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.

Dear Me

Dear January 2011 Me,

Something is about to happen. You don't know what and - quite frankly - it's best you don't.

Right now, you are just getting the kids back to school, trying to keep the house tidy enough to show at a moment's notice (p.s. it WILL sell) and starting to get into a practice routine for Emma on the harp. So many new beginnings. Though not perfect, Life seems charmed. And you know it.

But soon, something will happen that will shake you to your core. It will make you redefine what Life is about and will make you reevaluate who you are and where you are going.

Because of this, I want to tell you a few things.

First of all, I want you to know that you WILL survive. No. Matter. What. Just keep taking one breath after another and trust that the Lord will provide the next. Believe it or not, there will come a time where you won't have to think about breathing. It will become automatic once more. But - for now - just take it one moment at a time. That's all.

Second, know that there are Angels in Heaven and on Earth that will hold you up. You are about to experience a wave of Love, Compassion and Charity unlike you have ever encountered. People will come out of the woodwork to serve you, weep with you and offer their prayers and support in your family's behalf. And - more importantly - the Heavens will open and encircle you with a Love, Peace and Comfort that is more powerful than you have known. Know from whom these Angels come. You are not alone.

Next, it is entirely up to you what you Become. Period. So much in Life is out of your control. But you CAN control how you act and react. This is your opportunity to show Yourself, your Family and your God who you are and whose you are. That is the real test. Don't forget it.

And lastly, in the depth of your Grief, you will be prompted to do something. Something that you would never consider on your own. When that impression comes, follow it. No matter how scary it may seem. As you follow that impression, you will be blessed beyond your wildest imagination. You will widen your circle of friends, you will find a support system that stretches around the world and - in sharing your story - you will find Healing. In the end, it will save you.

In closing, I just want to wrap my arms around you. I want to encircle you with all the Love, Peace and Perspective you will need to get through the next twelve months. It will be the roughest of your Life, to be sure. But - with the strength of the Lord - you can do ALL things. Even the Thing that may break your heart.

Remember this.

Bless you, Mother Heart -

Love,

The Woman You Will Become

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.

Thirty Five

Tomorrow is my birthday. My 35th.

When I was a child, I thought I'd die by the time I was "that old."

When I was a teen, I thought 35 was a lifetime away.

When I was in my twenties, I thought I'd have life figured out by that point.

But - once in my thirties - I've realized that my life has just begun. I am just beginning to learn all that I need to learn. I am barely sensing what the Lord needs me to be. And what I DO experience means so much more because of the context that lies beneath.

I have never been a person concerned with aging. My mother gave me that gift. I own every year of my life and have tried to fully LIVE every season Life has offered me. I am not concerned about age spots, wrinkles, or sagging tummy skin. Each represent a memory, laughter or - one of Life's most sacred experiences - child birth. All beautiful things. Things that make me smile with gratitude.

I have loved this season of being a Mother of young children. Can it be monotonous and exhausting? Oh yes. But the joys . . . oh, the joys. There are none greater. I feel so blessed to be a Mother.

So, in honor of being alive, I am making a list of things I want to LIVE, EXPERIENCE and BE in 2012. I feel that the coming year will bring great blessings for our family. I sense healing, happiness, adventure, new beginnings, creative ventures, new friendships, service, growth and - hopefully - new additions.

So as I anticipate the celebrations of tomorrow, I will set some time aside to quietly sit and contemplate what I want to do, be, and become. In essence, what difference I will make in the world. Most of all, my own.

Every breath is a gift. And I will not waste one.

That is my Birthday Wish.

The Spirit of Giving

'Tis the season of sharing. I have been so blessed by this blog this year that I have decided to give back. Each week of December, I am going to share with you a treasure. Something that is very close to my heart. And I hope that you recognise each gift as such.

