Treasuring Those Memories, When They Are All You Have Left

This is the first time I have been to my parents since Elijah met Jesus.

This first time since we have needed to provide full time care for our father. 

Now it is time to go. 

Leaving is always hard. 

I miss home.

Yet I will miss here. 

I have had so much fun with my dad. 

I always have. 

He has always, next to Jesus, been my hero. 

My farmer ranks right up there too. 

2 Men who are so vastly different. 

Both have my heart. 

I wish dad would come with me to Vermont. 

But he won't. 

And really, it's not the best.

The chaos and journey we are about to begin is something he should be spared. 

So, I will leave him here with my brothers and sister in laws, and wonderful caregivers. 

I will pray that the thief of memory would move ever so slowly. 

I will carry with me the memories of Elijah sleeping in the loft, hollering at me as I turned on lights so early to read my bible and drink my coffee. I will carry with me the memory of crazy family gatherings; loud, complete with fights and anger, as well as joy and laughter.

 I will remember during the 4 hour journey home. 

Remember cups of tea by the fire with mom. 

Endless shopping trips, lunches and front porch visits.

 Everything purple, everything structured. 

I will remember the Muppet's Christmas, 

and all that she did to share the holiness of a Savior 

born to take our sins and the magic of this season. 

Advent. 

I will prepare for what comes next. 

And I will give thanks for the memories. 

With every breath I have. 

1 Thessalonians 5:8

Give thanks in all circumstances; 

for this is God's will for you in Christ Jesus.

God is in us, God is for us, God is with us. . .

A Walk Through The Years

They ask if we can go out to lunch.

I am not ready for that yet.

They come to the house.

These Teachers are not ones I have taught with.

They are the teachers of my children.

Relationships forged through years of conferences, class shows and a love of children.

They come today to spend some time with this grieving mom. 

One brings pictures.

They make my heart sing. 

The memories of time gone by

They share of their adventures post teaching.
It is good to spend time together.

A friend of Elijah's sends a note.
I am encouraged.
I drive by the telephone pole, it seems, endless times today.

The dull ache will not subside.
I drive to the grave.
The fog has descended again.

I try not to be anxious about this meeting with the Oncologist.

Philippians 4:6-7
Be anxious for nothing, but in everything by prayer and supplication, with thanksgiving, let your requests be made known to God; and the peace of God, which surpasses all understanding, will guard your hearts and minds through Christ Jesus.

But I really don't want to go down this road.
It's been 9 months since mom died.
8 years of protocols with toxic cocktails that somehow heal,
 CT scans and clinical trials, PET scans and MRI's.
Waiting, always, waiting.
 I haven't taken a breath from that yet.
 I still dream Dana Farber and Brigham and Woman's.
I long for my mom. . .I long for my son.
I miss who my dad was. . .
None of which I can have.
Now, my husband too?
And so once again,
I lay it all down.
I hand it over to the One who knows the future.
Who will never leave my side.
I am not strong.
I am not brave.
I can not do this. . . alone.

Hebrews 4:14-16
Therefore, since we have a great high priest who has ascended into heaven,
Jesus the Son of God,
 let us hold firmly to the faith we profess. For we do not have a high priest who is unable to empathize with our weaknesses, but we have one who has been tempted in every way, 
just as we are—yet he did not sin. 
 Let us then approach God’s throne of grace with confidence, 
so that we may receive mercy and find grace to help us in our time of need.

I walk again. Another neighbor joins us.
Somehow walking so far doesn't seem so hard when you're with friends
.Even though I am tired and weary, the journey doesn't seem so hard with  the support we have.
I come home from the walk and another saint has prepared dinner.
I will continue to look to the only source for our strength.
Would you pray for us at 1:30?
Honestly, you can pray for us all the time if you think of it.

Our hands are wide open.
If you can take this cup from us LORD. . .
yet, thy will be done.

Luke 22:42
Father, if you are willing,
 take this cup from me; yet not my will, but yours be done."

May you all see redemption rise;
 know that the struggle will end. . .
And that a song can rise from the ashes of a broken life. . .

The Beat of the Heart

Today is my parents Anniversary. It would have been their 47th. Last year we celebrated their 46th in the hospital at Brigham and Woman's. The doctors brought them a cake. . . honoring their years together as mom's life slipped slowly from her. . .I have said before, my parents relationship was  NOT perfect. They fought, said hurtful things, threatened to break that vow they had once cherished. Yet, they stuck it out. They persevered. And it became beautiful. This year mom celebrates in Heaven. . .that perfect Bride of Christ. . .

It was interesting to watch as dad's memory faded, the tenderness he brought to their relationship. When once mom had longed to get flowers or have him be more loving. . .He now was all those things. He would bring flowers, not remembering that he brought some a few days ago. As the realization that mom's cancer had progressed to the point that the ebb and flow of life would be silenced. . .he grew tender and attentive. She grew softer and peaceful. It was beautiful. It was also a gift. And on the day that the LORD called mom home, dad was right beside her. 

 I thought my heart was breaking when mom died in December. She was 69. She had a new grandchild. It was hard to lose her. But we praised God for her life and the blessing that she was able to see Tristan be born and then experience his baptism. Oh what a service that was! Mom standing up out of her wheel chair to give praise to the living God who was calling her home. . .moment by moment. 

I thought my heart was breaking in June when I picked up our sweet puppy from the hard packed road and watched him slip away in my arms. . . When I had to meet Clarissa in the driveway and let her know her precious white bundle had been snatched from this earth, too soon. 

And I then thought my heart might stop beating the night the visitors came to my door to tell me our son had not survived a car accident. . .so close to home . . .And those moments stilled the world for me. As the wee hours of the morning passed. . .I needed to  climb the stairs, walk past his room and tell his siblings that their brother now resided with the King of Kings. 

Each morning the sun rises. . .the milking needs to be done and the beat of the day presses the necessity forward. I am honored and blessed to have friends who have come along side me. . . and are just present in my home. They have folded laundry while I type out evaluations. They have washed dishes and watered plants while I do book work; they have played with my kids while I climb those stairs to lie on my sons bed and pour out my beating heart to the One who gives, and takes life. 

My heart will continue to beat until I am called home. Sometimes I think the beat will be unsteady as my aching heart longs for what it can not have. 

And as each sunrise comes, I will lift mine eyes to the hills from whence my help cometh. (Psalm 121) 

And I will give thanks and praise. 

I posted this song before. It is by a classmate of Elijah's. 

She is a gem, and a treasure. She has a gift and she gave it. 
And for that I am grateful. . . 

At Your Pace by Mikayla Keleman