dying. I could feel it. I looked at the clock. It was 1 am. I picked up the phone and called my parents. I awoke them (of course) and begged them to come and watch our kids while David took me to the emergency room.

To be honest, I didn't know if I'd be coming back. I felt Life slipping from me. I have never been so scared in my Life.

Actually, I take that back. January 22nd takes the cake.

Now, a little clarification here. I am not afraid of Death. Quite the contrary. In a healthy way, I quite look forward to the Next Life. But right now, my family is in a vulnerable position. My kids need their Mommy and my Honey needs his Sweetheart. I knew that. And so - for their sake - I knew that it couldn't be my time to go. It just couldn't.

As my parents spoke to me on the phone, David pulled out the lap top. We started typing my symptoms into google. The results were not promising. A heart attack, Aneurysm, or Acute Anxiety Attack. The symptoms were hauntingly the same.

Ugh. Options, not good.

My Mom and Dad told me to get in the bathtub and see if if the symptoms subsided. If it was an anxiety attack, they would gradually diminish. If not, I probably should get to the hospital. Stat.

So I did.

Over the next hour, the symptoms DID subside. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep in my husband's arms, promising that I would get to the doctor sometime that week.

Well, that was #1 out of 4 attacks that occurred in the next 7 days. Each episode happened at different times, triggered by the unknown. Nothing overly emotional, upsetting or troubling preceding each one. They arrived unannounced, paralyzing me without a moment's notice. It. Was. Hell.

By the end of the week, I knew I had to see a Doctor. And fast. I made an appointment for that morning and was soon sitting knee to knee with our family practioner. As I discussed my symptoms, he asked me a series of questions surrounding my current Life Situation. When I gave him the Readers Digest version of this year's happenings, I thought he was going to fall off his chair. He just stared at me wide eyed.

And then we began to discuss options.

Side Note - At Bennett's viewing/funeral, I had multiple people recommend that we get on medication to help "numb the pain." I thought that was crazy. I felt it important that - as a family - we all be on the same page in our Grief. If we were going to walk this path, we were going to walk it together. That was my opinion.

That is, until the attacks began.

So my Doctor told me that a few things were necessary.

1 - I had to simplify. Everything. And I. Mean. EVERYTHING. That calling that I had just accepted to Chair our Congregation's Christmas Party? It was a no go. Wow. For Little Miss "Sign me up for it", this was going to be hard.

2 - I had to learn how to relax my mind, body and spirit. My Doctor suggested Meditation. I prefer prayer. I needed to find a way to take my mind to a Peaceful Place when I could feel Anxiety coming on. Hmmm . . . this was going to take practice.

3 - Medication WAS necessary. This would take care of itself in time but - until then - I had to be functioning. For Myself, for my Children and for my Sweetheart.

And so it goes. I've been on anxiety meds for two months now and I am happy to say that I am fully functioning and coherent. I am not numb and I completely feel the ups and downs of Life and Grief along with my family. The difference? I am not paralyzed with Anxiety and Fear. We have had to make changes and I have had to develop skills. Skills that I will use for the rest of my life. I don't know what triggered the attacks 10 months into our experience. It was probably more of "the straw that broke the camel's back" scenerio. But it is what it is. And we're dealing with it. Together.

Is my battle with Anxiety over? Hardly. I know I will deal with anxiety - to one extent or another - for the rest of my life. Especially when I have another babe. But I am not willing to let Fear get in the way of the greatest Joys in life. I will not. I will choose to Love. I will choose to have Hope. I will choose to keep Believing. And I will continue to Live.

The moral of the story? There are many things in life that you have no control over. And - at times - that sucks. But what you CAN control is the way that you deal with it. And taking care of yourself is the LEAST selfish thing you can do.

That's what I know for sure.

Real

So, I've been out awhile. The cause? A combination of things. The health issues of a child, an upcoming move and simply the fact that I didn't feel like writing.

So, I didn't.

So where am I at?

I am sad.

I am grateful.

I am nervous.

And I am hopeful.

In a few weeks, we'll be moving. Again. And with that move will come a wave of emotions. I'll be unpacking items that I haven't seen in over a year. A crib, a carseat, bins of clothing, bedding and items that were oh-so-special to a precious little blonde, blue-eyed boy. And - in all honesty - I'm scared.

I'm scared of going back to a really raw place. I'm scared that I may not be ready to deal with some very real feelings. I'm scared that I won't want to use the crib my son died in. And yet, I'm scared to get rid of it. And I'm scared of moving on to this new chapter without my son.

I'm grateful for new begginings. I'm grateful for a home that is customized to fit the needs, lifestyle and tastes of our family (particularly me ;0). I'm grateful for a fantastic new neighborhood, congregation and friends that have already blessed my life. And I'm grateful to God who is the Great Giver of all these Gifts.

I am nervous for what's ahead. I am nervous that I will deal with infertility again. I am nervous about the anxiety I will feel when having another baby. I am nervous about my baby sleeping . . . period. I am nervous about what the core of another child's health concerns are. I am nervous about my ability to adapt to even more change. And I am nervous that my children will grow up with a worry wort mother.

But I am hopeful for our future. God loves me - He tells me daily - and has a plan for our family. He has led us this far, guiding us every step of the way, and will not leave us comfortless. We don't have all the answers but we are closely connected with The One who does. Will hard times come? You can count on it. But are there good things ahead? You. Bet. And we'll celebrate it all. The Good AND the Growing.

Because that's who we are. And that is who we will continue to be.

Lessons Learned from Death

Last night, my Grandfather passed away. He is quite an amazing man. I could write chapters on all that he accomplished in life but - for now - that will have to wait.

I want to write about what we have learned from Death.

Saturday morning, we received a text from my Mother telling us that Grandpa was going downhill quickly. This came as rather a shock. Though his body and mind were aging, we didn't necessarily think he was at Death's door. That all changed last week. It quickly became evident that his time was at hand.

As soon as we heard that hospice had been called in, we hurriedly dressed our little crew and took them up to see Grandpa Saturday morning. When we arrived, we were surprised to see him in a hospital bed in his room. He had been medically sedated for the past few days to control the pain he was experiencing. However, when we came in the room, he responded to each one of us. He is famous for calling each one of his daughters/granddaughters "dear" while referring to every male posterity as "son." And so it was. We each received our term of endearment and he kept looking around muttering "oh boy. oh boy." He was so happy to see his grandchildren.

