Reunited

I had the great pleasure of returning to my hometown recently for a reunion of the church youth group I grew up in.  I was an awkward, gangly seventh grade girl when we started attending that church and over the next 6 years, my sister and I kept showing up every time the doors opened until I graduated from high school. It was home for me--complete with a family made up not only of my peers, but also a group of adult volunteers who would be a crucial part of 'the village' that raised this child. It's been almost 25 years since I left that safe place to start college.  I went back a few times over the years, but never for very long.  I got married young, at a few days shy of 21years old, and married life followed by kids meant I grew roots elsewhere and let the memories and most of the friendships I had formed there fade into the back of my mind and heart.  Not gone, but buried deep.  It was earlier this summer that one of the girls who had also been a part of the group put feelers out on Facebook to ask if anyone might be interested in a reunion.  I have to think that most people had mixed emotions about reuniting after 25 years.  I can speak from my own experience and say I felt a mixture of excitement, curiosity and nostalgia.  I loved those people and the idea of many of us being all together reminiscing, catching up and reconnecting in a more-than-Facebook kind of way was exciting.   I also felt a healthy dose of fear, anxiety and, at times (keeping it real here), just downright terror.  It's no secret that people want to look like they have somehow fought off gravity at reunions and I am no exception, but my most gripping anxiety stemmed from fear of having to share my story.  It's sad.  Really sad.  And I didn't want to be voted Most Likely To Bring The Entire Reunion Down With Her Sad Life Story (there actually weren't any elections held, but wouldn't that be an awful award to receive?)  I RSVPed anyway and made plans to travel back home with my sister and brother-in-law.  The closer the reunion got, the more anxious I got.  Days before, I was a basket case (in the privacy of my home or for my sister to witness).  I literally began hoping some kind of illness or homeowner's disaster would prevent me from going.  I even considered just not going and letting everyone fill in the blanks of why I canceled however they wanted to.  I got a good pep talk from a few of my closest confidants, reminding me basically that:  1. They would be supporting me and that  2. It was not all about me and that I was not unique in having experienced great pain and loss--after all, it HAD been 25 years-- so I put the whole thing in perspective and made the trip.  Once we walked through the door of the restaurant where the reunion was being held, I felt at ease and at home.  Inwardly, I was so relieved and so thankful to be over the hurdle of just getting there and I was thoroughly enjoying watching and being part of the multiple mini-reunions occurring all over that room.  The youth group was back together again and we all seemed to pick up right where we had left off.  A few people made reference to Dan's death when they greeted me and I appreciated them acknowledging him even if it might have felt uncomfortable or awkward.  Because the venue was reserved for 5 hours, it was possible to really relax and enjoy visiting and eating together.  There was also time to watch a slide show of pictures from way back when and laugh, remembering all the great trips we took together and how much fun we had.  Our youth minister, Mark, got up and was able to capture in words what our journey together so long ago meant to him.  It was a rare and wonderful opportunity for all of us to hear his heart and for us to have confirmed in our own hearts that all of those years were as important to him as they were to us.  It was pretty awesome.  We were now several hours into the evening and the fear had dissipated that I might crumble and cause some kind of scene by crying in public (which is, by the way, MY number one fear--for me, public speaking is cake compared to crying in public).  And just when I had completely let my guard down and thought I had made it through the night unscathed by a surprise grief attack, (insert ominous background music here)...IT happened.  I remember it in slow motion, like in the movies where something so bad is about to happen that it's played in slow-mo with someone always saying, 'NOOOOOO!!!,' while all eyes are on the trauma that is in the process of occurring. Mark wrapped up what he was saying and decided it was a good time to go around the room and have everyone tell what's going on in their lives right now. Gulp. He looked over to our table. Gulp.  He said 'Let's start with that table'.  Double gulp.  THEN he said...to ME....'Why don't YOU start?'.........PANIC! Are you kidding me?!? I am certain I either heard or said the slow-mo 'NOOOOOO!!!!' at this point.  I would love to tell you that I slowly stood up at this point and elegantly gave a moving synopsis of my most recent life events, concluded with an inspirational directive to seize the day, but that was not the case.  Not even close.  What I really did was awkwardly stand up on shaky legs, say 'I live in Fort Worth with my 4 kids' and then I lost it.  Horror of horrors, I started crying!  In public! (Disclaimer: I realize I have issues....I know what everyone would say to me at this point, 'It's ok to cry'--I realize it's OKAY, but I'd prefer not to do it in public.  I would even tell my kids it's okay, just not MY cup of tea). I quickly sat down and fumbled around the table trying to find one of those scratchy napkins to blot my eyes while at the same time, shrinking down to avoid the sympathetic eyes of others.  As much as I wanted to disappear right then, it didn't happen, so I sat there and regained composure ASAP.  Once my head stopped spinning, I saw a friend who had been sitting to my left earlier come back from the bathroom.  He had missed the entire slo-mo saga.  He was pretty puzzled and asked what had happened.  The conversation that ensued was the silver lining of that dark cloud of crying in public.  Because of my crying moment, I was able to start a conversation with this dear friend whom I knew had also suffered the loss of a spouse.  For him, the death had occurred several years earlier and he has been blessed with a loving wife, 2 kids and a new beginning.  I would never have started a conversation with him about our common losses, but I am so very grateful that an awkward moment for me turned into an opportunity to ask him some questions about life after life.  I don't regret crying.  There is only one thing I regret about the reunion and that is that I was not composed enough at that very scary moment to REALLY say what's going on in my life right now.  It might not have been moving or inspirational, but if I had the chance to say it without crying, here's what I might have said:  'I live in Fort Worth with my 4 kids.  They are my world. Although I will admit I am sometimes overwhelmed by the task of raising 4 kids alone, most of the time I embrace it and realize how truly blessed I am to have them.  Over 20 years ago, I met and married the love of my life and his name was Dan.  You guys would have loved him.  He was a great guy and an exceptional daddy and husband.  I miss him so much.  I wish he could have been here for this because he knew how important this group was in my life and how it kinda made me who I am today.   Knowing Dan, in his life and in his dying, also made me who I am today and although I wish he could come back to me, I like who I am today.  I believe that even back when we were kids in this group together, God knew the different parts of life He was preparing all of us for and I also believe he was using the precious experiences we had as a group way back then to prepare us for what we have encountered and what lies ahead, good or bad.  I consider it a privilege to be able to gather in a room with all of you and thank you for the parts you played in God preparing me for life.  This room feels a little like a 'great cloud of witnesses'.  I love you and wish you all the very best in life.  Don't be strangers.  If I don't see you again this side of heaven, we can catch up again there.'