The first is something few of you have seen. I posted it on my blog for a day awhile back and - after some derogatory comments found online - I removed it. It was too sacred to me to be cast before swine. But time has past and I think my readership has changed as well. No longer is it a blog someone found via a large or popular blog. But - more often - my readers come via word of mouth. They or someone they love have experienced a loss. A poignant loss. And they come to share, to grieve and to understand. In that way, I am so fortunate. I have the best blog readers in the world.

So here is my first gift to you. I hold it sacred. This video documents some of our final moments with Bennett. Moments that - as you know - I now ache for. Longingly.

But this also documents the Hope, Faith and Gratitude our family feels. Our relationship with a Kind and Loving God has made ALL the difference in the world. Is it still tough? HECK YEAH! I wouldn't recommend this experience to anyone. But sometimes I wonder if I could learn the lessons I'm learning without experiencing the heartbreak I feel. Heaven only knows.

And I think It does.

So as you watch this short documentary of my heart, please remember this Mother. Remember my story and my faith. And remember that - with the strength of the Lord - YOU can do ALL things.



*If you are interested in having this gifted photographer document your most precious life moments, you can contact her here.

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

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.

Just Singin' in the Rain

Sunday was a beautiful day. The weather was hot and muggy. But then - in the middle of the day - a sudden rainstorm. The raindrops and puddles seemed to call out to my kids to come and splash.

And so they did.

Out they went - donning their Sunday clothes - running through the streets and puddles while the rain fell on their faces. They danced, they sang and they held hands, spinning around in circles. It. Was. Magical.

On days such as these, I am reminded of all the Joy there still is to experience in Life. Yes, we have experienced loss and Yes, the longing for our sweet Bennett will never go away. But I have three precious children here with me. Three children to laugh with, play with, cuddle, caress and sing lullabies to. What a Gift that is.

And somehow, on days such as this, it is almost like I can see a little toe head boy giggling and galloping behind his siblings.

I wouldn't be surprised. I wouldn't be surprised.

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.

Happiness List

A week ago, we decided to do something special with our family for Family Home Evening. We packed the crew up, headed up to Bennett's grave and began compiling a Happiness List. We went around in a circle and began naming - one by one - things that brought us Joy. Some things were simple, some meaningful and some comical inside jokes. But everything on that list meant something. To every one of us.

After finishing our list, I went home and sent the compiled list to my talented, artistic graphic artist friend, Carly from Playful Pickle Design. I gave her an idea and she ran with it.

This is what she came up with.

I love it. I adore it. I cherish it. I blew it up into a massive 20x20 print and am going to frame it for our home. A reminder every time that we look at it of all the blessings in our life. So many things bring us Joy. And remembering the Hand of our Heavenly Father is so tender and sweet.

Thank you, dear Carly. We love you. And we love our Happiness List.

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.

The Picnic

Today I was feeling overwhelmed. So much is up in the air for our family right now and - as a self-proclaimed planner - I don't function well in limbo mode. After a busy morning of tennis and harp lessons, the kids went to help grandma in her garden for a few hours. Thus I had a few hours of Solo Time. "Time to start packing," I thought. But my Heart just didn't feel up to it.

So I decided to have a Picnic with my Boy.

Now, if Bennett were here, he'd want to go to our favorite sandwich shop and share a sandwich with Mommy, munch on Cheetos, nibble on a decadent cookie and sip from Mommy's Diet Dr. Pepper. So, in honor of him (and because my tummy felt like it), I followed suit (minus the Cheetos and cookie).

As I drove the familiar route to the cemetery, my mind wandered. I thought of all the change that is brewing in our family. The loss of a child, the selling of our home, changing schools for the kids, a new neighborhood and a new congregation at church. Whew. The thought of it all just sucks the oxygen from my lungs.

As I drove up the hill to his lovely memorial encased in a grove of trees, I noticed that the city maintenance crews had removed the Memorial Day flowers. Part of me was sad because each of those flowers represented the fact that someone had remembered my boy. Someone more than our little family. And that is HUGE to this Mother Heart who feels like the World is moving on.

