My Word for 2024

In the quiet of the day today, I began thinking about the year's end and my word for 2024. This year has not been precisely what I thought it would be, with my word for this year being "Inspire." My primary reason for choosing this word was that after launching my Grief Recovery in-person groups, I wanted to inspire others to process loss through the Grief Recovery Method. I was able to host three groups in 2023 and help so many folks with their losses. It was a great blessing. Seeing some of the folks who've gone through my groups and the transformation I see in them has been amazing. That is inspiring for me. Yet, in the meanwhile, some other things transpired in my personal life that left me feeling a bit defeated. I'm never sure what the results of my word for the year will be, but I always intend to be the encourager. 

In July of this year, after a kidney biopsy, I was given a diagnosis of Fibrillary Glomerulonephritis https://rarediseases.org/rare-diseases/fibrillary-glomerulonephritis/

It's a long story, but this was after months of tests, which finally resulted in a biopsy in June and a diagnosis in July after confirmation from the Mayo Clinic. With this in mind and a little research, I've stumbled across my word for 2024. Since July, I've been working with my doctor and a few other clinicians to get to a place of stability with my health. For me, this is a good thing. This disease is progressive with no cure, so stability is good. I've had a lot of emotions I've carried for the last year, much of it just in the previous six months. Recently, I didn't realize how much I was carrying until I had a massage, which left me in tears and exhausted from some of what I was holding. Some of what I was holding is the weight of this disease. Some of what I'm holding is cumulative grief that feels heavier during the holidays. Some of what I carry is just life, which doesn't always feel good. Part of my training in Grief Recovery is to be present. Sit with what makes my heart sad and, in time, give it a voice. I'm still processing all of it. 

So, with that, my word for 2024 is stable-not likely to fall or give way, as a structure, support, foundation, etc.; firm; steady. Able or likely to continue or last; firmly established; enduring or permanent. I'm praying for my health to continue to be stable. I also hope to continue to lend my expertise and training to other grievers to help them process their losses in the new year. If it's time to process your loss, please reach out so we can chat. I have groups starting in January.

 https://www.griefrecoverymethod.com/grms/dawn-kincade

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!

Mosaic of Seasons

"Winter is an etching, spring a watercolor, summer an oil painting, and autumn a mosaic of them all." Stanley Horowitz

I love this quote as it is a lovely word picture of the seasons and the different art mediums. Fall brings cooler weather, leaves changing, shorter days, and the smell of rain in the air. On the other hand, spring brings the brightest flowers, warmer weather, longer days, and the scent of new beginnings. Fall brings an end to the cycle that will begin again when spring returns. It's part of the journey, and yet we so look forward to spring, at least I do. Fall brings changes and those feelings of loss and grief for me.

This Saturday will mark the last birthday I spent with Evan here on this planet five years ago. It's one of the many birthday memories I have of us as a family, and as I begin this new year, it's a longing to be together that never leaves me. The internet isn't always kind when we see all the family's celebrating birthdays, anniversaries, and other special events, and I am ALWAYS repeating the same photos and feelings. This time of year is hard. I woke up the other day, and this overwhelming sense of grief came over and had me crying into my pillow until the sunrise. The days between tears have gotten longer. Softer. But they're still very hard. Sad. Painful. I read this article about Grief Math and had often wondered if these calculations I do on the future anniversaries and such are just a quirky thing that I do, but I've come to realize that it's a thing. That helped me feel ok about what I do.

So Saturday, I begin my next trip around the sun, and with that, I've come out on the other side one-year cancer-free. YAY! I've recovered from radiation and C*vid, and I've learned who can be trusted and who will see me through when the going gets tough. That has been the most painful and most challenging lesson for me. Just as in the earlier parts of grief, you come to realize who can be in it for the long haul, and you find that most of the time, when you go to lean back, the community has left you, and just a few are left to hold your heart. You also learn that the people who dare to stand with you are the people that have similar wounds that you do. Those people understand, and if your space is filled with a few of these precious souls, you are luckier than most.

So I walk into this birthday, feeling slightly anxious about what the future holds but more resolute to follow my path and with the feelings of grief and loss still right on the surface, ready to wake me in the early morning hours to have me watch for the sunrise.

John and Alex, thanks for always talking me off the edge. You both always find a way to carry my heart even though you, too, are walking out your grief.

