His works in progress

34 weeks

Missing you so much, Bob-o

"I have no greater joy than to hear that my children walk in the truth."  3 John 1:4 

"that's what the promise is for..."

What would I tell these two crazy, fresh-faced kids today?

This is a picture from our honeymoon, June 1992, England.  

Tomorrow I celebrate 20 years of marriage to this man.  I still can hardly believe  God blessed me with him. I mean, I knew what a blessing he was when I fell head over heels in love with him. I have fallen in love with him all over again many times in our married life, especially each time I have seen him embrace the role of Daddy to every one of our amazing kids.  But I had no idea  how perfect he actually was for me until our recent sadness.  Without him, I simply would not have been able to walk out of the hospital room and leave the body of our little boy behind.  He told me he would be there for the good and the bad.  And he meant it.  He carries his own heartache as Bob-o's dad, yet he has stood as a rock for our familly when the ground beneath me is nothing but sinking sand.  He holds me, listens to me cry and talk and talk and talk, even if it's in the middle of his workday.  He holds onto faith when mine threatens to give way.  He still makes me laugh.  Everyday.    

Meeting him totally changed my life.

You see, I was on a radically different track.  I was going to pursue a career in politics.  I'm more than a little embarassed to say my senior highschool yearbook quoted me as saying I was going to graduate from GW, become a U.S. Senator and "cruise the streets of Georgetown in my Kharman Ghia!"  Oh, the hubris of youth...

I was partially correct.  I did go to GW, and was a freshman there when my Dad got me an internship through a friend of his in Congressman Dick Armey's (R-TX) office.  It was there that I met a certain swaggering Texan, a 30 year old Legislative Assistant who whistled his way into the office each day and was quite the flirt.

I did "cruise" the streets of Georgetown, but in his 1969 Volvo (that he bought off a friend who needed to sell it because he was trying to save money for his girl's engagement ring!).  I  never did become a U.S. Senator (dodged a bullet there!).  I traded in the idea of a 2-seater VW convertible for the gigantic SUV I cart around our large brood in today.  But I ended  up realizing my heart's wildest dreams in ways I had never imagined.

I was but a girl of 18 when I met this wonderfully handsome, decent, honorable, strong, good, loving, soft-hearted, fiercely loyal man, and we fell hard for each other right away. We knew within months of dating that this was "it."  The 11 year, 1o month age gap meant nothing to us.  Our hearts were joined and we started talking about how and when we were going to get married.  It wasn't just us.  People who knew me so well could see it, too.  My mom knew this was the guy for me probably before I did.  My brother used to say we were already so much like married people that we should just go ahead and make it official already.  I was just starting my sophomore year in college.  This was craziness for a modern young woman with a vast array of options available to her.  Why settle for marriage so early in life?  

Here's why:  I knew that I was meant to spend my life with him. I could see that I was supposed to do so much more than have a career in politics.  That I was to find true joy, satisfaction and fulfillment in being his wife and mother to our children.  We were years away from having our kids but it was crystal clear to me that we were going to build a family together.  We knew that God had crossed our paths and that it was no accident and so we claimed it as His best and jumped in feet first.  No regrets.  No doubts.  No cold feet.  We got engaged in the summer of 1991 and I finished up my undergrad degree in 3 years so we could get hitched on May 30, 1992.  I basically moved my stuff out of my dorm and into the basement apartment he rented from his Aunt and Uncle in Georgetown.  As my college roommate put it "you're going straight from Daddy to Dennis!"

So what would I tell these crazy kids?  I'd tell them:  buckle up - it's going to be an amazing ride!  I wouldn't give away the whole story, because what's the fun in knowing how it turns out ahead of time?  But I would say that there's a reason God uses marriage as the picture of our relationship with Him.  Because it's sacred and holy and intimate and humbling.  It's marked by the thrill of early romance and the warm beauty of love shaped by trials and time.  And it requires commitment.  Whole-heart devotion.  Not giving up.  Never giving up.  Loving completely, fully, sacrificially.  Living out love, especially when you don't "feel" like it.

