It's ok to thrive

I had a conversation with a friend while we were walking a few weeks ago. We talked about a lot of things, including why I was avoiding sitting down to write the book I've had on my heart for the past 3 1/2 years:

Me: It's just really hard and painful and emotionally draining. I just don't want to go back to the horror of 4 years ago.

Friend: If I were to read a book like yours I would want the writer to REFLECT on, not relive, what she went through.

You guys! REFLECT! It has had such a profound effect on how I have grieved Aaron this year. I typically refer to the 2 weeks from December 27th until January 9th as my "dark weeks." The flashbacks of the last weeks of Aaron's life as he died of cancer. Random crying fits. Frustration and anger. Depression. Dark.

Tomorrow, January 9, 2017, will be Aaron's 4th Heaven Day. My grief process has been incredibly different this year. Sure, I've had my dark moments but not weeks or even days; Moments. I realized that Aaron isn't more honored, remembered, or loved if I fix my mind on every little detail of 4 years ago. Yes, this was the day the only thing he could say was my name in a strained whisper. Yes, this was the day he became so weak he could no longer move his head. Yes, this is the day our family sat in my son's room as the fabulous hospice nurses put in a catheter (the one thing he was terrified of). All those things, and more, happened 4 years ago.

HOWEVER, that is not today. I don't have to relive those days. I already lived them firsthand the first time around. I can reflect on them: what I learned, the sweet moments where my priorities and purpose were crystal clear, the blessings (yes, you read that right) in the moments among the tragedy.

Does it mean it doesn't hurt? Does it mean that I don't miss Aaron? Does it mean I'm glad he isn't here? Absolutely NOT! It hurts and I miss him and I wish we never had to go through what we went through...but we did. It all happened and no number of tears can change that.

REFLECT. It hit me that when I relive, I miss out on what is happening now, here, with my 5 year old Benjamin. There were tears to dry today but they were because he was tired, not because his daddy lives in Heaven. And that is ok.

It's ok, ladies and gentlemen. It's ok to not have remembered until 10 pm as I turned out the light on January 7th that it was the last day I heard Aaron's real voice. It's ok for Benjamin to miss me at school and it have nothing to do with Aaron. It's ok to be moving forward, doing well, feeling joyful. It's ok.

It's more than ok. When I live a vibrant life, it honors Aaron's memory: a man full of fun and joy and life. When I thrive in my new normal, it honors God: my Creator Who continues to give me life, has carried me through the darkest moments, and has more for my son and me than I can even imagine.

Yes, the scar still hurts, but not all the time. And that's ok.

"You have no idea..."

"You think you are tired now, you have no idea."

"You think you are short on time now, you have no idea."

"You have no idea how this little one will change your life."

"You think you give and receive love, just wait until this little one is born. You have no idea."

You guys. I had no idea! I had no idea how exhausted and energized and bored and creative and flabbergasted and speechless and awed and empty and full motherhood would be. I had no idea how long the days (and nights) would be and how quick the years would pass. I had no idea your heart could expand to completely fill your entire body to the brink of bursting from a smile. I thought I knew. I had read the books and talked with the parent friends. I heard it so many times: You have no idea.

I had no idea.

I'm feeling a little like that almost-to-delivery-day 26 year old pregnant woman/new mom again. I am standing on the edge of a new life, wondering what the reality will really be like. I've done my best to prepare but there is just no way to fully prepare.

On Tuesday, my one and only, the little one who cried because his favorite teddy needed to go in the wash, this little light of my life, my boy who has to be sung his lullaby to at bed time, this little 5-going-on-50 boy will leave my house, get in a vehicle with a bunch of other people's tiny humans, and go to school. I will no longer be the person who spends the most daylight hours with him. I will hear stories of what he did without me. I will have to let go a little more. And it is good and it is hard.

And as he sleeps, snuggling his entourage of stuffies (Corduroy Bear, Ben Bunny, Daddy Bunny, the one armed Christmas Monkey, and Blankie), I just remind myself that I have no idea. I have no idea how this next chapter will look. I have no idea how much our lives and the rhythm of it will change. I have no idea what the Lord will do in us through school. I have no idea what the Lord will do through us in those we meet. I have no idea how much he will learn and grow. And I have no idea how much I will learn and grow.

What I do know is this: my little man is ready, I am anxiously excited, and God is going to do amazing things through my boy. The world needs my sweet Ben: his laughter, his tender-heart, and his compassion.

Kindergarten, you think you are ready for Ben. You have no idea.

That time Ben brought me to my knees with a bedtime story

Ben has a book called "Daddy and Me." I made this book as a gift from Ben to Aaron for his last Christmas on Earth. Aaron was really struggling with how little time God had allowed for him to have in Ben's life and wondered if he had really made any impact on our sweet boy. If only he could see him now!

Ben and Aaron at 4 yr.

We've read "Daddy and Me" lots of times with lots of story telling and laughter over all the silly and sweet things Daddy and Ben did together and it warms my heart to see Ben's eyes light up. Daddy hugged him, cuddled him, bathed him, walked with him, played with him, all in pictures for proof. It is one of Ben's favorite books.

Tonight, Ben chose this book as his bedtime story but it was different this time. About half-way through my tenderhearted, thoughtful son looked at me with tears in his eyes. "Mamma, it's so sad that I only had a daddy when I was a little baby. I really miss my daddy. I wish he could see me now. Do you think he knows how old I am?" What do you say to that? How can I take the hurt away and make it better? I can't kiss the boo-boo left on his heart.

Love

We cried. We talked about how it is ok to miss Daddy. We talked about what we would do or say if we could talk to Daddy. Then we kept reading the book. As I closed the book Ben did what he usually does without realizing it, he pointed me straight to the Cross. "Mamma, did Daddy teach me how to love the Lord?" Oh sweet boy, with every breath your daddy breathed, even to the very last breath, that was his prayer and desire.

Snuggles

I sang Ben the lullaby I've sung to him since he was an infant, kissed his forehead, turned out the light, and closed the door. Half-way down the hall I dropped to my knees in tears. Pleading, questions, and praise fill my heart. Jesus, I can't do this. You are going to have to carry me. Jesus, in Your power, equip me and strengthen me in my weakness. God, why did You allow him to suffer and die so young? Why does my baby have to endure this? Why does he need to learn the delicate balance of moving forward without leaving his dad behind? Why have you asked us to be a family of 2 for so long? How do I guide Ben through this to see that there is joy in sorrow? Help us to have peace where you have called us. Lord, thank you that my boy lives in the light of the Cross. Holy Spirit, thank you for filling him and being known to him. God, thank You for being his Father Who is with him for all eternity. Thank You, Jesus, that You hold us in Your hand and lead us in our new normal.

Family pictures 2015

Jeremiah 29:11 - "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, "plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future."