Dear Mom,

Dear Mom, On May 20, 2023, it will be eleven years since your accident and death. Eleven years since I've heard you call me Roo or ask me how the boys, Amos, and Koralyn are doing. Two months after we buried you mom, Koralyn died. Oh how I longed for your presence at her funeral. How I longed for you to come and mother me in those dark moments. To sit beside me and hold my hand as I said goodbye to my own daughter. Aunt Ann and Krystal came, mom, they sat in your place and did their best to love me well in those minutes and hours. We all imagined you being there in heaven to greet Koralyn and welcome her home.

Two months earlier at your own funeral, Krystal and I tried very hard to make it beautiful for you. We had lots of help mom. Trent helped us secure the auditorium for your Funeral. Daniel Sweet, our beloved Pastor flew out to perform your service, he did so good and would perform Koralyn's service as well. We had extra flowers for you mom, because we know how you lvoed your flowers. You were dressed in the beautiful dress your wore to Krystal's wedding just two months before you died. Your hair was done just right and your makeup looked good too, we dug through your purse for your lipstick. I still remember the smell of your purse after all these years; perfume, gum, makeup, lotion, all the feminine smells of a mom. I know now why it bugged you so much when I would dig through without asking, my five kids do it constantly and I can't help but laugh and think of you and grandma telling us its not polite to dig through a ladies purse, especially without asking; I get it now mom. Tom Trotter, your friend, he made a beautiful slideshow of your life, as if a life can be captured in a short slideshow at a funeral. It was good though mom, and we tried hard to pick the music you would have loved and requested. I hope you saw our effort to love you well one last time on this earth. Im so sorry we never got to throw you that surprise party we all know you would have loved. We should have done it for your 55th birthday instead of being too busy and saying we could do it up big when you turned 60. How foolish of us, but who would have dreamed your life would end so abruptly on that sunny Sunday afternoon? Clearly and most certainly not us, your daughters who figured you would be around for at least 20 more years to watch your grandbabies grow and enjoy your retirement.

You are on my mind a lot these days. Its May now so Mother's Day is coming up. My 10th without you. The stores filled with gifts for mothers reminds me so unkindly I won't ever get the chance to buy you one more gift. I start anticipating the shelves being filled and the twinge of grief looming ever present as I walk through the stores knowing you are gone. You died two days before my 30th birthday mom. I remember I received your birthday gift to me that Saturday night. You always were excellent at gift giving and time managment, not wanting to let anyone down. Its how you showed your love for us, and I know you always loved receving gifts. Asa was five when you died and Asher was two, you were going to come back to Texas in June to visit and see Koralyn and help us with the boys if we were still in the hospital with her. I used your plane ticket to fly out to New Mexico alone to bury you. I remember I sat next to a mother and daughter meeting the other daughter for a girls weekend in Santa Fe I think. I sat there on the aisle seat feeling crushing weight as I pumped my breastmilk under a cover for my baby in the nicu. I would freeze it and then carry it back with me to the nicu milkbank for them to mix and put in her feeding tube. I don't think I told those women why I was flying, I couldn't get the words out and make them be true, but I won't ever forget the feeling that I would never be able to do that with you. I have missed so much with you mom. I've had 3 more babies since Koralyn. Each time I longed for you to be there. To mop my floors, to lovingly fold my laundry, to make things bright and beautiful for baby's homecoming. I missed you not visiting my hospital room and buying the kids popcorn and the baby presents. I missed seeing you snuggle my newborns and give them endless kisses like you did with Asa and Asher. I missed you mothering and grandmothering us all during each birth and transition for our family. I know you were worried about me having anymore after Koralyn mom, but gosh you would love them all. We have missed you at Christmas, birthdays, Easter, Thanksgiving. You were always so good at celebrating the 4th of July just isn't the same without you mom. The last 11 years have been hard mom, but I am trying so hard to do well. To love Amos and my kids well and to fight to stay in the light.I've had to fight my way through complicated grief, depression, and anxiety. I keep fighting though mom, because that was the example you set for me. Oh the things I might say to you if we could talk mom. I would tell you how sorry I am for how hard I was on you as a teen. How now as a mom of 5, with a good husband I see how hard you fought just to stay afloat mom. I can understand better the life choices you made that I condemned so harshly as an ignorant teen daughter. Im sorry you had it so hard mom and that no man ever really loved you well or put you first. I know you longed for that pretty much your whole life and seemingly went searching for it in all the wrong places. You deserved better mom, I hope you know that now in light of eternity.

I wear your perfume now. Almost 11 years on, most days are good and most memories and reminders of you make me smile instead of cry now. I still long for you to call and say Hey Roo how is everyone doing! I so wish it could have ended differently for you mom, death less tragic and with more dignity. Your life was hard, and your death and the aftermath was pretty excruciating. Even in death the men in your life didn't treat you with honor or respect and for that I am sorry mom. Its hard to think about all of that as your daughter. I want so badly to go back and protect you, protect us as your daughters. Don't worry mom, I fight hard for my joy, but as you know this life on earth is hard and painful sometimes. Losing you when I was just 29 and you were a young 55, has been one of those hard things mom. You made Krystal and I strong though mom and we have both fought to keep going and make you proud. I guess though I won't ever stop missing you and wanting you here to mother me and love on my kids. I guess that means despite everything mom, all our hard years and the hurt between us, you loved me well enough that I still long for your presence in my life, for your mothering of me. I will always be your daughter mom and I am sorry for all the times I didn't see your fragile humanity. I am sorry for the times I refused to see your effort and care for me. I often wonder too, what would you say to me if you had the chance? I hope to one day see you again, to hug you tight and to hear those words I have so longed to hear from you for the last 11 years, "Hi Roo!" I love you and miss you much mom, Happy Mother's Day.