I'd tell them that the wedding vows are written the way they are for good reason.  There will be lots of better, and the worst worse you could ever imagine (such as helping each other survive the death of your child).  There will be sickness (heart sickness arguably the most challenging of them all) and robust health.  You will be richer and poorer in more ways than one, and the poorer times remind you of what really lasts and what really matters.  You will laugh your hardest and cry your deepest sadness with each other.  You will finish each other's sentences.  You will find yourself annoyed at little things the other does while knowing at some place way down inside your soul that those little quirks are part and parcel of what makes you love them so madly after two decades.

I would tell them it only gets better.  If you let it.  I would tell them to make up sooner and to get better faster at spotting (and tending to) their own mote before zeroing in like a laser beam on the speck sported by the other.   I'd tell them that true love shows up in the oddest places, like locked doors, a disassembled wet bar, home made pies, or kalamata olives on a pizza.  That getting up every day and going to work, either at home with a passel of kids or in the racing world of a Washington lobbyist, is one of the best ways to say "I love you enough to do this again today."    

I tease him a lot that if we were ever on one of those game shows where the spouses would have to know detailed things about each other's likes and dislikes, he'd lose it for sure, because he still doesn't know what I order at McDonald's or how I like my eggs cooked (while I, on the other hand, have his social security number memorized).  But the truth of it is that he knows me, the real me, better than anybody else; second only to my Maker, I'd say.  He knows my heart and all my mess and he still loves me with his whole entire self.   

Happy anniversary, my love.  You are more a gift to me today than ever before.  Thanks for taking me dancing in the midst of the chaos.  

 

 

  

(P.S.  This is the most precious video by one of my new favorite Christian artists.  Grab your sweetie, and a kleenex, and give it a watch.)

 

Friday the 33rd

There's this strange feeling of dread I have as the Fridays march on and I know I'm nearing the point where I will have lived longer without my Bob-o than I did with him. And it's accompanied by a very surreal sense that I'm losing my memories of him. I look at the little box the nurse who also lost her 6th baby gave me in which I keep momentos like his little hospital hat, sonogram pictures, the orange funeral sticker we put in the window of our car that October day. And I can't remember what he felt like, how he smelled, the sensation of him in my womb or in my arms. And it breaks my heart. What sort of awful trick is my mind playing on my heart? I fear moving away from him, even as I move in a very deep sense closer to him with each passing day. Memories of loved ones lost are bittersweet as it is. What to make of this lapse in memory? Who or What is its source? Purpose?

How long, oh Lord? Come Lord Jesus.

Hi mama!

Our first Bob-o blossom on his magnolia tree. Friday (of course!) May 4, 2012. 30 Fridays. I cried a lot. I miss him so. And yet there is such rejoicing. Yesterday at church we joined our hearts and voices with that of all the angels and archangels and all the company of heaven, including our Bob-o, declaring "holy, holy, holy Lord, God of power and might, heaven and earth are full of your glory...! Blessed is he who comes in the name of the Lord!" The congregation was particularly overcome because it was the next to last Sabbath we'll observe in that building. Doctrinal purity and the judicial process necessitate our leaving the property to those with whom we were compelled to part ways. And as we sing praise and share the communion table, the loss, the sacrifice let our souls open up and let Him touch us in places so often closed off, kept "safe" as a defense mechanism pethaps, and we are blessed to feel it that much more deeply: approach life in the Name above all names and God's best in all its mysterious forms will be yours. My family is learning that God's best is very often painful. For our growing.

There is a part of me that will always want to have my baby here with me, in my arms, in our everyday life. And that's ok. And that goes just perfectly with the true joy I feel that my sweet boy went straight to heaven, justified by the blood of Christ, set apart from the first for worship and face to face fellowship with his Creator. I'm actually jealous a lot because my heart knows it's designed for more than where and what and who it is right now. It's designed to be right where he is.

And so the mini magnolia flower pops out on a Friday as a sweet little "hi, mama!" from my boy. And a precious moment of worship turns my focus to its rightful place, on the glory and majesty and goodness of the Lord. And I know, I just know it with every thing I am, that Bob-o is right there too, worshipping, basking in, joying and beholding Him. And I can just see him wink one of the little blue eyes I wanted so desperately to see open and say "hi, mama!"

