Things I would say.

I am very stressed over the upcoming Thanksgiving Holiday. I feel the need to prepare and make everything good and hopefully smooth. In the meantime, I seem to be making myself sick and miserable with worry. Forgetting what the holiday is supposed to be about and focusing on what I will look like and all I need accomplish. Walking through the stores this week buying different Thanksgiving Day meal ingredients, I can't seem to believe that its my turn, that I am old enough to be hosting and cooking the meal. Oh how I miss the days of driving to my mom's and sleeping late. Not understanding why she was so crabby and stressed out. She worked hard to make sure things were just right and up to someones standards. Then there I was relaxing and smelling the food cooking in the kitchen and the anticipation of it all coming to a rolling boil in the living room! I miss those days, can't believe they are gone really. I wonder if my mom were still alive, what our Thanksgivings would look like. Certainly not like this upcoming one I believe.

I get it now, why my mom was so stressed that is. She built up this standard in her mind that she needed to live up to. I assume her mom helped her concoct this unattainable standard, and probably her mom's mom before that. I think most women have it, ingrained somewhere deep down, whether it goes many generations back or just one. So instead of basking in the meaning of Thanksgiving, she was wallowing in the muck of expectations, her own or someone elses. Now as her daughter, looking back on all those holidays when she worked so hard and seemed so endlessly stressed, I appreciate more her effort. I also wish I could go back, I bet she does too, now having the perspective she does. I can hear her tell me to calm down. None of these things I am worrying so much about are even going to matter, and heck if I burn the turkey, we can all load up and go to the best chinese buffet in the metroplex. She would probably tell me, if she could do it over, that she wouldn't care so much about creating the perfect image, she would care more about actually living in, and enjoying the sweet moment given. Trying harder to grasp the real meaning and moment instead of some image someone told her she had to accomplish. I think she would be less stressed about someones expectations and more concerned with  what matters. What really matters on Thanksgiving, isn't the perfect food, or the decorations or the dust on my blinds and baseboards or lack therof. What matters are the people and the blessings and the THANKFULNESS. Don't get me wrong, I also think my Mom worked so hard on all those Thanksgiving and Christmases past because she wanted us to love and enjoy them. She wanted us to have happy and joyus memories of those times to carry with us, and oh do I ever. I have so many sweet memories of her efforts, but I also remember her being so worn and stressed and yes sometimes just a tad bit crabby because of it! Of course what mom doesn't have her crabby moments, am I right!?

A few weeks ago I sat at the kitchen table with Abram. Just him and me, eating a quiet lunch together while the older boys were at school. I sat enjoying his sweet company and the rare quiet in my home. I looked around at the table and chairs and suddenly it struck me. There were four empty chairs at the table in that moment. Four. I sat there thinking who would fill those chairs. Thinking of the four people that have died over the last 2 1/2 years. Thinking what I would say to them if they were sitting around that table right at that very moment. I looked at the chair closest to me and thought first of my sweet Koralyn. I thought of her as a small child, around the age she would be, 2. Thought about what she would want for lunch, what juice would be her favorite, what meds I would be giving her with each meal. I also thought of her as a grown woman. What would I say, if given the chance. I would start by telling her how much I love and miss her. How I am so sorry for feeling overwhelmed by her many medical issues. I am sorry for my fear and my doubt. Sorry for the days in the NICU I could have held her, but was too afraid to mess up all her wires and tubes, or too afraid to bother the doctors and nurses with my requests. Sorry for all the early mornings she was awake and talking it up with all the nurses and I was over at RMH sleeping. I would ask her about her favorite things. I would tell her thank you for the amazing gift that she was and tell her about my very favorite times with her. My pregnancy and growing belly, the moment in the medical building after the first world spinning diagnosis. When I clutched my swollen belly and told her how much I loved her and how it was going to be okay. The moment we learned she was a girl! The precious rainy day we spent in room A18 snuggling in the purple chair. Feeling a bit normal, just getting to hold and love on my newborn daughter as she slept and snuggled next to my chest. I would hug her, hold her. Feel her precious hand in mine and her sweet breath on my neck as she hugged me. Feel her beating heart in her chest up next to mine.