The Cooler

Amos bought the cooler for our camping trip up into the Jemez mountains of New Mexico. I wanted to take him to one of the places I grew up going to, and loving. I told him all about my childhood camping trips. Playing in the stream, napping in the tent under the late afternoon shade of the tall mountain trees, eating food cooked over an open fire in a skillet and smelling my dads percolating cowboy coffee first thing in the morning. It was a magical place I told him. so we prepared buying our own camping gear as a young engaged couple. The cooler was made in the USA, which made Amos exceedingly happy, I thought it rather peculiar that he cared. We stocked that cooler with ice, eggs, bacon, orange juice, lunchmeat, and all the things required for a hearty and romantic weekend sleeping in a tent in the mountains. We packed up and drove where the air is at least 20 degrees cooler and the stars shine much brighter in the nighttime sky. I insisted we go way past where the road turns to gravel to find a good spot right next to the mountain stream I played in as a girl. Our intention was to be far away from any fellow campers, you know for the peace and quiet. All the way up that winding mountain road, the Dixie Chicks were singing to my soul, Cowboy Take Me Away. I was all of 22 and newly engaged, what can I say. We unpacked and set up our brand new tent under trees that looked out across the stream and into a valley filled with mountain wildflowers. It was setting up to be a most idyllic time, that is until nightfall. While we couldn't see any fellow campers, we could surely hear them. They were having some kind of mountain rock concert/bender. It was as if Ozzy himself were camped out down the road from our quaint mountain hideaway. Being old at a young age, we were grumpy and frustrated that these fools having a party were ruining our quiet, romantic weekend, I mean as romatic as you can get without showering for three days. We decided to try and go to sleep on our brand new camping air mattress in our brand new tent. As per usual, Amos was sleeping rather quickly, while I lay awake listening to the more youthful group partying down the road. At some point I dozed off, only to awaken to intruders in our campsite. I laid there listening and thought, its the party coming to take our stuff! I shook Amos from his snoring slumber and whispered frantically that someone was robbing us! I asked if he had locked the truck and where was the rifle he brought, you know, in case of bears. He sleepily told me to calm down, the rifle was locked in the truck (fat lot of good that will do us when a bear comes for us in our tent) and it was probably just raccoons coming for food scraps. The cooler was indeed outside the vehicle but closed tight and everything should be fine. Amos immediately fell back to sleep while I stayed away listening to supposed raccoons take our things. I laid there in frustration and again shook Amos and insisted it was NOT raccoons, but human thieves taking our precious things. Once again he told me raccoons and said I needed to relax and just try and sleep. The next morning, as we unzipped our tent to the fresh morning air, we saw that our cooler was indeed missing. I told him, I TOLD YOU SO AMOS HOOKER. He was still standing by his raccoon theory and suggested we walk on down the path and see if said raccoons carried it a little ways down the road. So we put on our shoes and walked on down the little dirt road to eventually find our cooler left in the center of the road. When we opened the lid, the only thing missing was the orange juice. Turns out Ozzy and his buddies thought our cooler would be filled with booze nad beer and came to partake in the wee hours of the morning. Joke was on them, because while we were both in our 20s at the time, we really act like grumpy old 70 year olds coming to the mountains for the bird watching, the fresh air, and the peace and quiet. I guess they decided they could use the orange juice for thier vodka or mimosas. I gloated that those were some very particular raccoons as we both carried the orange juiceless cooler back to the campsite. We were sure to lock it up the next night in the vehicle. All these years later, I still tease Amos about those raccoons and gloat about my instinct on things. All these years later we still have that same made in the UsA cooler we bought as a newly engaged couple. Its gone on family camping trips, cross country road trips, and held many a birhtday party beverage for each of our 5 kids. Its been a good cooler. This summer our kids broke the aging rubber hinges that held the lid to the base. I, much like Job's wife in the Bible, scoffed at Amos and told him to throw that old thing away (You know curse God and die for coolers sort of thing). I reasoned it was time for a nice new model, you know coolers are pretty fancy these days. Then I reminded him of the time the raccoons came for our orange juice and how I was right all along. Listen to a womans gut I told him. He quietly put the cooler away in the garage and insisted he could probably buy new hinges for it. I snorted and went inside with the kids. A few days later some hinges showed up in the mail.

Amos fixed our cooler good as new this week, she is ready for a few more crazy trips and get togethers I'm sure. Its just like Amos to not give up on things, just because they need a little repair. He sure hasn't given up on me after 18 years. Moral of the story is find a cowboy (remember earlier Dixie Chicks reference) who will take you camping high up in the mountains. A cowboy who isn't afraid to fix whats broken, but sometimes can't tell the difference between humans and raccoons. Maybe someday if you are ever at one of my children's birthday parties, and you see a big silver Coleman cooler, go ahead and ask Amos about that time a bunch of raccoons stole our orange juice and left our cooler in the middle of the road. As long as we can keep laughing at ourselves, and we hold on to those who help to repair our broken pieces, instead of just throwing us away, we will all be alright.

9 years In

 All my life I feel like I have been searching for my place, Wandering so to speak. Maybe not all my life, but for as long as I have memory really. I have never really felt like I fit in. This became super evident for me around 5th grade, when kids started to point out my differences in not so kind ways, as kids tend to do. Then at home, around the same time my parents were divorcing after 18 years of marriage. I loved both my mom and dad very much, but didn't really feel like the duplicate of either. My mom seemed to have my sister, and my dad was in a league of his own, nonetheless, I seemed to take my dad's side, because as a 12 year old girl I felt like I needed to be his protector and advocate. He would often tell me, "I was his whole world and all he had left," it felt like such a weight to carry at 12 years old. I loved him so though, and it felt good to be needed. My misplaced advocacy for my dad, drew a wedge between my mom, my sister, and I. It was all so heartbreaking and confusing and I didn't really know whose side to be on. Between my parents, and both sets of grandparents strong opinions of the other spouse, I did realize that there were sides to be chosen. When I was with my dad and his parents, my mom was talked about in a less than loving way, scathing, if I am being honest. When I was with my mom, my dad was always being joked about and criticized. I was often told by either side I was going to end up being just like the other parent or grandparent. I felt defective and unlovable in those moments, like I needed to strive to be someone different, someone better and more worthy and normal.  I ended up always feeling like I was on the wrong side, not necessarily the way any of those adults intended me to feel, it was the way I interpreted and internalized everything during that whole process. Divorce is just a heartbreaking thing no matter how its done. I realize now as a parent myself, I am sure my parents weren't intentionally trying to confuse or hurt me, they themselves were hurting, and processing things, and much like the saying goes, I became the confused collateral damage in the whole process. Children are always the collateral damage of divorce, whether we like to admit it or not. 

To top off the drama at home, as fifth grade wrapped up and I moved on to middle school, the bullying became much worse. I was a skinny little white girl with glasses, a perm, and family bargain center clothes as my wardrobe. I was in a big middle school on the edge of Albuquerque with lots of already street wise kids. Not to mention my mom worked in the office of my school, which brought meanness from both students and a few teachers, who must have thought I received special treatment because my mom was a school employee. In all honesty I probably did, and often took refuge in her copy room office during lunch and passing periods to avoid being bullied. I was terrified to walk the halls or step foot into the cafeteria. 

I ended up getting jumped in the hall one afternoon. Girls rushed me from behind, jumped on my back and either side of me and begun punching me and pulling out my hair. I screamed and fought back, eventually catching the attention of teachers. The girls ran into the nearest bathroom, while I ran down the halls bloody to the office where I burst in wailing and shaking. I was bleeding from my head and scratched all up and down my arms. The assistant principal later determined that if she were to suspend the gang of girls, I would also need to be suspended as well since I participated in the fighting. We were all sent to in school suspension for several days as a compromise. I believe to this day, my mom didn't speak up, because she was afraid she might lose her job, and at the time she was working 3 jobs to keep us afloat after the divorce. This sort of thing wouldn't be tolerated nowadays, but it was a different time back then. A lot of these kids were involved in gangs and their parents were just as scary or more so. I recall several times mom telling the stories of the parents who would come in yelling and assaulting the office staff in defense of their children. Maybe some things never do change. It seemed every night I would cry laying in bed next to my mom. I would beg her not to send me to school. I know now as a parent, that must have been so incredibly heart wrenching for her to endure with me. I know she must have felt so scared and sad, and that her hands were tied. 

6th Grade Kenda. 

All of these hard things were happening just as I was hitting puberty, the time when you are really supposed to be figuring out who you are and where you think you belong. A time thats already usually hard on the parent/child relationship.  I was so scared, tired, and confused. I had no idea who I was, or where I belonged. I was in fight or flight mode and looking back now, thats when I began choosing flight as my defense mechanism. I decided the best thing for me to do to escape all this hard was go live with my Dad, Gran, and Pop, in a small town in Missouri, after all, I was all he had and he needed me right? Plus, maybe in a small town in Missouri, I could find a place to fit in, and not be scared I was literally going to get beaten up on a regular basis. In my mind it was a win-win situation. The night before I left in a Uhaul with my dad, to my new life, I laid in my parents bed with my mom and we cried and cried. She told me I didn't have to go, and I told her oh, but I did. As a mother myself now, I can imagine that me leaving was like ripping out a piece of her heart and driving away with it. Especially after all we had been through with my heart and all the aftermath physically and educationally. I'm not sure I could ever let my growing kids do that, especially not with a man and his family that I no longer trusted or loved. My parents divorce was not really amicable. 

I say all this, not to shame my parents or grandparents, or to dwell on old wounds, but to explain some of my backstory. Middle school and that preteen, early teen time in my life, seemed to be when everything I felt was safe and sure started falling apart right underneath my feet. Suddenly I had a whole new life and had to figure out how to navigate these new scary and winding roads I seemed to be on. I also had the job of growing up and figuring out who I was supposed to be now, and who I was at all really. I guess in a way some of me and my emotional development got stuck in 1996, all those years ago. Thats for sure when my self worth stopped developing and I became a people pleaser to a fault. 

