I wonder if Alan Jackson knows he saved my life…

The body remembers and earlier this evening the sadness started drifting in and I kept pushing it aside. Not now, please just not now… I’ve had a good day. Here I am 4 or 5 hours later and I figured it out… Alan Jackson is my go to when I’m feeling really sad, that deep down despair where I beg God for an answer to my two questions–1) Why did Patrick die? 2) Why couldn’t I have died too, why did they revive me, dear God why didn’t you let me die that day, too?

For weeks I listened to Alan Jackson sing the same simple gospel songs, over and over again. I listened to them awake and I listened to them as I tried to go to sleep every night after Patrick died. They are the songs I grew up listening to and singing in church. They are the songs I taught my boys. Patrick always said, ‘Mama, Amazing Grace is just so beautiful. It makes me cry every time I hear it.’ I hear him say that every time I hear that song. Sweet Hour of Prayer, Jesus, Jesus, How I Trust Him, When the Roll is Called Up Yonder, Turn Your Eyes Upon Jesus, Love Lifted Me…

This sadness wasn’t going anywhere, so it was to the shower with Alan Jackson blasting on Alexa as loud as I could stand it. Pretty soon Amazing Grace was on and I hear Patrick’s little voice… ‘it’s just so beautiful it makes me cry.’ Then everything from the accident on ran through my head–the utter chaos, all the unknowns, the doctor and Rory trying to tell me that Patrick was not going to make it, words that made no sense and had no context to me at that moment–life flight, broken leg, broken neck, craniotomy–NO!

The songs played on… Wherever He Leads I’ll Go, Only Trust Him…their familiarity brings comfort…it’s been a good day. Why, why now? Patrick’s birthday is Wednesday. Yes, but that’s not it. I’ve been ‘prepared’ for weeks now for his birthday.

Oh it’s Saturday before his birthday… typically the day the birthday party would have been… Precious Memories plays… today we would have had his birthday party… today we would have celebrated that sweet baby’s 10th birthday with friends and family…

Power, power, wonder working power… I feel my grandma tapping the notes out on my shoulder as I sat next to her in church… I hope she’s baked Patrick her famous chocolate, peanut butter cake for his birthday… Alan Jackson has saved me again… I Serve a Risen Savior… the hope of all who seek Him…

Life of the bereaved

We’ve all seen those lists. There’s dozens of “my life as a bereaved parent”, “what I’ve learned as a bereaved parent”, “how to talk to a bereaved parent”. I’m sure you’re familiar with them if you’ve spent any time on the internet researching grief, death of loved one, child loss, etc.

I believe grief is a personal experience. There are universal truths that we all experience in the ebb and flow of dealing with loss, but each experience is unique to you as a person. So, here is a list of my feelings and experiences, my life as a bereaved parent.

1. I come with baggage. A lot of baggage. I may be excited and make plans with you only to cancel at the last minute. I may be perfectly fine one minute, laughing and enjoying the day and a crying mess the next. Today I was fine, but then an ambulance came flying down the road and the strobing lights and high pitched squeal of the sirens brought tears to my eyes. Sometimes I have no control over what will trigger my emotions.

2. Holidays are brutal. Birthdays are too–all birthdays, not just Patrick’s. It’s like waiting for your favorite person to show up for the celebration and they never do.

3. I put myself first now. I take care of my needs and yes, even my wants first. It doesn’t make me selfish. It’s how I survive.

4. I am so envious that you are still getting to raise your children.

5. I do not sit around and cry all day. Not at first, but as time as gone by, I laugh more than I cry these days.

6. I am capable and do normal things like go to work, the grocery store, meet up with friends.

7. I’m probably going to be in counseling for the rest of my life because I know this loss is never going to be fixed.

8. My emotions and feelings are amplified.

9. Grief has taught me more about compassion than anything else in this life. Instead of making immediate judgments I try to take time to understand a situation better, dig deeper into a person’s motives and behavior, to be kinder and gentler with people

10. I don’t want to be treated as fragile yet I want and need understanding when I’m not quite myself.

11. I will never tire of telling people about Patrick and sharing him with the world. He will always be one of my greatest joys.

