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

How God Works

It was June 2010. We had scrimped and pinched and had finally invested in a quality camera. The problem? It wasn't working. Every image was coming out blurry.

And so I called a friend.

Many of you know of this woman as the face and talent of the enormously popular The Idea Room. She is indeed as gifted as you think. But she is also very generous of heart and spirit.

I called her, explained my camera malfunctions and she kindly invited me to come over so we could figure out what was wrong.

After getting the girls off to school the following morning, I scooped up my boys in my arms - still sporting their "bed heads" - and headed over to Amy's house.

After fiddling with my camera for a few minutes, we found that the issue was a simple button that I had to switch on my lens. An easy fix. Lucky me.

And then she started clicking.

I can't remember what the purpose was. Maybe we were confirming the "fix" or maybe she felt guided to shoot. Who knows. But what I DO know is that - unexpectedly that morning - our visit turned into a mini photo shoot of Bennett and Mommy.

This is especially unique because I - like many mommies - take all the pictures in our family. I'm AT all the events but you'd never know it looking at the pictures! I'm always behind the camera.

So now, over a year later, I have all these precious pictures to gaze at thanks to a generous friend and a Tender Father in Heaven. A God who KNEW what was coming and KNEW what this Mother Heart would need in the days, months and years ahead.

What a Tender Mercy.

Just how God works.

Recognising Miracles

After the kids were in bed tonight, I decided to peruse Netflix so I could watch a flick while I cleaned up the post-Christmas decoration mess (yes, it's up). While flipping through the numerous options, I happened upon a 13 minute story entitled "In the Arms of Angels". The short film relayed the story of a Pioneer brother and sister and the heavenly intervention that took place that saved their lives.

*PAUSE BUTTON - I must note - in full disclosure - that "faith promoting" stories have not always comforted my heart since Bennett's death. Oft times when I hear tales like "I was backing out of the driveway and felt prompted to check behind the car and discovered that I almost ran over the garbage can", I feel conflicted, torn and - at times - even angry. Why was their seemingly inconsequential prayer answered before it was even uttered? Why didn't I hear my son - whose crib I could see across the hallway - while his life slipped away? Why did I not receive a prompting that may have saved his life?

Perhaps some of you flinch as you even read those questions. I have as I've asked them. At times they have tormented my soul. But they are raw, they are real and they are legitimate. It is what it is and it's part of the journey.

Okay, back to our story.

So the older sister makes a decision that puts her and her brother's life in danger. Then, in the midst of disaster, angels lift and save them from sure death. They are rescued and live to tell the tale.

So how does this apply to me, you ask? I will tell you. It's all in the application.

There were a few lines written in the narration that cut me to the core.

Life is lessons.

Life is troubles.

Learning obedience may be Life's hardest lesson of all.

I would add that accepting God's will and going forward IS the highest form of obedience. It's dang tough. But necessary.

Another . . .

There are times in everyone's life that you feel that you've been given the short end of the stick. I believe that at those times we need to accept the situation, pull ourselves up by the bootstraps and move on.

Move on. Hmmm . . .

That principle echoes in my soul. I may have worded it differently ("go forward" would be my phrase of choice) but there is truth in the concept.

So what was my take away after watching this 13 minute film? Did I walk away feeling guilty, cheated, or abandoned? Hardly. I was inspired. And I'll tell you why.

I was reminded that miracles come in all shapes and sizes. Sure, there are those that are immediately recognised as such. And then there are the other kind.

Like the death of our sweet Bennett.

Did the word "miracle" EVER cross my mind in the moments immediately following our horrific discovery? Uh, heck no. But in the days, weeks and months following this realization, I have seen God's grace first hand.

I have witnessed the goodness of humanity.

I have felt God's all consuming love so intimately in my "midnight moments."

I have been carried by a Loving Father in Heaven and His Angels. Both on Earth and in Heaven.

I have experienced a "peace that surpasses all understanding."

I have met so many beautiful human beings around the world that have supported, lifted and comforted me in my loss.

I have felt my belief and faith strengthened while living one of my greatest fears.