Over the next several years I would go back and forth between my mom and dad and change schools several more times. I ended up back in New Mexico my junior and senior year of high school, graduating from Cibola and going on to New Mexico State University to get a degree in teaching. While in high school, and college, I had several relationships with boys and young men. I broke some hearts and surely had my heart broken. A few of those relationships were quite tumultuous and some even abusive and scary. All this also helped shape my sense of self worth and identity. I felt I had very little value unless people liked me and I fit into their boxes. I loved being told I was skinny and pretty. I found most of my self worth in my physical identity. I was desperate for affection and attention as well as anyone who would say nice things to me and about me. I know most teenagers are this way to some degree. Looking back, I did desperate things trying to find my identity, things I hope my children never do. 

It was my junior year at NMSU that I met Amos. I had come out of another very bad relationship with a guy who lied to me, cheated on me, and went as far as stealing my rent money. I sat on the  kitchen floor of my apartment, crying and telling God I was surrendering and I would stop chasing to try and find someone to love me. Little did I know my boy next door was literally on the other side of that kitchen wall, in his apartment that shared walls and a staircase with mine. I was immediately smitten with him months later when we officially met while doing our laundry and having my dog Petey run into his apartment. He was so cute, was older, had the best deep Texas accent I had ever heard and made me laugh. It didn't hurt that he had a real job and a life plan either. We were engaged 3 months after meeting, and married December of that year 2004. We moved fast, and I am forever grateful that he leaned right into my crazy instead of running from it, which guys in the past had done. 

Amos on our honeymoon, landing in Jamaica.

Now you can't expect any man or woman to save you, or fix all your borken, only Jesus can do that. That being said, Amos has had to deal with a ton of my brokenness. He has taken on the hard task of loving me like Christ loves the church. Of all the humans on the earth, Amos has loved me more unconditionally than anyone else ever has. He has seen my brokenness, my exhaustion, my confusion, and he has patiently loved me through every single second, good or bad. Has he always liked me, probably not! I don't blame him. He has lived with me in the midst of my questions and immaturity and he has helped me to grow up. I've always said Amos really is the better half, and I mean that to my core. I didn't realize how broken, confused, and desperate I was, until someone decided to stay and love me through it. Other than Jesus, its the best gift I have ever received. 

Fast Forward to 2006 and we had our first son Asa Joel. After Asa, we endured several heartbreaking pregnancy loses, one that included an ectopic pregnancy implanting itself into my pelvic wall, and requiring several hours of surgery to find and remove. Then in 2009, we had our second son Asher! Between Asa and Asher, and in the midst of our pregnancy losses, I was so devastated, and thought that maybe we would be a one child family. Little did I know, God had five more babies planned. After our first losses, each pregnancy was so scary, especially in those first 12 weeks. Even after I had another healthy baby, I was still always afraid of losing another one. Every pain brought fear with each subsequent pregnancy. 

Me pregnant with Asa in San Francisco, 2006

Our Christmas baby, Asher James 2009. Our first rainbow baby

Then in 2012 we found out we would be having a daughter. We were so overjoyed, but that feeling faded around 23 weeks, when doctors started suspecting problems with the pregnancy. We were encouraged to abort several times, but our faith in Christ wouldn't allow us to do that. So we went to doctors appointments and scans, we prayed and made plans and Koralyn was born April 9, 2012. Our turmoil with Koralyn really started in November of 2011. Then in March of 2012 my Grandma Juanita died after having a stroke. She was a huge part of my whole life, and not being able to go to her funeral when I was 9 months pregnant with a medically fragile baby was so hard. I also was unable to attend my sister's wedding earlier that month. I felt like I was missing so much. Then in the midst of Koralyn's 108 day stay at Cook Children's my mom was killed in a horrific motorcycle accident. I can't fully articulate the shock and devastation I felt in those first days after my moms accident and death. She died two days before my 30th birthday. I know most who know me, know at least some of this story, it has become such a part of my identity over the last nine years. We buried my mom on May 25, 2012 and two months later on July 25, 2012 our daughter was unhooked from her vent and never took a single breath on her own. We buried her on a Friday I believe. 

2013 comes along and I get pregnant as quickly as I can, wanting so desperately to heal some of whats been lost and broken. Abram was born November 13, 2013 and My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer and came to live with us in Dallas in December of 2013. My dad went back and forth between our house and my aunt and uncles in Mesquite. I accompanied him to a lot of his treatments and appointments with Abram in his little baby carrier. My dad went home to New Mexico and died in my sisters den in August of 2014. 

Dad, Asher, and baby Abram 2014

2015 I got pregnant again and had our Karis Mabel in October of that year. Lots of other things have happened in all this time. Moves, other deaths, our kids beginning to grow and change right before our eyes. Lots of changes, lots of decisions, lots of sadness and fun too. Life, lots of life has happened with each passing day. Some days since 2012 have been gut wrenching, some have been magical. Who was it that said life is what happens to you when you are busy making other plans? Its so true. Life has happened to me and continues to do so. 

I write to process and grieve and make sense of things. I suppose I repeat myself a lot, and if you don't see me living my everyday life, you might be worried I'm dwelling a little too much on my past and my tragedies. It would be easy to think that, I know. Rest assured that the last nine years I have been living. It feels like I have been fighting to live some days. Other days, a lot of days, it feels like I am just barely breathing, barely surviving whats being thrown at me. Honestly I feel like I have lived most of my life this way. Always worrying about whats around the bend, waiting for the other shoe to drop, so to speak. Confused about where exactly I am and how I fit in, trying desperately to make sense of things and figure out the big picture while also just managing to keep breathing and fighting to take one step forward and then the next and so on. I guess I have felt in so many ways that life happens to me, I react instead of live and experience and really breathe it all in. As my best friend Nora said I want to be a thermostat, instead of a thermometer. Set the tone and temperature of my days, not just react to it. 

I recently watched a movie, LAND by Robin Wright. It is a movie about a woman named Edee who loses her husband and son in a tragic way, and decides she can no longer be a part of regular everyday society, with its people and demands. So Edee buys a cabin high in the Rockies of Wyoming, and retreats there to try and heal, to try and find out who she is now. No cell phone, no electricity or plumbing, no car. Just her and a whole lot of isolation. Its a beautiful poignant movie, that tells a grieving and healing story so well. In one scene her friend, Miguel, who has saved her life from hypothermia, asks her if she has thought about what she wants her life to be now. Her response is one that resonates with my soul. She tells him, "I want to notice more." That statement seems very simplistic and may even confuse someone not intimate with grief. To me that statement carries so much weight, and ever since watching the movie, I have been replaying that scene and its visuals back in my head. Really contemplating what it means to notice more. What it means to be in the moment at hand, to not always be worrying about the next bend in the road. To breathe it in, whatever it is in the minutes we have right now, because really, 

For nine years and even long before that, I have been searching for my place, my identity, my purpose, my self worth. Grasping so desperately for reasons and rhymes I am not meant to know this side of heaven. Im always moving on to the next thing, hoping that the next season of my life brings with it clarity, peace, and purpose. Always thinking if I could just attain some goal, or win someone's affection, that I would be better. I have honestly had such a warped sense of self most of my life, its left me striving and confused. Add in mounted, and complicated grief, and its only because of Jesus that I have any mind at all to put words on paper, or get up and live my daily life. Along the way, I know my husband and my children have suffered at the hands of my seemingly never ending exhaustion and confusion. Grief and its work can be an all consuming thing. Ive lost friends, Ive struggled with depression and anxiety. I have had many moments over the past nine years when I have wanted to die, not being suicidal, but wanting so badly for all the pain, exhaustion, and confusion to end. Praying to God that when I go to sleep, I just wouldn't wan up to keep facing the pain and screwing it all up. I know to some who have never experienced it, that may sound counterintuitive, but you really can be at a place where you want to die without being suicidal. Its a dark, lonely place and I am willing to bet more that have struggled with complicated grief, anxiety, ptsd, depression and so forth, can tell you they have been there too. Our American society, our family, our friends, can all make talking about it so scary because of the stigma. I am willing to say it out loud because I know now that my worth and value are only found in Christ, not in what others think or say about me. Its a freeing place to get to, where you can air your so called dirty laundry and walk away knowing some will be shocked and/or disgusted at you and that thats okay. It simply means they haven't walked this road, and I pray they never have to. 