Palm Sunday

I BELIEVE!

 

Help, thou, Lord, mine unbelief...

Family reunions of the best kind

 

Our church's worship concert was awesome.  I love to praise and worship God, especially in the midst of this grief journey, finding that it turns my heart the way its meant to turn (and away from the lie-infested rabbit trails the devil wants to send me down so often).  But as we sang and clapped and danced in the joy of the Lord, I was struck by a strong presence of the Holy Spirit AND of my Bob-o.  And God whispered to me (because He inhabits the praises of His people), "that's because Bob-o is in my very presence and is worshipping me too!"  And I knew that whenever I wanted to feel close to my God and to my baby, both of whom I long to be with, all I need to do is start praising the Lord.  I wrote to the worship leader that night:

    "the nights of worship were, of course, awesome.  I just had to thank you all for pulling it together and making it such an amazing time for me and my family.  It's always given me such joy to worship the Lord in song, but it means even more now that our boy is actually doing it face to face.  It was like a family reunion for me tonight, knowing that as we declared God's praises here, Bob-o was doing the exact same thing right in the throne room. Bless you guys!!"

    Even in my heartache, I have a confidence that God will give me just what I need, when I need it.  The daily bread, if you will.  And He knew I needed to know how I can stay in touch.  

 

Sometimes we say "God is good" with tears running down our cheeks...

I read this quote in my GriefShare workbook by Dr. Joseph Stowell and I love it.  It captures perfectly how I feel many days.  Days like today.  It's one of those days where the grief seems to come out of nowhere, like it just happened yesterday, and I wonder if I'll ever be healed.  I can't concentrate, I'm tired, worn down in body, mind and soul by missing my little Bob-o so very, very much.  My kids, my husband ask me questions or tell me things and I either have no idea what they're talking about or know that the energy required to focus my scattered, fuzzy brain on what they are saying is simply more than I have to give.  

I think I'm grieving "well," which is a weird thing to say, but I mean that according to my grief counselor, my GriefShare class, the stack of books on grief that I'm working through, everything I'm experiencing and feeling is "normal."  I'm not going through anything that others who have loved and lost haven't endured.  I know that I have to hurt to heal.  It's just that the hurt, well, hurts.  Like nothing ever before.  My heart hurts.  If I cry hard enough, my head hurts and doesn't go away until I climb under the covers, turn off all the lights and sleep for a bit.  My brain struggles to keep up with the bare minimum.  I miss details.  Take kids to the wrong places for activities.  Completely space on previously scheduled engagements.  Dinner still confounds me completely.  So many steps - menu to plan, groceries to buy or find, cooking or cutting or assembling...it's all just too much.  Pathetic?  The books all say, no, normal.  

And they tell me I will not always be consumed by the grief; that there's no timetable to grief; that it's not linear.  It's chaotic and messy in fact.  That's hard for a task-oriented person like me.  Don't get me wrong - I have no problem paring down my to-do list and calendar.  It's just that I am so easily prey to the lies that when I'm unproductive, distracted, not functional, that's just further proof that I'm a failure as  mother.  I should have saved him, I reason.  I had one simple job - to get him here safe.  And I failed.  Like I'm failing my live children today.  Lies of the enemy, I know.  But when you're down, it's harder to separate the wheat from the tares.  

But I press on by the grace of God.  I get out of bed when I don't want to (which is about 6 days out of every 7).  I take solace in the fact that not wanting to face another whole Bob-o-less day is not depression but simply grief.  I strike a nice balance, I think, between getting out and living and making time to dig down inside myself and facing this monster head on.  It can get ugly.  I've had many a shower scream (or at least muffled sobs if the kids are around the house).  My Judy tells me now's the time to rail at God, to let Him have my anger, rage, heartache, desperation...despair.  And I've learned that is an amazingly healing thing.  He wants it.  He's more than big enough to take it.  And I feel cleansed, like restoration and healing are on the horizon when I hand it all over to Him.  I don't ever want to get over my Bob-o, but I do anticipate a time when I will feel as if I have walked through the majority of this dark time.  And it's so odd that there are rays of glorious sunshine in the midst of the darkness, that there are entire days full of joy, energy, zest for life.  I praise and thank God for these and find that the dark days are slowly becoming less frequent.  But boy, they are still present and still stab me to my core as if I just got the news that my beautiful boy's heart was not beating.