Happy Mother's Day

Mother's Day this year is coming at an interesting time for me.  I say this because I've done so much thinking lately about what kind of mom I am.  I thought I had emerged from a fog months ago and even blogged about it, but after having come through the first year, I think it's only now I feel I really am seeing things a little more clearly and I'm able to honestly evaluate my parenting over this last year. Overall, I am giving myself some grace and saying that, given the circumstances, I did okay.  Basically, our ship sank and I was getting my kids into the life boat, intending to assess our situation once I could get myself into the boat.  I have been a mom for almost 16 years now and I would like to think I've grown in that time, but I am more aware after this year of how much growing I have to do.  When my oldest was a toddler, someone I really respected told me I should have lots of kids because I was doing such a good job--oh SURE, who couldn't do a good job with one very low maintenance girl with a sweet, cooperative temperament (so much like her Daddy).  I now realize she was just born that way and allowed me to pretend that she needed me to parent her (wink wink). I had twin boys and a singleton boy after my girl and although I love them with all my heart and they are good boys, it took all we had to outwit, outplay and outlast those guys.  IT WAS HARD!  As our family grew, my confidence as a parent shrank. With 4 different personalities developing (added to the 2 adult personalities already present in our home), parenting did not seem like so much of a slam dunk anymore.  As medical issues and autism crept into our lives, I knew for a fact that I did NOT have this all figured out.  I WILL give the Dan & Linda parenting team some props because I think we did pretty well considering what a full parenting plate we had.  We were a united front and truly worked together to give our kids the parents they needed.  We had our individual weaknesses, but where one would begin to fail, the other would step in and take over.  It was a well oiled machine for the most part with Christ at the center of it all because we knew we could do none of it without Him.  Obviously, since Dan died, I am left here with the responsibility of finishing this colossal task of raising our kids.  I am indescribably blessed with family who live minutes away to help me and they are the most amazing people--I have asked for so much help from them this year and they have gone out of their way to be there for me and for the kids.  They are a priceless treasure in our lives.  However, the parenting buck stops with me and at this point in our family's journey, I am now forced to reinvent myself as a parent.  This parenting solo thing has been one of the biggest adjustments in this first year without Dan.  Even on my best days of parenting alongside Dan, I realize now that I always had a back-up and I operated as only half of the parenting machine--in fact, Dan was such a great dad that I sometimes wonder if I was even half!  Being both parents is  E X H A U S T I N G.  No good cop for my bad cop--I have to figure out how to be both.  No one there when I'm at my wits' end to say "I'll take it from here, go take a break.". Maybe some people never have that, but I did.  I am sad to think of the impatience and frustration my kids have witnessed from me while I figure this single parenting thing out...sad to think of the times I have clung to control of my out of control environment at the expense of grace for 4 sweet kids who are feeling just as out of control as I am...sad to think of the opportunities I have given up to experience simple pleasures with my kids like a board game or a silly tv show or a lame knock knock joke because I had to keep the household running smoothly...no more.  No more dwelling on what I could have done better because I was, for the most part, doing the best I could.  No more feeling overwhelmed by single parenting.  I am ready to move forward, humbly.  I never was a perfect parent and neither was Dan--even with both of us here, we messed up sometimes.  I am thankful that through losing Dan, God is showing me weaknesses I don't think I would have ever seen otherwise.  If I can't see my weaknesses, I can't get stronger.  Most importantly, I want to show my kids that my weaknesses are perfect opportunities to let God carry me and grow me up.  That seems a little contradictory, but it's when we are empty that He can fill us up. So we've kept the life boat afloat for a year and now we're approaching dry land.  I am certain I have not made my last parenting mistake, but maybe I can make fewer and keep learning from the ones I do make.  Happy Mother's Day to all of the wonderful, imperfect, evolving moms I know! 