After taking off my shoes and walking barefoot across the lush grass to his memorial, I grabbed the wipes and began my cleaning ritual. I cleared the memorial of all leaves and flower petals, pulled the grass back from the granite and began polishing the beautifully beveled stone. With each stroke, my heart beat within my chest. This is your babe. This is your son. This is your Sunshine Boy. Tears began to collect in the corners of my eyes and gently spill down my cheek. The same cheeks that Bennett would smother with kisses just a mere four months ago. Somehow it feels like yesterday and forever ago all at once. I just can't explain it.

But as I knelt there, cleaning my baby's headstone, I thought how grateful I am for the opportunity I have (present tense) to be this amazing human being's Mother. Bennett captures the essence of Light, Love and Hope. His influence has been vast and far stretching and - in many ways - his mission is bigger than us all. What a privilege to be a part of his journey. Be it short or prolonged.

As I finished cleaning Bennett's stone and reading the messages left in his memorial guestbook (best. gift. ever.), I sat quietly, took in the summer breeze and ate my sandwich. I wasn't alone. I could feel it. And somehow, I wouldn't be surprised if Bennett was running all around me, playing hide-and-go seek behind the trees and memorials with his Mommy.

I wouldn't have it any other way.

My Heart's Prayer

Remember this post? Well, last night I had the blessed opportunity of going to Les Miserables with my dear cousin and her husband. While I've always had my favorite characters, scenes and songs from Les Mis, the production hit me differently this time. New themes stood out to me, I saw the characters through fresh eyes and my heart ached for those who had experienced significant loss. The play was not the same. And neither was I.

Two songs struck me in particular. The song "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" spoke intimately to me of a man experiencing profound grief. The raw lyrics, rise and fall of the melody and dynamics all tell the story of the wide spectrum of emotions one can feel after experiencing loss. I know those feelings. They have been my own and those words have been the sentiments of my heart. Grief changes us. And - after experiencing it - we are never the same again.

I also loved the final reprise of "Bring Him Home" that Jean Valjean sings in his final moments of life. The words are unfamiliar to most because they are not on the Broadway albums (at least the ones I have). They are powerful and speak the feelings of my heart. Maybe I'll have them engraved on my memorial ;0)

God on high,

Hear my prayer.

Take me now

To Thy care,

Where You are.

Let me be,

Take me now.

Take me there,

Bring me Home,

Bring me Home.

While taking in the poignant message the talented cast conveyed last night, my heart swelled with gratitude for the beauty of the Human Experience. Every one of us is uniquely individual and each of us has our own set of Life Events that alter how we see the world and what we view as reality. But every one of us at - one time or another - will experience similar feelings of Joy, Ecstasy, Loss, Disappointment, Heartache, Hope, Loneliness and Fear. But it is up to us what we create from those experiences.

I am so grateful that so many years ago Victor Hugo felt inspired to pen the story of the downtrodden man who was given a hand up that indeed changed his heart and - therefore - his life. Every time I am reminded of the journey of Jean Valjean, I am reminded of the kind of person I want to become. A person of forgiveness, charity, compassion and hope who - at the end of my life - feels confident with who I've become and meeting He who has molded me.

That is my Heart's prayer.

A Birthday Gift from Heaven

Yesterday was a hard day. A really hard day. No one ever thinks they'll be commemorating their baby's 2nd birthday in a cemetery but - hey - it is what it is. Lots of people went out of their way to make it a meaningful day for us though. From flowers to gift cards to homemade gifts to a statue of the Savior holding a little boy . . . everything just warmed our hearts and made us feel oh-so-loved. We feel so blessed.

Along with those gifts, we received an unexpected surprise. A weeks or so ago, I received the oil painting of Bennett from Elspeth Young. I was in awe at the way she captured my boy whom she has never met. It was truly a miracle.