I’m not broken

This picture is from a page I follow. I understand the sentiment. I’m also bothered by the idea of being ‘broken beyond repair’.

Grief is awful–no matter what kind of loss you have suffered, it just hurts. Some would argue that losing a child is the worst kind of grief, the worst loss you can experience. I would agree with that because of my own experiences with losing Patrick. Losing Patrick is different that any other loss I’ve faced–miscarrying a baby at 11 weeks, losing my grandparents, losing my sister, losing a job, losing a friend, losing my routine and what is normal to me and the list goes on. Loss comes to everyone and in all different ways.

I have days when I feel broken and beyond repair and right after Patrick died I was sure I would die at any moment. My doctor tells me I shouldn’t have survived the accident. They revived me. I don’t remember any of that. Many days I wish I would have died that day, too.
I see it in the way people act around me, they way they talk to me, the way they hang their head when they say Patrick’s name. I’m treated as fragile–and I am. On any given day I am only about 10 seconds from tears.

I would never begin to tell someone how to grieve or feel after the loss of a child. It is so personal and there are no rules in grief. You really do get to do grief how you want to. I know we almost, always want to have things our way and the one time we do get to do it our way, it’s a horrible, heart-wrenching, snotty, crying mess.

If you think I’m broken beyond repair or out of order–I’m not. I’m still me. I am forever changed, though. I’ll never be who I was before, because that part is tucked away for now. There will be bits and pieces of the old me that surface. I still like to laugh and find the funny in a situation. I still care about people but I just can’t put myself out there like I used to. I’m still on your side even if it doesn’t look that way. I care and love more deeply now. I don’t take simple things like a fun family outing or even a quick trip into town for granted. My compassion and understanding have compounded as have my fears. I stop and really listen. I have new pieces. I’m not broken, my pieces are just put together in a different order now.

Rambling thoughts

I think I’ve used that title before… maybe… I can’t remember. I’d have to go back and look at my previous posts. Rambling thoughts because as I come up on the 2nd anniversary of Patrick’s death, it’s still so unbelievably hard to comprehend that all of this happened. I have so many things running through my head. Saturday will be 2 years since the accident.

Organ donation. We’ve anonymously mailed one of the organ donor recipients family for about a year now. In organ donation talk that’s about 2 letters each because of the process of sending the letters to the agency for review and then they forward the letters. A few months ago we were given full disclosure and I finally decided to go ahead and contact them. It is a strange feeling to talk to another person whose child is alive because mine is dead. I’m thankful for the opportunity to get to know this family. But dear god, what an overwhelming brain twist and overload of emotions it brings.

Grief. 2 years of grieving. It’s not better. I’d argue it’s worse. I don’t think it will ever get better. For it to get better I’d have to stop missing and loving Patrick.

God. I still get angry with God. Every day I have to make a choice whether or not I’m pissed off at God. It’s tiring. I think a lot of times it would be easier to just forget God and just move on. Instead of thinking God is sovereign, I could stop trying to understand why or look for some bigger meaning in all this and just believe something really bad happened in our family and there’s no loving creator of the universe that was supposed to take care of us and keep us safe. Still I pray…all day…every day… I hope someone is listening.

Aggravation. I wish(and this is on me because I don’t have to participate in social media or read certain posts) but I wish people would stay posting stuff like God will give you double for your trouble–No he won’t. Stop making bullshit up.

Hymns. Why do I doubt God but almost at the same time I can sing a hymn and for a brief moment in time everything is ok, makes sense, etc. In the Sweet By and By–one of my grandma’s favorites can make everything right with just the first few words. She sang that song and I’ll Meet You in the Morning every time she put us down for a nap when we were little. Then I wonder is she taking care of Patrick? He never knew her but surely there’s some connection since she loved me and took care of me, so she has to know him, love him, and somehow be involved in watching over him for me, right?

