Home Alone: Parent's Edition

A few weeks ago Max and Kaia went to Winter Camp at Forest Home with other kids from our church. It was the first time they'd both been gone overnight together since Libby died.

The last time they were both gone was when they went to Summer Camp at Forest Home. They got back from that camp on Friday, June 26 and a few hours later Libby had her accident.

You could say that there were some feelings going into this camp weekend.

I wasn't worried about Max and Kaia going to camp. They love this sort of thing and were excited to go back. Max had done other camps last summer after Libby died so he had mostly gotten over his "if I go to camp, someone I love is going to die" concern. Kaia was just ready for a good time, as usual. But Mama wasn't doing so well. It was all too parallel and was dredging things up  from those last days more than ususal.

I remember dropping the kids off for camp back in June. Libby wasn't with me, and a fellow mom, with a little one in tow, saw that I had two kids heading off for the week. She made a comment about how lucky I was to be kid-free. I wish, I thought and maybe even said. But with a small sigh as I did the math, I knew it would probably be the better part of a decade before we might have the timing work where we would have all the kids out of the house simultaneously for a whole weekend.

Because isn't that what us parents of young ones dream about some days? To be kid-free for a week, a day, even an hour? And even now, I can't really feel guilty for that feeling. It's real. Because parenting is hard and exhausting along with all the fun and beautiful.

But now things are different obviously. I felt no excitement at being kid-free for the weekend. Parenting is still hard, but this was not how it was supposed to be, this was not what I had planned. We were not supposed to have child-free freedom. We were supposed to take turns waking up early with Libby while we prayed for long naps and early bed times. We would have spent the weekend trying to keep Libby entertained without her brother and sister around. We were supposed to be able to focus on her, give her some of that undivided attention that can be lacking for a third child. But these were clearly my plans and not God's.

Recently in my moms group our speaker Debbie Williamson talked about how there is no Plan B. God has only a Plan A. We may have other plans, but they're not necessarily His plans. In Jeremiah 29:11 God says He knows the plans He has for us. He's known those plans since the beginning of time. It doesn't just mean He knows what college we'll go to, who we'll marry, where we'll live. He knows our daily plans, what we write down on calendars and to-do lists, He knows the things that seem so unexpected to us. God has always known that Kurt and I would be getting our child-free weekends much sooner than we'd anticipated. He didn't cause it, but he knew it. He knew that my heart would be aching with renewed vigor, He knew that Kurt and I could actually really benefit from this time alone, and He knew we would need some extra comfort.

So back to Winter Camp drop-off. It was hard. Going through all the same steps of signing them in, dropping off luggage and sleeping bags, the buzzing excitement among the kids. It was all too familiar. I was probably the only one wearing sunglasses on that gray afternoon and pretty soon I just had to hand the reins over to Kurt. I said an early good-bye to my excited kids and let myself have a good cry in the car. That was the feeling for me that Friday.

God's mercies are new every morning, and Saturday brought less immediate heartache. We slept in a bit and enjoyed a lazy morning making plans for the day. Kurt and I had fun going thrift store shopping together and just hanging out, having no place we needed to be. That evening we drove to Pasadena. We decided that since we were kid-free we would be European, so I made  9:30 pm dinner reservations. Pretty wild, I know, but sometimes you have to let loose. We saw the lovely movie Brooklyn and enjoyed a great dinner. It had been a good day and I was so grateful for that. It would have been so easy for our grief, our emotions to take over and rule the day, but God had other plans.

And suddenly it was Sunday and the kids were back. Honestly, I wouldn't have minded if they got back a little later. I was really enjoying my time with Kurt. Marriage is hard. Marriage while you try to navigate your grief, your spouse's grief... it can be brutal. So it was really nice to be reminded of how much we enjoy each other's company and to see that we can still make each other laugh. (My favorite from our date night was when we were driving to Pasadena. We were both quiet as us introverts tend to be. Kurt looks at me and says, "So I guess you're just saving up all your conversation topics for dinner, huh?" Maybe you had to be there, maybe you have to be an intorvert to get it, but it sure did make me laugh. We've still got it.)