I have known Hope in Heartache.

And I have been directed in how to help my precious loved ones as they grieve the loss of their brother and son.

All things considered, God IS a God of Miracles. THAT I know. They happen everyday, be it in the Good or the Growing. It is simply up to us to recognise His hand. Is it easy? HECK NO! But it is what we were sent here to learn. Tough things are going to happen. After all, Fair is where they show the pigs. But what we BECOME from it is entirely up to us.

So I choose to see Miracles.

No. Dang. Way.

I would like to dedicate my blogging absence to my lousy internet provider who made it possible for me to not have service for the last 8 days. It's amazing how underwhelming crappy service can be.

But I'm over it.

(Obviously.)

Anyhoo, this news more than makes up for that less-than-inspiring comment.

Guess what my dear friend shared with me this morning? These pictures. Aren't they absolutely amazing? For those that know me and one of my favorite books, this picture of a little boy with a dandelion is more than perfect. It is divine. Divine because every time I see a dandelion now, I think of my Sunshine Boy. I think of all the wonderful things we shared together and all the things I have to look forward to. And I consider who might be babysitting him while his Mommy and Daddy finish their business on Earth. And somehow, I wouldn't be surprised if a scene like this is happening. Even at this very minute.

So this is what I'm saving for. When we move into our new home in the waning moments of winter, I am going to survey the scene and find the perfect place for these pictures. And - when I find it - I'll buy the perfectly sized pictures for the space and every time I look at them, I'll remember God's eternal promises to Me, My Family and our Sweet Little Boy. Priceless.

And - for those who want to join in the celebration - I must mention . . . we will be digging the hole for our home soon. Like, in days. HELLO!!! Miracles never cease. (now just pray that we survive the winter in our "cave" without killing each other . . . AHHHHH!!!!)

Today I am grateful for Internet service (glory, glory hallelujah!), a little girl that didn't break her arm . . . again (loooong story), for house construction, and for tender mercies that come in the form of messages from friends and perfectly illustrated pictures that whisper of eternal truths.

God is good. And all Goodness comes from God.

How I love Him.

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.

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 . . .

Remember

Thank you for all the comments you left on my last post. I can't express how much they mean to me. The love, hope and prayers that are offered in our behalf are truly life-giving and give us the courage and strength to go on.

The other day, I received a tender email from a reader. She too lost a little boy close to Bennett's age. On his Angel Day (anniversary of his death), they released balloons at his grave. To give added meaning to their journey, they decided to write the names of other children who have passed away whose families they have met along the path. Bennett was included in their release. They included this picture of his balloon.

I don't know if this sweet friend has any idea how much this means to me. Actually, she probably does.

I can't tell you how much joy it brings me when someone talks about my son. When they share a memory, say his name, mention him in a casual conversation, send their love to him in a prayer or leave a note at his grave. He owns a chunk of real estate in my heart. And - until we are reunited - part of me will never feel whole. My arms will always ache for him. But each time some one else remembers what is SO much a part of our family story, it reassures me that Bennett's memory will live on. That others won't forget his meaningful (though short) life on this earth. And that somehow, we will all learn the lessons we are meant to learn from this heartache.

So thank you, Saville Family. Thank you for remembering our Sweet Bennett and including our family on such a delicate day. I'm sure it was tender. I'm sure there were even some really tough moments. But I also pray that you were able to celebrate your sweet Gabriel. What a gift he was and IS.

Thank heaven (and we do daily) that families are forever. It doesn't take away the heartache or change our situations, but it gives us Hope. And that Hope helps us put one foot in front of another.

We will remember. We will never forget.

Stop and Smell the Roses

This summer has flown by for our family. We have been so busy selling, moving and resettling in our temporary abode that the routine "fun things" have been put on hold. Sure there have been tennis, harp, dance and swimming lessons, but the spontaneous adventures that bring us so much joy have not been possible. So - with three weeks before school starts - I thought we'd start our "summer."