As he drifted in and out of coherency, we stood by his side, telling him all the things we loved about him. As we stood together, I looked at my children. I was amazed how comfortable they were with Death. They knew what was happening and they weren't afraid to witness it. Given our alarming discovery and circumstances, that is a miracle.

I watched with amazement as my Gracie cupped Grandpa's weak hand between her own as my Emma rubbed his feet. They were administering to him with so much love and tenderness. My mind immediately took me back to almost exactly a year ago.

Despite the shock and terror of finding Bennett cold and stiff in his crib, David and I felt divinely inspired in how to handle our situation. Even in the early hours of realization, we knew we could not change the situation. We felt - however - that the way we dealt with it would mean EVERYTHING to our family.

How right we were.

Because of that, we as a family spent as much time with Bennett's body as possible after his Death. In that time, my children became very comfortable and familiar with the effects of Death on the body. We told them that - though this was Bennett's body or shell - the Bennett we knew and loved was in Heaven. They needn't be alarmed that he was cold, stiff and unresponsive. Because - when they would see him again - he would not be. He would be the same Bennett they tickled, cuddled, knew and loved.

They listened. They heard. And they believed.

And so - not even a year later - when their great grandfather who they cherish passes away, they are not alarmed by this change. They have walked this road before. They love him in Death as they did Life. And they know we will be together again.

And - until then - Grandpa will be playing catch with our Bennett.

My Thoughts this New Years

This is a picture of our last New Years Eve Celebration. My sister and niece joined us and we had a rip roarin' party. So fun.

This morning, this was my Facebook Status:

While I am eager for New Beginnings after the most difficult year of my life, I am also melancholy today as I close the book on the last year that bore my son's breath.

But I am changed. Changed for good.

And - though at a high price - we are more fit for truly LIVING, loving, learning and giving while we "live in the moment." In other words, we are more prepared for moving Home with Bennett.

So thank you, 2011. Thank you.

That about sums it up. There's not much more to say.

Happy New Year, friends. Happy New Year.

Of People, Pinwheels and Promises

I am feeling sad today. Maybe tomorrow I will write of the Peace, Joy and Comfort we felt on our first Christmas without Bennett. But today, I just feel sad.

And that's okay.

This afternoon, after leaving a family activity early with a melting down Ashton, I buckled my boy in and just drove. My car (that is in great need of a post-holiday detail) drove all over the city. Passed our framed new home, through our new neighborhood, passed the home that we shared with Bennett and on to his grave. It seemed that my car knew the direction that it needed to go. I just sat behind the wheel and took it in.

The tour concluded as we pulled into the hollowed ground of the cemetery. As I pulled to a stop near the curb, bright colors that contrasted against the black granite of Bennett's memorial caught my eye. I parked the car and walked over to his grave. Sprinkled around My Boy's memorial was a handful of handmade pinwheels. A note was left from a dear friend and her family sharing that they had come on Christmas Eve to remember our sweet son who reminded them of the precious Christ Child. I fell to my knees on the wet grass, bowed my head and just wept.

I wept for sweet friends, both near and abroad. I wept at their sacrifice, charity and thoughtfulness to share such a tender evening remembering our Angel and our family. I wept for the son that I'd prefer to be chasing around the house instead of memorializing in granite. And I wept out of gratitude for that Precious Mother and her tiny Babe.

And then I wept for the Pinwheels.

Pinwheels? you might ask. Why pinwheels?

Well, there is a story there.

A few months after Bennett's death, I realized that I needed to do something healing with Bennett's clothes. It was just too excruciating to see them laying unused in his drawers and Rubbermaid bins. I didn't want to give them away and see them on another child. I didn't want to store them in the closet. And I didn't know if I'd want to have a future sibling wear them. I wanted to find a way to turn them into something that symbolized comfort, love and healing.

And so we decided to make a blanket.

Better said, two dear friends volunteered to make Bennett Blankets FOR us.

One of our sweet friends - a gifted quilter herself - asked what we wanted her to create. I shared with her the image of a Pinwheel Quilt that another Angel Mother had shared with me. It seemed perfect. Cheery, Hopeful, Child-like and packed with meaning. Some have asked if I still think of Bennett every day. "Only on the days that I breathe," I respond. And so this pinwheel represents the movement of my lungs. Whether that movement takes me forward or backward is up to me. But there WILL BE movement, nonetheless.

So pinwheels have come to symbolize our journey. The Joy, Faith, Hope and Movement. Some days it may be 2 steps forward, 3 steps back. But every day we move. Because we must.

Did this sweet friend know of our Precious Pinwheels? Who knows? But I know One who did. And that simple gift was such a tender mercy to me. A reminder that I am not alone. That in moments good and growing, I have One that is watching over me, weeping alongside me and - if needed - carrying me through these harrowing moments. What will the future hold? I know not. But I know where I will be. Moving forward. Will there be fear? Yes. Will there be adjustment? Yes. Will there be loss? Surely. But I'm not doing it alone. That, He has promised. And a Tender Father in Heaven will put in my path all that I need to succeed. Be it Precious People or Pinwheels.

That is His Promise.

And I'll hold Him to it.

Merry Christmas from Heaven

Two of my angels stopped by today. They were with me within hours of discovering Bennett and did many things behind the scenes to keep my family afloat while we navigated the treacherous road of grief.

One of my Angels - an Angel Mother herself - shared this poem with me. She said that she reads it every Holiday Season to remind her how much her son is still involved in their lives.



MERRY CHRISTMAS FROM HEAVEN

I still hear the songs
I still see the lights
I still feel your love
on cold wintry nights.

I still share your hopes
and all your cares
I'll even remind you
to please say all your prayers.

I just want to tell you
you still make me proud
You stand head and shoulders
above all the crowd.

Keep trying each moment
to stay in His grace
I came here before you
to help set your place.

You don't have to be
perfect all the time
He forgives you the slip
if you continue to climb.

To my family and friends
please be thankful today
I'm still close beside you
in a new special way.

I love you all dearly
now don't shed a tear
cause I'm spending my
Christmas with Jesus this year.


Merry Christmas, Sweet Bennett. Enjoy your White Christmas in Heaven. xoxoxoxo

Thanksgiving Recap

It's never too late to recap Family Memories, right? Well, here's a pictorial overview of our Thanksgiving.