Strained relationships. Family and friends. My relationships have taken a beating the last 2 years. People that I thought were close are no longer a part of my life, people that I classified as acquaintances check in on me more than those that I thought were good friends, other relationships became strained and are completely severed. Do I want to restore these relationships? I don’t know. New people have shown up and become dear friends that I trust with my best and worst secrets. Old friends. There’s something about an old friend. They may weave in and out of your life but when the going gets rough they show up with the kleenex, the chocolate, dinner. Somehow that connection you made when you were 5 is still there. You don’t have to pretend about anything–you are just you and they are just them.

Work. It has been quite the school year. A lot of good, nothing terribly bad, not ideal because that will never exist again or did it ever exist?, but I’m making it and I survived and got a great evaluation. I don’t know why so many people keep saying, “I can’t believe you went back to teaching.’ I don’t know what else to do. That’s what I know and what I’m good at. It’s comfortable. It’s a routine that I recognize. The school is different, the grades and co-workers are different, but the routine is pretty much the same and it keeps me distracted and occupied. I also get paid which helps with my amazon addiction.

Triggers. Yep, they are still there. Maybe I’ve learned to deal with them a little better on some days… other days not so much.

Crying. Yep still happens every single day.

Worry. Maybe I should say fear. I fear I’ll forget Patrick’s voice and the memories of him that I have. Yes, fear because I don’t sit and obsess over it. I don’t even think about it all that much but it is worth mentioning because I don’t ever want to forget anything about Patrick. I look at my pictures from years past and my facebook memories every single day. It’s all I have left. If I keep looking at them, hopefully I won’t forget.

Emotions. Yep, I have them. What a party they have in my head. Most of the time I can keep them in check. They don’t like it, but better to have emotional regulation( 2 of my new favorite words) than not.

Brain. I can’t remember a lot of things. It’s starting not to bother me as much as it did right after the accident. Will my brain ever function like it used to? I doubt it. I’ve started to embrace the idea that I can start a conversation and 4 words into it I will completely forget what I was saying. I exchange similar words ALL. THE. TIME. I laugh it off. It doesn’t bother me nearly as much as it used to.

Marriage. Just so hard sometimes. People saying building a house is stressful on a marriage. Building a house is nothing on a marriage. That’s just two people arguing and trying to get their way on what kind of kitchen cabinet handles they want. 2 people devastated by the same loss but dealing with their grief and emotions in ways that are as different as they are, the pushing and pulling of grief, the toll the emotions take, the distance and walls that can be put up, knocked down, and put up again, that makes building a house look like a cakewalk. Grieving changes everything. Neither of us is the same person we were 2 years ago. We love each other very much. We’re doing okay. He’s still my favorite and I’d still choose him every time.

Next. I don’t know what’s next. Does the third year of grief get any better? Probably not–see above.

Just some things…

I usually have a running list in my head about things I want to write about. Sometimes it’s a full thought out post and other times it’s some bits and pieces. Sometimes if I don’t sit down and write it all out I lose whatever bits and pieces I had floating around. It is so frustrating when that happens! Last night I had a whole thing on grace that I wanted to write about. It sounded so good in my head but I was crawling into bed and I just wanted to go to sleep. This afternoon I thought I still had it all stored there in my brain, but when I started writing it out, it was mostly gone and it didn’t sound near as good as it did last night… Note: write things down when you first think of them!

So just some things that have been running through my head in no particular order and most topics are without a few supporting paragraphs…

Like I said rambling ideas…

Grace–I just hope there’s a whole lot of grace for parents that have lost their children. Does God get tired of me asking why or being angry with him? I need so much grace to handle all the triggers that are right around the corner–some that I know will happen and some that trip me up and make me want to run and hide. Grace, I just need a lot of it. I want some kind of special consideration–as much as that is not me to want something extra, this time I want the extra grace. I want special privileges where grace is concerned.