The day I received the painting in the mail, I took it to be custom framed. I was told that the painting would not be returned for another 2-3 weeks. And so I waited.

I awoke yesterday morning feeling melancholy. I can't possibly put into words all the emotions that went through my heart yesterday morning. How I ached to hold him, to see him run across the floor and throw his tiny little arms around me. And his smile. Oh, that smile. It lit up the room! How I longed to feel the warmth of his light.

And then it happened. My phone buzzed announcing an incoming call from the framing gallery. The painting had mysteriously appeared on an earlier shipment. It was completed more than a week ahead of schedule. Was this unusual? I asked. Yes. It was indeed. This is no accident, I explained. It was my baby's birthday. This was a gift from both him and a loving Heavenly Father that knew this Mommy's heart. The framing sales associate and I wept. It was meant to be.

So miracles DO happen. They do indeed. God - at times - allows hard things to happen. Things that will break our hearts. But in the madness and heartache of it all, He sends messages reminding us that He is aware and is ever present in our lives. Yesterday, that message arrived in the form of a framed oil painting. It was perfect. Simply perfect.

Just like the Givers.

Many have expressed interest in obtaining a print of our Sweet Bennett. He has become a symbol of Hope, Love, Light and Faith to so many. To purchase a print of this fabulous painting, click here.

Fresh off the Press

Studio 5 did this piece on Bennett yesterday and how learning circles have helped me along the path of mourning.

I thank the Lord for the tender mercies He put into place months before Bennett's passing that gave me a support group of beautiful women to lean on during Life's toughest and tenderest moments.

God is good. Good indeed. How grateful I am for that.

P.S. our house is officially under contract with a planned closing date in late June-early July. Anyone have moving boxes?

The Take Away

Good Monday, my friends. It just feels like a Monday, doesn't it? All overcast, dreary and rainy. Oh well. I guess I'll have to thrive on the energy and light from last weekend.

The Power of Moms Retreat in Park City was amazing. Saturday especially. I was able to share our story of Grief, Healing and Hope and what we have learned from this experience (not even three months down the road). Just between us friends, I was more emotional than I wanted to be during my presentation. From the moment I held up Bennett's picture, I was a goner. I couldn't stop the tears from rolling down my cheeks. But I was authentic. Entirely so (that's what I keep telling myself). And they saw my heart, as broken as it is. But I hope they also felt my Love, Hope and Faith. That was my goal, at least.

Some of my favorite take aways were:

• I love the Indian greeting Namaste (pronounced Nomis Day) meaning "I see the divine power in you". What a beautiful, profound greeting and recognition that we are ALL God's children.
  
• Serendipity - the state of mind whereby a person through Awareness and Sensitivity frequently finds something better than that which he was seeking . . . that's where I want to be.


• 3 things that help you be a deliberate mother: 1) spend 30 minutes every Sunday for personal planning 2) take a day away ALONE to plan, dream and rejuvenate 3)Be with other like minded mothers


• Lead a Life with Margins (read Restoring Margins to Overloaded Lives by Richard Swenson)


• Once a month, go out to dinner with David and have a Five Facet Review of all our children discussing their Physical, Mental, Emotional, Social and Spiritual well being.


• Write down our Family Laws (must be short, sweet and to the point)


• Create a Family Motto


• Teach Children Financial Responsibility - Give 10% to God, Save 20% in Bank and Live on the remaining 70% . . . a good lesson for us ALL!!!


• Make a Tradition Scrapbook listing our traditions for every month of the year and MAKE THEM HAPPEN! Memories matter and are one of the only things that last forever.


• Favorite new quote - "There is no comfort in the growth zone and there is no growth in the comfort zone." How true is THAT!?!


• Another great quote - "Spectacular achievement is always preceded by unspectacular preparation." Need I say more?


• Create a Vision Board with what you want to do and who you want to become (kinda sounds like The Secret, doesn't it?)


