God's Goodness

I lost my two and half year old daughter to a failed adoption.  I am still recovering.  The pain of that was unlike anything I can describe.  Fourteen months later, my husband died.  My best friend.  The father of my children.  The only one who shared the exact pain from losing our girl.  My faithful companion of twelve years. A decade of marriage.  I knew in those awful days it took him to die that I would probably make it, but I would have given anything to have died right next to him.

You can't know what it's like.  You can't.  You can't.

For four years I have been living in crisis.  We were in over two years of legal and emotional hell as we faced losing our daughter.  We listened to a stranger tell us we had less than 28 days left with our daughter.  We sat down at a table as a family and explained to our children that one of them was leaving.  Matt and I grieved heavily for a year.  We fought a collective depression and despair.  Then two months later he left home for a run and did not come home.  Harper was fatherless.  I was a widow.  People try to imagine what that's like. You can't though. You can't know how badly your teeth chatter when you ache so deeply.  You really can't.  To live in it every second.  For there to be no escape from that agony.  To watch your child feel it.  You can't know.

I am not trying to commend myself here -- I am just communicating a truth: during that time I said to God every day, "Lord, you are good."  I told Harper.  I would tell you if you wanted to know how I felt about it.  I believe that God is unchanging.  He is not the god of my personal good fortune.  He is the one true God.  And He is GOOD.

During the last few months a friend has walked beside me.  He became a better friend, then a really good good friend, then the friend that meant the most to me.  It was a time in my life where every food tasted wrong and stale.  Life was flat and small or daunting and looming.  Everyone seemed two dimensional -- like they were made out of paper.  This man, Jake, felt like he was warm and whole and had a beating heart.  I didn't mean to.  I started to love him.  He didn't mean to.  He started to love me.  Then we realized separately that the thought of not having each other was very scary.  I don't want to think about life without him.  He won't think about life without me.  When I am with this man I feel joy pouring out of me.  Not the joy you can feel where you are sad but know hope and faith.  The joy you feel when you feel God's smile upon you and a fresh hope and a deeper faith.  And I tell God, "Lord, you are good."

I praise an almighty God who created redemption and who created restoration.  I am trembling with confidence and thankfulness.  I praise Him for redeeming my life and my story and restoring my future.   He is giving me comfort and joy instead of sorrow.  He is creating beauty out of ashes.

I am not done grieving.  I won't ever be.  This new thing isn't instead of the old.  It's along side of.  I'm taking it with me.  Our life with Matt is a treasure to me and to Harper.  It's part of us and it goes where we go.  Matt loved us most.  And we him.  If the tables were turned, and it was me who died and not Matt, and I got to come visit him right now, I would hug him and kiss his face; I would put my hands on his shoulders and look him in the eye and say with urgency, "run -- do not walk into this goodness that is in store for you."  So that's what Harper and I are doing.  God is good.  And Jake is the goodness He is giving us.  I am running hard to it.  We are getting married this fall.  I am weeping with gratitude.  I have learned that when you know joy this deeply your teeth chatter too.  And that is something I hope you do know and can know.

Once again, I will say, "LORD, YOU ARE GOOD."

Diary of a Quitter, Part II

I had two sweet dogs. It came to be that I was not in a position to have them anymore. It is really broke my heart for a minute. I felt terrible that I committed to these animals and now I gave them away. However, since Matt died, I feel like it is one more thing that I am incapable of handling at this time. So I quit my pups and with a lot of help, I found homes for these good dogs.

 

For the past few weeks I have been trying to put aside my guilt over eliminating the things in my life that are good things but are adding stress that I don't need. I am trying to realize my limitations. Without Matt and with my current life circumstances some things just have to change. Unfortunately, the dogs were such a thing. Other things I love that are going by the wayside are a book club I enjoyed, a wedding I really wanted to go to, a discussion group and about a simpler way of life I wanted to attend weekly, and other really pleasant things.

I am really attempting to free my life from the things that are weighing me down so that I can do right by Harper, and take care of myself. I'm making an effort to ask guilt and self criticism to take a few big steps back from me so I can rest easy in my choices. There is lots of talk in counseling of being kind to yourself. Of being gentle with yourself. It seems to me that it is pretty cyclical. The nicer I am to myself, the nicer I am to myself. Like sleep begetting sleep for babies.

So that's it. I'm quitting guilt and self inflicted pressure. I'm letting it go. And as of about five minutes ago, I just quit the last of the dogs. One thing though -- Harper thinks the dogs are spending a few days with friends. That's what I'm telling her when she gets around to noticing they are gone. So don't rat me out by asking her if she misses her dogs. Lying to your kid -- that's something I'm not quitting yet. That'll keep for another day.