While I want the extra grace, and truthfully I don’t believe God is withholding any grace from me or from anyone else, I want to stop being offended. I also hope that parents that have lost children can eventually stop being offended. I follow some blogs, I read facebook posts, I follow grief posts on instagram. I’ve become a grief following junkie. I’ve noticed a pattern. We bereaved parents take offense to a lot of things. I understand the offense, the anger, to need to feel justified in our thoughts and feelings. I understand how easy it is to get my feelings hurt over a comment that had nothing to do with me or the intent was never meant to be taken the way I took it…sometimes it still hurts, still makes me angry, still makes me want to be the victim…you know because my child is dead. I want a free pass. I want to get passed that mindset. I remember a few weeks after Patrick died and people had been taking care of us. People cleaned our house, brought us food, did the laundry, etc. It was probably the first time we ventured out into the public and we were at the grocery store. We were standing in line to pay for a few groceries and I remember in my state of mind that I was so angry at having to wait in line. I wanted someone to say, ‘oh your son just died, here come to the front of the line’. I knew then it was absurd, but it’s what I wanted. I’ve gotten over wanting to be moved to the front of the line but I want to move past the words that sting. No one meant for them to sting but they do. I want to take the higher ground and take comments and questions at face value. I don’t want to squirm uncomfortably and make situations awkward. I don’t want to make every comment I hear as some kind of personal attack.

I want the people that have stood by us to know how much they mean to us. Grief didn’t just change us, it changed how we view relationships, friendships, family. Patrick’s death has made us change the way we perceive everything. Patrick died and we’ll never recover. It’s hard to be a friend to a grieving parent. There’s a handful that have been with us every step of the way. You are loved and appreciated beyond measure. As Patrick would say, ‘I love things that are epic and beautiful.’ You friends are epic and beautiful to us. You’ve been with us through the worst and you stayed. Our raw and unfiltered emotions didn’t scare you or cause you to leave us. You may have had some private, ‘what in the hell’ conversations but we weren’t privy to them and you stayed and you kept checking to make sure we were okay. We love you–no matter what. (We always told the boys I love you! No matter what. There’s nothing you can do that will make me stop loving you or love you any less).

2 years–so hard to believe it’s been almost 2 years.

So that’s my ramblings, in no particular order. Maybe I can come back and expand on some of these.

What if I forget

worry: an instance or occurrence of such distress or agitation

I am a worrier. I always have been, probably always will be, but I am trying not to do it as much these days. Most days my brain can’t handle one more thing to think or worry about so at the very least, there is that. But there is something that I consistently think about, am concerned with, wonder about, and yes, it all boils down to one thing that I will always worry about.

What if I forget? What if I forget what Patrick’s voice sounds like? What if one day it all fades away? When your kids are here, everyday is filled with something new. Old memories fade and new ones take their place. There’s a constant flow of new experiences, new days, and new conversations that your brain takes hold of and remembers. I haven’t heard Patrick’s voice in almost 2 years and when I play a video it jars me by just how much I have forgotten what he sounded like. I will listen to the same video over and over again hoping that I am able to capture that moment again and hold onto what he sounded like, what was going on that day, what was he interested in then, just Patrick being Patrick. As much as his constant humming and singing could drive me crazy, now I never want to forget what he sounded like when he sang and when he hummed. I don’t want to forget how he could jump from a topic so easily and immediately be in a make believe world, where dinosaurs and Darth Vader make it into the conversation, where we would start talking about his day and be interrupted by shooting crayons and bad habits.

I know I won’t forget him but I am forgetting little details. Things I wouldn’t have thought twice about if I forgot them. But now, they are all that I have left to remember him by. Why did I take that picture? Probably because he was being cute or asked me to take his picture. Sometimes I have no reference to what was going on and it’s frustrating because I don’t or can’t remember. I want to remember why and what was I trying to capture then. What made that point in time important other than we were spending time together?

Last night this video popped up in my memories. I don’t know if I remember the day or if I’ve just watched it enough in the last 24 hours that I think I remember it. Nevertheless, I am glad that I took time to capture this… a random day in January 2016. Patrick was 5 and in Pre-k. It was after school, we were both getting over being sick, we were spending time together…

So this is Christmas

It doesn’t really feel like Christmas. I’m going through the motions better than last year. I’ve got a new house to focus on–unpacking, decorating, new routines–like which way to the bathroom and which light switch turns on the kitchen light, what’s the best way to the grocery store… A new house that’s never known Patrick, but he’s very much here with us.