I moved on to the chair next to Koralyn's and thought of my Mother. Oh what I wouldn't give to be able to say a proper goodbye. I would ask her if she was scared in her last moments. I would tell her I am so sorry for that pain. I would tell her I loved her and that I am so sorry for all the times as a teenager that I was awful and ungrateful and took her for granted. The times I thought it was all her fault that my parents divorced, not seeing her effort in the 18 years they were married. Not remembering her struggle and her tears. I would thank her for sitting by my hospital bed all those years ago as my little body endured open heart surgery. Keeping vigil with me all those weeks, fighting for me, being scared and worried. I would tell her as a mom to a precious baby girl with a heart defect I understand better what she went through. Her pain, her exhaustion. I would tell her I remember and am so thankful for the many sweet moments she gave me over my lifetime. The Christmas mornings full of stockings and bikes and toys, even though we lived in a double wide trailer and I know they struggled to pay the bills and often used lay away to give us those gifts. The thoughts and effort she put into our days. I would thank her for the moments she taught me to be kind and think of others and give back. Like all the Christmases we picked angels from the angel tree at the mall. How much fun we had buying those gifts and thinking of the joy of those kids. I would remind her about the times in middle school when we would cry together every night, because I was being bullied and I dreaded walking those mean halls every day. I didn't know at the time how that must have been so gut wrenching for her as much as it was for me. I would Thank her for that Valentines day in the 6th grade when she bought me one of the biggest bouquets of chocolate roses and sent them to my homeroom as a secret admirer. She knew all the other girls would be getting something, it was a thing the student council did every year and for a dork, in stirrup pants and oversized glasses the chance of being gifted a chocolate rose or a pink carnation was slim. She knew I would be teased and dissapointed when my name never got called to get my Valentine surprise. She was thinking of me. She thought of me more then I knew really. That Valentines Day stands as one of the best in my memory, because no one knew the secret admirer was actually my mom, one of the only fun and exciting days I had in my horrid middle school career.  Her heart broke with mine, I know that now, as a mom myself. I would tell her she did a good job, she loved me the best she could and tried so hard to make things good for me. Oh how I miss her.

Next as I sat thinking, my Grandma came to mind. I wondered what she would say to me. She died March 2012, when I was nine months pregnant with Koralyn and couldn't fly out to attend her funeral. She was the first of the deaths that would occur. She was 94 when she died. She went quickly and died just 7 weeks before her 55 year old daughter would be killed. She had already buried one daughter years earlier, so we were grateful she was already gone when my mom got killed. Mom's grave is just below Grandma and Grandpa's. I sat for a moment still, thinking of my words to her. I would tell her that I am thankful for all the times she encouraged me and let me know she was so proud of me. I would apologize again, for my atrocious behavior as a teenage girl. the times when I was so self centered and became angry and impatient when she would ask for a ride to the post office or the store. I would tell her now, if I could go back and do that over, it would be different of course, I would be different. A bit less awful and selfish, a bit more gracious and thankful. For often it was her that would give me rides to and from school after my parents divorced and my Grandma became like a mom to me really. We would talk about the memories we share, the lunches at Furrs and the ice cream cones at Mcdonalds. The long drives to my middle school I was transferred to, to try and escape the ridicule and threats that became constant. The nights when I was smaller and we would cuddle in my mom's old room as the clock radio played Nat King Cole and Frank Sinatra. I would lay there with her and look at the old paintings of New York, or at least I imagined thats what those water colors depicted. I would dream of visiting that city and fall asleep safe and cozy in that little house on Mockingbird Lane. Always waking to the smell of eggs cooking or bacon frying the next morning. I would thank her for her help in shaping my childhood and giving me so many good memories along the way.