We had a non-traditional Thanksgiving this year, which was very good for our family. We snuck away with a few family members to a Swiss mountain resort and had our Thanksgiving Dinner at their spectacular restaurant. Our weekend included lots of sleep, Christmas movies, yummy food, beautiful walks along the mountainside (it was unusually warm that weekend) and time spent playing at the park feeding the ducks. The kids loved it.

On Thanksgiving morning, our gratitude circle included lots of references to our Sweet Bennett. We miss him so much. But we believe he is just a breath away and is just as much with us in Death as he was in Life. We are an eternal family unit. Therefore, no one's goin' anywhere. ;0)

Hope your Thanksgiving was as relaxing, reflective and healing as ours. xoxoxo

A Mother's Love

I am home from church with the Little Guy today. We both have been having some health issues of late that have prevented us from going to church the day of the Primary Program. Blast.

I have been thinking about my last days with Bennett this morning. As in, my last days with his body. We were blessed to have a lot of time with him after his passing. That was a gift. Simply a gift.

After we learned that Bennett had passed away hours before we found him, we were told that the medical examiner would be arriving shortly and that we would have 15 minutes to spend with our boy before he was taken away for an autopsy.

That was simply not okay with me.

I immediately pulled our Investigator aside and told him that though I knew I couldn't do anything to bring my son back, I knew that I HAD to handle this in the a way that would promote healing for my family.

And so, I asked for Time.

Time to hold him, time to caress him, time to bring his siblings in and tell them what had happened. And time for David to give him a final Father's blessing. The investigator heard this Mother's plea and kindly relented.

What happened in the next four hours was heartbreaking, harrowing and nothing short of sacred. I wrapped him in the blankie I had made for him before he was born. I held his body close to mine. I kissed his sweet little cheeks. I ran my fingers through his hair. I gently pushed back his eyelids to once again see his lovely baby blues. And I told his brother and sisters that Bennett was called Home. That is, to his Heavenly Home. And that - though at times we would feel him close - he wouldn't be living in our house anymore. That is one of the hardest things I have ever done. E V E R. No mother should ever have to have that conversation with her children.

After four beautiful hours together, the medical examiner arrived and I was told it was time to take Bennett away. I refused to put him in a body bag so instead I opted to wrap him in a beautiful white blanket and personally "tuck him in" the car. Fastening him on the gurney was one of the most surreal moments of my life. I experienced firsthand what it feels like to have your heart break. Literally. Break. As they closed the door, I stood outside the vehicle with my mother. My nose pressied against the glass as I took one last look at my boy. I couldn't get enough. I just needed more. More time, more kisses, more cuddles, more giggles. More bedtime stories, more holidays, more birthdays, more memories. Just. More.

I received a call from the mortuary Monday night notifying me that Bennett's body had been received. They needed time to prepare him to be seen. I don't know if I was prepared for the trauma of an autopsy. Even though I could feel no life in my child, no mother wants to see their child in that condition. That said, the Spirit fell on us and we were able to see him as our son. We held him, touched him, kissed him, dressed him and whispered sweet sentiments in his ear. I knew he heard every word because I knew he was with us. There is no where else he'd rather be.

In the next few days, we spent every moment possible at the mortuary. In fact, it was on the couch holding Bennett that David and I penned our joint funeral address. Our children LOVE story time - Bennett included - and so we decided to share our thoughts in the format of a story. I'm sure it was Bennett's idea. ;0)

During one of our visits at the mortuary, our tender mortician asked us if we would like Bennett to spend his last evening before burial in our home. We tearfully replied yes. We thought it would be a perfect opportunity for our little family to say our final "see you laters."

After our first viewing Thursday night (that was five hours long . . .), we retreated to our home and Bennett followed us shortly. With tender love, the funeral directors carried his little casket in our home and asked us where we wanted him to be. The Family Room, of course. For the next hour, we held him, caressed him, did our family cheer, had a family prayer and sang some of Bennett's favorite songs. While we did so, a gifted photographer that kindly offered her services to us captured every moment. During our time, Ashton (who had been quite reluctant to see his brother's body) took his car and kept driving it up and down Bennett's chest. "Wake up, Bennett! Wake up! Let's play cahs!" he kept saying. My heart smiled and broke all at once.

As time quickly passed, we soon realized that we had to get at least a few hours of sleep before the viewing and funeral the following day. And so we sang Bennett's song (a tradition every night before he went to bed), tucked him in, and even left a light on in the hallway for him. Just because. And I couldn't help but steal an extra kiss or two from my boy. Time was short. I knew it. And I had to take advantage of each moment.

I awoke hours later, unable to sleep. I snuck downstairs and picked up my boy, trying to take in every moment in the quiet hours of the morning. With the dawn would come new realities. Like burying my boy. While each moment spent with him confirmed that he was not with us, each second was a treasured gift. My heart took a picture. I knew it would not last forever. And I knew that I would look back on these moments for years to come, trying to remember every. little. detail.

How right I was.

Awhile later, David stumbled downstairs. He too wanted to share some quiet moments with our son. Within minutes, the girls joined us, each wanting to cuddle, hold and create "a moment" with their little brother. Their ease and affection amazed me. They loved him in death as they did in life. It was such a lesson to me. How blessed I am to be their Mother.

Around 7 or 8, the funeral directors arrived. When they walked in the home, we both knew that my time with Bennett's body was nearing an end. Though I could touch and caress him in his casket at his viewing, I knew my moments to hold him in my arms were over. I held him close one last time, cupped his fingers in my hand, kissed his sweet little face and whispered tender reassurances in his ear. And then I tucked him in and they took him away.

The viewing that morning was far different than the one the night before. The previous evening, I had our time with Bennett at home to look forward to. We were strong, we were comforted and we wanted to share our peace with others. But the morning of his burial, all I could feel was loss intermingled with heavy doses of God's love and peace. A chapter in our family book was closing. One that's story had just begun. And one I was not ready to finish.

After emotionally greeting many loved ones at the viewing, family and close friends gathered as the doors to the room closed. My Father offered a beautiful blessing on Bennett and on our family that gave me the strength I needed to do what was ahead. When his prayer was over, one by one, family members approached his casket to say their final goodbyes. Many members of my family had written love notes to Bennett that would surround him with love until we were reunited. I loved that.

And then it was our turn.