Koralyn would have been 9 last Friday, April 9, 2021. I have done much in the last nine years to try and honor her, to try and make sense of her death, and the purpose for it all. Grasping to make beauty from ashes, to find meaning and purpose in the pain. Trying to bargain with God and rush the healing and the meaning of it all.While doing that, I have had three more babies. I have been trying to mother my five living children, and love their dad the best I can every single day. Some days I have failed miserably. After nine years of struggle and wandering, I feel as though I'm okay with not having all the answers. I'm okay with letting go of all the grasping I have been doing to find purpose in the pain. The thing is, I have found and had a lot of purpose in the midst and despite all the pain. Its purpose enough to keep hoping, to keep breathing, to keep fighting the good fight of faith. Ive always wanted to do a good job and make everyone proud. For so long I was desperate to make people like me, or love me, because I had so little self worth. 

I don't have some cliche quote or a nice little wrap up to this blog post. I don't, because thats not how life works, and it's not meant to work like that most times, at least not this side of heaven. I do know that so many are experiencing grief. Someone new joins the club every day. It doesn't just have to be a death either, there are so many causes of grief and all are valid. I am so grateful for my faith in Christ who gives me hope, for my children, who have literally forced me to keep going, for my Amos who has continued to love me at my lowest, for friends who haven't left and even a few who have. I hope the next nine years finds me continuing to fight the good fight. I hope I can slow down, cease all my striving and notice things more. I have been blessed with so much and so many. I don't want to just keep breathing, I want to really breathe it all in. 

For those of you who are new to grief, and struggle, be patient with yourselves. Its a life long road. Yes, there are stages of grief, I have gone through them all, and back again multiple times. There is no timeline or ending it seems. It isn't the neat and tidy five stages they have talked about for decades now, its much more complex than that, even the experts now admit that. You can find joy in your journey, but you will have to sometimes fight to do so. Keep fighting and wrestling with God, He won't leave you. If you haven't found Christ, I can introduce you, HE has been there on my darkest days and in the midst of all of my ugly, when I thought I couldn't breathe or keep going. I couldn't have made it nine years without HIM. Lean in to the people that love you. Some may leave when you need them, try and let them go, it will add to your grief and confusion, but them leaving isn't your failing, it usually their fear that makes them go. 

Lean into your grief when you can, lets the waves come, don't try to stop them from hitting your shore, its all about learning to surf my friends. Love doesn't end when death ends a life, in fact, love may just become more true and real and beautiful when you continue to love despite death. Keep breathing my friends. Keep breathing, and one day maybe sooner, or maybe later like me, you will realize you aren't just breathing anymore, you are wanting to breathe it all in again. You will want to breathe it in, and notice more, instead of just surviving, head down, eyes closed, grasping for the next move. One day you will realize you have opened your eyes again, your noticing again.  

First Corinthians 13:13 "And now these three remain: faith, hope, and love, and the greatest of these is love." A verse that should be read not just at beginnings, but at endings too.

Us, 2021

8 Years

July 25, 2012 was a Wednesday. The middle of the week, an ordinary day. Two months earlier on May 25, 2012 we buried my Mother in Albuquerque after a fatal motorcycle accident. She died on a sunny Sunday afternoon, two days before my 30th birthday. I can recall exactly where I was on the sidewalk outside the hospital, when I got the call from my sister telling me our Mom was dead. Friends and family had been trying to reach me for several hours, I had had my phone off to enjoy dinner with friends who had come to serve at The Ronald McDonald House where we were staying across from Cook Children's. Shock and dismay immediately took over. For a moment, my world stopped right there on that sidewalk in Ft. Worth Texas. 

The last good photo I took of my Mom. 

On July 24, 2012 I sat by my daughter's hospital bed and pleaded with God not to take her, not her, not now. This isn't the way our story together was supposed to end. He had already taken my Grandma Juanita in March, then my Mom in May, and now this, it couldn't be happening, this couldn't be God's plan. Eight years later, and I can vividly remember those desperate moments and pleading prayers. Jesus was there, telling me I could go on, because HE lives. Those intimate moments with Jesus by my daughter's deathbed help me keep my faith on my darkest days. 

 I remember our Pastor Daniel,  holding space with us, never leaving our side. It was Daniel's birthday the night before, if I recall correctly. I remember when we went into the tiny private family room in the cardiac surgery area. It was only Amos, Daniel, and I. This is the room they take you in away from anyone else, if its serious. Of course at that point in the morning, there were no other families around anyway, but it was a private room to give us some sort of solace and rest, a simple kindness. We sat in that small space, covered in off white hospital blankets, the kind they stick into the warmers and give to ER patients. We sat, each in our own chair,  into the wee hours of the morning, as they made a last ditch effort in the Cath lab, to go in and break up the clots in Koralyn's heart that had been killing her over the last 3 days. 

I can still feel the weight of Dr. Roten's hand as she took mine, and told us it was time to stop and let Koralyn go. I had asked her to do that a night or two before when we first realized there was a problem, but weren't sure what it was yet. Dr. Roten had been at Koralyn's bedside in cicu performing a sonogram, and I asked her to tell me when Koralyn had no more brain activity and it was just time to stop all efforts. She was true to her word, gentle, and kind, in that unforgiving moment for us both.  Her, as our dedicated cardiologist who fought for our daughter to the very end, losing the war for this patient and all who loved her. Me, as Koralyn's mother, fighting this same war, and losing my daughter in this last awful battle. 

The last picture I have of my Koralyn Marie.
She is already swelling and uncomfortable in this picture.

Eight years later, and I can remember how my legs felt like they wouldn't carry me out of that hospital building without my baby. The silent drive home with Amos in his truck, as friends followed behind in our Traverse. Getting home and wondering what we were supposed to do now. Home, but at the same time, a foreign country we didn't recognize, hostile to all our senses. We collapsed and cried on our bed until we fell asleep, later waking up to realize I was still wearing the blood soaked clothes I had been in for two days now. Koralyn had bled all over me as I held her to say our last goodbyes. A medically fragile death is not pretty, or without swelling and blood loss. I remember thinking I didn't want anyone to see my baby all swollen and bruised the way she was, it was horrific, and I didn't want everyone to remember her in that way. Eight years later and still so vivid and fresh in my mind. Just so many memories that will never ever leave me for as long as I live. I can see God's grace and provision in each one, but that doesn't cancel out the hard harsh reality of death and dying. I don't think its supposed to, God never ever promised us easy while on this earth. 

The last few months have been hard, I know they have been hard on us all for many reasons. Covid-19 and all the unrest has taken a toll on us all in some way. I hurt for all the people who have lost loved ones during this strange time. All those unable to be at their loved ones bedside to say goodbye, adding insult to injury, and grief. Being able to say goodbye is a beautiful, painful gift. So many haven't been able to have closure, and grieve together properly. Its gut wrenching to think about what all of this means for each and every person grieving during this time. Hard, hard realities that I fear will drown many people in complicated grief. 