Looking in the Rearview Mirror

There has been a gloom that has settled over my soul that I can't seem to shake. As much as I try, this feeling is always just on the edge of my heart, and most days, I can keep it at bay. If you were to ask my husband or anyone close to me, they would say that it is evident in my attitude and responses. I've come to realize that this gloom is just grief. My anger, my silence, my anxious thoughts, and my discontent...is grief. So on this day, 8/30, it is officially National Grief Awareness Day. What a funny thing! Funny, not in a ha-ha kind of way but in a WTH type of way. For people who have suffered loss, grief is every day. It is a never-ending thought or feeling, and although we may not speak of it every day, it is EVER present.

Last year moving into this week, it had been a rough time, and I believe even then, although I felt anxious about the world, I thought I had lived through the worst of it and was rounding a corner. I started having some issues within my body during this time, which I attributed to the shutdown. My doctor disagreed and told me she wanted to see me. But everything took twice as much time cause of C*v#d. So after multiple appointments which spanned months apart when I got the call from my doctor on that Thursday last year that I had cancer, I went into the fight or flight and self-preservation mode. Only to get a call the following day that my mom had passed away. It put me in motion to walk through over a month of planning, talking, processing, and lastly, watching as things fell into place. It gave me great comfort from God as only He could have set the many doctors' appointments, bloodwork, scans, and other things that needed to be done before my surgery. The aggressive nature of the type of cancer I had, the surgery needed to happen sooner rather than later. So from 1st ultrasound to surgery was about six months.

As I shared in my blog last month, I'm not brave or strong; I'm just trying to survive. Literally and figurately. My grief and anxiety were multiplied by other factors as the passing of my mom brought with it loads of different unprocessed feelings. So this week brings back that unbridled mixture of emotions and anxiety from a year ago that my brain did not have a chance to process.

I recently started reading a book called Try Softer, and this book talks about the mantra of "Try Harder." For most, we've found that trying harder doesn't always bring the desired outcome we want. After trying harder, we still come up empty and anxiety-filled. So in the book, the author shares to try softer. Be gentle with yourself. Listen to your body because your body holds the pain, the anxiety, and the trauma. Talk to your body and let it help you find your way back to health and healing. I'm just beginning, but I desire to take on the banner of "Try Softer," and with that, I'm asking the Lord to help me get there.

https://www.amazon.com/Try-Softer-Approach-Mode-Connection/dp/1496439651

Silence

I’m hoping this is a jump start to a return to writing after nearly 7 months of silence. Silence may not be the best word maybe it’s better to say I’ve felt without the words and emotions to express where I am in this journey.

Sad

Indifferent

Brokenhearted

Crushed

Hopeless

Empty

Angry

Hurt

Anxious

These words are just a short list of my current feelings. These probably don't fully communicate all that I have bottled up, but these words are the ones that bubble to the surface. I wrestle with them. I stuff them. I try to put a sunny face on them, but in doing so, that leaves me just on the brink of a full-on crying spell. So I continue. Not fully expressing my thoughts/feelings and internalizing all of it. Sometimes in stuffing them, I lash out at the things that show me the most compassion, but like a container under pressure, the angst has to go somewhere, often to the people/spaces that gives me the most expansive room.

We live in a world that, for the most part, does not want to acknowledge any of the above emotions along with failure, remorse, being tired, depressed, or just unable to “do it”. "You're so strong" or "you're so brave" isn't something we are, but it's an expectation that we honestly don't want. We face each challenge and conflict with resistance and anxiety just like the rest; we just chose to move forward with fortitude because we must.

2020/21 has been emotionally fragile, resurrecting my already monumental grief, anxiety, hurt, and sorrow. I want to return to a gentler time when people loved each other when I could rely on those closest to me to see through the strength and nurture my soul. Trying to navigate my feelings and emotions and in that I’m praying for the Lord to bring a sense of calm and nearness that has been absent.

These trials will show that your faith is genuine. It is being tested as fire tests and purifies gold—though your faith is far more precious than mere gold. So when your faith remains strong through many trials, it will bring you much praise and glory and honor on the day when Jesus Christ is revealed to the whole world. 1 Peter 1:7 NLT

Happy 30th Birthday, Evan!