Yesterday, we piled seven children in our car - 5 girls and 2 boys - for our own little summer outing. We picked up lunch at McDonalds (not a place we frequent often) and headed up to Bennett's grave for a little picnic. Of the friends we brought, three of them did not know Bennett. In fact, they did not even know that we had a brother pass away. I thought this would be a good way to introduce them to our Sunshine Boy.

As we sat underneath the shady oak tree, we told stories of our sweet little brother. They asked questions and we answered them openly and comfortably. While I ate my salad and the kids chomped on their hamburgers and fries, we covered everything from his favorite games and foods to the events surrounding his death. During our conversation, they kept analyzing his pictures engraved on his headstone. I love those pictures. They remind all who see his memorial how REAL he is. That this is a REAL person whose loss is very poignant and significant to another.

"I have a two year old sister and I would be so sad if she died," one said.

That comment ushered in the perfect opportunity to talk about where we are as a family. How we too feel sad sometimes as we cope with the loss of our little boy.

As we tidied the area, we invited them to join us for our tradition of singing "You Are My Sunshine" before we leave. One of the children suggested we circle the grave while singing, ring-around-the-rosie style. So as our chorus of young voices - 7 children under the age of 9 - sang Bennett's precious anthem, we circled his grave, singing his song with our whole hearts.

As I looked at each one of their precious faces, my heart took a picture. I was so grateful for all our blessings. Grateful for a beautiful place to memorialize my son. Grateful that we can visit him so often. Grateful for wonderful little friends from choice families. And grateful for the tenderness and strength my own children exhibit. They are amazing human beings.

We finished our outing romping around the park. The playground, tennis courts, raquetball courts and fields all echoed the laughter and play of children. It was music to my ears! It. Was. Perfect.

And so today, I am grateful for perfect summer afternoons. Moments when time stands still and you just take it all in. Can you feel it when your soul experiences that? I can. I love it.

So make today a day to remember. Live with no regrets and make as many wonderful memories as you can. As James Barrie once said, "God gave us memories so we might have June roses in the December of our lives."

So stop and smell the roses.

To Be A Pioneer

July 24th marks a very important day in our faith and in the state in which we live. On July 24, 1847, the Mormon Pioneers entered the Salt Lake Valley. While pulling handcarts and covered wagons over the barren Midwestern plains, many men, women and children lost their lives. Some suffered frostbite, starvation and sickness while others had to bury their loved ones in shallow graves along the rough, dirt trails. They sought a peaceful place where they could worship "according to the dictates of [their] own conscience" but were only met with persecution and hardship. And yet they moved forward, following a Prophet of God, believing that a Loving Heavenly Father had prepared a place for them.

My ancestors were some of those Mormon Pioneers. Each came to America from their perspective countries (England, Scotland, Denmark), following their faith and leaving everything they owned to come to a new country to join others of their faith. They were strong, moral, God-fearing people who loved their families and who longed for a better life for their children.

Now - over a century later - I benefit from the sacrifices made because they decided to do a "hard thing." I have grown up hearing stories of my forebearers. In fact, our oldest is named for a baby - referred to in family journals as "Angel Emma" - that passed away while her family was crossing the plains en route to their "Promised Land." After our recent loss, I can't imagine burying my child along a dirt road in a shallow grave in the bitter winter cold. Never would they visit that sweet grave site again. Never would they be able to physically memorialize that child's life. Never would they be able to take flowers on birthdays, holidays and anniversaries in celebration of what that babe meant to them. Just the thought breaks my heart. I don't know how they did it.

In our faith, the children are taught a song from a very young age:

You don't have to push a handcart

Leave your family dear,

Or walk a thousand miles or more

To be a Pioneer.

You do need to have great courage

Faith to conquer fear,

And work with might for a cause that's right

To be a Pioneer.

My ancestors were Pioneers. Their children were pioneers. And now I am a Pioneer. In my entire extended family, I am the first person to lose a living child. This is a path that is unfamiliar to me and those that I love. I am walking it for the first time. And - while doing so - I have been made aware that others are watching.

Unfortunately, in my large and extensive family (on one side I have more than 50 first cousins), I will probably not be the only one to have an Angel Child. There will come a time when others may experience the heartache we feel. The circumstances may be different, but the feelings of disbelief, shock and heartache will be the same.

