Category Archives: Grief

Posts that deal with handling grief.

I Yelled Into the Phone Today

Grief

“Christmas Eve gift!”, but my aunt didn’t hear me. She was yelling back the same thing. Yep. Its a weird family tradition. We stalk each other on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, trying to be the first to holler out “Christmas Eve gift” or “Christmas Gift” depending on which day it is. There’s no payoff. No gift. Just the satisfaction of knowing you beat the other person to the punchline.

I recently upgraded to iOS 8 and discovered I can send voice memos as a text. The recipient has no idea what you’re going to say. Guess what my entire family received this morning? “Christmas Eve gift” voice memos from yours truly. Years ago, we agreed that texting doesn’t count; its got to be audible. But now I can send my voice? Boom! My uncle, realizing that a voice memo from me on Christmas eve morning could only contain one message, didn’t listen to it. He called to tell me…and “get” me.

We’re a bit mental, I know. No one knows where it started. You can’t resist it, your only choices are to participate or stand there and get blasted with the greeting. The “winner” usually prances off like they just scored on a keeper from the 2-yard line. I remember our first Christmas when I told Kristi about it. She looked at me blankly. She finally came around, often leaning over in bed at 12:01AM and whispering “Christmas Eve gift”.

I miss those moments. Like everything else that happens during this season, each little thing contains some memory of how we did it when Kristi was with us. I never know when a moment will reach out and get me. Most go by with a mild tug at the heart strings. But then one will just grab me and my throat closes and I’m blinking back tears. Grief can be so surprising that way. You go from zero to 60 instantly.

I’ve learned to be ready for the unexpected. Its like our weird tradition. Either I roll with it, and let it come when it wants to. Or I could try to resist it. But resistance is futile. So I embrace it and then just keep on going. Its another reason I train. Triathlon requires me to just keep going. When my legs are tired or my lungs are burning, I just keep going. Even if I have to walk or coast or float, I keep going. And I find that as I keep going in sport, I can keep going in life.

You can do it. Get out there and train!

That’s a good word right there; its fit for a widower!

Out of Category

Grief

I climbed a mountain on my bike yesterday. It was a birthday present to myself. Mt Diablo rises to an elevation of 3848 ft just seventeen road miles from Kristi’s parents’ house. Once you enter the park proper, the road climbs over 3000 ft in 12.5 miles. In the cycling world, climbs are rated from Category 4 (lowest) to Category 1 (Highest). Climbs harder than 1 earn the HC rating. That’s an abbreviation for the French term Hor’s Categorie. Simply Beyond Category. Mt Diablo falls in the HC group.

It wasn’t an easy climb, but I did it. I didn’t race to the top; I simply kept moving, willing my legs to keep pumping up the final 14% grade on the last pitch to reach the summit. And then it was over. The end of the pain, 360 degree view, the breeze and the endorphin rush were a great reward.

Today we reach another HC summit. But instead of 90 minutes of pedaling, this has been two and half years of life lived Beyond Category. From the shock of diagnosis to the immediate intensity of the fight, from the elation of “remission” to the wrenching reality of the ICU and finally to the surreal celebration of Kristi’s life well lived and then somehow, someway waking up and moving forward each day this past year. Some days I’ve had to simply will the legs to keep pumping as the pitch seemed too steep and the summit insurmountable.

My climb yesterday was alone. Just me and the mountain and a handful of other bikers. Thankfully we have been surrounded by friends and family during this entire HC ordeal. And you’ve been praying. And the Father has carried us. Thank you! When my head was ringing from the pain, or my heart rent from loss, you were there for us. You helped us conquer this year of firsts.

And here we are on top. All our birthdays have now been celebrated one time. The wedding anniversary, Mother’s Day, Christmas, Thanksgiving and more have come and gone. They’ll come again and with new challenges each year, but we’ve made it around the sun one time. And as I reminded the children on our last morning at Mount Hermon, not only did we make it, we’re in pretty good shape too!