• Make SMART Goals that are Specific, Measurable, Achievable, Relevant and Timebound


• Be Deliberate vs. Routine, Present vs. Distracted and Thriving vs. Surviving

It really was THAT wonderful. After last week (okay, the last THREE months . . . who are we kidding?!?), I really needed to fill my well. And I did. It gave me just the fire I needed in my bones to come home and live deliberately and serendipitously.

Life is a Gift. Everyday. Now it's up to me to make it worthwhile and really make a difference in Myself, My family, My community and the world. It can happen. And I will make it so.

If you have built castles in the air, they need not be lost. Now just put foundations under them. (Thoreau)

Tears in Heaven

For those who don't know, this is my sweetheart and better half, David.

David is the epitome of what a husband, father and friend should be - kind, patient, fun loving, long suffering (hello - he's married to me!), charitable, generous of spirit, quick to forgive and wise beyond his years coupled with a deep seeded devotion to God. Indeed, he is my Prince Charming and one of the most beautiful human beings I have ever known. I am blessed to called him my Sweetheart.

As we have walked this path, we have found (like in other areas) that Men and Women grieve differently. Though we are novices on this walk of Profound Grief, I thought it would be helpful to have a male perspective chime in on what is going on in their minds and hearts. While Men may not be as vocal or outwardly emotional as their female counterparts, they are every bit as affected. And I think the emotional support and recognition of grief for Fathers is especially lacking.

We are going to try and do our part to change that and include a seat at our cozy, comfortable kitchen conversation table for all Men and Fathers (affectionately called "Daddies" in our home) who are experiencing Loss and Heartache.

Welcome, Fathers. Welcome.

So - without further adieu - here is the Man of MY heart, David.

Tears are an interesting thing. They are present at the extremes. Have you ever laughed so hard that they fall freely? We "bust a gut" and it can actually hurt! There is a closing scene in the movie "Bucket List" that is a good example of this. Another extreme that brings tears occurs because of weather. You might have experienced it if the sun is too bright or if the wind is blowing and you don't have any glasses or other protection to shield it. Then of course there is crying because of physical pain. We were pushed beyond a "pain threshold" because a nerve was stimulated too much. Sometimes we have this happen by accident such as when we hit our finger with a hammer while pounding a nail. Other times, we may choose to do this for a medical purpose that might save our life. I had this happen when I was operated on to fix the ill effects of a burst appendix. There are so many extremes associated with tears.

I have had the "extreme" bring many tears in the past few months. It hasn't come because of the extremes mentioned previously. These tears have their roots in the gift of love.

I have had a struggle in my life. The struggle involves experiences early in my life. These struggles caused me to hurt and to close my heart in order to avoid hurting again. Well, I have been very blessed by a loving Savior who helped me realize how I had closed my heart and a wonderful wife who continually shows me what it means to love with all of your heart. My sweetheart is one passionate woman and she loves so deeply.

This love makes you vulnerable and it brings the ability to experience the greatest joys in life as well as hurts that are deeper than anything that is purely physical. The two extremes are related. As the ability to love grows deeper, vulnerability increases.

One of my favorite scriptures is found in the New Testament. It simply states "Jesus Wept" (John 11:35). The most powerful and greatest man of all, even God himself, wept. As I said earlier, it is He who has taught and shown me how to "love." In fact, another scripture identifies Him as the the epitome of love, "God is Love"(1 John 4:8,16). He truly understands and has felt all that I have felt and feel (Alma 7:11-12 in the Book of Mormon, Another Testament of Jesus Christ).

I am a man. Sometimes I get back into the habit of closing my heart because it hurts and guys aren't supposed to cry, right? WRONG!!! Crying is a divine manifestation of the gift of love. My wife has told me that she wants me to be more emotionally authentic with her. In other words, being real with how I am feeling at any given moment. In my opinion, there is nothing more manly that I or any man can do than to serve his sweetheart and share the full spectrum of extremes together.