Big Tex, The Holidays and Spring

Ok, I will come right out and admit that the title of this post is all over the place.  All you type A's just stay with me and it will all fit together in a fairly neat package. It's just that I haven't posted in so long that alot has happened.   When I sat down to write this, I found a half-written post that I had started back in October when the State Fair of Texas was in full swing.  It has been almost six months since then, but I know why I never finished that post.  FIRSTS. I was overwhelmed with FIRSTS to the point that I really didn't have it in me to blog - only survive. Starting with the first State Fair any of us would attend without Dan, October kicked off a relentless series of FIRSTS.  The list continued with the standard firsts...Thanksgiving, Christmas, New Year's....it continued with our wedding anniversary on January 4th and my birthday on January 15th.  By the time February 8th rolled around (1 year since he died) I felt exhausted. I also felt relieved that we had survived all the FIRSTS.   I should offer a little explanation as to why Big Tex and The State Fair would even be considered significant and ranked among the other obvious FIRSTS.  I mean, it's a hot, crowded, expensive, smelly event with gross fried stuff everywhere and people pressuring you to buy a ShamWow or a hot tub or something else you never knew you needed until you got there, right?  Not for Dan! I will never understand the spell Big Tex had on Dan, but that man LOVED The Great State Fair of Texas. He had gone every year for as long as he could remember and he had seen every show and knew where everything was and it NEVER got old for him.  You could not go to The Fair with Dan and not enjoy yourself.  He was like a big kid there and once he had his own kids to take to The Fair, it was like a Lion King circle of life moment for him!  Really.  Not even kidding.  I must say it was kind of fitting that Big Tex burned down the year Dan died.  Almost like a tribute to the most dedicated fan The Fair had ever seen.  Dan had already been diagnosed when he took the kids to The Fair in 2011.  I couldn't go with them because I was working that day...regret...but I remember him being very emotional when they got home that evening.  He said it was the last time he'd be able to take the kids or go to The Fair himself.  I had hoped he was wrong, but, of course, he wasn't.   When The Fair rolled around in 2012, I felt the pressure to continue the tradition and take the kids myself.  I got all psyched up to brave it without Dan.  I was getting so stressed about it and I told myself it was because of the long drive and then parking and crowds and the expense of it and etc.,etc.,etc.  When I finally confided in a few dear friends about my near panic attack about The Fair, it hit me. I wasn't afraid or stressed out about the logistics of The Fair, I was afraid I could never make it the experience Dan had made it.  I knew my attempt to do The Fair would pale in comparison and I knew it would only make me miss him more.  I pictured myself walking around The Fair with the kids, trying not to cry, wishing Dan could be there with us.  Just the kind of Fair day every kid dreams of, right?  Then, one of my very wise friends said, "Who says you have to go to The Fair?"  Best. Advice. Ever.  Seriously - the thought that I was not REQUIRED to go to The Fair was so freeing.  I realized at that point that I could not possibly BE Dan.  I want to keep his memory so alive for the kids and for myself, but I am not required to BE Dan.  In fact, I can't.  I just have to be me and some of the great memories will be just that...memories.  We did not go to The Fair this time.  We survived.   That realization helped me through the holidays and all of the other FIRSTS as well.  They were hard, but not because I was putting ridiculous expectations on myself to make them wonderful.  I allowed them to flow naturally instead of trying to force them into being the almost perfect holidays minus Dan.  They were not perfect, but I found some sweet moments in all of them and learned the anticipation of them was sometimes worse than the actual FIRST. Now, jump forward and Spring is here again.  It has always been my favorite season, but I like it even more now.  It will always follow the hardest part of the year and it will always remind me that Winter does not last forever.