Today is the last first. Thanks for continuing to walk this road with us. You have loved our children, loved me and been a visual and personal reminder that the Father is working together with those who love Him, with those called according to His purpose to bring about every good thing. What the enemy meant for evil, we are turning into good. What was intended for harm will be used to bless. It is only possible through Jesus, the pioneer and perfecter of our faith, as we follow the trail he blazed into the Father’s heart.

The 20 Year Trip

Grief

Yesterday would have been our 20th wedding anniversary. I always assumed we’d get there and then some. But we didn’t quite make it: Nineteen years and three months. I wasn’t sure how I’d handle the day. It turned out to be quite benign. Hmm, I wasn’t planning that word, it just sort of popped out there. Then it jumped off the screen and hit me between the eyes. It was two years ago today that we found out the lump wasn’t benign…

Back to yesterday though. I liked to surprise Kristi on our anniversaries. Not every year necessarily as that would have become predictable. On our first we escaped to the Napa Valley, on our fourth I surprised her with a chauffeured car to see Phantom in San Francisco. On our 10th we planned an east coast tour of Washington DC, Maryland and Virginia. But that was for the fall. So on our actual 10th anniversary we headed back to Napa for a couple of nights at a little place tucked in the hills. But the surprise was a new diamond and ring. Boy, did that put a smile on her face!

As we approached our 18th anniversary two years ago I was starting to think about how to celebrate #20. I was thinking about a trip back to Montana and Glacier National Park (where we started dating), or possibly somewhere in the tropics (where we honeymooned). Of course all that was lost in the haze of the ensuing health battle that started the day after our 18th. (18+1)

As this 20th anniversary inexorably approached I thought I’d be wistful for the trip that wasn’t to be. Then about a month ago I realized that the trip had already taken place! Our romp through tropical Australia, the adventures of New Zealand, the children learning to ski at Lake Tahoe in January…That was ultimately a celebration of our life together, a joyful declaration that her life lives on in our children. She would have loved it.

That realization released me to focus on the joys of the day and good memories from years past. I went for a bike ride in honor of Kristi, coached Matt’s baseball game and then went to dinner with friends. The day was actually better than benign…it was good.

Covering the Gap

Grief, Inspirational

Talk about time flying! Wow, I’ve been trying to get a post done ever since Megan’s 14th birthday on the 6th, but life has me flying fast and when night falls so do my eyelids! I can’t possibly cover everything that’s happened in the past three weeks, but suffice to say each day is an adventure.

The surreal part of the journey is that when the emotions bubble up to the surface, the experience is like I’m watching my life happen but I’m separated from the actual events by a pane of glass. Its not an out of body type experience, its the realization that all these activities we’re doing… work, school, sports, lunch, whatever… seem and are totally normal. Yet the circumstances are anything but. It’s like I’m watching life move by on a conveyor belt while my emotions have their run. Or maybe my life is still and I’m the one moving, being carried along.

Yep, that’s it. I’m being carried. The Spirit of Jesus, the Comforter as he is referred to in the Gospel of John buoys me along in the swift moving emotional current. His obedience to sacrifice his life allowed my spiritual garbage to be removed so I could connect with his Father the same way he did. And in his resurrection, his defeat of death, I find that I am connected. That his Father has become my Father, and that my Father loves me dearly.

That love and connection have been golden these past three weeks as the relentless nature of the daily schedule provides few breaks. School had just started three weeks ago, now we are a full month into it. What has become patently evident is my inability to cover all the bases.

When despair reaches up and slaps me in the face, I have learned to simply whisper, “They’re your children Father. Please fill the gaps I can’t.” And he’s reminded me that even two parents can’t meet all their children’s needs. God has been carrying our family from the beginning and has no intention of dropping us now.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed, its a way of life…

Taking Out The Trash

Grief, Inspirational, , ,

Megan burst through my bedroom door this morning exclaiming “The garbage truck is coming!”