Actually, I got the news per se before it happened.  God told me it was going to happen.  I haven't written this before because I struggled with what to make of it at first.  I was walking (and if I've already mentioned this, sorry, I'm just gonna do it again anyway) by myself on Thursday October 6 and had my worship music blasting in my headphones and God spoke to my heart in the still, small voice that can sound like the roar of a thousand waters, saying very clearly to me that Bob-o wasn't going to come home from the hospital with us.  I wasn't told exactly when or how, but I saw in my mind the picture of the very funeral we had for him one week later.  I'm a mom.  I'm a bit of a worrier.  I have seen in my mind's eye things happening to my kids, one of them falling into water as I watched and was powerless to save them, that sort of thing.  I've dismissed these fears as being of the devil and commended all my babes to God's hands.  So I wasn't sure what to make of this particular picture.  But there was a tugging in my heart, of my God asking me, not to consent to this, but rather to walk through it with Him.  I actually stopped, looked up at the sky and said "No."  And kept walking.  "Don't ask me to do this," I said.  If it really was from  God, I wanted to make sure He understood that I was not going along with it.  "Please, don't take my baby," I implored.  

As so often happens in my days, I got home and was immediately immersed in the hub-bub of getting our brood out of the house to go to co-op.  Outfits to approve here, buttons to do there, "did you eat breakfast" and "you there - brush those teeth.  I can see the plaque from here!" and I filed away my rather life-changing conversation with God.  It was only 2 hours later that Bob-0 made a push downward and I thought at the time he was getting ready to be born.  Well, he was, but not as I had so joyously anticipated.  It was the last move he made.  It was the moment when his cord - the line of life that had snaked around his little leg as he spun and twirled in my womb over weeks and months - was put in the bind that ended his life on this earth.  It was the precise instant his spirit left its dwelling with me and went to his Creator.  I see that now.  I know it now.  I didn't know it then.  I came home to meet the inspector who was going to release the final payment from our insurance/mortgage company for the repairs needed by Hurricane Irene.  I rested. I paid bills.  I watched dumb TV.  I tended to and fussed at the kids.  I ate lunch.  I ate dinner.  I didn't think anything was amiss until the middle of the night as I slept fitfully and woke up to go to the bathroom and realized he wasn't moving like he had so many other nights.  I was troubled.  I googled "40 weeks and baby not moving" on my iPhone as my husband slept and got things like "sometimes when babies engage you won't feel them move much because they're in the birth canal," etc.  I thought I felt what I thought were moves and kicks but those, I know now, were just early contractions.  When my doctor pressed around good and firm to try and get some response, I felt those same things, and told Dennis who sat beside me looking grave and concerned "I think that was him.  I think he moved." And my doctor, who tried in vain for about 5 minutes to find a heart beat, knew what had happened and I looked at him and asked "are you concerned" and never actually got a response to this question.  He looked away as he speculated "sometimes if a baby has turned so that's its back is towards your back you won't get a clear heartbeat," and then sent us over to labor and delivery for a sonogram to confirm what I knew at some deep place in my heart was already the truth but at a different place wished to be very, very untrue.  