All this has me reflecting on the last eight years, where I have been, and how far I have come. Honestly I feel more then a bit stuck in many ways. I know I have lived over the last eight years, yet in some ways I still feel like that very broken, and shocked 30 year old girl. The young mom, trying to make her heavy grief weighted legs walk her out of that children's hospital without her baby, without her own mom to help carry her, leaving much of her innocence, and youth in those halls as she left. I guess this is grief, it changes you, and somehow also keeps you standing still in many ways too. 

So I keep going over in my mind, and in my prayers, what I have managed to do during the last eight years. I suppose to reassure myself that I haven't stayed "stuck in my grief" like so many people like to tell anyone who is grieving. Oh, I have for sure had more then a few well meaning people ever so Kindly ask, or tell me that I am stuck, and need to somehow move on. What non-grievers don't understand is that grief has no timeline, and as long as we live in this broken world, grief has no end. It doesn't end because love doesn't end. Surely those who think you should be "done" with your grief after one year, or two, or even 10, must have never grieved or lost. Grief is part of our human condition. It has either come, or is coming for us all, just like death. Grief doesn't even have to be tied to a death to be grief, its a shape shifter and comes for many reasons and always takes up some sort of permanent residence in those it visits. 

 So here I sit over these weeks asking myself what it is I have managed to do, to accomplish, over the last 2,920 days. I have managed to keep breathing. To keep trying. Some days that has been so hard. I have had 3 more babies since burying our sweet Koralyn. 

Getting to ride to recovery with my Abram Jace.
So grateful for this healthy baby. You can see the joy in my face

November 2013, we had Abram Jace, and brought my Dad to Dallas in December 2013, to live and fight cancer. He told us months earlier while I was still pregnant with Abram, that there was cancer in his lungs. The doctors in St. Louis gave him little hope after a surgery to try and remove the cancer failed. We felt Baylor Sammon's Cancer center, and our family, with the help of my Dad's brother, my Uncle Mark, could help prolong things, and hopefully give him a good quality of life. We wanted him to be around family and feel loved and supported as much as possible. So Dad lived in both homes, ours in Midlothian, and Mark's in Mesquite, depending on his treatments at Baylor in Dallas. He lived and fought for almost a year. In July 2014, I sat at his bedside as he lay dying in my Sister's house in New Mexico because he wanted to die at "home" from that cancer overtaking his body. In June his Oncologist was astounded at the cancer retreating from his body, by August he was gone.

In the span of two years I lost both of my parents, one to a tragic accident, and one to the beast that is lung cancer. I managed to survive that, while also having a newborn, and two small boys, soon turning 8 and 5. Even though my past with my dad contained pain,  I am so grateful he was able to come be in my home and make memories with my boys. Asa and Asher still speak of him and their time together. To them, for those months, my Dad was a larger than life old cowboy who loved them much. I am so glad that is how they will remember him, and that I will always have those images too. The images in my mind of my Dad reading to my boys, playing baseball with them, coloring Easter eggs and decorating Christmas cookies; God brings beauty and healing in the midst of unhealed hurts and pain. 

In early 2015, we found out we were pregnant again. We had talked about maybe trying for one more baby to complete our family. We did all the genetic testing and found out early on that we were having a baby girl! I was home alone when I received that call and after crying and hanging up with the nurse I hit my knees and thanked God for allowing us to have another precious daughter. I went right out and bought little baby girl outfits, and a pink rattle with a card. I put them all in a baby bag, and waited for Amos and the boys to get home from take your child to work day. What a joyous and exciting moment that was for us all. 

The day we found out we were having a girl!
 I got to share the happy news with my boys! 

The boys meeting their Tiny Sister. We were all so excited. 

Each pregnancy since Koralyn, has come with much baggage. We have to be extra cautious and get lots of prenatal testing done for the entire pregnancies. Its emotionally and financially draining. We also had people question why we would ever try to have more babies after what happened to Koralyn and knowing I have a known defect. Feeling judged as a grieving person and a pregnant mama is very hard. So we never went into any pregnancy lightly, but with much prayer and faith, as well as science and discussions with my OBGYN and our Cardiologists. So I guess I have managed to survive three more pregnancies since having my heart baby. That last surprise one really knocked me down for quite some time. 

 I have moved two times since 2012. Maybe in the back of our minds, we thought moving might help us start fresh, only to find we are the same people, with the same hurts no matter what our address is.  I miss my home in Midlothian, I so desperately thought moving from that home that held so much sadness and death for me would help. I was having reoccurring nightmares of finding Abram and Karis at the bottom of our pool, and having to choose which child to save. I was so relieved the day we moved, now I miss that home, with the pool and the shop, and enough rooms for our family of 7. I especially miss being close to Koralyn's grave in the Midlothian Cemetery, and all the friends and memories the kids had established there. We have lost money and sleep over all these moves. Live and learn, hindsight is 20/20 as they say. I have to trust that God is Sovereign and uses what we think are our mistakes and failures too. These moves didn't come without much consideration and prayer. 

I have struggled with anxiety, ptsd, and depression. The ptsd, and depression became evident to me in 2016, about a year after Karis was born and a few months after we had moved to Red Oak,  from Midlothian. One day I realized everything felt so hard and overwhelming. Everything felt like treacherous and scary work. I was always exhausted and sad. Just the thought of the laundry or the grocery shopping would make me want to curl up and not get out of bed. Overwhelm, just complete overwhelm at every task. I wanted to do a good job, but felt like I couldn't. My mind, heart and body just felt complete overwhelm about every single thing. I knew I needed help. I sought out both counseling and medication to try and help me overcome this darkness. We had all received excellent counseling from our beloved Ms. Jackie after Koralyn's death, but I had stopped going when she moved. Amos and the children had been released from needing to go at that point. I found a new counselor and started going weekly again, I also asked my OBGYN for an appointment and a prescription to help me. 

We moved again in 2018 when we realized we couldn't keep sustaining sending our kids to private christian school. Financially with more babies and medical bills we had used all our savings to pay for Ovilla Christian School for Asa and Asher. We knew we surely couldn't afford to send the rest of our children. So we moved even further away from our friends, and Amos's work to try and find a house in a small, safe school district. I never dreamed I would be sending my kids to public school, that had never been a part of my plan as a mother, but here we were. I had tried twice to homeschool both Asa and Asher and felt like I had completely failed even though I have a teaching degree. In April 2018 we moved to Patriots Outpost, Asa completed his 5th grade year, and Asher his 2nd at Millsap Elementary. Asa has since been diagnosed with ADHD and anxiety, and our Asher James has had to work through some anger and trauma as well. We decided they both needed to receive more counseling to help each of them through. 

Then the summer of 2018 shortly after moving here to Weatherford, we found out we were pregnant again. Surprise right? We sure were, we were not expecting to ever be expecting again! I was so shocked I told no one for an entire week. I kept thinking those positive pregnancy tests had to be a mistake. Around the time I was shocked to find out I was pregnant for the 8th time in my life, I lost a friendship I honestly thought would last my lifetime. She was a dear friend who had been there through all my ups and downs with me since our oldest boys were just babies really. I considered her a sister really, and was so grateful, and truthfully dependent on her friendship and support. She had been right there while my baby was dying. She was one of the first persons I called when my Mom was killed. She had been right there to celebrate Abram and Karis with me, and had done so much to support and love me well. Losing her friendship was a complete gut punch to me. I was devastated and so confused. To me, it felt like another death or divorce. Asa really took it hard because he lost one of his best friends as well, when she decided she was done with me. There have been many nights he has come to me in tears over the loss of this friendship. It stings to the core. I still have days when I want to text her and catch up, when I want to ask her what exactly went wrong. Fear of more hurt and rejection keeps me silent. So I managed to make it through that and have a healthy baby boy in February 2019. 

Alden Jonah is here! 