“What?!” I launched myself out of bed and raced outside to grab the can. My mind was racing along with my body “Why are they coming today? We had a holiday on Monday and they normally come a day later on holiday weeks! I don’t get it! This doesn’t make sense…” and then fortunately my situational awareness pushed aside the questioning daze and I realized if I pulled the garbage can out to the curb clad in my pajamas… well lets just say I would have been inappropriately dressed.

I jumped back inside, threw on some athletic shorts and as I burst back outside I saw that Megan had beaten me to the job and was steps away from the street with the trashcan in tow. As I jogged down to help her (Its 70 yards from our door to the street) Katie started hollering my name. I turned and she hefted a full trash basket aloft from the children’s bathroom.

I shifted into high gear, grabbed the overflowing container and made a personal hand off to the garbage man in the nick of time! We smiled in greeting as he handed me back the empty basket and pushed the large can, now empty, to the curb. Megan was already back to the house. She normally won’t touch the garbage can, but grasping the need of the moment, she seized the initiative and got rolling.

Mission accomplished… trash removed.

Our days this past week have been full and busy with but few “fire drills” like this morning. But I realize that my internal thought process at times track similar paths to this morning’s events. There are moments when I think “I’ve got this wired. We are sailing along just fine!” and then the garbage truck rumbles into earshot and my thoughts jump into overdrive…then I find I’m racing to take out the emotional excess.

Like trash, my emotions are incredibly useful during this grieving. Our trash is mostly packaging, containers or mail. What is now in the trash once served a key purpose. It held something together, conveyed important contents or communicated needed information. My emotions accomplish all three things as well: They help me hold together by being a stress relief valve, they wrap precious memories, imbuing them with value and they remind me of important truths.

The tricky part of each day however is that I never know when the garbage truck is going to come rumbling along. On Tuesday morning this week, two months to the day after Kristi died, our dear neighbor from Liberty Hill also passed away from breast cancer. Her battle had stretched over 10 years or more and she had almost reached 90 years in age. But it didn’t matter. I wept when I received the news. Another husband bereft of his love, a son left motherless.

I remembered how Mrs. Beebe welcomed our children into her home for root beer and Oreos in the afternoons when school was finished. The evenings spent rocking on their porch enjoying the Texas hill country twilight while they told stories about growing up around Austin, fighting in World War II or praising our Lord together will remain cherished memories.

I just let the tears flow Tuesday. It was cathartic. And as the tears dried, I didn’t try to keep crying or stay in that place of deep mourning. The day kept moving and I needed to keep up. I know the opportunity to weep will come again, but that moment passed. The sorrow and aching were fit for the moment, serving their purpose and then they needed to be released. To remain artificially tethered to the period of weeping would be like not taking out the garbage. Eventually it piles up, gets in the way of progress and starts stinking. You have to take it out, let it go.

That’s what I’m learning to do. Let the emotions come, and come they do…then let them go. Let them serve their purpose and then release them so life and healing can continue to flow without getting stopped up by rancid emotional debris.

Mission accomplished… trash removed.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed… Its a way of life

Loving Pursuit

I’ve posted the video of my message at Kristi’s celebration service we held here in Texas on July 13th, 2013. I know there were many of you who wanted to attend but couldn’t be here because of prior commitments.

I’m glad to be able to bring it to you here. NOTE: The videographer’s battery ran out at 13 minutes in and had to be swapped. The video freezes at that point, but they patched in the audio and continues uninterrupted for 40 seconds until the video kicks back in. Stay with it.

I hope you enjoy the story of our love and life together! Here’s the post I wrote about the service at the time.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed, Its a Way of Life!

http://youtu.be/aoB0EOehB-4

Magnitude Of Loss

Grief, , ,

As I sat on the floor Tuesday morning and sorted the boys’ school books into their backpacks, the gaping void that Kristi’s passing left sucker punched me and I was a mess. Tears steamed down my cheeks while I double checked their supplies. Matt didn’t miss my obvious emotional struggles and he passed the word to Luke that “Dad is sad.”