At first they don't let you see the screen and I knew by the silence of everyone in the room that he was gone.  That he was dead.  I asked them to let me see the sonogram and they gently pointed out where his heart was and that it was not beating.  Dead.  Why do they call it a still  birth?  That's so sweet and unoffensive.  They should really call it a dead birth.  That's how I feel on days like today.  He was dead.  Yes, he was still and he was silent.  But that's because he was dead.  My baby died before he lived in a twisted, awful way.  I know he lived in me for months and that he was created for eternity.  I am truly comforted by that.  But I am so angry.  We were cheated, robbed, stolen from.  I never got to see his eyes opened.  I never got to see his little mouth rooting for sustenance, spreading into a smile at the recognition of my face.  I never got to see his little body the color it was supposed to be when it received oxygen.  He looks asleep in a lot of the photos we have of him (which I treasure more than I ever thought I could treasure a snapshot) but in most of them he looks dead.  Because that's what he was when we were passing him around, dressing him, wrapping him in blankets, kissing his chubby cheeks.  Gone from this world and alive in the next.  

I can't wait for Easter this year because it necessarily takes on an entirely new meaning now that flesh of my flesh is the beneficiary of Christ's resurrection.  I've always, always loved Easter, and more so with each precious grandparent that entered eternity.  But it is literally my lifeline now that I've carried the tiny white casket of one who should have buried me years from now.  We carried him as a family, me and my soulmate and the 5 amazing children we get to raise.  We placed him in a very small hole in the dust to which we will all return.  We said words we meant and believe with all our hearts.  We sang.  We prayed.  The Jets kids lined up to place flowers on his body's resting place.  And we walked away. Away from death.  Towards life?  I hope so.  But death has a strong hold at times.  I know.  I know it has no sting.  I know it has no victory.  I know it has no more power over him.  But when I hurt, its like the death is still trying to win out.  And it's a real battle not to let it.  Where does grief end and giving up begin?  It's a fine line.  Very fine.  

When God gave me the mental picture of Bob-o's funeral, I remember vividly seeing my doctor there in the congregation.  Right after Bob-o died, my oldest daughter had asked why God let this happen, and I thought I was right to say "He didn't 'let' it happen.  It just happened because we live in a sinful, fallen world."  Then it hit me.  As my husband and I got up at the funeral to say a few words.  As I spoke, I scanned the faces in the crowd and froze for a moment when I saw my doctor's sweet face in the midst.  "See," God said.  "I did let this happen.  I am in control.  I am good.  I was in control when your Bob-o died.  I do not leave you to the mercy of fate or random chance in this fallen world.  I numbered his days and he is with me."  Seeing the fulfillment of the vision God had given me was the confirmation I needed that I could trust in God.  That He did let Bob-o die.  And I'm still standing.  As believers in Africa are known to say, God is good.  All the time.

There is Good Friday.  Thank you Jesus for Good Friday.  For the cross.  For the blood.  For taking my place.  Bob-o's place.  We remember the sacrifice and the suffering.

But then there is Easter. There is life.  There is victory.  Why do I seek the living among the dead?  He is not here.  He is risen.  Jesus is risen and one day Bob-o and all of us who call on the name of the Lord will rise.  We will know fully and be fully known.  Yes, it's hard to see when we are looking through a glass darkly.  But then.  But then...Face to Face!  I stand on the promise, on the firm knowledge, on the truth that my Bob-o, that all who have died in the hope of the resurrection, are safely with the Lord and will be reunited with all of us who receive the gift of life in Christ.  A friend was given a vision by God of herself and many other of our friends and family standing in a circle as she held a still Bob-o and they were commending him to the arms of God; she saw him cradled to the chest of the God of the universe, in the embrace of the King of Kings and Lord of Lords, leaning his little downy baby head on the breast of Yahweh and hearing His holy heart beat.  She shared it with me about a week later and I didn't know how very much I would need it, what a gift from God it was, until I hit the dark days I've written about before where the devil attacked me with doubt as to where my baby went.  God knew.  He was in control.  He was good.  He was good the moment he created my Bob-o.  He was good the moment he numbered his days.  He was good to cover him with the blood of Christ as the infant never got the opportunity to choose for himself.  God is good today as I hurt so much I don't know how I'll ever live through it.  Tears run down my cheeks as I am pierced to the pit of my soul by both the sadness of not having my baby here with me and the unspeakable joy of knowing that one day I will be with him.  And Him.  Forever.  And ever.  Hallelujah.

He is risen, indeed!