Change is my most inflexible friend. It reminds me every day that it is arriving, whether I want it to or not. It can sometimes come quietly, but lately, it has decided to use its outside voice to gain traction and to stifle my sense of balance. Some of what I've experienced over the last four years is a lot of change. Not just in the present but for the future. It has shifted my ability to pivot quickly to circumstances beyond my control and has caused me to pause. Grief has changed me, and at times it feels like it's not always for my good. November 26th marks a significant milestone for me, and it will come and go without the world even knowing as our world is plagued with lockdowns and canceled plans, it has become much more challenging to navigate. It has layered upon my grief of Evan multiple secondary losses and has tried to take from me what little joy I've been able to conjure up. This time of year is tough for those suffering the loss of a loved one, and you can multiply that by the loss of social connections, business closures, and fear. What remains is a deep sadness and an overwhelming lack of hope. If you know me, I'm a glass-half-full kind of gal, but if the goal in all of this is to strip us of hope, I'm sure for many, the plan has been met, and it wins. For me, I will always be grounded on the side of hope. Hope is walking me through the death of my child; it most certainly can get me through anything this world can throw at me.

Evan would have turned 30 years old on November 26th. Many of his birthdays were spent celebrating Thanksgiving, and as Evan got older, unfortunately, Thanksgiving would be spent serving the retail industry and its patrons. Turning 30 is an incredible milestone for most young adults. As this day has come closer, and as I've walked through several major life events in the last 90 days, I struggle with every ounce of courage to grab hold of hope. It's hard, and I'm trying to see the good in all the depth of sorrow I feel. I'm trying to remember the words Evan spoke to me in the last letter he wrote to me on Mother's Day 2016...He said, "That is one of my favorite parts about you: your ability to remain calm, collected, and positive even in the face of vulnerable circumstances." As Evan's friends also reach these milestones and others like this, such as getting married, having children, purchasing homes, and fully walking out their lives, I'm left on the sidelines with memories and days long gone and forgotten. People like me like to be fully present at every milestone, especially with those we care about. I’m having the most challenging time with the created normal imposed on my life. So I continue to live in yesterday's memories trying hard to be present today and always aware of what could have been. To speak these words is difficult and can appear harsh, but I'm speaking from grief and loss and this voice isn't for everyone; it's the reality of child loss.

So as we gather around our table to celebrate a day set aside for Thankfulness, my thankfulness is connected with the memories of spending 25 years, 11 months, and two weeks with Evan here on earth and the grief that you are not here with us for this birthday and for all of the other milestones in the future.

This reality is my greatest heartache!!

Grief, Coffee, and the missing of Community

The last month I’ve been busy writing stories for work. It is by far one of the things I enjoy most about the work that I do. Yesterday while working on content for my stories I came across some old photos from many years ago. Old photos have a way of bringing to the forefront those things that have been hovering just below the surface, and today, those feelings came rushing back. It’s hard to express with any understanding of how the pandemic has brought with it the pain of loss and grief but multiplied to the 10th power. I was sharing with a friend recently that one of the difficult things about grief is that nothing is ever the same. Now, of course, that can be said about many things really, and that’s not to diminish how others feel. But I can say that one of the things that I needed was routine after Evan died. I needed to have something that got me up every morning as sometimes sleep was fitful, and my heartbroken.

One of my routines is getting up and going to Peet’s every morning for coffee and to see the carousel. Sometimes I can catch a sunrise or chase the moon as it sets. But Peet’s is the place I could go and oftentimes think about Evan. When I went in for my coffee in the afternoons, he’d sometimes sneak up behind me and say, Hey Mom!. It’s a place I could always find Evan or Alex back in the day, and it is, without a doubt, a memory keeper. It has always been a place that lets me know I am home. For me, it is essential not only for coffee but for my emotional and mental health. In the first few weeks of SIP, I remember going in and being teary as I thought about how they stayed open and how for me, it was a lifeline. Peet’s never closed. When sleep was fleeting, and I was up at 5 am, I’d go and wait for them to open. The first few months of this shutdown were hard for so many reasons, but the fact that something stayed the same was comforting. I know it sounds silly as we are in the middle of a global crisis, but as many are learning, much about this SIP has to do with grief and loss. The pandemic made grief that much more intense, and it continues to feel that way.