Soon Luke was hugging my neck and then I heard sniffling and sorrowful whimpers emanating from the pantry closet where Matt had retreated to let his own tears flow. We all pulled it together enough to get the boys off to their first day of lessons at our friend’s house. But I was on the edge of tears all day. Kristi had become so competent with everyone’s curriculum, the scheduling, and the actual instruction that it had become second nature to her. Plus she loved it. These last several years she had come to revel in her roles as mom, wife and educator. Not that it didn’t challenge her to the core, it did. But it was her call and she embraced it.

Just as the boys were leaving the piano tuner showed up. We hadn’t had it tuned since right after moving from Liberty Hill, over two years ago and it was sounding decrepit. The girls started piano lessons again yesterday afternoon for the fall and Katie has four piano students of her own, so it needs to sound good. But as the piano tuner and I talked, he couldn’t remember coming out to our new place and he gave me a baleful look when he heard the condition of the instrument. I had to explain why we hadn’t had him out in the last year. He expressed his condolences on Kristi’s loss and set to work. But every note he adjusted hammered my heart strings with the reality that I won’t hear Kristi play again.

The piano was also Kristi’s domain. She had eleven students when she was diagnosed and even picked up a few of them again during her brief remission. If educating was her call and mission, music was her joy. But as the piano tuner bade us farewell Megan seated herself before the keys and soon lovely music from the movie The Man From Snowy River was dancing in the air. Life does go on. But Tuesday’s events unmasked the raw nerves that have been buried in all the stress, travel, adjustments and daily life of the past two months.

Yes, it’s been almost two months now since Kristi died. Entering her dominion this week as the Fall schedule kicked off in earnest has revealed the full magnitude of her loss. Yesterday was better. I only cried a few times. I got a little more figured out about the school and activity schedules. This evening is Megan’s first volleyball game of the season. Life is progressing. And we are not alone. We are under the dominion of Christ who continues to comfort us in our time of sorrow.

The upcoming trip has also provided exactly the energy I was hoping. In the week since telling the children, it has come up again and again as we anticipate various aspects of the impending adventure. It keeps us from feeling sorry for ourselves and lifts our gaze into the future and off our present sorrows. As we ate dinner together last night we discussed ‘deep vein thrombosis’, a potential blood clot condition that can affect travelers who sit for long periods during international long haul flights. Megan thought that term was funny and as only she can do, affected a humorous accent and made a funny remark about it. Matt exploded in laughter and when he gets his tickle box turned over you can’t help but join him. We all laughed ’til we cried. Then we laughed some more.

When the dishes were done and after the neighbor’s dog cared for (they’re traveling), we gathered in the living room and I read another chapter from C.S. Lewis’ The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe. Yes, life does go on. And though the sorrow may last for a night, His joy, holy laughter comes and brings healing.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…it’s a way of life.

The Journey Goes Ever On

Grief, ,

How are you? How are the children? They’re so frequently asked I find I’m wanting to develop a canned response. But then I remind myself that people do care and really want to know; its why they’re asking. They just don’t know what else to say. Usually I don’t have time for an adequate response but if I did it would sound something like this:

Busy? Absolutely! Wiped out by day’s end? Every night. Sadness? Yep, it’s certainly present. But moribund? No way! While I know we are all, as Luke said last week, “Still recovering from the shock of losing mom” and that affects and colors everything we do, we are moving forward with life, energy and a surprising amount of joy. God is good!

I can’t help but smile in gratefulness at our children. Sure they can be petty and they irritate each other at times…normal immaturity, but when Luke ambles up to me, hugs me tight and whispers, “You mean the world to me dad!” I melt inside and gather him up in a bear hug. Or when Megan bounces up, every bit the quintessential 13 (almost 14) year old, and plants a smiling kiss, braces and all, on my lips and says, “I love you dad.” I know I’m blessed and can’t help but stay engaged with and keep building this living legacy that best captures the life and spirit of Kristi.