Diary of a Quitter. Part I

Today is a DAY.  Do you know what I mean?  I woke up and was crying before I'd even gotten out of bed.  I had a hard night last night and have been struggling through the morning.  I feel the pain of loss with such freshness today.  Yesterday I read some things Matt had journaled about in the last year and a half.  The constant theme was Waverley.  He loved her so.  He missed her like I miss her.  He cried out over her and ached for her.  Now that Matt is gone I feel further from my girl.  There's no one left that raised her for those few, too-short years besides me.  No one that delighted in her like me left either.  We would always think of ourselves as her parents no matter what.  We would always love her with all of our hearts.  It felt better when it was a collective heart -- his and mine.  Now it's just mine.  Which seems insufficient.  And small.  And so very, very wrong.

When Matt was here I could still feel the four-ness of our family.  Even if we were three, that spot was there for Waverley.  Now that we are two I feel totally unraveled.  Just clinging to Harper.  We seem insufficient.  And small.  And so very, very wrong.

The other day Harper said from the backseat, "There's just two of us now. What will we do for Halloween? Who will take me trick or treating?"
"I will," I assured her.
"You can't.  Kids need you to be home to hand out candy when they ring our doorbell."
"Oh it's okay, we'll just leave a basket of candy out," I reasoned.
"I don't know if that will work, Mom.  We'll have to ask someone for help.  Maybe I can go with a friend..."

This reminded me of a few weeks ago during counseling when she said a girl in a picture looked worried.  The counselor asked Harper what the girl was worried about.  "Everything," Harper answered quickly.  The counselor then asked what Harper worried over.  "There is so much to be worried about," Harper answered quietly with sad conviction.  It's true for her.  There is so much to be worried about.  Her sister is gone.  Her daddy is gone.  I can't do all of the mommy jobs and all of the daddy jobs.  Our world has become chaotic for her.

So I have quit my part time job in order to just be home with her and try to ease Harper's sweet mind and help unburden her tender heart as much as I can.  To be more available to her.  I want to help her and provide stability in her life.  I want to help her overcome her fears and resolve her concerns.  I can't do it all.  She needs the peace of God, healing that will hopefully come with time, and comfort that comes just from her mom.  I am working on cutting out whatever I can to work towards that end.  For now that means work.  I need to take care of myself during the day so I can better care for her in the afternoon and evenings.  

This is my first week off so I'm not quite sure what it will look like.  Reading and being quiet and still for sure.  Maybe some extra sleep.  Taking walks with my neighbor-friend and having coffee with my mother in law.  Lighting candles.  Breathing.  I don't know.  I think it will be a good thing.  

I am trying to move more fully into this new normal.  I am trying to get through these DAYS.  I am trying to reconcile all that is so wrong into feeling okay.  I am busting into the emergency cookies I keep in the glove compartment in the car.  Today I had them out before I left Harper's school parking lot.  Because I'm sad, but I'm smart.  And smart girls like me know that there will be days where you need to eat a cookie right away.  That's how you know I'm going to make it.

What's In a Name?

Having grown up with the maiden name Heintzelman I was excited to take on my married name  thinking it would be an easier one, and I was excited to share a name with the man I loved.

I loved the notion of being half of a whole and of being united with Matt.

What I didn't understand at 21 when we became engaged and planned our future, was that by attaching myself to that name I had the prize waiting for me of becoming a part of an entire family.

Matt's parents Brian and Vicki took me on like I was truly theirs.  They loved me and poured into me verbally, emotionally, and spiritually.  Early on in our marriage I spent significant time with Matt's parents both with him and even on my own.  We laughed at how funny it was when I would go out to dinner with them by myself if Matt was working or had something else going.  Vicki and I spent weekends together when Brian and Matt would go on biking trips.  Over the last 12 years we have really grown to love each other deeply, Matt's family and I.

Matt has a brother.  His brother Mark is one of the very best men I know.  He is different from Matt in most every way.  Matt loved Mark so wholly and completely.  Though Mark and his amazing wife have lived in California for the last decade we became closer than I would have guessed we ever could at that distance.  Mark and Kath visited regularly and made great effort to establish a strong relationship with Harper.  As a result, I am pretty sure if Harper understood the concept of being stranded on a deserted island and could only pick one person to go with her, she would pick Mark in a heartbeat.  She only has eyes for him.  She adores this aunt and uncle and the cousins they have given her with every part of her being.

When Matt died in April his family rallied around me in a way that only family can.  There was not a distinction made that I was the daughter they were slated through marriage.  They treat me like I am their own.  On that final day at the hospital when it was time for me to go, my dear friends picked me up at the door and took me straight to Brian and Vicki's house.  I don't remember working it out.  It was just a given.  When all was done I would go home to them.