As I approached the casket, I longed to hold my baby again. In hindsight, I wish I had. That perhaps is my only regret. But instead, I caressed his hair, I covered his face with my tears and kisses and I even took off his socks to kiss his sweet "toesies" (something he loved) once more. David joined me and did the same. Together we stood, learning over the body of our son, holding each other up. We would make it through. We would tread this path together. And - with the Lord - we would do whatever was required to be together again. THAT was for certain.

And then, we closed the casket.

Why am I writing about this now? Because my arms have been aching - ACHING - to hold my little man this week. And though it would be ideal to hold him in life, I would even settle for holding him in death. Though not the same, it was so precious to be with him. To hold him, caress him and shower him with all the love and adoration we have for him. He was adored. And he knew it. And I pray that after looking down on how we continued to care for him after his passing, he knows that more than ever.

So for now, I reach my arms heavenward. Whenever they are feeling extra empty, I ask God to fill them with Love - His Love - for me. Sometimes that comes in holding one of Bennett's siblings. Sometimes that comes in holding another little child. And often it occurs in the form of putting my arms around another who is in need of peace, love and comfort.

Because as I help other's feel God's love and grace, I feel a little bit of Heaven in my home. In other words, I feel my Bennett. And I'm one step closer to being with him again.

And heaven knows there's no where else I'd rather be.

The Flower Bush

So, our extended weekend away was really quite wonderful. Just what the doctor ordered.

Here's a summary of our favorite things:

• The girls pampered ourselves with an afternoon of mani/pedis.
• We laughed as we splashed and played at the Aquatic Center.
• We cuddled up on a FABULOUSLY comfy sectional for family naps everyday.
• We thoroughly enjoyed Tuacahn's production of "Little Mermaid" (seriously love it).
• We made many memories at Snow Canyon hiking and playing trucks in the "big dirts" (aka Sand Dunes).
• And we savored creamy frozen frozen custard at one of our favorite shops. Delish.

All in all, the rest, relaxation, and recreation refueled and refreshed our souls. It. Was. Divine.

While playing in the "dirts" Saturday afternoon, I was taught a lesson by The Great Teacher. As I watched my children play in the sand with their adoring Daddy, my heart ached. I just. felt. empty. We weren't complete! Someone was missing! Ashton wasn't supposed to be playing cars by himself. Granted David and I were by his side but - let's face it - a parent is just NOT a brother. Period.

Anyhoo, as my kids were building sandcastles and I circled around snapping pictures, I literally stumbled upon this Flower Bush. Small, tender and budding yellow, it was quite the surprise juxaposed against the red desert sand. Where did it come from? How did it get there? How did it sustain life? It was quite the mystery.

And yet there it was, standing tall, acting as reminder of Life amid the toughest conditions. As beautiful as the red rocky landscape was, the contrast of the yellow made it all the more breathtaking.

Curious.

I thought about our Sunshine Boy. I remembered all the bright, sweet, joyful times that we shared. I remembered all the laughs, giggles, snuggles and songs.

And then I thought about the last 9 months. The Desert of our lives.

We have been nourished by the rain. We have learned to build sandcastles in the most arid conditions. And - through it all - our Little Flower Bush has stood by, looking all the more beautiful against the harshness of the conditions. How grateful we are for his immortality.

And so I will remember. I will rememeber all the "fun things" but - above all - I will remember the dramatic beauty of the desert. I will remember playing in the sand. And I will remember the sweet, unexpected Flower Bush that brought so much meaning on a tender afternoon.

Tender Mercies. Tender mercies.

Remember

It has been said that the most important word in the English language is the word Remember. Because if we all Remembered, a lot more marriages would stay together, more parents would spend quality time with their children, humans would treat one other with more dignity and mankind in general would reflect on the Hand of God in their lives.

O, what a world that would be.

The word Remember will forever be different to me. Bennett's entire existence is held together by our memories. The sweet smell of the back of his neck, the softness of his velvety ivory skin, how his petite little body fit so perfectly in my arms, his magical, infectious giggle, the way his smile could light up the room, his "keeses" attacks on my face and neck, the way he'd blow bubbles on my not-so-tight tummy (loved that!), the way his little body would scoot across the floor as he swept the floor for his Mommy and the way he would wave his little hand while saying "nigh nigh" to me as I tucked him in . . . ahhhh, it's the stuff dreams are made of.

Particularly Mine.

So we've tried to create family traditions that help our family REMEMBER.

• After every family prayer, we immediately follow our "Amen" by blowing a kiss to Heaven. It's our little way of continually sending our love to our Sunshine Boy.
• After Bennett's death, Ashton refused to sleep in the room they shared for a few months. When I had had enough, I prayed to the Lord for guidance in how to handle this fragile little boy. I was immediately prompted to sing this song to him every night before bed. It worked like magic and has become part of our nightly ritual. And - P.S. - he's been sleeping in his bed ever since. Just another Tender Mercy.
• We have been blessed to have two very special friends offer to take some of Bennett clothes and make Healing Quilts for our family. Each quilt is individual and oh-so-different. But each is PERFECT. When one member of our family is feeling particularly tender, they are gifted a cuddle session or a night's sleep with one of the quilts. As we wrap them up in our arms, Bennett's memory and God's love, they are reminded that - no matter how tough this road is - we are in it together. And that - in the end - it's going to be okay. God's grace will make us whole.
• More recently, the girls have really been aching for Bennett. I have turned - once again - to the power of music for healing. I have begun singing this song to them as they lay cuddled up in our Healing Quilts. It reminds us that God is in control of all things and that He has a specific timeline and plan for each of us. Including our little Bennett.
• Whenever we visit Bennett's grave (which is quite often), we always write him a note or color a picture in a journal that was so lovingly left in a water tight container at his grave by a friend. This journal has become priceless. It documents the road to healing for our family. It is real, tender, tough and divine. We love it.
• Another tradition we have when visiting Bennett's grave is to hold hands and circle round his memorial (ring around the rosies style) while singing His Song and our own version of You Are My Sunshine. These songs remind us of our Little Sunshine Boy. Oh, how we adore him.
• For Bennett's birthday, we released yellow balloons laden with love notes to Heaven. For his "Angel Day" (the day of his passing), I think we'll send off Chinese Lanterns (like the ones seen in here) reminiscent of his Journey Toward Light. What an adventure he's on. What an adventure.
• As I was looking through our Halloween pictures from last year, I saw the above pictures. As a last minute thrown together costume, Bennett was dressed as one of the army men from Toy Story. He was so dang cute.
  In this picture, I was reminded how much he LOVED the chocolate dipped pretzels we had at the extended family Halloween Party. So from now on, chocolate covered pretzels will be a regular at our Halloween Day celebrations. All in memory of our Bennett.
• For Christmas, we will use Bennett's Christmas stocking as a Service Stocking. Between Thanksgiving and Christmas, we will fill Bennett's stocking with pieces of paper documenting ways we have brought Joy into other's lives in remembrance of the Joy Bennett brought to us. And then, on Christmas morning when we may be missing him extra much, we can go through his Christmas stocking and feel all the Joy that was brought about out of our Love and Remembrance of Bennett. I think it will be very, very tender.
• We will also create a Bennett Christmas tree in our home every holiday season. On it will hang pictures of Bennett with items that remind us of his sweet little life. And perhaps we'll include miracles that have occurred in our hearts and others since his death.
  Hmmm . . .
• Another seemingly small tradition we have is that - when asked how many children we have - we ALWAYS include Bennett. This has been happening quite a bit since our recent move. We are in an area that did not know our boy and - therefore - only sees us as a family of five. THAT we are NOT. Sometimes it's hard retelling our story time and time again, but it's important for us to have our new neighborhood and congregation know of our Bennett. He IS one of us and will always be considered as an integral member of our Eternal Family unit.
• Most importantly, we continually REMEMBER the covenants - or two-way promises - that we made with God in His Holy House that make it possible for our family to be together. Forever. And when our hearts are aching and we are feeling his loss most poignantly, we cling to one another, remembering a Loving Heavenly Father's Reassurances and Love. And that helps us keep putting one foot in front of another.