The fall home school semester starts next week, and I’d be lying if I said it was going to be easy. But staying connected to this community and maintaining educational continuity is essential for the children’s healing. Their entire social fabric would be irreparably rended should we change course (or courses, ha!) at this juncture. I am going to be assisted by two families who live nearby. They’ll be taking the boys and covering core subjects with them for three days a week. Add in the fourth day at co-op and that leaves just one day for us to cover our new unit study subject… New Zealand.

Why New Zealand you ask? Because this week I unveiled the surprise trip to the children! We are embarking on a family adventure “down under” to Australia and New Zealand during the holidays. To say they’re excited doesn’t begin to capture the enthusiasm and anticipation that’s already bubbling up in conversations and smiling grins. Our unit study will help them learn more about the people, economy, landscape, history and culture so they’ll be able to better process what they’re experiencing while we are there.

The trip will provide extra motivation to the children to buckle down and get their school work done before we go and it offers us a chance to reset our holiday memories and experiences. That time of year can be tough when you’re missing your wife and mother. This year we will be brimming with anticipation leading up to trip, there will be the trip itself and then when next year finally rolls around, we will be reminding each other about the new lands, strange animals, wondrous reefs and cool accents encountered this year.

The kids still can’t believe we are actually going…that we are talking about flying into Sydney, Aukland and the like. Of course it’s bittersweet. I wanted to take Kristi there. I spent three weeks in Australia during college on a study tour. I promised myself I’d get back there someday. When you realize how short life is, you take action on your dreams.

So we are going. Tickets are booked. Passport applications for Megan, Luke and Matthew go in on Monday. Then we plunge into school, volleyball, drama (theater) and more. Your prayers as I shoulder the home educator mantle are appreciated. Sometimes it still seems like a dream, like I’ll wake up and Kristi will be here and this will all go away. Matthew voiced that very thought on our way home tonight from dinner with my sister.

“Wouldn’t it be cool if mom was walking around the house when we get home?” That stopped the chatter in the car. Yes, it would be cool. And it would wipe away the surreality that each day brings. No we aren’t moping around, the children are cheerful, even joyful. So am I. But Luke nailed it. There is that sense of floating through activities that accompanies shock. You know you’re doing what your supposed to be doing but it all seems to be happening on the other side of a clear glass pane. Like you’re a spectator, watching your life play out but not in ways you expected.

I know it’s part of the process. I’m not in a hurry to short circuit it. My primary goal is stay connected to each other, our family and friends. With Christ as our cornerstone, the pioneer of faith leading us on each day I have hope for the future and even excitement that one day soon we can all say G’Day Mate…and mean it from the depths of our being.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed…it’s a way of life!

18 + 482 An Unexpected Journey

Grief, Inspirational, ,

To grieve Kristi with friends and family all together is to give voice to the love and life that she brought to our lives. Today was a very good day…

My heart is full from the myriad expressions of love showered over my family and me. We haven’t counted names in the guest book, but the room was packed to overflowing and the courtyard was busy with friendly reunions during the reception to honor Kristi.

There was the reunion of her college roommates who hadn’t gathered in years; Marion even came from Germany to join the celebration. A sizable group from our church in Grass Valley made the journey as well. Then there was the turnout of Wolf Mountain staff alumni. What a fun blessing to reconnect with those who served so many years together and started the journey of parenting with us there at camp.

These folks I knew, we had lived life together and I knew what Kristi meant to them. However to finally have hugs, kisses and blessings from so many of you today that I have only known from your encouraging words here on CaringBridge and/or Facebook, was a true highlight! The God Squad ladies, the Monte Vista crew, YVCS friends, Livorna and Round Hill friends as well as Kristi’s extended family reminded me of how loved Kristi was and the wake she leaves in her passing.