The Spring after Alden was born in 2019, someone called CPS and reported that I was abusing my older boys. I thought the men coming to my door were salesmen interrupting my quiet time with my newborn, boy was I wrong. I was dumbfounded when they said they were with Child Protective Services and I alone was being accused of abuse. Having those two men show up at my door was absolutely devastating. They came in and interviewed me, took pictures of my kids rooms, my fridge, my pantry, my newborn front and back in only his diaper. It was such a humiliating experience. They opened an investigation on me and interviewed neighbors, friends and my children's pediatricians. They even interviewed Amos alone. Eventually after several months, they declared the accusations unfounded and closed my case. To this day, I am still so shocked and ashamed that anyone would think I would abuse my children. It breaks my heart, and makes me question my parenting abilities that anyone would believe me an abuser. It has made me question all of my mothering abilities and choices. I was reassured by so many that it happens to normal, loving, non abusive parents all the time. I still feel like I now wear a scarlet letter of parenting shame. 

Two days after CPS showed up at our door,  Amos came home early from work to tell me the biopsy his dermatologist had taken showed some form of rare cancer and we had to go see an Oncologist. That day was so hard. Knee buckling and gut wrenching hard. I won't ever forget the look of fear in Amos's eyes and the sound in his voice. My big strong husband, weak and scared of what was coming. He couldn't speak the words for a long time. We both just stood there, him terrified to tell me, and me terrified at whatever he was about to say. Before he could get the words out, I was so afraid CPS was coming to take me to jail, its laughable now, but then it all felt so devastating and scary, because I have never been in trouble with the law before so I was just terrified. Now I think I would have gladly spent a few nights in the pokey to not have heard the word cancer come out of my husbands mouth. After he forced the words out we just stood holding each other and crying. Months and several tests would go by, including a bone marrow biopsy and a call to 911, before a final diagnosis of Cutaneous and Systemic Mastocytosis. Amos is now a life long Oncology patient, but we are so grateful with careful care, and treatment he will hopefully keep going for a long time. We need each other so much to help raise our 5 babies. 

 I feel like I have lived one thousand years in these last eight, while some moments I question if I have lived any moments at all. So much has been clouded by trauma, grief, and exhaustion. I have been striving to make sense and then just survive the next trauma it seems. Trying so hard to make beauty from ashes I suppose. Eight years later and I don't feel I have done much but survive and keep trying. Eight years later and my biggest feelings right now, today and for a long time are exhaustion and regret. I haven't accomplished some great thing in my daughter's honor. I haven't started a foundation, written a book, spoken at large events, anything at all really that one would point to and say, see here, beauty from ashes. 

I guess what I can say is that I have tried hard to keep doing the next right thing. Grief and trauma take so much out of a person physically and mentally. So we have to often focus on just doing the next right thing so to speak. Sometimes the next right thing is something small and sometimes its something big and noteworthy. Most times for the overwhelmed grieving person, the next right thing is learning to breathe and hope again. Learning that grief and joy can and do coexist. Often doing the next right thing when you are grieving is learning to let go of other people's opinions and judgments about your grief and your living with it. Learning to make decisions again and move forward. Learning to honor your grief and your love while continuing to live.

In the last eight years, I know there has been much beauty and joy in the midst of everything that has happened. I have 5 kids and a loving, and wonderful husband that has been with me for each minute of these last eight years. I can say with God's help, that I have made it through each day, sometimes barely, but I have made it. For now, I will keep struggling, surviving, and hoping. I will keep living and trying and putting my trust in a God who knows and sees each tear I shed. I trust He sees our hurts and all of our wounds. I have much to be thankful for and a hope in Christ that keeps me trying. 

Just like glass.

I know many have been thinking a lot over the last several days about tragedy and the grief that comes after. I am sure you know I am speaking of the helicopter crash in the hills of Los Angeles, that took the life most famously of Kobe Bryant, and his 13 year old daughter Gianna. Nine people in all died in that accident. I can't help but think of Kobe's wife who has lost a daughter, and her husband in the same instant.I somehow didn't realize Kobe had a wife and four daughters.

 My mind also goes to the Altobelli family. Those kids lost their baby sister, and both parents in that accident. They are now young adult orphans, left to pick up the legacy, and pieces of their family, and somehow keep going. They won't have their mom and dad at their most important life events, like their wedding days, or the birth of their first child. Their beloved baby sister will be missing too, she will never get to be a bridesmaid, or an Aunt, or just a best friend to her remaining siblings. I have prayed over the last days as I learned more about the accident. Prayed that all of these people who lost wives, husbands, children, parents, and so on, in this one horrific split second accident would be surrounded by loved ones who will lift them up and carry them until they can see again.

 I myself have been on the receiving end of a call no one ever wants to get. "There has been a horrible accident Kenda, Mom was killed, Mom didn't make it, Mom is dead. Yes I am sure, I have seen her body." I crumbled right there on that sidewalk. My mind and heart racing, my stomach suddenly twisting in despair. It couldn't be, surely this was a mistake, my mom isn't dead, its a beautiful Sunday evening and I just talked to her yesterday. I just sent her a picture of Koralyn this morning in a bow she had sent for her. I had just received a birthday package from her in the mail a day or two before. It is just a normal Sunday, and tomorrow my mom would need to get up and go to the job she loved right? Then sheer panic and dismay, as the words really sunk in. Oh those moments and feelings are so fresh and vivid when I recall them. That horror I felt seems so real, and like it was all just a few minutes ago. A moment like that, the hours and days that come after, can't be erased from human memory. It is trauma. Trauma everyone is afraid of, trauma no one wants to live themselves, but every single day people do. Police knock on doors to tell mother's their babies have been shot to death. Mom's tell children their dads won't ever come home after some horrific accident on the job, or on the road. Mom's walk into the nurseries of their sleeping little ones only to find them blue and without breath in their lungs. Every single day is someones worst day. Someones trauma.

So much trauma happens to us as humans every day. Most goes unreported and unnoticed by the general public. Most people go on thinking that sort of trauma, and death of loved ones, will only ever happen to others, until its them of course. It is human nature and survival to sometimes look away and think to yourself, well that will never happen to me, and list off in your mind all the reasons why, assuring yourself  you are safe. If anything, moments like this when big, powerful, famous people die horrific and untimely deaths,  many realize no one is really safe from the trauma of life, and that death comes for us all eventually. Death is no respecter of persons. Life is just fragile and so are we, our hearts, our bodies, our minds,  all of us just so fragile. We don't like to think upon our fragility often because the world and all it's trauma and grief can be a terrifying thing. It can be a very good thing though, to stop and be reminded of the brevity and fragility of this life on earth. Good because it can help us become more empathetic to other's fears and pain. Good in that it helps us assess our own life's plans and purposes. Good in my opinion, because it points us back to a Creator who made us for so much more then this brief time on this fragile ball we call Earth. 

So the past few days have had me reliving my own trauma of losing my Mom to a tragic, and horrific motorcycle accident on a sunny Sunday afternoon in 2012. It has also had me thinking about grief. My grief, and the grief of others. Thinking a lot about those first trauma and shock filled days and then how grief changes over time. I am nearly 8 years out from that Sunday evening when my safe world in which my Mom was alive was shattered, never to be the same again. I can't believe it has been nearly 8 years. Time is a tricky thing, sometimes a thief, sometimes a friend. I am grateful I am no longer in those first hours, days, or years of grief. Grateful that most days I can breathe and function normally, feeling happiness along the way again.

I was kneeling on the floor the other night, to pick something up I had dropped, and from that vantage point on my knees, I saw a shiny sliver of glass hiding underneath one of the kitchen cabinets. Weeks, maybe even a few months earlier, I had broken a large glass lid.Opened the bottom cabinet and it slipped out onto the hard tile floor where it banged and shattered into many sharp pieces. I had tried of course to clean up every last shard of glass, so no one would get cut or hurt stepping on any. As most know, on a hard tile floor, when glass shatters, its nearly impossible to clean it all up. It tends to shatter, and then scatters all over the room. Often it hides in corners, and crevices, underneath furniture, or appliances. Sometimes it even evades our broom or vacuum, and hides in plain sight, until its found by someone's poor foot, or worse, a child's knees or tiny hands crawling on the floor. I had a sudden thought down there on my knees looking at that shimmering piece of glass. Grief is like glass.