These traditions have helped our family Remember. We may add traditions. We may redefine the traditions we've created. And that's okay. The point? We will do the things that feel right for our family, promote healing and that help us remember the Joy, Sunshine and Happiness that our Little Man brings to us.

And now, O man, remember, and perish not. (Mosiah 4:30).

Inseparably Connected

They say that "the spirit and body are the soul of man" (Doctrine and Covenants 88:15). I couldn't agree more. What affects one affects the other. They ARE inseparably connected.

There are only two times in my life when my body has gone into shock: 1) When I was eight months pregnant with our third child and was told that our three year old daughter was critically ill and might not make it, and 2) After Bennett passed away.

For those who have not experienced physical shock, it is interesting to find out just how your body responds. Some throw up, some scream, yell and throw things and others may faint. For me? My whole body went into convulsions.

After Bennett's death, bedtime seemed to be a trigger for me. Both when I went to bed at night and when I awoke in the morning. For a moment I would forget. Then I'd look across the hall into his empty crib.

Where was my baby? Why was his crib empty? Why wasn't he calling for me in the morning?

And then it would all come back to me. My body would begin to shake as my teeth chattered.

And then the sobs came.

All the trauma, emotion and shock would hit me like a crashing wave all over again. I was reminded what that empty crib meant to my heart and how that changed our family. And my sweet husband would just hold me until the shaking subsided.

The shaking stopped just in enough time for the investigation to begin. For nearly three months, there was an open investigation into Bennett's death. During that time, we were questioned while awaiting the test results conducted during Bennett's autopsy. When they DID come, we were told they found no physical reason for Bennett's death. I asked the State Medical examiner how often this happened. His answer? Less than 1% of the time.

Lucky us.

I thought the worst was over. Then one day, nearly three months after Bennett's passing, I received a knock at the door. It was the investigator assigned to our case.

"I just wanted to stop by and give you some good news."

Okay. Maybe they found the cause of death? Maybe they had found something amiss in our home (i.e. carbon monoxide)? I don't know . . . not a lot of good news in this situation.

"I just spoke with the County Prosecuting Attorney and he feels comfortable not press charges against you and your husband."

No words. No words.

Then the self talk.

Keep your mouth shut, Amanda. Keep your mouth shut. He means well and it won't change anything.

Now time has marched on. Nearly 9 months, in fact. SO many things have happened. Both related and unrelated to Bennett's death. But - in the end - it has ALL taken its toll.

A few weeks ago, I decided to see a Doctor. I wasn't feeling right. Something was just "off." So I made an appointment.

After a TON of blood work was drawn, the results came back. The circumstances had waged a war on my spirit and body. My soul was a wreck.

As my spirit suffered, my body responded. They were, indeed, connected. As shock and grief hit, hormones reacted, deficiencies resulted and body systems quit doing their job. What my doctor suggested? It was time to simplify and chill out.

Now, one thing that is DANG HARD for this lady is simplification. I love to give my children lots of building opportunities. I love to attend fun events. I love to say Yes. I love to help those I love. I love to serve in my church. And I love to write and maintain this little blog. But - for the sake of Myself and My Family - I needed to take care of Me.

So we made a list. What were the nonnegotiables? School. Family Scripture Study and Prayer. Family Dinners. Harp. Piano. Then date night, Family Home Evening, weekly church attendance . . . And - hey - we might as well finish up the soccer season. But that about sums it up. Everything else became Negotiable.

So we withdrew from tennis. We didn't sign up for dance this fall. I pushed the pause button on a new demanding church calling. We canceled a family group therapy session that would be taxing on our time, emotions and resources. And we are just Being. Can we remove all the stresses of life? Heck no! But in simplifying, we have made them manageable.

Because we all know that every life situation is an opportunity to learn, what have I learned from this experience?

• I have learned that when Mommy suffers, the whole family suffers.
• I have learned to take care of Myself like I take care of others.
• I have learned that it's okay to say "Not right now."
• I have learned that life can be very rich with very few things.
• And I have learned that the most important things in life are not items listed on a calendar or to do list. They are relationships to be made, strengthened and cherished.

And that my Spirit and Body ARE Inseparably Connected.

This Time Last Year . . .

This time last year, I took four little kiddos to the pumpkin patch for our annual Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This time last year, Bennett couldn't get enough of the little red wagon.

This time last year, Bennett went from one pumpkin pile to another, trying to find the pumpkin seat that was just the "right fit."

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

This afternoon, I'll be taking three kiddos to the Cousins Pumpkin Picking.

This afternoon, I think I'll feel a little melancholy as I pull around the little red wagon.

And this afternoon, I think I'll be looking around the Pumpkin Patch for that little blond boy that so loved being part of the Fall Festivities with his siblings, cousins, aunts and Grammie Lu.

You are in my Heart today, My Boy. Your Mommy loves you.