But now Max and Kaia were home and things were back to feeling parallel. They came home with the same level of excitement and exhaustion, though not quite as much dirt as a week of summer camp accumulates. Our activities were similar to that June afternoon 29 weeks ago, as we all seemed lulled by our exhaustion. I saw the similarities but didn't try to change things because what good was that going to do?

I went to bed early that night. Sometimes when the days or hours are hard, sleep is the escape. When I first woke up the next morning I just lay there in bed, stunned.

I had had my first Libby dream.

Hidden in a Night Sky

Facebook post, January 23, 2016

Do you see anything in this night sky?

This is an older page. I did all the purple and gold back in early December as part of an advent journaling devotional. But I never got to the stars or lettering. They take a long time, I didn't have a good white pen, and it just got busy as that time of year always does. Lots of excuses.

Fast forward to Dec 30. Our CA family is in Va visiting my family there. I'm out to lunch with two sweet friends. Gretchen, my good buddy from high school, with whom I have all sorts of fun memories, and Lyn, who I also went to high school with... and don't remember at all. (It's not her, it's me. Looking back there's probably a lot I missed just being wrapped up in my own insecurities. Pretty sad.) But Lyn friended me after Libby died and was very sweet. Unfortunately, a month later Lyn would have to go through something all too familiar when her daughter Lindsey was stillborn. And I think that's why God had our paths cross again 20 years after high school. We connected over our loss, faith, and bible journaling. And that's what brought the three of us to a lunch table at a Mexican restaurant in northern Virginia. The conversation was real, as the three of us discussed our challenges, concerns, and joys. It was a blessing to have that time and when I got home I was eager to do something in my bible. I'd gotten a new white pen, I had the time, and I thought this verse from Genesis was fitting in honor of Lyn and the time spent with my friends. I got the words down, reflecting and praying on them as I went, dotted a bunch of stars all over the place, and was done. I sent this photo off to Gretchen and Lyn saying thanks for the time spent together. Lyn writes back immediately, asking how I did the child's face in the sky. What?? My mom and I look at my bible and there is clearly no face. Gretchen texts, she sees the face too. I go back to the photo. And there it is. A sweet little face with sleepy eyes and a smile. My mom and I are both stunned. If I had tried to do something like that on purpose, it would've looked ridiculous. But my random paint and scribblings, and the light from the camera revealed what was underneath. And once again, God was showing up in the details. A little reminder that our girls are in heaven and happy. A reaffirmation that there will be offspring and generations to come. Whatever the interpretation, it felt to all of us that this was just such a gift of love from God to us, His children. 

What amazed me also is how He used my imperfections for His glory. If I had finished this page when I started it, I never would've shared it with Gretchen and Lyn and none of this would have unfolded. I had been down on myself for what I had not done, but God is gracious and He just blessed the time He and I had spent together, orchestrating everything in His perfect time. I had done hardly any bible journaling in the past few weeks and what a loving reminder this was, of how that time with Him can be blessed. heart emoticon

Christmas Days: The Good, the Bad, The Worst

Facebook post, December 1, 2015:

We only got two Christmases with our Libby. I can't figure out if that makes it easier or harder than if we'd had more. Probably both. She was there in infancy and again as a toddler and now that's it. Last year she was fascinated as she took it all in. But there's no part of Christmas where we can look and know, that was Libby's favorite. No tradition, except putting things beyond her reach, that really feels like it belonged to her. It makes it easier to do Christmas as usual, maybe because it's just out of habit. But even though it hurts like crazy, I still want to feel like she's part of it somehow. Which maybe means we need new traditions, even if they are bittersweet.