Last but not least, my Dad. Who in recent months had sat at this very table, celebrating Christmas and birthdays, as well as everyday life. My words to him would be much the same. I would tell him I am so glad my sister and I got to help usher him home when his time came. Thank him for his love, let him talk and tell me his thoughts now.

By the time I sat at my table and made it around to the last chair, the chair my dad would be sitting in, I was emotionally exhausted. I sat there and also wondered what the conversation would sound like between all of them. What would they say to one another? What would my mom say to sweet Koralyn, or to her mom. What would they all say to my dad. I think those conversations would be tempered now, with regrets but also a lot of laughter and a heaping of grace towards one another.

I remember right before Koralyn was born, my mom called one night as I was driving to Walgreens for shampoo for the boys. Stocking up for my time away I knew was about to happen. My mom was so broken. She cried and told me about the night before Grandma died. How she had gone to the nursing home and realized Grandma had signed some paper, refusing to go to physical therapy and not realizing that it would void her payments and her status at the home. My mom was a worrier like me, and a big ball of stress most times. She told me about how she got so frustrated and angry with Grandma and how she had yelled at her in the dining room in front of her friends. Eventually she helped her to her room and into her bed, telling her she would take care of the problem. She told me Grandma seemed stressed and sad after the incident and didn't say much as Mom left. Then the next morning Mom got the call that Grandma seemed to have had a stroke at the breakfast table and she needed to come right away. By the time Mom made it to her side Grandma was being loaded into an ambulance. I can still hear the pain and anguish in my Mom's voice as she told me she got up close to my Grandma and told her she loved her. Said it three times loud, making sure to look grandma in the eyes, for some sign she knew, she knew of the love and desperation in my Mom's voice. Mom said she slightly nodded, but couldn't talk at that point. She died the next day, with my sister holding her hand in that hospital room in Albuquerque. Mom cried and just talked about the great guilt she felt, wondered if the stress of her yelling at Grandma had sent her into this medical crisis and death. Wishing she could change it. Go back, give grace, do it differently. Little did I know not two months later I would be standing over Mom's casket as they lowered it into the ground next to Grandma's grave.

I sat at my dining room table thinking all these heavy thoughts. Feeling regret and sadness, but also being grateful for all these people, all these lives I had a part in. All this love and these lessons. I believe now that all four of these great people would have words of love and wisdom for me. They would have a different perspective. I believe they would tell me to do my best, work hard and be thankful. Slow down and live. Forget about all these silly requirements and expectations we put on ourselves. Be kind, for all that matters and is sacred, be kind, and show love every single chance you get. If you screw up, don't live with that regret, say sorry, make amends and try to do better with every forward step you make.But also remember to give grace to yourself because we have a Father who has given us amazing grace and mercy and we don't do him any service when we can't remember we are forgiven.  They would tell me not to be afraid, there is more to come and its bigger and brighter and better then anything we can imagine here on earth. I believe they would tell me to keep running my race and to finish well. Love is what matters. Not romantic love the world thinks of, but Agape love, like the love God gives us.

So this Thanksgiving, as I sit around this very table with the loved ones I do have left; I will try hard to remember these lessons I am still learning, from those that have passed on. I will love them in these moments, I will be thankful for them and these breathes we get to take. I will try not to worry so much about the dust and the noise and whether or not everyone thinks I am a good cook or a stellar decorator. I will think about what I would say to those who are gone. Yet, instead of feeling regret for those things I can't change and those words I will never get to say, I will pour all that love into those that remain and I will do my very best to cherish them all and not waste one minute the good Lord has given us as we journey here on this earth.

If you are still blessed to have all of your family members with you, say those things you need to say. Tell them sorry, tell them thank you, tell them you love them so much. Don't wait, because tomorrow may never come, for either you, or those you love. You don't want to be sitting around an empty table thinking of all the things you should have said. Say them now. Be thankful and say them now.