A lot has happened this past year. A lot of bad and a lot of good. Last year at this time I was in a terrible place. The grief was too much. I could have easily made some poor decisions but by the grace of God he kept me from completely falling apart and making my life more complicated than it already was. Year 2 is just as hard as year 1. Year 2 doesn’t have the shock to numb you like year 1 did. Year 2 you find out who is really there for you and who loves you through the good, the bad, and the ugly of grief–because in grief, all 3 are there.

I’ve been following a blog where bereaved parents submit their blog posts. Our losses are deeply personal but the feelings, emotions, gains, and setbacks we all experience are the same. Most of the focus is on the bad and the ugly because every day is bad and ugly. Good days after the death of your child no longer exist. It’s just that some days there’s a little more light shining through than the other days, so those are the good days. But, I’ve been trying to think about and focus on good things.

I don’t believe Patrick died to teach me a lesson or that I need to search out the good in this situation or any other ideas that people come up with to somehow justify or clarify, or even at times speak for God about why a child dies. There is no good reason for children to die.
But in our limited minds we think there has to be a reason. It has to be more than the person driving behind you wasn’t paying attention and smashed into your car at 70 mph. No, there has to be a reason, a purpose, an explanation. But the reality is Patrick died because the person behind us was not paying attention and hit us at 70 mph causing his fatal injuries. So what do you do with that?

I’m human with a limited capacity for understanding and I will always want a better explanation than that. There isn’t an explanation that will make me feel better but, there are things that happen because of a traumatic experience. If we can slow down for just a minute and peak outside the cloud of our own minds, we can take those things and make them the good.

I didn’t need Patrick to die to make me be a better person, a kinder person, a more compassionate person. But, because of his death I have become those things.

I’ve shared this quote and I’ve used it as a teaching tool. The part ‘for everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about’ has certainly become more real for me this past year. I hope and pray that I will see people as humans that are trying their best and that kindness will be my first response.

You see Patrick already understood that. Here’s a little excerpt from a conversation we had when he was 5:

We’re reading Holes to P in the evenings. I can’t wait til we can watch the movie with him. It’s one of our favorite books and movie. This book has led to so many great discussions at home.
Y’all know my big thing is kindness but occasionally I slip up. P had an aggravating dr. appt this afternoon(not with his regular dr) and I was not kind in my opinion or anything that came out of my mouth and P got all over me about it.
Mama nobody is a zero. Everyone is worth something, just like everyone called Hector ‘Zero’ because they thought he was dumb and not worth anything. Mama you can’t say unkind things even when you are upset.

Some days the light peaks out a little bit and gives your mind a reprieve…that’s what counts as a good day now.

William Cowper

There is a Fountain
William Cowper
1771

I hesitantly post because these are those dark and private thoughts that I don’t want to share. I don’t know of one grieving parent who hasn’t thought about it. Maybe it will help someone.

There is a fountain filled with blood
Drawn from Immanuel’s veins;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains:
Lose all their guilty stains,
Lose all their guilty stains;
And sinners, plunged beneath that flood,
Lose all their guilty stains.

The dying thief rejoiced to see
That fountain in his day;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away:
Wash all my sins away,
Wash all my sins away;
And there may I, though vile as he,
Wash all my sins away.

Dear dying Lamb, Thy precious blood
Shall never lose its pow’r,
Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved, to sin no more:
Be saved, to sin no more,
Be saved, to sin no more;
Till all the ransomed Church of God
Be saved to sin no more.

E’er since by faith I saw the stream
Thy flowing wounds supply,
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die:
And shall be till I die,
And shall be till I die;
Redeeming love has been my theme,
And shall be till I die.

When this poor lisping, stamm’ring tongue
Lies silent in the grave,
Then in a nobler, sweeter song
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save:
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save,
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save;
then in a nobler, sweeter song
I’ll sing Thy pow’r to save.