I'm finding myself more in the Christmas spirit, at least most days, than what I would have expected. These are the good days. I'm into the hustle of shopping, the gatherings, and our family's Advent traditions. Because we only had the two Christmases with Libby, I'm finding it manageable to go about the routines of the season. It's easy to stay busy which is very helpful. But I'm definitely no Super Woman. Doing stuff is still hard, so I'm learning to prioritize. I've apparently given up cooking. This is not popular with the family, as their priorities seem to differ from mine. Around here, Progresso soups are the taste of the season. Our decorations this year are much simpler. Friends surprised us with gussying up our house while we were out of town over Thanksgiving. What an amazing gift that was to come home to! I had bins of decorations that I was still planning to put out, but after a couple days with no one asking for more I realized I didn't have to do more. How exciting! I'm realizing that the things I thought were essential are not necessarily important to the rest of my family. My mom was right again, simpler is often better. And I am giving myself the gift of peace (or something closer to it) by not running myself ragged trying to do more than I can.

I tend to question these good days. Early on they made no sense and for some reason I wanted a rational explanation for them. I certainly felt guilty about them, as if my misery was the only measure of my love for Libby. (Mind you, I also felt guilty when I had my bad days, because then I was making things so much harder for my family. So really, there was just no winning.) I have (mostly) learned to be grateful for my good days, to realize that they are a gift. If I had had to predict how I would react to the death of one of my children, it would not look like it has looked over the past five months. It would look like me not getting out of bed, watching Netflix, and eating ice cream. God gave me something else (most days at least). And yes, it's for my good and my family's, that they can have a mostly-functioning mom and wife, but it's also for His greater good, for something that goes beyond the little circle of our family, our friends, and even our community. We know that God works all things for good (Romans 8:28). Yes, even this. It doesn't mean that I need to come to a place where I can say, "Oh, I'm glad this happened." It doesn't even mean that I have to accept that all the good will outweigh the one really bad thing. I ache for my daughter daily. But Jesus is where my Hope is. I have Hope because I know I will see her again. And I have Hope because our God is a God of redemption, He is the only one who can bring good from this horrible thing. It doesn't make the horrible thing okay, but I need to see good come from something like this. I need to see beauty coming up from these ashes. 

And make no mistake. There are still bad days. Thankfully, I don't have too many of those. I do have lots of bad moments, minutes, and hours. And a good day is often filled with lots of emotional roller coasters. A memory, a sensation, a song, and suddenly there's an ache in my chest and the tears are threatening to spill. But I can handle the bad days. I can handle crying. I've gotten pretty good at controlling it, because while it's not good to shove our feelings away, who really wants to stand sobbing in a thrift store becasue "Shut Up and Dance With Me" came on the radio? Well, I've done it and I don't care to do it again, thank you very much. The good part about the bad minutes and hours, is that I still feel there's some semblance of control over my emotions which means there's still a chance of turning things around. All of this feels a tiny price to pay for having gotten to be Libby's momma. 

But then there are the Worst Days. These are the ones I dread. The thing with the Worst Days is you can't control the crying. It needs out and I'm not strong enough to stop it. I had a Worst Day last Thursday. It was a couple days after I'd written the Facebook post above, so I had in my mind that I needed to find ways of incorporating Libby into our Christmas. See, the thing is, she is there, she's all around. She's just sprinkled over everything, with no real Libby-concentration in a certain bite. I know if we'd had even one more Christmas she would have had a different presense in the season because we would know more about what she loved from the holiday. But Christmas is full of traditions, so I thought I needed one for Libby and I thought I needed it now. So I decide that I was going to buy a special stocking for Libby and have a friend embroider her name on it and we could write notes to her and put them in the stocking and you get the idea. Well, I started crying in the first store, and I kept trying to control it but was pretty much failing. Why? Well, I was probably short on sleep, and grief and exhaustion are a horrible combination. And then the obvious element of trying to buy a stocking for my Libby girl who won't be with us for any more Christmases. All good reasons for a melt down. The thing is, we do hard things every day and I don't have meltdowns every day. Grief is like walking through a mine field, never knowing when something is going to set me off.