Peet’s holds memories of past employees who have moved on to other jobs or cities. It’s a place where I’ve made friends, and it’s a place where community happened every day. It’s something I REALLY miss. I miss the community. I wonder about some of the older folks I met who came to Peet’s for connection. I miss seeing them, and in the missing, my heart longs for Evan and for days that are long gone and fading. Just to write that is heartwrenching. Grief is not always gentle. It can come at you like a freight train or like a gentle breeze, but I can tell you that it’s not made this SIP easy or manageable. Thanks, Peet’s, for providing for this grieving, heartbroken momma.

You are essential to me!

Empty Arms

Recently I started a birth and bereavement doula course, and I'm currently in the last two modules. The particular module I'm in now, we are talking about the emotional experiences of having a baby in the NICU. One of the exam questions is to choose from the list of 10 experiences one that could have a similar feeling if a child is born sleeping. So much about these emotional experiences are similar to the loss of my almost 26-year-old son. I've learned not to compare losses as when you do that; someone will always have something less or more of what you've experienced. Each loss is unique, as each person is unique. Give space for each loss and hold the heart and hand of that person so that they feel heard, understood, and valued. 

While reading through these experiences, I felt like I could identify with nearly all of them, and yet the question asked me to choose one. I decided on the word derealization, which for the parent of a NICU baby the emotional experience can be so overwhelming for them, that they find themselves in denial, forgetting, or suppressing important information that was spoken to them. Even if they appear to practice active listening, repeating things often can be helpful, along with keeping a journal of things mentioned and questions to ask. (reference from StillBirth Day)

This module, in particular, really has me thinking deeply about the painful process of birth, loss, and bereavement as it feels so very real. It had me thinking back to our days in the hospital and all the information that came our way that I heard but did not process. So much of my time in the hospital was spent with all the people: Evan's friends, Alex's friends, our friends, fielding Facebook messages so much of the processing of vital information was processed by John and Alex cause honestly, it was too much for me. The entire process of it was too much. It's hard to understand unless you’ve walked that long lonely hallway. I can never truly articulate to my husband or my son how much love I have for them. They showed me during that time, what unconditional love looks like as it was walked out during the darkest of days. It wasn't easy for them either. My husband never left Evan's room the entire time he was in the hospital. Alex always was caring for us. Both of them handled the most challenging parts of those days.

Life and death are fragile and fleeting. Whether we are talking about a baby born sleeping or a nearly 26-year-old son whose brain has stopped working but whose organs help save the lives of 5 people. Say your words — even the hard ones to those you love. Reach out to that momma who's arms are left empty because of her loss. Be a light in a world that so desperately needs it.

Don't Look Away...Come Closer

The clock begins today to move me towards the last month of my 5th decade. It seems a significant thing to think about as I count down the days to my birthday. The 5th decade has been filled with change. Although most of those changes have been eventful, the power of those changes have left me feeling overwhelmed and looking cautiously towards the future. A future that for now seems very vague and leaves me a little unnerved and pondering.

I began the 5th decade in full-time church ministry, I’ve seen the passing of a dear friend who I miss every day but with her passing it set me on a journey to discover my passion for photography and to start a new business of understanding the world through a camera lens, I started a job at a local university, to than experience the most significant loss of my life the death of my oldest child Evan. Within a few short months from Evan’s untimely death I watched as my dad succumb to lung cancer and after a few side roads have now started back into Faith-based non-profit work along with starting an online Birth and Bereavement Doula program. I sometimes think that my words can come across as melancholy, hopeless, aimless, and sad, probably for some, they sound depressed or repetitive. But that is the harsh reality…this is life. It may not be your life today, but it wasn’t mine either for most of my 5 decades. I sometimes wish that we talked about hard things. The things that hurt. The things that don’t make sense. Sometimes things seem abstract because the reality is this is life and when we observe it in the abstract the reality of that life can be overwhelming.

We seem to talk about Paul the disciple as the pillar of transformation and strength yet the reality for Paul was that he struggled and yet in that God did not remove the struggle. He gave Paul overwhelming Grace and more compensating strength as we see that Paul says that God’s power is made perfect in weakness. So, the reality is that in all the hard things God shows up. I’ve not lost Jesus, on the contrary, He is walking this path with me. He is the Hope that gets me through. I indeed desire for the thorn to be removed. The reality is that it seems to be hang around. For many, you will need to look away...it can be hard to watch. But my challenge for you is don’t look away…come closer. Look deeper. Jesus has overwhelming Grace and more strength for you as you come face to face with your thorn and possibly the thorns of others.