I used to wonder if there were tears in heaven. Eric Clapton obviously wondered the same thing when he penned a song following the death if his son. It is a beautiful expression of emotion but I must disagree with his line "I know there'll be no more, tears in heaven." I know there is and will be tears in heaven. I will have overwhelming emotion at a reunion my whole family looks forward to. I am certain that the millions of tears that have been shed over the past few months because of the extreme feelings of loss (it. hurts. bad.) will be overwhelmingly exceeded by extreme feelings of joy at that reunion. I am further confident that my Bennett Boy and other loved ones who have gone before us cry with us and reach out in whatever ways they can from heaven. Heaven too has extremes.

I hope I can do my part to always make my home a heaven on earth by allowing myself to feel and express all of the extremes that produce tears. I look forward to experiencing new extremes and allowing myself to cry.

Let the tears flow.

Wednesday is . . .

• Garbage day
• Laundry day
• Grocery day
• Diet Dr. Pepper with Lemon day
• And a day full of storybooks, songs, animal crackers, cars and cuddles

Here's one of our favorites. Enjoy!

Love and Thanks

I just wanted to thank you for your love and support. It's really quite amazing.

Have I ever told you how this blog came to fruition? Well, perhaps I should.

The night following Bennett's death I could not sleep. We were sleeping at my parent's home (they had not ruled out environmental factors yet) and - surrounded by my three remaining children and husband in a king size bed - I laid in bed shaking and weeping. I can't do this! I thought. This is too much for me. Ask anything but this. ANYTHING!

Unable to sleep, I went into my parents bathroom around 2 am to take a bath. They called me into their bed and together we held each other and just cried like our hearts were breaking. Because they were. When I felt too weak to cry any more, I dragged myself to the bathroom and slid into their clawfoot tub. I sat there, face heavenward, asking the Lord what He wanted of me. The answer came softly, clearly and suddenly. Write a blog about your journey.

Now, you must understand that - though I HAVE been writing a blog for nearly three years - it is PRIVATE and I am extremely careful who I add to my blog list. I wanted to protect my children, protect my family and share amongst people I knew and trusted. So the prompting to start a blog that narrated the most personal and painful journey of my life was a bit scary. I fought it (of course). But - when the promptings would not cease - finally reserved the blog address "a mothers grief observed." Time passed. We spent lots of time at the mortuary holding Bennett, making hand molds, taking lots of pictures and enjoying having him in our home one last time (following his first viewing) before his burial. Then we celebrated his light and life at his funeral the following day, testified of God's Love and Plan and then buried our baby. It was surreal, to say the least.

Weeks passed. And amid all the changes and investigations, the prompting continued. Write a blog about your journey. Only the impression became more specific on what the focus should be. Hope. Hope, was the prevailing impression. Testify of Hope. And thus the birth of Sunshine Promises. A blog whose subtitle says it all: Love, Laugh, Learn and Live Amid Life's Storms.

Now - just over a month old - my humble little blog has reached places and people I could have never imagined. In that short time, we have had over 36,000 hits and I have had the privilege of hearing others stories of inspiration, faith, healing and loss that have bolstered my own spirits. I don't know how people have found my blog and I don't know how the word has spread so fast. But it has. And I guess I should not be surprised given the fact that it was not MY idea. It was His.

Now as we have entered a new chapter of our grief (and a difficult one at that), I must thank you for how your thoughts, love and prayers have bolstered my little family. This is tough and it means more than you know. I would not wish this heartache upon a n y o n e , but if it were to happen to us (which is has), I am grateful that a loving Heavenly Father saw fit to set up an infrastructure of support for this heartbroken, aching mother. Will there be peace, joy, gratitude and love? You bet. But there will also be hard, difficult and even angry feelings. And that is okay. It is all a part of the journey. And - in the end - all will be made whole. Our hearts included.