To the Moon and back. xoxoxoxo

A Day of Contrasts

Ten years ago today, America experienced a tragedy that took too many of its own.
Ten years ago today, I married my best friend.

Ten years ago, the world stood around televisions, staring wide-eyed, not believing the tragedy that was unfolding before them while I waiting in the Bride's room in the Salt Lake Temple, waiting to hear if they would keep the Temple open for our wedding.

Ten years ago, nearly 3,000 lives tragically ended.
Ten years ago, our family's life had just begun.

When we were married, the clergy that married us (called a "Sealer" in our faith) referred to the day as "a day of contrasts." He reminded us that - in the future - when we experience turmoil, loss, stress or tragedy, we could should return to the promises made that day and remember where we can turn to receive true peace.

And, oh, have we experienced those kinds of days.

But this year I feel the loss differently. I ache in a whole different way with these families because I too have experienced a bone-chilling loss. I HAVE become "well acquainted with grief" and I know what it's like to have your life change in an instant. To have the wind literally knocked out of you and have to literally labor through every breath.

The good news? There is Hope. There is Goodness. There is Light. And there is Joy. Though there will be moments of Darkness and - at times - they can feel suffocating. But the Morning will come. It will. The Sun will continue to rise and it will continue to warm, nourish and feed your soul. Will things ever be "normal"? No. But that can be a good thing. You are changed forever. Heaven is in your Home because part of your Home is in Heaven. And that is a very lovely thing.

In a 1864 letter to a Mrs. Bixby, a Mother who lost 5 of her sons in the Civil War, Abraham Lincoln penned these words:

"I pray that our Heavenly Father may assuage the anguish of your bereavement, and leave you only the cherished memory of the loved and lost, and the solemn pride that must be yours to have laid so costly a sacrifice upon the altar of freedom."

May I add my prayers to that of that wonderful, inspired man. May our prayers penetrate the Heavens in behalf of all the heartbroken and those looking for hope.

It will come. It will come.

My To Do List

As of last night, I am the proud owner of a Home Management Binder. It holds ALL - and I mean ALL - of the info our family needs. I. LOVE. IT. With so much going on in our family right now, I can't leave it to this brain to remember everything. This binder will be my salvation.

As I am looking at my "To Do" list for today, this weekend, this month and this year, I am reminded how ordinary and how extraordinary our situation is. Along with "buy metronome and theory books for Grace" is a jotted note to start Bennett's life history. And this for a boy that only lived a mere 19 3/4 months on this earth. I have the goal of completing it before his "Angel Day" in January. In preparing to start this process, I think I know how sweet, tender, difficult and healing it will be. I just pray that my meager words can do this little man justice. They say a picture is worth a thousand words. I'll have to include as many as I can.

As my thoughts have been turned to this new project, I have been reminded of the fragility of life. How Life can change in a split second. Since Bennett's death, it seems like I hear of deaths around every corner that are somehow connected to me or people I hold dear. And - as a new member of The Poignant Loss Club - I feel a responsibility to pay it forward. Whether it be through loving words, shared tears, a heartfelt gift, a written note or a quiet act of kindness, I know firsthand what a difference those things make. We have received over a thousand letters since Bennett's loss and I have kept every one. When I am feeling weak or incapable of dealing with this heartache, I return to the words of others that believe in me, are praying for me and who grieve with me over the loss of my son. Now it is my turn - even while I'm neck deep in Grief - to Pay It Forward. And, in doing so, I believe that I will find companions in Healing and Purpose. How much I need them.

While thinking about the relationships that really mean the most to me in this life, I came across this video on YouTube. Perhaps some of you became acquainted with Chris Medina on American Idol (I personally have not followed the show since Clay Aiken). Medina's story is one of Enduring Love and Heartfelt Compassion following a car accident that tragically disabled his fiance just two months before their marriage. He is now caring for her along with her Mother and trying to find the help his fiance needs to make a full recovery. His is a loyalty rarely seen in this world. What a noble man. And what a blessed woman.



And if you feel like "Paying It Forward", click here to donate to the foundation to aid Julianna's recovery. I did.

Prayers for Peace, Strength and Healing, Julianna and Chris . . .

Straight Up

Have you noticed I haven't been posting as frequently? Well, I feel like I'm currently stuck between a rock and a hard spot. And - since I pride myself on being open and honest on this blog - let me share where I'm at.

I'm already feeling like many expect me to move on. Heck, it's been seven months! Get over it already! ;0) Uh, wrong. I am still experiencing "firsts" around every turn. It's a big adjustment. And a heartbreaking one at that. Sometimes I still can't believe this has happened to us.

And yet, I feel Hope. Our family is optimistic about our future and we laugh and play and cuddle. A lot. It seems that our knowledge of the fragility of life has made us appreciate each other even more. Heaven seems closer because it is. And we feel firmly resolved to do whatever it takes to be with our Sweet Bennett again. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

So I feel torn between these feelings I have. My Grief and Loss are juxtaposed against my Gratitude, Hope, Faith and Joy. And - oft times - I don't know if I have the ability to communicate the feelings of my heart adequately. I want Sunshine Promises to be a place of Faith, Hope, and Light - and yet - Reality. I have never been one to sugarcoat things. But I don't want to be perceived as "dwelling" on our loss either. Is that as clear as mud?

But I won't be what I am not. I promised myself when I started this blog that I would be real at all times. I wouldn't write for readers or for comments (though I love both ;0). I would simply try to put into words the state of my heart. Sometimes I feel that has happened while at other times, I have felt that I have fallen abysmally short. But I have kept writing. And I hope the Great Inspiration for this blog gives me props for that.

And so bear with me, friends. I am not prolific. I am just an ordinary person doing a really hard thing. Perhaps you can relate. And I will keep telling our story so that perhaps - maybe years from now - when my remaining babes go through their "hard things", they will be able to read back on the tender thoughts and feelings of their not-so-perfect mother who tried her darnedest to BE and LIVE what she BELIEVED. Even when her heart was breaking. And if - in that moment - what I write is of ANY value to them, I have succeeded.

And so I will keep writing.

Broken Record

When I was a girl, my mom would put me on her lap, hold my hands and "giddy up" like a pony. While I bounced up and down on her knee, she would chant this phrase to the rhythm of the clopping:

Smoooooothe Road, Smoooooothe Road,

Bumpy Road, Bumpy Road,

HOOOOOOOLE in the Road! (as she dipped me)

Right now, I feel like I am living this childhood chant. One moment I am doing fine. Healing, even. And then there is a bump. Sometimes expected and sometimes not. And then - right as I am regaining my footing - I get broadsided. And back I am at square one.