"And I heard a voice from heaven saying, “Write this: Blessed are the dead who die in the Lord from now on.” “Blessed indeed,” says the Spirit, “that they may rest from their labors, for their deeds follow them!”  Revelation 14:13

Because He Lives

I know many of you know part of this story I am about to tell, but I feel very lead to tell it again, in full, as best I can.

I came to faith at a very young age, so I feel like there is very little of my life without knowing Jesus. I have strayed, as most do at some point, but even in my straying I have always known and felt God has been with me. Some claim to hear God speak often. While I do feel the Holy Spirit and his leading in my life, I haven't had many occasions where I have heard God speak to me. I think if we were honest most of us don't, at least not in the way some think and like to portray or us crazy Christians. So anyway, here is my story of hearing God speak to me.

The night before our sweet Koralyn died I was standing by her bed talking to God. Not out loud of course, which sometimes I do when alone, but  talking to him none the less. My pleas went something like this. God you cannot take my baby from me, you have already taken my grandma and my mom and if you take my only daughter I will not make it. There is no way I can walk out of this hospital and go on living if you take my daughter God. Please just not that Lord. Don't ask me to do this, I have already had to bury too many, not her Lord, not this. Please God, Please. Later in the PICU bathroom, I got down on my face and prayed that the Lord would please send us a miracle, I knew he could do it if he wanted to. So please let us, let Koralyn be a miracle. As I finished my prayer on my hands and knees in that bathroom I told God I wanted this miracle more then anything I have ever wanted but that ultimately it was His will not mine. If he decided against a miracle please give us the strength to go on somehow. Your will, God not mine oh but please can our wills be the same this time.

Earlier, as I was pleading with God and standing by my daughter's hospital bed holding her hand, I heard God speaking to me. Not audibly of course, like some big booming voice in the movies, but I knew it was him. You see as I was telling God I wouldn't be able to live if he took my daughter, a song suddenly started playing in my head. This song wasn't one I grew up hearing all that often. It wasn't a family favorite or one I had even heard more then a few times. Yet suddenly, this songs chorus kept replaying in my mind. "Because He lives, I can face tomorrow. Because He lives, all fear is gone. Because I know, He holds the future, and life is worth the living just because He lives." I think standing there in that moment, I knew my daughter was going to die. God was telling me, "I am going to take her Kenda, but you can go on living, because I live and that will be enough. Sometimes it may not feel like, these days ahead will be your darkest yet, but rest assured dear one, you can indeed go on living, because I live."

Fast forward a day or two and we are at the cemetery to pick our daughter's plot. The care taker took us to the baby section first. The cemetery where Koralyn is buried is considered historic and was started sometime in the late 1800s. The baby section is located in a newer, less used part. I immediately hated it. Unlike the rest of the place, this section had no trees and in July, standing there for just a few minutes I was burning up. It felt so bright and blistering hot. I stood there and thought about my baby in that ground next to the other babies and I hated it. I didn't want her to be hot and in the constant unforgiving Texas sun. I of course know its not her, only her body but it just didn't seem right. So the nice man, in his boat shoes and his Carnival cruise shirt, told us he had some spots open in the more historic part of the cemetery. I told him yes, please take us there because I hate this place.

We stopped in front of two very large trees near the back of the graveyard. He told us which plots were available. I liked this spot much better, I could see myself coming to visit her here. Sitting with her and bringing her flowers and such. As we were standing there, my Aunt pointed out the cross directly in front of the spot we had decided on. It had the name Sheila on it. Sheila was my Aunt that passed away from a brain tumor years earlier. She was an awesome fun lady, and I have many happy memories that include her. I walked over to look at the front of the cross and noticed a bench. On the pink marble bench were engraved the words, Because He Lives, I Can Face Tomorrow. I knew in that moment that this was the spot I wanted my daughter to be buried in. As I have visited her grave often in the past two years, I have noticed how many other babies and children are near her grave. Some living a month, others a few years. Some buried the same times as their mothers. Some lived and died all in one day. As I stand over these graves I often wonder if my Koralyn has met these precious souls. I picture her up in heaven knowing of me, knowing these other children who were probably as loved and as missed as she has been. I take comfort in that, and one day I picture meeting all these beloved souls myself. I often go to the bench and marvel at how God can speak to us even today, if we are willing to listen. I don't believe that bench just happens to be there because of coincidence or fate. I believe its because of God and his care for the brokenhearted.