What I've Learned...

These are just a few of the things I’ve learned over the last two year since Evan’s death. The 2nd year has been one of the hardest as I’ve come out of the fog of the first year to find that time and people keep moving. Leaving me far behind and at times unable or wanting to catch up. I’ve learned that grief has no timeline for those who are grieving, but it does for those who aren’t. I’ve learned that everyone grieves differently and as much as you might want to be understood there will only be a few that can walk along the path with you. It takes a lot of work, patience, and love. It’s not for everyone, and most of it is yours to own. I’ve learned about myself through group and individual counseling that grief has a way of shaking up our lives and through the help of others taking the brokenness of our past gives us hope for the future. I’ve learned the incredible void that has been left in my life now that Evan is not physically here. I see that void in others as well, but that’s not my story to tell. I’ve learned that the 2nd year is by far harder than the first and the further away I get from my real/earthly time with Evan the space between the then and now becomes quieter. What’s not quiet are my thoughts…pictures and memories are never silent. They are the things that keep you in the present, and I desire to keep you present. I'm your mom, and you’re important to me so I will ALWAYS want to keep you present and I’m giving myself permission to do so. I’ve learned that the Lord in the midst of our yearning and longing gives us Hope and comfort. That He allows that space between Heaven and Earth to come together so that we can be comforted by not only those around us but also by those who we have released to His loving care. I’ve learned that who I was before Evan’s death has changed and that I will never be her again. Grief and loss don’t define me but they’ve changed me. That who I am now is different…and who I was will not return. That person I was is missed at times, but she no longer fits in the space that I now currently occupy.

Tonight we will come together to remember and to use the spoken word to do that. You now become a part of the great cloud of witnesses who contiues to cheer us on and remind us that you are not that far away.

Therefore, since we are surrounded by such a huge crowd of witnesses to the life of faith, let us strip off every weight that slows us down, especially the sin that so easily trips us up. And let us run with endurance the race God has set before us. Hebrews 12:1

Where have you been?!?!?!

It has been a while since I last blogged. I’m not sure why only that life has been a bit glum, and the words have disappeared. Perhaps the words came earlier in this journey because the desperateness I was feeling from the initial shock of Evan dying or maybe they just continued so that the Lord could guide me towards a path of healing. Perhaps I have no idea, and in my way, I want to find the answers. All I know is that my words had gone silent. 

So much can be said about this season. As a person trying to promote a business and also reaching out to those who are hurting I sometimes find myself in the unfortunate space of having envy. Now that can look like a lot of things when you break it down, but I mostly envy all that will not or all that is yet to be. Guess that’s why it’s called envy. There is no end to it and society is enslaved by it. We live in an age of being in people’s front room by merely scrolling through IG or FB and drenched in people’s opinion just by responding to a post or thread. The noise and chatter are overwhelming, and it leaves little room for pondering or true evaluation.

I think that what I need is understanding as the places that I land on and the threads I scroll through leave me empty, shattered and unloved. I want a connection with people, and I am connected, but many times it feels as though something is missing. Most of the time I feel the emptiness of Evan not being here. Not that he would be with me at every event or outing. It's just that I miss him. It probably doesn't help that my husband and son are on a backpacking adventure and are on week two of a 4-week journey.  

I sometimes think with all that is going on I've forgotten the sound of my voice. 

Recently I spent time in the mountains and found little time for reflections as the busyness kept me from thinking or pondering too deeply. It wasn't until I traveled back home and the hollow feeling of loss came over me and left me feeling overwhelmed and anxious…nauseous really. When I finally got home and uploaded the photos from my nature walk in Yosemite that I thought that somehow in the busyness the Lord brought comfort as is His way when it comes to my photography. Photography gives me space to feel the full impact of what is going on within my heart and mind for grief is a constant thing.  It doesn’t rest or take a break. Sometimes it's a quiet whisper other times a raging sea...It can go from a sweet memory to a full-on belly cry. But alas it is constant. 