This week has been interesting. This afternoon, I retrieved the mail to find a reminder from our Medical Coverage Company reminding me that it was time to immunize Bennett. Ouch. Sucker punch to the stomach. All at once, I missed him all over again.

And then the girls started at their new school this week. I was so excited for them. They were so ready for it. But - after they left, donning their new threads - Ashton and I were left. Alone. Ashton starts preschool in 1.5 weeks and - to tell you the truth - I am not looking forward to it. If I didn't think he needed the socialization so much (Mommy just is not as fun to play with as a fellow child), I would keep him home. But it's the CHILDREN'S needs we're trying to address right now. Not just keeping Mommy in her comfort zone.

Some try to kindly reassure me that it will be so nice to have a few hours a week to myself. I guess that would be true under "normal" circumstances. But mine is not. Seven months ago, I wasn't expecting to have all my kids out of the house - for any period of time - any time soon. I had a little guy. Then not even two. He was my little shadow and would follow me anywhere I went. Whenever Ashton would have a play date with Grandma or play trucks with a friend, Bennett would happily stay with me, never drifting more than a few feet away. I wasn't planning on being alone anytime soon. And - quite frankly - I'm not ready for it.

So my Mom has advised me to hyper plan my "free time." Run errands, work out, have lunch with a friend or peacefully peruse the library. Anything to keep my mind off the emptiness, the "should have beens" or the obvious void in my day.

Do I sound like a broken record? Let's hope tomorrow's a smoothe road . . .

Ode to Sunset View Drive

It was May 2008. David had just graduated from Purdue and our family was getting ready to relocate after one of the most trying years of our life. Grace (our then 4 year old) had been fighting a rare form of pneumonia that nearly took her life. After a month in the Children's Hospital (most of the time spent in the ICU) and after 6 months of quarantine and treatments at home, we were ready for a change of scenery. And nothing says change like a move!

We arrived at our "dream home" worn out, exhausted yet full of hope and promise. It had been a tough year. A year we didn't want to relive. But we had made it. The best was yet to come.

With a new babe in arms, we started to put down roots in our new home, neighborhood and congregation with our three little ones. This was it. We were here for the long haul.

Four months later, we learned we were expecting. A shock, to say the least. Ashton was just 7 months old and we were still leery of our daughter's health condition. But a baby was on its way. And - after we wrapped our minds around the unexpected gift - we were thrilled.

Months later, we learned it was a Boy. Two girls and two boys! YAY! We were thrilled. What a gift to have a little brother and playmate for Ashton. As Mary Poppins says, this was going to be "practically perfect in every way."

And so it was. Our little boy joined our family May 31, 2009 and was named Bennett. From the moment he was put in our arms, everything felt so right. Our combined love for him filled our home with joy. Everyone LOVED Bennett.

During the next 20 months, many milestones took place on Sunset View Drive. Bennett's first smile, his first giggle, his first crawl, his first traverse down the staircase, his first steps, his first words (debated if it was Mama or Dada), his first true love (my sister Katie), his favorite discovered hobby (sweeping the floor), his favorite game (hide and go seek), his favorite song (HIS song), his favorite cheer (YOU ROCK!), his favorite bath time and bedtime rituals and his first best friend (his brother Ashton). So many sweet things happened in those short 20 months. So. Many. Things.

And then came the morning of January 22, 2011. Those same walls that had reverberated with giggles and song seemed to be suffocating and stifling with the tragic events of the day. Where we had gently tucked him in the night before, caressed by Mommy's kisses and lullabies, we found him lifeless. Taken to his Heavenly Home by Angels hours before. It was too much to take in. Just. Too. Much.

And yet, the edifice stood. The Home held its ground and bore the weight of the Grief we were heaving. It seemed to feel the extremities we were facing and even seemed to breath in and out with us. It was a place of Grief, a place of Healing, a place of Safety, a place of Love and a place of Peace.

What a Gift.

In the coming weeks, we discussed whether we should continue to sell our Sunset View Drive home (it had been on the market since late fall). After much contemplation, discussion and prayer, we decided that the reasons for selling our home last fall still existed and that it would be in the best interest of our family to continue our quest to move.

Since then, some - not knowing the needs of our family - have questioned our decision to sell. A few have thought we were running away from our grief and that ours was a rash decision. To that I reply, there is no where that far. Our reality is our reality no matter where we go. We are not running from our memories, we are going with them. Our love, our loss, our gratitude and our grief will follow us no matter where we go. They are a part of us and we are a part of them. And that's the way it should be.

That said, the last few months have been grueling. Going through cupboards and drawers and moving furniture unearthed a lot of triggers. A sock of Bennett's there, a tiny shoe found underneath the couch, his Tow Mater truck found in a drawer (where he surely was playing) and - the biggest - a previously undiscovered crayon drawing of his in back of the giant armoire (his favorite hiding place). All of these findings echoed that he lived and that he was. There's not enough of those reminders in our world, let me tell ya.

Monday night, we took our family to the home one last time. We recorded the kids climbing their favorite tree in the backyard, playing four square in the now-bare front room, recalling favorite memories in our kitchen and sharing tender feelings of their little brother in the nursery. It so reflected the spectrum of our experience. "It was the best of times, it was the worst of times" . . . It was perfect.

So now we go forward. In Life, I have learned many things. But I have learned more in the last six months than my previous thirty four years combined. The tuition has been high, but we have received quite the education. Here is what I have learned on Sunset View Drive.

I have learned that People and not Things are what is truly important.

I have learned that it is not the size of your dwelling but the people you live with that truly make a Home.

I have learned that you can never say "I love you" too many times.

I have learned that blogging is great, but living in the moment is better.

I have learned to never take things for granted.

I have learned to never put off a dream because tomorrow is not a guarantee.

I have learned that God sends angels - both from Heaven and Earth - to bear you up when you feel like you just can't do it anymore.

I have learned that I need to be one of His Angels.

I have learned that the little things make a difference.

I have learned that you never can take too many pictures.

I have learned for myself that Death has no effect on family ties and relationships. They continue beyond the grave. I. Know. That.

I have learned that I have a Heavenly Father who loves me - truly loves me - and is involved with the details of my Life.

