Quiet in His Love

Some days are more of a struggle than others. It all depends. On what? I'm not even sure I know the answer to that question. I do know that those that I share with are very encouraging and that they believe that I will find help and hope. I need both. Truly. Each day feels different and none of them feel "normal." Bits and pieces feel "normal" but never the whole day. I want to see miracles and joy sprout from this time. I want to be able to look back on this season and say God got me through, family got me through, friends got me through. There needs to be a pot of "gold" at the end of this rainbow. So much of who I am is suppressed or overwrought or confused right now. I feel as though I live in a haze of Hallmark movies and naps, with a little bit of living thrown in for good measure. It's a struggle. My own mind is not so comfortable right now...not such a lovely place to be. Yet, there must be help and hope out there for me and for others like...

Tomorrow marks 13 years since my husband and I lost our second child (third in line) to miscarriage. I cannot begin to tell you how shocking it is to realize so much time has already passed since that day we were in our car headed to Minnesota for a wedding. After having lost a child in 2007, I hoped I'd never have to experience the devastating heartache of a miscarriage again. However, on September 19, 2009, as life would have it, I began to bleed and I knew deep down that our little one was gone. The despair and heart-wrenching sorrow were awful. Tony and I spent the week he had taken off for the trip to Minnesota, mostly at home, grieving. Grief has a way of ebbing and flowing, overwhelming and then settling to a quiet background murmur. It can smack you in the face or creep up in a moment of quiet reflection. Today, as I consider the loss of my son and the many other losses I have encountered in September, I realize that, though I am utterly without understanding of the reasons...

Eleven months have passed since that awful day that we had to say goodbye to my dad. So many days I am still overcome by strong emotions and the loss of hoped-for experiences. I am so very thankful for all the wonderful experiences I did have with my dad, and he had with my children and my husband. My joy has shriveled into a tangled mess of hurt, sadness, confusion, and, occasionally, anger. The truth is that when I say I'm okay...I'm not...not entirely. I'm broken...heartbroken. I'm treading water, staying afloat. I put on a brave face and step into the world and live, but the living isn't quite as joyful, not quite as carefree as it once was. The last two and a half years have been full of challenges, hurts, heartaches, unexplainable craziness. So many are hurt, scared, treading water. They may be experiencing loss, anxiety, fear, confusion, financial troubles, medical concerns, family upheaval. Our prayer list seems to grow weekly, if not daily, with another...

Today, my dad would have been 68.5 years old. I have so many dates in my memory bank that it gets a bit crowded in there at times. We are not into celebrating half birthdays at our house, but it strikes me that maybe we should be. Maybe a half birthday is a chance to say, "I love you because..." Or, perhaps, to say, "I'm so glad I've had another six months with you. I'm looking forward to the next six." I think you get the idea. Couldn't we make half birthdays an opportunity to show love and appreciation to the "birthday" person? Not the hubbub of a birthday, but the sweet words and thoughts of genuine affection and appreciation. Perhaps, some of you do this very thing everyday already for your loved one or dear friend. However, if you don't take time to invest words of love and appreciation and joy regularly, maybe this idea is one worth considering. No, I'm not trying to add more pressure or another to-do to your ever-growing list...

Yesterday, I celebrated my first Thanksgiving without my dad. The tears and sadness hit today. Being thankful has been hard this year, especially starting in August. One less place was set at the table yesterday. My husband said the prayer instead of my dad. One less voice joined in sharing the thanks for all God has done. One less laugh echoed around the table when something tickled our funny bones. At least five less hugs were given. My heart hurts, even now tears fill my eyes. It can't be real. It just can't! I want to tell him how much I appreciate him, love him, think of him, am proud of him, am thankful that he's my dad. But I can't. Maybe, like my 11-year-old does, I can send my dad a message through God. I am thankful for forty-one years with my dad, for hugs, for encouragement, for silly wordplay, for smiles, for shoulder rubs, for prayers, for talks, for adventures, for road trips, for rides to work, the mall, wherever, for so much more than I can say here. My...