But grieving together today, in public, with all of you reminded me that we are not alone. To receive the outpouring of your love and blessing was a deep encouragement to me, a reminder that we are connected in the most profound ways imaginable by our love for an amazing woman of God.

Yesterday was the penultimate day of this journey. While at Mount Hermon we gathered under the towering redwood trees along the banks of the creek with John and Bev, Kim and her children and spread more of Kristi’s ashes. My tears flowed as freely as the stream into which we laid the ashes. Mt Hermon was always a spiritual home to Kristi. Not only did she grow up going to camp there but, during a camper in leadership training program before her senior year in high school, Kristi made the irreversible decision to fully commit her life to Jesus.

That decision resulted in years spent on summer staff and made it an easy choice for her to come and provide end-of-summer help in 1992 to cover for staff that had left early. That’s when we met, the last two weeks of my year on staff. I crowded the family into the staff lounge at Mount Hermon’s Redwood Camp and, with Katie playing Kristi’s part, I showed them all just where we were sitting the moment I looked up twenty one years ago this month and noticed the blond newcomer in the corner. That day started a journey that ended today, 482 days after receiving the unexpected news of her diagnosis.

I didn’t know such pain and heartache could be repeatedly experienced in 482 days. Nor would I have ever imagined the consistent, faithful care and love lived out that filled the 482 days to overflowing. As I write tonight, the 23rd Psalm comes to mind:

The Great “I Am” is my shepherd, I shall not be lacking.
He makes me lie down in green pastures.
He leads me beside still waters.
He restores my soul.
He guides me in paths of righteousness for His name’s sake.
Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death,
I will fear no evil, for you are with me.
Your rod and your staff they comfort me.
You prepare a table before me in the presence of my enemies,
You anoint my head with oil, my cup overflows.
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life,
And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever.

I know that the coming days, weeks and months will be filled with every emotion imaginable and that our God will be there with me every step of the way, providing wisdom, counsel and guidance but that is a different journey. That is the new and unexpected journey through grief, through learning to live, love and laugh again in new ways. So changes are in store for this blog.

This is the last numbered entry, but it is not the end, I believe it is only the beginning. A new website is in the works and will be announced here when it is ready. I will be moving this whole blog to that website to free up sever space for the good folks at Caring Bridge. That new site will provide me with the ability to manage how the blog looks and what it contains more freely than the limited toolset here. This entire journey will be posted there in perpetuity and what the site will fully become is not yet known. Yes, there will be a book too.

Stay tuned and I’ll make every effort to make the migration as obvious and painless as possible to the new location when that time comes.

So the journey continues even as this portion comes to a close. Let us forge ahead together, praying, declaring and believing B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed!

18 + 480 Mountain High

Grief, Inspirational, Training, , , , , ,

As my body eased into Donner Lake on Wednesday afternoon all my skin attempted to crawl up on top of my head to avoid the frigid chill of the clear mountain waters. But I would not be denied the shock of the cold and plunged beneath the surface and pulled hard to make the raft floating on the surface of the sapphire colored lake perched 6,000 ft up in the Sierras.

The boys had preceded me in the aquatic frolic and lay sunning themselves on the dock. Swimming in a mountain lake without a wetsuit is an exercise in controlled shivering. As I climbed up the ladder to the dock I made sure to shower them with some liquid refrigeration eliciting the expected howls of protest from sun-warmed bodies.

While the girls were happily ensconced on the sandy beach we all felt ourselves begin to get into the rythym of the mountains and let the therapeutic beauty saturate our souls.

As we prepared to leave the lake and head to our friends’ house for dinner my buddy suggested we rent a bike for me and I could take a ride with his wife (who likes to ride but doesn’t often get the chance) while he watched their two young children and our four helped with dinner. We snagged the last bike that was my size and before I knew it she and I were pedaling along through pine-studded meadows, climbing up granite mountain grades and racing down the backsides. What a bonus! I got a bike training ride in with a great friend in one of the prettiest places around. Talk about a mountain high!