Then on the 2nd anniversary of Koralyn's death, we found ourselves far from her grave and asked friends to take her flowers and balloons so her grave would not be bare. I had a hard time being away from her grave on that day, but took comfort in the fact that my sweet friends were taking her special things. Again not that I believe Koralyn is there, I know she is not. Her grave is all I have left on this earth to take care of for her. As a mother I want so badly to take care of her, and visiting her grave and keeping it nice and decorated is a way I can tangibly do that here on earth.

 We had decided to take a quick family vacation to Arkansas. Our original vacation to Boston was canceled, when just a few days before, it was determined the time had come for my dad to be put on hospice. While in Arkansas, I decided we were so close to Branson that we should detour and take our boys to Silver Dollar City. This theme park is based on an 1880s mining town and celebrates American craftsmen and the good ol days. I have some very good memories of going to Silver Dollar City with my dad, my cousins, and my grandparents. So we thought this heavy day, would be a perfect day to go have fun and make happy memories with our boys. It was a very bittersweet day. As I walked the park and remembered the happy memories my Dad tried to make for me, during a very scary time in my life, as my parents divorced and I moved around. It was made even more bittersweet by the fact that my sister had told me,that morning, that Dad's condition was starting to deteriorate rapidly. He seemed confused and a lot of his talking was jibberish. He didn't really want to eat or drink much either and was sleeping a lot. I remember standing on a bridge waiting for the boys to ride the Log Ride with their daddy, and thinking about the weight of all this death and grief. I wondered what it would be like to take our Koralyn to a theme park, would she enjoy riding in her stroller and people watching. I remembered my grandfather Pop, and my dad, trying hard to give me good memories here and how strange it was that Pop had been gone for awhile, and now it wouldn't be long until his second son, my dad would join him. I thought back to those days with my young dad, thought about what I would do differently, what I would do again. I also thanked God that I had these moments and memories and that I could make new ones with my boys. Part of that description of being joyful and yet having grief as a constant companion.

It so happens that there is a little chapel at Silver Dollar City. In this chapel they actually hold weddings and church services and hymn sing alongs, just like in those good ol days. Well I wanted to go into the chapel as we passed it that morning. The boys protested of course, so Amos offered to stay with them outside while I went in and sat awhile in this quaint place. As I walked up to the door that morning, July 25, 2014. 2 years to the day our Koralyn died, I realized people were inside singing. Normally that would be enough to make me turn around, but as I got closer and opened the door, it hit me what song they were singing. Because He lives, I can face tomorrow, because He lives, all fear is gone... I sat down in a back pew in utter amazement and disbelief. I sat and sang and listened to the song, the song that in many ways has carried me over the last two years. I sat in awe at the wonder and care of God for my broken heart. You see, I don't believe that they were singing that song, on that day, in that little chapel by coincidence. I believe that our big God cares enough about the little things in our lives, and he knew just what I needed to keep me going on that sad day, and in the weeks to come, as I would sit with my dying dad. For me, hearing that song again in that moment, was reassurance that Jesus does indeed live. He sees me and my broken heart, He knows me and what I need. He cares for all of us who mourn and are brokenhearted. He lives and He is in every detail of our lives. That moment for me breathed life into the dark and dead places and was a sweet reminder of his care of me and for me. Indeed, as I have learned over the last two years, I can keep going, because He lives.