Grief is hard. And as much as we try to avoid it, we can't. We are all grieving something or someone. So when I'm feeling consumed by it. Shunned by it. Avoided by it. I have to remember who I am and to whom I belong. That the Lord is near to the broken-hearted. That He holds my tears in a jar. That those that I love He sees and that He sees me. He comes close to me. He values me. He sees my worth, and my heart ache. It doesn't scare Him or frighten Him. He comes CLOSER! So much comfort.  

Glimpses of Me

For me, it seems that most days are not without some degree of sadness. I try hard to be who I was before Evan died and at times I think that person is still there. Grief has a way of changing who we once were. Oh, I see glimpses of her….some of those glimpses are good some of them not so much. All of the same hurts, insecurities, simple pleasures and wonders are present but all of them are now sifted through grief. I have watched people and places that have always been solid places for me begin to disappear before me. As I learn more about this journey none of this is unusual. It is actually very common. People scatter….places that held happy memories become a wound that is often times too large to bandage. The very things that you thought you knew are now vague memories or are completely forgotten. 

Not too long ago I was explaining to a dear friend through tears that there is something in me….it almost feels like I’m expectant…edgy…watching but with this restlessness in me I want to see progress…I want to push. She said that it sounded similar to that of a mother birthing a child. There you have it. That is exactly how I’m feeling. It’s hard for me to rest..to practice pausing…waiting…to lean in. I’ve been listening to a lot of worship music since Evan’s death. Some of my favorites are Elevation Worship. The words are so powerful. I read an article about their song “There is a Cloud” and the meaning of the song. Such a great article I've included the link here. http://www.newreleasetoday.com/article.php?article_id=2112

One of the many verses they talk about is Hebrews 11:1. "Faith is the confidence that what we hope for will actually happen; it gives us assurance about things we cannot see." I’ve included one of the verses of the song in this post. This is from Elevation Worship “There is a Cloud”.

Thanks, Christy for this lovely art piece. @christym.smith

On this Day....One year ago

Today November 9th, 2017 is the 365th day of not having you on the planet.  As I look back over the days leading up to this I'm amazed at how the Lord prepared me. Our community would spend days petitioning God for a miracle...to give you life but instead the miracle was that you would give life to others. That selfless act is so much a part of who you are and of the people that you associate with. I remember the hours and moments as they ticked away and we waited for them to come and take you to the operating room. They came to your room at 2:14am and I see so vividly all of us walking you to the door of the operating room and of us standing in a huddled clump, Dad, Alex and I.... with all of our friends watching us watching you. What I remember the most is the silence. Almost as if at that moment the world had forgotten it's voice. A silent cry. Not a sound was made. All I could hear were our tears. We asked Dr. Gaborko if he would go with you...as a prayer covering and a witness that you would be watched over. I can honestly say that knowing he was going in with you gave us peace.  Jeff's kindness to us was a selfless act and one we can never repay. The other thing I remember is looking back at all of the people who stayed till the end and seeing their faces. Such brokenness. So many tears. I shall not forget those moments...never ever. Letting you go was so, so hard. Even to write this brings great big tears.

Oh, how we miss you. The thing that is hardest is your voice. I can't hear it. Your ridiculous laughter is silent. Your words live on only to be read in a voice that is not yours. Most days we do what we have always done. We wake up, drink coffee, go to work, come home, eat, go to bed. Time has marched on and the seasons have changed and the world has not stopped. We have not stopped. I'm one year older, we still wonder about the holidays and what we will do, we still talk about life and truly most days I still feel your presence. Maybe it's the familiar things that make you seem close...my daily journeys to Peet's where I keep expecting you in the afternoon to come up behind me and say "Hey! Mom!"...maybe it's driving by Best Buy and thinking of all the time you spent there and the holidays you missed because of the craziness of the seasons...maybe it's the train at the Nut Tree that for years we spent EVERY WEEKEND during your train faze as a young child...maybe it's the sound of your friends at our house to commemorate a birthday or to just play a card game...or maybe it's what I see through my lens that brings me into close proximity to your presence...the more familiar the location the closer you are to me....I'm learning to look for the things that the Lord is showing me because that's where you are....with that said you're missed...every day by us. 

I know you would be proud of us for putting one foot in front of the other....for pressing forward. Looking back only to remember with fondness and a little bit of angst. Today we will celebrate you with the thing you loved most....A Poetry Slam! to honor you and to keep a bit of who you are alive in our hearts. To celebrate a life lived and loved well and one that gave the gift of life to others. 