As a haven and retreat, a couple of weeks after Matt's death I went to be with Mark and Kath.  Harper and I were heartsick and being with them was the only logical first step to the remedy.  There is hope and life and healing in that relationship.  When they decided to move home to Kansas City to support us, I was completely overcome.  They uprooted their very lives to be more fully a part of ours.

Since Mark and Kath and the kids have gotten here I have been overwhelmed with gratitude.  I thought of them as being here for Brian and Vicki and for Harper.  I didn't expect that their being here would make me feel such comfort.  I didn't anticipate the dose of peace it gives me that they are just 20 minutes down the road.

Brian and Mark have worked with Harper this summer to show her how to ride a bike.  Mark came with his daughter and took Harper to school yesterday.  You would have guessed Harper had won the lottery.  A few days back I woke up and got dressed.  I walked out to the kitchen.  The dogs were barking, and I looked out the kitchen window.  Brian and Mark were hopping over my fence and coming into my backyard.  Brian was beaming and had his hand over his heart in relief.  They thought my dogs had been exposed to some mouse poison in the basement where they usually sleep at night.  We had all forgotten it was down there.  Brian had woken up in a panic thinking my dogs might have died in the night.  He was coming to check and do what needed to be done.  He was coming to rescue me.  Although right now I am wondering why they didn't just ring the doorbell.

At church a couple of weeks ago Brian and Vicki and I were sitting in one pew.  Mark and Kath and Harper and her cousins were sitting in the pew in front of us.  If you didn't know us you wouldn't have been able to figure out exactly who went with who and how we all fit together.  But you would know it was true -- that we were all there together.  We were smiling at each other over the girls' heads and patting one another occasionally.  At the end of the service they sing a closing prayer.  Everyone holds hands and moves in closer together.  We were lined up -- all close and touching.  The girls danced between us with happy hearts and glad faces.

What's in a name?  As it turns out, pretty much everything.

one thing remains

I chose to have a song called "One Thing Remains" played at Matt's memorial service.  There is so much hope in this song that it brings me to my knees.

I was reading yesterday and was struck by these words, "Yet he did not waver through unbelief regarding the promise of God, but was strengthened in his faith and gave glory to God, being fully persuaded that God had power to do what He promised." It's Romans 4:20-21talking about a man with some crazy good faith.

I am praying for that kind of faith today.  God's promise is good: His love remains.

thoughts

Even though I know it is normal, I continue to be surprised at the lack of rhythm to my grief.  Some days I feel alright.  Distracted always by it, but able to compartmentalize it and keep moving.  Some days I feel numb.  Some days I feel really angry.  Days like today I feel like I just had the wind knocked out of me.  I wake up to a physical ache of missing Matt and it keeps a grip on me all day.  It feels like less of something inside of me and more of it's own separate entity -- where I don't have any say in what it is going to be like; I just have to wait and see what it's going to do to me.

On days like this my heart feels like it's seizing up.  My body feels brittle.  My hair hurts, and my frown is deep.  My eyes don't want to open all of the way.  I feel 100 pounds heavier.  A sense of anxiety completely overwhelms me.  The question, "what am I going to do?" hounds me and the thought "please don't be true" knocks around inside of me.

When this is the case I try to live in it for awhile and then try to distract myself from it because I really can't go on this way.  I won't make it if I do.  So I think about things that make me happy.  Which basically means I think about my girl.  Yesterday Harper tried to teach her 3 year old cousin how to hula hoop.  Harper kept instructing with passion and enthusiasm, "Move those hips! Move those hips!" It was awesome.  Then I try to take a sip of a great drink and move my feet in a forward direction.

This is how it goes.  This is how I feel.  No point to this whatsoever.  I'm just sayin.

a proud moment

Today Harper was playing with one of our favorite of her friends.  They were playing Barbies and her friend suggested pretending that one of them had a dad that had died.  This was to solve the problem of a large number of female Barbies and a shortage of Kens.  It was said innocently.  Harper said, "I don't want to play that way because it makes me sad because my daddy did die."  This sweet friend then felt bad, and cried, and the girls worked it out and moved on.  I was so so proud of Harper in this moment.  She is five years old.  She was able to handle a tough moment where someone forgot her situation, and say something about it to resolve it.  She was able to experience a true friend responding with remorse and love.  They got to sort it out and keep going.  I want my relationships to be that way.  I am so thankful for a daughter like this sweet girl.  She is modeling such healthy friendships.


I started seeing a new counselor last week.  She had me describe Harper.  I was telling her a few things that I think define my girl.  Then this counselor said, "She sounds like a total bad ass."  I can't tell you how I ate those words up.  She is right.  My five year old is a total bad ass.  

There is this quote on Pinterest I see a lot.  It says "and though she be but little, she is fierce."  It's attributed to Shakespeare, but it's the internet - so who knows.  I think it is the perfect summation of my daughter.  It makes me smile, and it makes me proud.  I want to be just like her.