A Thousand Amens: Live Worship with The Falls Church

Dear ones - our church is holding two nights of live worship that will be recorded and made into a CD!  I am so excited to be a part of this.  All of the details can be found at tfcmusic.org!  Friday March 2 and Saturday March 3.  Come be a part!

 

Another Friday surprise...surprised by joy!

So yesterday I was bogged down with fatigue, grief, sadness...feeling once again that God was far off.  I fully expected to wake up on this the 18th Friday and feel the same.  Imagine my surprise when I woke up with a heart full of the joy of the Lord.  I'm beginning to think He knows just how much I can take and sends sweet relief just in the nick of time.  Here's e-mail correspondence with a dear friend who asked yesterday how my heart was:

 

Sent: Thursday, February 09, 2012 10:01 AM

 Thanks very much for asking. I'll be honest- This is incredibly hard. My heart hurts a lot. My faith is really being tested. Shaken even. I'm battling great guilt and therefore any little or big thing that comes up with my kids now exacerbates it. Things I am unable to do for them or fix or control. D is a phenomenal support and I love him more than ever but it feels like I'll always feel like this. I'm still praying to feel the presence of Jesus. To me right now it feels like he's millions of miles away and then I get mad at him for letting me down. I'll have moments of connection, of joy, but they're infrequent. SO I really truly do appreciate your prayers. It's literally my lifelIne right now as I am often unable tO talk to Him myself.

 

And today, Sent: Friday, February 10, 2012 12:50 PM

Thanks is not near enough but thanks so very much. Your prayers and love and support and rich insights mean the world. We are truly blessed to know you guys. Today is 18 Fridays and once again God shows up big time just when I've about given up hope. Joy took over my heart today as I woke up and it's all b/c of Jesus. I went to the cemetery just now (and took my phone just in case!) and walked away feeling a calm, a contentment that has eluded me so often these last few months. It's like He peppers the dark days with these kind so I'll know it's really and truly Him and not any strength of my own. God gave me a picture just now of empty grave clothes, in this case Bob-o's little lion onesie lying unoccupied b/c its previous occupant doesn't need it anymore. He's got new clothes now. Shining white and spotless. My heart hears him assuring me "I'm ok, mama. Really ok!" See how powerful and productive your effectual, fervent prayers are?

Another Holy surprise - at the cemetery I looked at my babe's grave

 

and there's these teeny little crocus blossoms all over the place, which was funny as it's still in the low 40's today.  It's like spring was defiantly declaring its agreement with God in Isaiah "Behold!  I am doing a new thing!  Now it springs up!  Do you not perceive it?"  Isaiah 43:19.  There in a field of death, dying, and the dead - the beloved departed, hundreds upon hundreds of them - there, was bursting forth a sign of the new life just beyond these cold, short, dark days.  If I open my eyes to see, the signs of Life, eternal, glorious, hopeful, joy-filled life are all around.  In the grubby faces of our kids after a day of playing, learning, loving.  In the long, secure embrace of My Man and his scruffy faced kisses when he just wakes up.  In sun-shiney days warm enough for good outside time in the middle of winter.  In the lavish love of friends and family who ask how I am doing and really want to know.  In a heart that goes to bed Thursday night hard as stone and awakes mere hours later all soft and fleshy and overflowing with Life.  Hope.  Peace.  Joy.  I am truly humbled.

 

And I pick one of these scrappy little blossoms - small but beautiful like my Bob-o - to take home with me and put it on the dashboard of the old Four Wheel Drive Sleigh.  I start to mentally plan my shopping list as I head to the grocery store, praying for grace because for some reason, grocery shopping makes me really miss Bob-o.  Not sure why.  It just does.  I put this trip off for so long that the cat's canned food inventory was totally depleted for almost a week and she had to eat just dry food, poor little thing.  No more putting it off.  And I thought today was as good a day as any since my spirit was right and renewed.  No sooner do I get to the exit of the cemetery and merge into the traffic that will usher me on to aisles full of abundance, food and memories, and this little plucked flower was opening up before my very eyes.  The petals were spreading out in a further show of solidarity, exhorting me to throw out my own arms in reckless abandon to worship and relationship.  Here it is!