Here’s a link into a brief glimpse of William Cowper’s life, the author of There is a Fountain.

Why this song? Why is this one stuck in my head? I was getting ready for bed. It’s been one of those days. My mind was going places it really shouldn’t go. It all started last night with an ambulance triggering the whole accident scene, then add in today’s strobing red lights and siren like alarm of a firedrill…somedays there’s just too much going on for my mind to process.

There is a Fountain kept running through my head. Over and over… I couldn’t get it out. I was almost to the point of frustration at how fast the words were running through my head.
I’ve known the song as long as I can remember but I didn’t know who wrote it. I’m only familiar with a few hymnists, namely, John Newton, Fannie Crosby, Alfred Brumley, and Bill and Gloria Gaither. The words would not go away. I had to listen to that song or go crazy listening to my own voice sing it over and over in my head. I only pretend that I sound like Patsy Cline and I can only pretend so much, so… I had to research it. I had to find out about this song.

Because you know what? Most days I’d rather not be here. Most days I do think about how dying would be easier. Most days I’m sick and tired of dealing with the grief and the pain. Most days I want to sit and do nothing. Most days I’d do anything to have a normal life again. Some days I even think about how I would end my life. There’s no amount of looking forward to something, staying busy, taking care of yourself that will heal the hurt and pain of losing your child–nothing.

When I begin to read Cowper’s biography I had no idea who he was or anything about his life. Cowper suffered from depression. He made several attempts at taking his life. Cowper at one point even convinced himself that God wanted him to take his life. When the attempts failed he concluded that he had offended God. His life wasn’t a happy one. He never completely overcame depression, but he did come to an understanding of God’s love and mercy.

Oh thank God for his love and mercy!

Grief is bad. Grief is difficult to deal with everyday. Grief sucks. Grief is cruel and in our weakest moments, our minds are invaded with the thoughts we never thought we’d think.

When the thoughts become dark… When everything closes in… When you feel alone… When you can’t think straight…
reach out to someone
call a friend
call the national suicide hotline 1-800-273-8255
Someone here still needs you. You have purpose.

How Long Habakkuk?

Habakkuk–embrace from the Hebrew chavaq

Or if you’re just every day, regular folk, it’s one of the not so popular books of the Bible that’s mostly known for being hard to pronounce.

One thing that really gets to me is to be ignored while I am talking. My own kids, my husband, and my students in my classes know it is the one sure thing that will get me fired up and I can go from the sweetest mama, wife, or teacher to something that sounds possessed in about 2 seconds flat if you are not listening (and especially if you are not listening on purpose).

If you’ve read my last few posts you know that I’ve really struggled with God and I’ve found myself in a pretty dark hole lately. I’ve felt completely abandoned by God and doubted his existence or at the very least his existence in my life and his desire to provide some or any kind of peace. I have been angry and down right pissed off and ready to toss this whole God, Jesus, Christianity thing behind me…

When I look back over the last few months I can’t say that I’m surprised by today’s sermon. Every devotion, every scripture verse, every person of faith that I’ve come in contact with all seemed to be telling me the same thing. But, I carried on with the bitterness and anger that I was holding on to with all my might in regard to God. I had a thousand excuses and come backs. It didn’t matter who said it or what they said I would politely listen but inside I would be seething with hurt and anger. Why do they keep saying these things? They can’t understand the hurt I feel. They can’t understand the abandonment that I feel by God. In fact I had a person look at me and tell me I needed to pray for peace. I knew she was right. It felt good for her to tell me that but at the same time all the private thoughts hiding in my heart, all the hurt, and resentment I had towards God was all that would come to mind. I couldn’t even begin to say a ‘normal’ prayer. My mind was too clouded and programmed to hurl insults towards God. There was such a chasm between God and me that I was certain I would never get back to where I was, and, I was pretty sure I didn’t want to get back there anyway… I was convinced that I would not be pressing past all of this and moving forward anytime soon or ever. I felt myself spiraling into another depression and truthfully I was okay with it. It just seemed this was my new normal. This is the way I will live the rest of my life–it seemed reasonable to me.