Dinner was filled with nostalgic visiting and reminiscing about Kristi and what she meant to this young couple. All too soon we had to take our leave and drive to another friend’s house for the night and to grab some quick winks for a very busy Thursday.

The flood-gates of emotion opened as I began to spread Kristi’s ashes around the perimeter of the mountain-top dance floor. I proposed to her on this very spot, twenty summers ago and I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to find the hand-built site. But after casting around for the trail, I finally spied it and we plunged under the forest canopy. Ten minutes later the children and I popped out on the rocky knoll overlooking the great central valley of California.

Like the lake plunge the afternoon before, I knew this moment would require my determination to forge ahead in spite what would follow. We all embraced and shared several moments of tearful grief before the children took their own turns with mommy’s ashes. Each spread them in their own way and while full of sorrow it was a sweet time.

What started with a nervous question and exultant response that night under the stars so many years ago has now brought forth four fabulous children and matured a young man into one with some gray wisps of experience on his temples.

After a prayer, a camp song (I Like Bananas) and some laughter, we sat down to a picnic and I shared all about how I built the floor with friends and surprised Kristi there on that evening. We all picked stickers out of our socks while we ate and I told them that was the ruse I used to kneel down and keep Kristi unsuspecting while I fished the ring box out of my boot.

I didn’t know how the event would come off, and tried not to have expectations. I knew I’d be crying and I know its hard for children to express themselves. But I think it was a good time for everyone, there on that mountain top and Kristi will always be a part of that place now.

The balance of the afternoon and evening were a blur of touring the camp where she and I lived and ministered for 10 years and where Katie, Megan and Luke joined our family. Then we visited the ministry where my parents lived and worked and where I grew up from ages 10-18. Finally we celebrated with several former colleagues and friends in a mini-reunion of sorts at an ice cream and candy store. That was literally and emotionally a sweet time. Dinner was hamburgers cooked over the open fire on a mountainside with friends.

Today, Friday was a chance to catch our breath after the day of flying on Tuesday, the trip to the high sierra on Wednesday and the whirlwind of Thursday. We slept in (for Texas time) and then shared a relaxed lunch with yet more friends (my apologies that we haven’t been able to see everyone who asked) before ambling back to Kristi’s parents house this afternoon.

Kristi’s sister Kim is here tonight with her children and we are all, John and Bev included, heading down to Mt Hermon tomorrow which is where Kristi grew up going to camp and where she and I met. But that’s a story that has yet to be told and I need some sleep.

Suffice it to say that the weekend will be equally as emotional as the preceding two days, but my heavenly Father reminded me once again on top of that mountain that I’m loved, that my children are loved and that we are tenderly yet firmly held in the center of his loving affection in the middle of this journey. That brings peace and comfort that no mountain high can match.

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed!

18 + 471 Day By Day

Grief, Inspirational, ,

The Father is ever present in our midst and giving grace in a time of recovery and grief. We’ve prayed together, sang together and read scripture together as a family. And yes we’ve laughed together. I just take each day as it comes to me. Yesterday and today I’ve been physically tired. The cold/allergies I dealt with over the weekend are gone, but I’m just recovering my strength slowly. I’m taking it easy to regain my stamina before the triathlon this weekend. Speaking of the weekend… Our precious Katie turns sixteen on Sunday!

I’m taking her out to eat, just she and I, for a special daddy/daughter date on Friday evening to a high class seafood and steak place. Yes, we will get dressed up and I’ll get to show her how a gentleman handles himself when in her presence. Sunday we will celebrate her at my parents after I get back from the early morning race.