 

 

I've had that wonderful old sunday school song in my head all day long (Nehemiah 8:10)  "The joy of the Lord is my strength!  The joy of the Lord is my strength!  The joy of the Lord is my strength!  The joy of the Lord is my strength."  You got it in your head, too?  Good!

 

Pray with me, won't you, that we'll decide on just the perfect words to put on his little grave stone.  We won't have lots of space, but I really want to say something that will make everyone who looks at it see Jesus.  I was thinking of the verse in John when Jesus was on his way to raise Lazarus from the dead and he told his bewildered disciples that "this is for God's glory."  Thoughts???

 

Miscellany

I went to the cemetery yesterday by myself for the first time.  I've always had another kid(s) and/or the whole rest of the family with me.  It was a bittersweet time of quiet reflection with my youngest boy on the 17th Friday.  Then I realized that I couldn't make my feet walk away from him.  Uh-oh, I thought.  Maybe I should have brought someone with me to make me walk back to the car.  I left my phone in the car, or else I would have called My Man and asked him to swing by on his way home from work to gently take me by the arm and lead me home to those here who still need me.  Who really want me.  So I thought about it for awhile, probably standing there close to half an hour before I spoke with My Father saying "Look, You know what I got to get done today, pretty soon actually.  Help me leave him here once again, let me know he's safe in your care, so I can drive the girls to worship dance and get daddy and Big Bro the last few things they need before leaving for the Scout camp out tonight." And He did. I was still a little late but everyone understood.  I really missed my Bob-o yesterday.  That's not to say I don't miss him everyday, just that some days it's more acute than others.  

Had a great meeting with the wonderful grief counselor our church recommended to me right after he died.  I had thought I was basically grieving OK, in a healthy way, and hadn't called her yet.  Then I slipped into that deep pit of doubt and despair and figured it would be a good idea to check in with a professional.  She is a dear sister in Christ who has already given me much needed validation, encouragement and tips for managing this crucial first year of grief.  I'm so glad I got over my fear of contacting her.  What an answer to prayer.  

I can't say enough how much I appreciate those who are walking this journey with me.  Not only the precious ones who share my roof, but the friends and family who are holding me up and standing close by me as life moves on and I feel like staying put.  A dear friend who has suffered great loss herself this past year brought me a yummy meal the other day, knowing that there are just those days when you can't  bring yourself to plan and prepare something as complicated as dinner. Another girlfriend regularly texts me just to check in.  A sweet pal whose first was stillborn knows exactly how many weeks it's been and that means so much.  She also looks after his grave site on a regular basis.  My mom texted me today just to say she loved me and asked how I'm doing.  It's like a warm, cozy blanket wrapping me up in her loving embrace.  I so need that and treasure it.  She was the first person I had to call as soon as we found out he was gone.  I grabbed my phone and told My Man "I've got to call my mom."  And she and my dad got to our hospital room in record time.  They came.  They stood for hours by my side when they themselves were grieving the loss of their grandson.  They fretted over me when I was racked  by post-delivery/epidural convulsions.  One of my favorite pictures of those moments after is the one where my mom has her hand on my forehead, loving on me like she did all those many times when I was sick as a kid.  Times like these you just need to be a daughter again. 
Thanks, mom!  

And another favorite one shows my dad taking Bob-o from me to wrap him up in a memory blanket.  It touches me because I know he was doing more than that.  He was helping me prepare to let go.  
Thanks, dad!

I wish I would have let the kids take loads of pictures of me when I was pregnant.  Middle child said the other day she misses my baby belly.  At the time, blissfully unaware of what was ahead, I told them whenever they had my cell phone poised to take a snapshot "oooh, no.  I don't want pictures of me all big and round."  This is the ONLY one!

As you can see, I carry my babies ALL OVER...!  In this picture I outweigh Dennis by a hefty margin.  Not anymore, thank goodness, because it's a dark day when you officially weigh more than your man.  Just look at those beautiful fresh faces, all aglow with the joys of summer fun.   Love.