 Grief is like a piece of glass that shatters and then scatters every which way. The piece of  glass whole, is often beautiful and useful. Think of all the things in our world made of glass that bring both function and beauty to every day of our lives. When that glass is broken, it becomes dangerous and often painful. We try to clean it up quickly and avoid the pieces at all costs. This is much like grief. One minute we have these lives and in a split second things change. We go scrambling to clean it up and avoid being cut and hurt. Despite our best efforts that grief that has now shattered our worlds is all over the place. No matter how much we, our friends, family, and even the well meaning, and sometimes irritated, general public try to clean it up, its just everywhere. Shattered and sharp.

Even when we survive those first days, weeks, and months of shattering and subsequent sweeping, grief, much like the shattered glass, is hidden in the crevices and corners of our lives. We find it sometimes in the worst moments when its not convenient or becoming. It is then like the tiny piece of glass you step on and it goes deep into your heel, causing pain and blood. Grief shows up like that unwelcome tiny shard, during a fun outing with a friend, or in a meeting at work, or when you get up to speak at a celebration. Other times we are anticipating the grief, much like when we kneel in our kitchens and know the bright light of day and the vantage point we have will show us the tiny shimmering pieces of glass our brooms and vacuums have missed. It is more welcome then, maybe because we are anticipating and expecting it, maybe because its been months, or even years, and we are ready to face the sharp shards and clean them up. This sometimes looks like the grief we feel on special anniversaries, like birthdays of passed loved ones, or their death days when we take the time to breathe, grieve, and remember. Sometimes it takes heavy, dirty work to find the broken pieces of glass. Moving the stove when it breaks for the last time, or spring cleaning and moving the furniture only to reveal the glass that shattered on the hard tile in the kitchen, made its way even to the living room or the dining room. Dealing with your grief sometimes takes many forms. Counseling, support groups, medications to right the damage done to your brain and body from your trauma and grief. Healing and sweeping up your shattered parts looks so different for each and every grieving person. Working through the deepest grief takes a lot of heavy lifting and uncovering of hidden pieces and hurts, much like those tiny pieces of glass that scattered all the way into other rooms.

 Broken glass can be something as small as one drinking glass. It can be huge amounts too, like all the windows in your house after a bad hail storm, or the windshield of your car after an accident. Grief is much the same, it can be small to some, the loss of a pet, or a beloved item that has been passed down for generations. Grief can also be huge, like the loss of your health, and ability to take care of yourself. It can be the loss of a parent, spouse, or child. Just like with glass though, when the bottom drops, there is always a shattering that takes place, large or small. It isn't our job to determine the size or worthiness of the broken glass or the grief. It is our job as friends, and loved ones, to help pick up the broken pieces, to help shine the light and sweep up the mess. Sometimes the glass can be repaired, sometimes we have to sweep up and resign ourselves to the fact that we can never bring back what has been broken. Things will never be exactly the same, they aren't supposed to be, that is they way of life and growth.

Every single day lives change. Every day tragedies occur. Grief is like shattered glass, what was once beautiful, and useful has become broken, sharp, and scary. In time, things will become more normal again. It won't always be like those first moments after the glass gets shattered, with all the panic and scrambling to sweep up all the pieces. One day the grief will be like the long ago shattered glass, mostly cleaned up. You will be living life again, it won't look the same as it did before it shattered, but you will realize you are no longer walking around terrified of slicing your feet on the slivers and shards.

I bet we all know someone who is grieving something. Grieving people need others to see all the big, and small broken pieces. Sometimes in their deep grief, in those first shocking days and weeks, they need you to come into the middle of their brokenness and just be with them. Acknowledge the shattered pieces and stand with them in the middle of the mess. They need you to come right into the place so many don't want to go because they would be surrounded by brokenness.Surrounded by shattered things with sharp and painful edges. Other times those who grieve may need you long after the initial shattering to come and kneel, to shine your light, and help them discover all the forgotten tiny pieces they missed in those early days, those early sweepings.

Yes grief is much like shattered glass. Broken and scary, sharp, and yet beautiful if we can shine the light at the right angles. Clean up and healing takes time, so much time, so much patience, and intention. Do you have sweeping of shattered glass to do in your own life? Do you know a friend who needs a good standing, kneeling, or sweeping buddy? Let us all remember our own times of shattering, and be eager to help, and most of all, to truly love the grieving and shattered. Next time we see someone standing in the middle of their own shattered pile, let us not be afraid of getting cut by the sharp scary edges. Let us carefully walk into the middle of the brokenness, and let our friends, and loved ones know they are not alone and that we aren't afraid of the sharp edges and broken pieces. Let us all be mindful of the fragility of things and that all around us, each day, there is shattered glass.

Reflections on a Decade

In the months leading to December I kept seeing things that are meant to remind us that the decade is almost over.  Mostly posts on social media telling us all to go for it, there are only X amount of days left in this entire decade! Live your dream, take that risk! It can be overwhelming for anyone to think about a whole decade passing you by without much achievement or fanfare. I have tried not to get too overwhelmed, but instead reflect on the past 10 years.

Over the last several days I have really been thinking about  my last decade and all I have seen, and done. As I have sat with my thoughts, prayers, and reflections, I have realized this last decade might be my most lived one yet.  I have tried to bring to mind all I have done in the past 10 years. Thinking of babies had, trips taken, moves made. I was really astounded to think of the life I have lived over these  last 3, 652 + or- days. Here are just a sample of things we have lived out in these days:

I have had 4 babies in the last 10 years, including one that was very medically fragile.

Asher James Technically before the new decade December 2009

Koralyn Marie April 2012

Abram Jace  November 2013. Such joy and elation with his "normal" birth

Our Tiny Karis Mabel October 2015

Last, but not least, Alden Jonah our happy boy,  February 2019

I have seen my first two babies grow from a toddler and infant, to a teen and a ten year old boy. My last 3 from newborns to kindergartener,  preschooler, and a most precious, and happy 10 month old baby boy.

I have buried one of those precious babies, my beloved maternal grandmother, and both my parents in that time. Also attending funerals for friends, cousins, and uncles over the last 3, 650 days. A tragic accident, a congenital heart defect, cancer, all the reason death came to darken our doors.

Seeing my Grandma's death date etched into my grandparents grave when we went to the cemetery to make arrangements for our Mom's burial. March 31, 2012 is when she passed at 94 years old. Just 7 weeks before my Mom's death

My Mom's funeral May 25, 2012

Koralyn's Funeral July 27, 2012

Spreading my Dad's ashes in the Jemez Mountains August 2012

I have moved 3 times, not just houses, but towns and lives really. So much changes when you move from one zip code to another.

I have made friends, grown friendships, and lost some friendships I never dreamed I would lose. One particularly painful friendship loss in 2018 that I have very much grieved for over these past two years.

I have chosen to send my kids to private Christian school, homeschool and then with resolve and fear, public school.

I have had two heart procedures to try and fix my SVT. It goes away for awhile, but always seems to find a new pathway in my scar tissue.

I have taken many family vacations, driving and flying thousands of miles across the country and seeing some beautiful places here in our United States.

I have watched my nephews grow from little boys to young men, and watched as my sister married and added 5 more nieces and nephews to the family.

I sat in an Oncologists office with both my Dad and my Husband as they were being diagnosed with cancer.

These are only just a sample of the minutes, hours and days myself and my loved ones have lived over the last decade. I have had some of the best days and undoubtedly some of the very worst days of my life over the last 10 years.

A few of the worst days etched forever into my soul:

The day we were told our baby girl yet to be born was very sick and might not even live to birth. AV Canal defect and Downs Syndrome were the words we heard that day. Later to be changed to Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome.