And - last of all - I have learned that I may not understand or choose everything that happens in my Life, but I do have absolute control of what I do with those things. And that makes all the difference.

And so goodbye, Sunset View Drive. We won't go far. You will always be just a memory away and will always hold a special place in our hearts.

Hello Again

Remember Me? Remember how I used to blog? Yeah. Well, I'm back.

We closed on our home on Monday and we've been settling into our rental this week. We'll be here for 6-8 months while we build our next (and hopefully FINAL) home and then we'll move. Again.

This has been a BIG change for our little family. We're living in 1/4 of the space we were living in, my girls are registered at a new elementary school, Emma was cleared to skip a grade (hallelujah!) next year and we have started to attend a new congregation who mostly know nothing of our current situation. It is strange and sad to think that they'll know nothing of our Sunshine Boy. That our stories of him will be just stories, that a face will not come to mind when I mention his name and that - to many - he will be just "that new family's boy who died."

They have no idea what they are missing.

But we feel good about this change and we feel that the Lord is guiding and helping us every step of the way. And - for now - we are enjoying the "simple life." No yard work, less space to clean, no home remodeling projects and - above all - no showings. It's a good life, I tell ya. A good life.

Tomorrow, I will pay tribute to our little home on Sunset View Drive. It is the only home we ever shared with Bennett. We lived there for 38 months and he was with us - either in my tummy or in our arms - for the majority of it. Those walls hold so many beautiful memories. It will always hold a special place in our hearts.

So, hello again. Thank you for sharing our journey. It is tender, it is tough, it is sweet and it is gripping. But it is ours. And we are deciding what to make of it.

One step at at time.

Overload

Lately, I've been operating on overload. So much is going on in our family right now. We move in one week, we close on our home in two weeks, Gracie broke her wrist on the trampoline, we are registering our children at a new school, our oldest is skipping a grade, we are putting the majority of our belongings in storage, we are starting the building process on a new home and we will be attending a new congregation (called "ward" in our faith). Crazy, crazy, crazy. But so many good things as well. A few I will mention:

1. I have two dear friends that are making "Bennett Blankies" for our family. I took over a bag of his favorite clothes to each of them and they are crafting works of art that will be Gifts of Healing for our family. I can't even begin to tell you how much this means to me. We will treasure these quilts always.
2. After fighting for our oldest to skip a grade for three years, we finally got the "go ahead" from the school district and she will be put into the appropriate grade for her development next year (we had opted to send her later as a kindergartner . . . she actually fits in the age group of her new grade). I can't even tell you how relieved I am and what a gift this is. Finally, she will be with kids that match her physical, emotion and social maturity. Hallelujah!
3. We have had so many volunteer to help us with the mammoth task of moving. And - for that - we are SO GRATEFUL! With every box I pack and every load I transport, I remind myself that this is the LAST TIME we are moving! NO MORE! I am DONE! Yet it is comforting to see how things have all worked together for our good and how the Lord is oh-so aware of our family.
4. We have made all the selections for our home in a charming new neighborhood (think Modern Farmhouse). Lots of sleek, clean finishes with a very modern twist. Very different from our previous European-feel designs. It will be a fresh new chapter for our little family. What a blessing. It. Will. Be. Fabulous. Slated date for move in: January 2012.
5. We received a surprise package in the mail last week. Upon opening it, we were surprised to find a Sunshine Themed package packed beautifully and lovingly for our little family. I didn't recognise the California return address and the kind note was left unsigned. And so, I send a BIG Thank You from our family to yours, whoever you are. I assume that this amazing individual heard our story through this blog and so to you, kind friend, we say Thank You. Thank You. Thank You. May the Lord bless you with the same Light and Joy you so generously showered upon our family. We love you dearly.

So there's the down low on the happenings 'round these parts. I ask for your patience as we wrap up matters at our home and prepare for this new chapter. I will post a few times this week but know that - when I am not online - I am doing all in my power to make this a smooth transition for our tender little bunch. They are so, so precious to me.

Hold your children close, soak in the sunshine and have an extra slice of watermelon "just because."

Happy Summer, friends!

Coping Mechanisms

As a rule of thumb, I try to be open and honest about our Walk with Grief (and what a walk it has been). And so, I will address aspects that I would not choose to disclose otherwise. Like the ways - healthy or not - that we have coped.

Overall, I believe we have made healthy choices in our Grieving. Though many approached me about taking anti-depressants following Bennett's death, I personally made the choice to walk through this heartache unencumbered. I thought it would be unfair to "numb" myself while the rest of my family walked through very difficult and tender feelings unmedicated. Though not a party, I wanted us all to be on the same page of our grieving. It may not be fun but we are in this together.

(While saying this, I do not judge anyone who has made another choice. Everyone does what is best for them and what is "right" for one may not be "right" for another. We just made the choice that felt best for our family. Period.)

So food has become my drug.

Everything has been a trigger for me. The extreme loss of losing Bennett, the anger and frustration of being investigated for his death, the inexplicable experience of packing up my Boy's belongs that he would never use again in this life, the stress of a kitchen remodel two months following his death in preparation for putting our home on the market and the unbelievable strain of showing a home at a moment's notice when I felt barely functional myself. All this on top of dealing with the deep and open wounds each member of my family is dealing with. This has been the most trying period of my life. Hands down.

While I do not binge, I mindlessly eat, grabbing a handful of this there and taking a bite of something there. And at the end of the day, I can't even remember what I consumed. And so - in five months - I have gained nearly 10 pounds. TEN POUNDS. And ten pounds I couldn't afford to gain.

And so it's time to get my rear in gear. It's time to cut back and rev it up. In our adversity, my Spirit has grown and I am learning so much. Grief has excavated a depth in my soul that I just cannot describe. Only the Lord knows fully what is happening within me. I am more compassionate, understanding and tender than I have ever been. And yet my body is tired and weak.

So it is time for my body to reflect my Spirit. I need the strength mindful and nourishing eating provide. I need to move more and sit less. And I need to sleep more ; something that is really hard to do when dealing with anxiety that is triggered during the night. But He has made me a promise. If I treat my body like a temple, I will be given "wisdom and great treasures of knowledge, even hidden treasures; And shall run and not be weary, and shall walk and not faint."

I will change. I will. And the Lord will help me. Instead of turning to external sources for comfort, I will turn to Him. And He will fill the abyss in my soul that even the best chocolate can't touch.