Both she and Megan have quietly stepped up to the plate this last week and a half. They are handling things around the house that need doing without me having to ask. Or if I do point out something that needs attention, one or the other simply takes care of it without a complaint. Such a blessing! They wanted to plan out our meals this week, so we listed them out and all five of us shared an adventure at the grocery store on Sunday to stock up for the week. It wasn’t all that different really, I’ve been doing the shopping for most of the last year already. It’s like many of the tasks that I find at hand, I’ve taken most of them on over the past year, it’s just that now I realize it’s mine in perpetuity.

And I’m having to pay attention to things that dads don’t normally…how much sugar have the boys consumed today? When was the last time they changed their underwear? How about a shower? Can I see the carpet in their room? Have they been well hugged? What about a story, have they been engaged? How much time on the electronics? Have the girls been able to get time alone? Do they need to talk? Moms seem to have an intuitive built-in barometer for these things. Dads, well, dads like to count basic things…Are all four of them here? Yep, we’re good!

Seriously, the energy required to build in an automatic awareness of the states of cleanliness, the pantry stock level, the emotional tenor and intellectual stimulation to name but several may explain my tiredness of the last two days. But I’m getting there. All of this of course reminds me of Kristi’s absence and how much I miss her. At the same time that it aches, I let it remind me of how well we learned to live together and quality of the home we built. And that home is running pretty well right now, all things considered. The children have been amazing.

They are looking forward to Katie’s birthday and then the trip out to California next week. So if you’ll pardon me, I’ve got a sweet sixteen birthday to pull-off, a travel list to make, duffles to pack, boys to scrub and a race to compete.

As each busy day unfolds, I know He’s right there with me every step of the way. Thanks for your continued prayers. We look forward to seeing so many more of you next week!

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed

18 + 467 A Good Day

Grief, Inspirational, Training, , , ,

Phew, this week is almost behind us. Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday were flat out hard. I found myself in my room with tears streaming down my face several times. But Thursday and Friday were MUCH better. Today even counts as a good day!

Even the head cold / mold allergies I’m dealing with haven’t dampened my spirits. I still bump up against Kristi’s absence a thousand times a day but it hasn’t derailed me the past three days. Progress is good.

This morning started with a 45 mile bike ride with friends from the triathlon club. I changed the route at the end and instead of riding home I went to my parent’s house because my dad picked up the children and mom had beignets and bacon ready for consumption. After burning 3000 calories on the ride I was ready to refuel!

With a face covered in powdered sugar and four happy children we came home to do a little cleaning and then head over to a friends house for lunch and swimming. Tonight is a Phil Keaggy concert here in Georgetown. Indeed it’s shaping up to be a fine day.

Yesterday morning’s family worship time was helpful too. I played the guitar, we all sang and then I read Psalm 93. It references the Israelites not trusting God and not entering His planned rest for them in the promise land. Then I flipped over to Hebrews chapter 4 where the writer picks up that same theme, quoting Psalm 95 and says, today we still have the opportunity to enter his rest through Jesus. And then I kept reading…

At the end of the chapter is the verse that says Jesus is our high priest but one who sympathizes with us in our times of weakness and did so without sin. It came to me at that moment as I sat there with the children looking at me, that Jesus had to deal with the loss of a parent. Joseph is not in the picture by the time Jesus begins his ministry. I shared with the children that they can talk to Jesus about what it feels like to lose a parent. But as I shared this encouragement with them I was thinking, “yeah, but he never lost a spouse. Doesn’t know what I’ve feeling.”

Then the calm voice of the Spirit said, “His bride rejected him. He came to the Jews, but they killed him. They wouldn’t listen to him. His heart and body were broken by his first love.” Whoa! I wasn’t ready for that. Then I heard further…”that’s why he loves the church…his people are his bride and we’ve been lovingly grafted into his family tree. We are the restoration of his bride.”

I shared that word immediately with the children and they liked it too. God is good. He has walked our path before and he is walking it with us now. He is present, he hears, he sees and there will be restoration. “We will work together with him to bring about every good thing.” (Rom 8:28 paraphrased)

Indeed, today is a good day!

B-Gone, B-9, B-Healed