And we will be there.

We will be there with a shoulder to cry on. We will be there to hear ALL feelings. We will be there when they may need someone to talk to and we will be there after they need some space. We will be there to listen to their memories after everyone else seems to move on and we will visit their loved one's grave just because we know how much it means to their family. And lastly, we will be there to testify of a Tender and Loving God that can heal ALL wounds, who offers a Peace that surpasses ALL understanding and a Gospel that gives Hope when it seems that there is none to be had.

Because WE are Pioneers.

Being Present

We just returned from the an outing to the park. It was hot and humid (even in our desert climate) but we were dying to get out of "the cave" (what we affectionately call our rental). On our walk there, we giggled, talked, planned our afternoon at the water park and talked about our "favorite things." Highlights?

• Emma is thrilled to have found "her sport" (tennis) and "her instrument" (the harp). She is also super proud of the fact she FINALLY learned how to tie her shoes, a vice that has been plaguing her for a few years. Yay for setting and reaching goals!
• Gracelyn has turned into a grown girl over night. She is super interested in all things hygiene. Whether its brushing/rinsing/flossing her teeth, painting her toenails, bathing twice a day, changing her outfit 5x daily, brushing her hair or putting on lip gloss. She also loves giving gifts and is always leaving surprises on her loved one's beds. She is such a little sweetheart.
• Ashton is - well - Ashton. Cars/Trucks/Trains still consume his life but we are gearing up for toilet training round #2. We started the process last January but - after Bennett's passing - he developmentally digressed, which I have learned is pretty standard following traumatic events. So back in the saddle we go, hoping to have a break before we get in the diaper changing situation once more.

Why do I mention these things? Because I am learning how important it is amid grief to focus on what IS and not solely what IS NOT. In other words, Living In The Present. Bennett WAS taken Home. There is nothing we can do about that. But I still have three fantastic kids physically with me! And - just as I yearn for the simple every day moments that I shared with Bennett - I need to be present and enjoy them with Emma, Grace and Ashton. My job - for a time - is done with Bennett. But I still have work to do here. And realizing and living that changes my focus.

How grateful I am for the lessons I am learning. These lessons are helping me be a better Mom, Wife and Friend. They have come at a great cost but the lessons we have learned are priceless.

What a Gift.

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!

Fly Butterfly

Happy Belated Fathers Day to our dearly beloved Daddy. To celebrate Fatherhood, we made him a delicious breakfast of thick cinnamon french toast drizzled with homemade caramel sauce and topped with strawberries, blueberries and freshly whipped cream. And accompanied by crisp bacon, of course. It was divine.

After we attended our church services, we continued to celebrate the day with my parents and my sister over a dinner of French Dip sandwiches on crusty baguettes, Havarti cheese, a seasonal fruit platter, strawberry spinach salad and cheesecake topped with mixed berries. It was comforting to spend this first father's day since Bennett's death talking about the tender things of the heart with those that we love. We laughed, we cried, we joked and we expressed feelings of faith and gratitude. It was as good as it could have been without Bennett here.

After dessert, we gathered a bouquet of flowers from our yard (we inherited a serious rose garden when purchasing the house) and headed up to the cemetery to leave flowers for Bennett and send some butterflies to heaven. For her birthday in May, Gracelyn received a butterfly garden from her paternal grandparents. For the last 3 weeks, she has been watching the caterpillars grow, form chrysalises, and grow into beautiful butterflies. When we discussed what we wanted to do with them when they were ready to be set free, Gracelyn decided she wanted to let them go at Bennett's grave. It felt perfect. Bennett would have liked that.

In the process of the butterflies growth process, we lost a few. I thought it might be devastating to my girls (who checked on their status multiple times a day) but when they found the deceased creatures, their response was telling. Emma: "Mom, I am glad we had some butterflies die because that means they are with Bennett and that Bennett can have a butterfly garden too!" How precious is that!?!