I eventually gave up on the shopping. It was just too hard and I could feel myself falling apart. So I went home and I got in bed and I put on Netflix and ate chips. (No ice cream in the house. Rookie mistake.) We had learned very early on how important distractions were, anything to keep us not solely focused on the pain. I was in agony and I just wanted that feeling to go away. I cried until it became physically painful. And then I cried some more because I just couldn't make it stop. 

Unfortunately, a life of bed and Netflix isn't a great long-term grief plan. Especially since I still have these two great kids to take care of. So like a good mom, I pulled myself out of bed and went to pick them up from school. Luckily they had counseling right after school, because when I am having a Worst Day I like to share that with those closest to me. I'm snappy, irritable, impatient, and apathetic. During their sessions I colored, which I've found to be a quick, successful distraction for me. It always helps calm me down when things start getting churned up inside. But on Worst Days, the benefits don't last. Nothing but the bad mood lasts. So I went home and tried to make my husband as miserable as me. Poor guy. 

That evening I was supposed to go to a craft night a sweet friend had organized and he was basically insisting that I go. Smart man. Now normally this is something I wouldn't  miss for the world. Doing crafts (my favorite!) that I don't have to organize (even more my favorite!) with My People (no stranger danger: favorite!) would be a dream night on any other occasion. But as I dreaded the thought of having to go to this event, I knew I had reached a new low, one that concerned even me. I didn't want to go, but I know it's good to sometimes do the things I don't want to do. And once I've done them, I'm usually glad I did. I had some time on my hands and a wish to turn this day around, so I turned to my Bible. All day long, the refrain from "Hallelujah" by Heather Williams had been running through my head, mainly the lines, "Jesus, please come, please come today." And that's what I wanted. I wanted Him here. And not just in a help-me-get-through-this-day way, but in a hey-wouldn't-today-be-a-good-day-for-You-to-COME-and-bring-us-all-to-heaven way. (And I write that not as a cry for help or as anything super-dark. I was just feeling so low that only Heaven seemed big enough to take away that kind of pain.) I often journal song lyrics in my Bible and I'll try to match them to fitting verses. In this case the most fitting thing seemed to be to just turn to the end of my Bible and journal there. There was no planning or sketching. I just grabbed some markers and got my letters down. Then the chalks, because there's no better way to add lots of color fast. Another pen to scribble my thoughts at the moment. Here's a bit of what I wrote. "Today I don't want any calling. I don't want a purpose. Days like today I just want this world over. I just want Jesus to come back. I want away from this pain. I don't want to be responsible for anything. I want the burden lifted. Thank you, God, that not every day is like this. I couldn't handle it, my family couldn't handle it. Today has felt hopeless. I've been discouraged. I'm just praying I wake up better tomorrow." 

And that's the thing. As awful as a Worst Day is, I know the next day will be better. God knows how weak I truly am and He has never given me two Worst Days in a row. I went to the craft party. I was not good company, but I participated. Until I couldn't anymore, because I guess that's just too much to expect on a Worst Day. I left in tears mid-craft, because on Worst Days the tears just can't be contained, even if you're doing your favorite thing with some of your favorite people. On the Worst Days you just need the day to be over. So I went home and I took my first sleeping pill in over four months, because I just needed it to be tomorrow. "Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes in the morning." (Psalm 30:5) Here's a Bible verse that has brought on new meaning. Grief is always hardest in the evenings, as our bodies, our emotions are depleted and there is nothing left to manage the burden of our sorrow. As I look on my Bible page I'm filled with Hope. I have Hope because I know He is with me, I know He grieves with me, and He understands my grieving heart better than anyone. I have Hope for myself, because even on my Worst Day I was able to color in some bright yellow on the corner of my page, my confidence that there was something better coming.