Giving Comfort

The month of June has zipped by and I am finally able to stop and catch my breath. In the process of me catching my breath I have also found that the busyness has kept me from the full extent of my sadness. I've learned to navigate this part of my life as the spaces that I inhabit don't always allow me the opportunity to go there. I will hear a song, see a photo or just be reminiscing of moments I've experienced that bring me to the brick wall that is my grief. It stops me and as I'm shaking off the fact that I've run full force into it...it looks at me unshaken and with not a blemish that I have hit it and all the while I'm left beaten and battered trying desperately to get my balance and footing. Some times it is much more subtle...not as much of an assault but more sly...in the midst of great laughter and fun it sneaks in and crumbles me to a sentence I use often..."a bucket of tears". 

This month I've felt like I was being taking on a ride that I thought would be fun. It had all the makings of good times and loads of happy moments but for me, in this season I can't help but think of the missed moments I will not have. I know...bummer but this is my journey and it is at times very much a bummer. I miss seeing my son with a group of his friends as they celebrate a great accomplishment of one of their own. I reminisce about what his response would be....and think about just how happy he would be for this dear friend. I think often of those who miss him but are really not sure what to do or what to say and I wonder...What does a 20-something do with their grief? I think of some of the dearest people I know that as they look at me from across a room and wonder about this journey they are on with me as they can't fathom the depth of my sorrow but are walking with me. I think of the many near and far who reach out almost daily with texts, Facebook messages, hugs and love. 

As I sat in church today and listened to our pastor lead worship and preach from the psalms. The message from Psalm 142 as David is hiding out from those who would want to capture and destroy him. I was brought to tears thinking of not only my own heartache but that of my husband and son too. As I am weeping in church as his message and worship are striking a cord I receive this text from a dear friend of Evan's~"Hi my sweet Dawn. I am thinking of you now and missing Evan so much. Crying out to God (while literally crying haha) and I just take this moment to honor him and wanted to tell you he is on my heart so much and so are you. I know God is showing us something so big right now, I hope to grasp it soon so I won't be so sad. Love you so much". As I watched as my own pastor can't proceed with his message as he too thinks of the things that his sheep are going through and like any shepherd his heart is turned towards them. As I get a hug from a friend who knows me and knows my story her hug is so close I can hear the beat of her heart...to a sweet new friend who only knows me on social media but comes over and holds me...no word are necessary...as I weep. Then I think of the beautiful sunset last night among my sunflower fields that I believe are God's gift to me...cause those faces are just the best thing in all the world. I know that all of this and more are part of my journey. Part of the steps I walk in my healing. That the tears that I cry don't go unseen. That God because of His great love for us sends these, that are giving comfort, as only the God of the universe can do. 

Mother's Day for those who are bereaved.....

Today is International Bereaved Mother's Day https://goodmenproject.com/families/the-importance-of-international-bereaved-mothers-day-bbab/ 

As I think about Evan and the loss of him I can't help but think of all the other parents but especially Mom's who have lost a child. It is never easy..it continues to hurt...but we keep moving inch by inch..moment by moment. The immense love that we felt is only made harder but the immeasurable sadness we feel with our loss. 

Yesterday when I got home from work we had received a letter from the Donor Network. The folks who connect donor families to the people who have received their loved one's organs. In God's great mercy and because of His great love for us...this letter arrived this week. The great excitement that this recipient has experienced from receiving Evan's heart....that it has brought him back from the brink of death has made it is so very bittersweet for me. I'm so glad that he felt safe enough to contact us. That he has shared how his life has been immediately changed. How he is doing all that he can to live a health life and use the gift that he received to tell other to give the same gift. I can't help but be so overwhelmingly mournful of our great loss. 

With that said...We would not change the course that has taken place with Evan doing what was in his heart....and that was to be an organ donor. I'm proud of him and his very clear and direct decision to donate his organs. We continue to see God's hand in all of it and never once have thought this was not what Evan would have wanted. So as I close out this blog on this day that many are struggling to understand why and what can this all mean...let me encourage you. Hold your head up as well as you can...I know from experience it is not always easy...be present in the everyday...and if you can, think about giving the gift of life through being an organ donor. You could change the course of someones life. I know that it did for Lee.  https://www.donornetworkwest.org