So last night as we tenderly encouraged the butterflies out of their cage and observed their flight to freedom, I thought of our Little Butterfly. Taken long before his natural and expected Life's length but - nonetheless - celebrated, loved and cherished while he was here. It was a blessing to experience his beautiful spirit here on earth and it was an honor to be able to witness him learn, grow and - indeed - fly.

Fly high, Little Butterfly. Fly high.

Meltdown

Tonight was an interesting night. The evening was spent taking a family excursion to Costco to purchase David's Father's Day presents. Then home to put away the loot and enjoy one of Daddy's surprises (Vitamix 5200 Blender . . . LOVE IT.). Fresh orange sorbet . . . it. was. divine.

So, after putting away groceries and finishing our refreshing treat, we headed up to bed. All was going well until Gracelyn came into our room, suddenly breaking into a torrent of tears.

"Mom, (sob) I (sob) really miss Bennett (sob) tonight," as she fell onto the bed in my arms.

What? Where did THIS come from?

But I know better. I am learning myself that the reality of it all hits you at moments when you least expect it. So often, you don't even see it coming! Tonight, it was our night time routine that reminded Grace of the gaping hole in our family. After the kids would get in bed, Bennett (if still awake) would make his rounds to each of his siblings, taking turns cuddling with each one of his beloved sisters and brother. They adored him and he knew it. And they could feel his love for them in return. It was a beautiful little tradition they shared and one that made for a tender remembrance tonight.

"I wish Heavenly Father would have taken me," Gracelyn whispered as I held her. "Bennett was the best thing that ever happened in my life. My heart hurts so much."

As Gracie lay in my arms sobbing, her arms wrapped tightly around my neck, I quietly said a prayer to my Father, asking Him what I could do to help this little girl's broken heart. It was then that the impression came. Pray for her. Okay. I do that all the time. Pray with her. Well, I can do that, so I asked her if I could offer a prayer. She feebly nodded her head.

There I was, late at night, with my little girl melting down in my arms, praying to the Heavens in my daughter's behalf. I summoned the Spirit to come and comfort her and - if possible - to let Bennett speak peace to his big sister's heart. I asked that she would be able to feel the loving arms of her Heavenly Father enfold her as her heart was hurting and that she would feel that He was aware of her and that He loved her. And then I closed the prayer, thanking the Lord for all our children, both here and in heaven.

I felt peace. I felt comfort. But the sobs continued.

As the tears and the accompanying body convulsions continued to increase, I knew my faith and prayers alone might not be enough, so I called in the "big guns." David - my sweetheart - is a man of purity and virtue and has the faith to move mountains. I believe the Lord pays special attention to his pleas because of the man he is in public and in private. It was time to cash in his brownie points. We needed all the help we could get.

So David took a sabbatical from Ashton's storytelling time to come and share a special prayer with Gracie. In our faith, we refer to it as a Father's Blessing. As I held her, David stood above her, put his hands on her head and began to plead to the Lord in her behalf. He blessed her with peace, comfort and the reassurance that she would see her brother again. He reminded her of the promise of forever families and how those relationships continue beyond death. And then he expressed his love and the love of her Heavenly Father for her. And then he solemnly and humbly closed the prayer.

Something happened after that. It wasn't sudden, but it occurred gradually. Bit by bit, Grace's body began to let go of the tension that accompanies deep emotional pain. The tears slowed, her breathing began to regulate and her grip loosened on my neck. "Can I sleep in your room?" came the request. I consented and we tiptoed into the room to "make her bed."

Now she lays by my side, cuddling my arm, tired, calm and collected. Did she just wear herself out? Maybe. But I think it was also something much greater than that. I believe that tonight - a night that was average in nearly every sense - the Heavens opened and sent us down a blessing that was a tender mercy for Grace and her parents. A Loving Father and Savior made possible a miracle that Mommy could not fix. No band aid or neosporin could take care of this owie. This was not going away (anytime soon, that is). But He knew her heart and knew just what to do to "make it feel better."

And mend it, He did.

Did Bennett come back? Is our heartache gone? Is everything "back to normal"? Hardly. But the Lord is aware of us. He is getting us through it.

One meltdown at a time.