The day I sat in my living room, nine months pregnant with that precious daughter. Looking out the front windows onto the field of bluebonnets in full bloom across the street as I spoke through the phone and I told my Grandma Juanita I loved her so much and it was okay to let go. She couldn't form words, but uttered sounds, and I knew that was the last time I would ever hear her voice this side of heaven.

The sunny Sunday evening I received a phone call from my sister who could barely choke out the words that our Mom had been killed hours earlier in a horrific motorcycle accident. I can tell you the very spot on the sidewalk I stopped to hear those dreaded words and felt my world crashing in around me.

A few days later after my 30th birthday when I boarded a flight alone, leaving my sons, husband and medically fragile daughter to go to my hometown and help my Sister lay my Mother to rest.

I will be forever grateful for my very best friend Nora who was by my side while I buried my mom. Nora and our pastor Daniel were such blessings to me during the hardest time of my life.

The 2 days leading up to Wednesday July 25, 2012, when our daughter was slowly being killed by massive blood clots in her tiny heart. The clots slowly blocked all flow to her vital organs and extremities. Early on July 25, I held our sweet Koralyn as they removed the ventilator as she lay in my arms with Amos and Daniel by our side.

July 27, 2012 when we laid her tiny coffin in the ground and covered it with dirt. I am so grateful our faithful pastor spoke words of life and our hope in eternity over us in those dark days.

The day my Sister called from a Saint Louis hospital and told me my Dad's body was riddled with cancer and the surgeon there could do nothing else for him.

The day my Dad came to live in Dallas and fight his cancer at Baylor. Then the day the Oncologist told him the cancer seemed to be responding to the chemo and radiation. It would be only a few months later we would sit in that same room and be told it was time to consider hospice.

The last days I spent with my Dad as he lay dying in a hospital bed in my Sisters living room.

It was a sunny day when we drove up to the Jemez with his ashes to spread them around the mountains he loved to take us camping in as small girls.

The day one of my best and most beloved friends sent me a text message telling me all the reasons she just couldn't be my friend anymore. I have mourned that day much over the last year and a half.

The March day just last year when I was sitting with my newborn as two men rang my doorbell. I thought they were salesmen,  but they were from CPS and I was being accused of abusing my sons. Oh the shock and dismay I felt. The shame and disbelief I still feel and struggle with today as I think no good mom would ever have CPS called on her. (The charges were found to be unfounded and the case was closed)

Just the next day when my husband decided to come home from work early and I walked in to him clearly distraught as he uttered the words Oncologist and rare cancer. That week was one of the lowest of my life besides the week my Mom was killed and the week my daughter died.

As I sit here now, I can recall more dark days leading up to, and after these moments listed above.  These days were the darkest I have ever lived in my life. These days were days when I had to lean on God and His sovereignty because my world was rocked and there was absolutely nothing else to lean on. These days I cried wild and hot tears and hoped that death would swallow me too, if only to relieve me from my current reality.

Oh but if I only focused on these dark days of the past decade I would not be doing it full justice. For in the midst of all that grief and trauma so much joy and good occurred too.

The days my girlfriends and I got together for dinners and talks. The times they threw me baby showers to celebrate with me, what good was to come.

Koralyn's Baby shower. Such a kindness from friends and a very happy day for me. 

The days my Abram Jace, Karis Mabel, and Alden Jonah were born! November 13, 2013, October 16, 2015 and February 8, 2019. Days I was privileged to become a mother again.

The days we purchased new homes and celebrated all the life to come in each one!

All the birthdays and wedding anniversaries we have been blessed to celebrate.

One of my favorite birthdays for the boys was their 5th and 3rd when we celebrated at The Rangers Ballpark. This was their birthday celebration just a few months after Koralyn died. We were acutely aware of what a privilege it was to be able to celebrate a birthday then and celebrate we did!

Birthday Party at The Ballpark! 

One of my favorite anniversaries with Amos was our big 10, when we went away alone for the first time really and we traveled all the way to Niagara Falls Canada. What a magical time we had remembering what it was like to be young and in love.

Niagara Falls Celebrating 10 years of marriage 2014

The days I got to celebrate my sister graduating from college and adopting her kids. I know my parents must be so proud of her.

Celebrating Krystal getting her teaching degree

The days and moments when our own children are kind, generous, and loving. We see hope and are reminded that the work we are putting into them will hopefully see them to a fruitful adulthood living for Christ and others.

The days we have watched as our children must do hard things and they do it and realize that they can. They can be both fearful and courageous and get things done!

The days I was privileged to co-chair the Congenital Heart Walk in honor of my girls, my own two heart warriors, and see the work come to fruition alongside other families with children and loved ones like mine. Oh to put your heart into something good. So many friends helped me succeed at holding the walk in DFW for the first time!

All the days we have done good things to honor our lost loved ones and all the times our family and friends partnered with us to make big and small things happen for the good of others. It helps us bring purpose to our pain.

The day I got to step back into Cook Children's Hospital as a volunteer for the first time. I was so happy to be able to give back in the place where so much was given to us and for us while Koralyn was alive and fighting HLHS. Not to mention all the times our other 5 kids have needed and received great care there.

The trips and family vacations we have been so excited to take! Even the ones where we come back telling stories of run over strollers and near death experiences! Heck when we are old those will be our favorite ones to talk about.

The trip we drove the Blue Ridge Parkway and MeMaw came along!  Thats a bear deciding to join our picnic.

One of my favorite travel memories was when we surprised Asa and Asher with a trip to Disneyland to celebrate, and honor Koralyn. We never got a Make A Wish trip like we would have if she were alive. So we decided to go of our own accord and make happy memories on what would have been Koralyn's 2nd birthday. We surprised the boys at the airport and had a few magical days at Disney.

Faces of pure joy at Disneyland

The Christmas Eves and Christmas mornings. The Easter Sunday's and hot 4th of July's. All the many special days and holidays we have had the privilege to celebrate over this past decade.

The day Asa professed his faith in Christ and was baptized!

The day Asa was baptized April 2019

Asa's Baptism 

All the normal days too. The days when I do the laundry, and pick up the toys, and feed my kids what seems like 50 times. I realize now, after the traumatic days, and times that those normal days are just as much a privilege and a blessing as the big and exciting days. It isn't lost on me that normal and mundane days spent at home with my kids are such favor and such un-deserved blessing from God himself. Sometimes I am blown away by the beauty of normal and what mercy it is to us in our daily lives.

As I reflect on both the darkest days of my 37 years, and also some of the brightest and best that have all happened within this decade,  I must acknowledge that God gave me every single one. He has sustained me and carried me. He is good in both the bright light, and even more so, in the deep darkness of grief and pain. I have truly learned over the past decade that God is indeed near to the brokenhearted and He binds up their wounds. I have grown and been stretched more than in any other decade before that I can recall.

As I sit here and reflect, Ecclesiastes chapter 3 comes to mind. "For everything there is a season, and time for every purpose under heaven..."

This decade I have been so privileged to bring much life into this world with my babies. I have also been privileged (privileged in the sense that they were in my life at all)  to say goodbye to so many loved ones, some of the most influential and important people in my life. So much life and death in a 10 year span. I can say without a doubt that God has been with me through it all. I am still working through my grief and trying to figure out this life and the living in it. My hope for this next decade is to be more faithful, more kind,  gentle, and to be open to God's plans above my own. I can say sitting here today, on the eve of a brand new year, and a brand new decade, I am grateful for each and every day of the last 10 years. I know that the valley days have brought me closer to Christ then I have ever been in my life. I know that the good days of sweet joy have helped sustain me and give me the hope to keep going. God has been good to me these last 10 years, and has taught me and blessed me so much. He has held me fast, and I pray He continues to do so in the next decade.