But today. Nothing out of the ordinary. Just another Sunday that I went to church. Just another Sunday that we visited, sang songs, took prayer requests, listened to the pastor make sure all points were made before our minds began to wander towards lunch, just another first Sunday Communion.

God, how long do I have to cry out for help
before you listen?
How many times do I have to yell, “Help! ”
before you come to the rescue?
Habakkuk 1:1

Today my heart was tender. Today I was broken. Today I listened. Today I talked to Jesus. Today I started over.

And then God answered: “Write this.
    Write what you see.
Write it out in big block letters
    so that it can be read on the run.
This vision-message is a witness
    pointing to what’s coming.
It aches for the coming—it can hardly wait!
    And it doesn’t lie.
If it seems slow in coming, wait.
    It’s on its way. It will come right on time.
Habakkuk 2:2-3

How long, O Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will you hide your face from me?
How long must I take counsel in my soul
and have sorrow in my heart all the day?
How long shall my enemy be exalted over me?

Consider and answer me, O Lord my God;
light up my eyes, lest I sleep the sleep of death,
lest my enemy say, “I have prevailed over him,”
lest my foes rejoice because I am shaken.

But I have trusted in your steadfast love;
my heart shall rejoice in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
because he has dealt bountifully with me.
Psalm 13

Thankful.
Thankful for God.
Thankful for friends.
Thankful for just another Sunday.
Thankful for pastors that still listen to God.

Self Care Sunday, Jesus, and Meatloaf

What do these three things have in common? Hell, if I know but I’m going to say that today they represent normal, everyday life. Well except today. Today I skipped church. Jesus said it was okay. September is almost over and I feel like I can stop holding my breath and start breathing again. It’s always going to be a hard month, I suppose. Maybe the next one will be better, but I’ll deal with that one when the next September rolls around again.

One thing that teachers do is constantly look back to evaluate and re-evaluate their students and themselves: What can we do different, how can we improve the lesson, and what new techniques, or even old ones that we’ve forgotten, can we employ to ensure everyone is learning and growing.

Today I’m looking back to see where I’ve come from and where I’m headed. Am I doing better, the same, or am I worse? If you’ve been following along and reading my last few posts, you are probably thinking things are not looking so good. My writing is therapeutic and sets my mind free…it’s where I can unload all my feelings and thoughts and move on.

Last year at this time I was just a couple of weeks away from requesting leave from work for the 2nd time in a month. I would eventually end up leaving for the rest of the year. This year I’m doing well at work. Is it my happy place and am I as passionate about teaching as I once was? No… I do love the students in my classes, and I look forward to seeing them and teaching them every day. I don’t feel overwhelmed by my duties and I feel like I am adding to my students’ education in a positive way. I don’t think I’ll ever think about teaching the same way that I did before I lost Patrick.

There’s been so many changes this past year. For someone that truly dislikes change, I’ve created circumstances that demanded change. What the hell was I thinking?!? I like status quo. I like routine. I like knowing exactly what is going to happen. I accepted a teaching job just a couple of weeks before school started. We sold our house. We started the process of building a house. We are living in an apartment–for 2 kids that grew up in the country with plenty of wide open spaces, and have always had room to roam, this has been an adjustment! I’ve added new friends. I’ve cut some people out. I’m trying to be healthier, but I really miss junk food. My daily goals have increased. It is no longer just do one thing, like put on deodorant. There is no growth without change. Not all change is bad. There is nothing permanent except change. Keep things spicy!

Then there’s missing Patrick. That ache will never go away. Sometimes when I look at his pictures I can almost feel his little face pressed against mine or his arms wrapped around my neck. I hear him whisper, ‘Mommy I love you no matter what’. For that brief moment I forget he’s gone and then the stabbing, aching pain in my chest comes back and jolts me back to reality. No, nothing has changed there. But, I keep on because death changes nothing and it changes everything.