Brave, Anyway

Tag: healing

  • Summer Summer Summer Time

    Summer Summer Summer Time

    I needed a little summer. Sleeping in later because no one has to be at school. Noses with freckles. BLTs with fresh tomatoes and dripping Miracle Whip.

    Except I hate the hot. I love all places with AC and fans and iced green tea. Middle aged women need the chill of fall evenings 24/7, every day of the year.

    Henry was so happy to have Ella home. While he loves anyone and everyone who will feed him, Ella is his favorite person. Also, a 19 pound cat is not an overweight cat – it’s a cat living his best life.

    Henry Fonda loves Ella Hope

    I loved the Olympics. The stories of resilience and sacrifice. I’m a softie old Mom now so I wanted every kid from every country to win. I cheered loudly at the TV when they did. I also shed a few tears when they didn’t. Nothing on The Hallmark Channel makes me cry. Everything about the Olympics makes me cry.

    The only thing funnier than Snoop Dog commentary at the Olympics is Snoop narrating Planet Earth videos.

    Audrey’s summer look was very similar to her winter look: side eye with a Starbucks pink drink in her hand. I threw out my strict rule about bikinis at 13 because I love watching her walk with confidence into the water park, completely uncaring of the scar on her abdomen.

    Pink Pink Pink Everything

    I think I finished filling an old but refinished toolbox for my family room – a box of tools that have helped me adapt, gave me guidance, or enabled me to fix things over the years. It has pieces from family near and far, from earth to heaven, that will always guide me with the hard work.

    The teddy bear has my Dad’s voice in it saying God Bless You while the locket was worn by my Mama when my Papa was fighting somewhere in Europe during WWII.

    It’s been over a year since the girls lost their Dad. They’d hoped to get the Dad gifts they’d given him over the years, maybe the disc golf disks they dyed with him, a couple of sweatshirts. Nope. Apparently some kinds of grief are so intense that it leads to redecorating instead of getting children a shirt that smells like their Dad.

    I stopped watching news. I still read news every day from a variety of sources to make sure there’s balance, but I will no longer click on stories about candidates for any office. This election is basically a repeat of the last one, and I’m not sure why we’re all behaving as if people are going to make different choices. Not filling my brain with “news” has done wonders for my hope and faith in humanity.

    VCU’s School of Nursing had 140 slots this year, and Ella was offered one. Watching your child find the thing that makes them happy, work toward that goal, and then achieve a huge step toward that goal is a whole new level of joy. At the same time, her anatomy final taught me never to seek her advice about any shoulder injuries.

    Ella got into the School of Nursing!

    This summer we saw anxiety then healing. Sadness then happiness. Chaos then rest. Faith then miracles. I shed no tears when I left Ella at VCU yesterday. In fact, my smile was so big. I walked away thanking God for who she’s becoming and for all of our progress and blessings. We all needed the healing of this summer and now we are stepping into the glory He promised.

  • Green

    Green

    The year of firsts is done.

    We’ve celebrated all the birthdays and holidays without our Dads and Grandpas. Sometimes we stared at empty seats. Sometimes we took fancy dishes to the couch so a meal seemed nothing like it did before, in a layout where no one was missing. Sometimes we spoke their names. Sometimes we didn’t. Sometimes we cried and sometimes we couldn’t.

    Grief is not just about physical separation, a loved one being in another location and not accessible to you. It’s also about what the people who are gone will miss in your life and what you will miss out on because of their absence. For little girls who always assume their Dad will walk them down the aisle one day, grief involves reimagining how big events might go. Grief is about accepting what is, and the loss of what might have been.

    Part of why grief is different for each of us is that we process loss and change differently, but also that whoever we’re grieving was a dozen different people. They may or may not have been different with different people, but it’s more that each of us sees others through our own lens – the lens of who we are. Every single person who knows us might describe us differently based on how they encountered us, how we treated them, what they needed from us, what we needed from them. Some people would tell you I cry easily, others would say I’m cold and stay focused. They are both right. One person’s “what a great gal” is another’s “she was a real b word.”

    Humans are complicated. Sometimes we hurt people, sometimes unintentionally and sometimes intentionally. Sometimes we love extravagantly. Sometimes we offer anger and sometimes we offer grace. We can all grieve the same person and yet grieve different people, because we grieve imperfect people.

    Acknowledging that your loved one wasn’t perfect does not mean you love them any less. It isn’t something we need to feel badly about – it shows that we love with grace.

    The easiest grieving, if there is such a thing, is by people of faith for other people of faith. We don’t miss them any less but we know with certainty where that person is, that they are happy, and that we will see them again. One of the toughest is a child for a parent. Children seemingly go through the same stages as adults, but the foundation and security adults have isn’t firmly established yet for young people.

    Grief will not end now that the firsts are behind us. Perhaps it will actually get tougher because its timing is not as predictable or because forever settles in. While it seems like we’ve reached a mile marker of some sort, I’m not sure it really means or feels like anything.

    What does feel right is that the end of the first year is also the end of winter, and the beginning of spring. One of the colors my Dad loved was green. In the springtime he’d say look at how green everything is! and point out that trees are the most green this time of year. Green is the color of life and rebirth. Of renewal and growth. It’s yellow and blue mixed, or the combination of warmth and hope with calm and strength and peace.

    Green is the color of forward.

    He makes me lie down in green pastures,
    he leads me beside still waters, He restores my soul. Psalm 23

  • Freedom With No Answers

    Freedom With No Answers

    Today is my Dad’s birthday, and in just two weeks the year of freedom will draw to a close.

    I’ve spent months trying to figure out why this was the year of freedom, taking notes when freedom thoughts hit me and assuming that by year’s end it would all come together and I would understand. And yet, still I do not understand.

    In fact, I’m just confused. And the coconut cream from one of his favorite boxes of chocolates offered me no clarity. The mailman also did not deliver.

    Every year until this one, I’ve been able to reflect on my word for the year and clearly see the areas of impact and why God planted that specific word in my heart. I didn’t have an epiphany this year, perhaps because this year has been pretty taxing or perhaps because I’m just not smart enough to see the overall message. Maybe both. Or maybe my notes were just bad.

    * The freedom that comes with procrastination is not nearly as precious as the freedom that comes with proper preparation and timing – the latter freedom comes with no anxiety.

    * Ella could not wait to be the age of 18. The age of freedom! It’s so funny how not free and still reliant we are on real adults at that age. Ella’s graduation into legal adulthood did bring about a new freedom for me that I unexpectedly really enjoy – stepping back, guiding only when asked, seeing what she can do and seeing what God is doing through her.

    * There is freedom in death, for those who died and for those still here. Freedom from the aging bodies and sickness we have in this world. Freedom from the expectations of others. Even when we miss people terribly, it’s okay to acknowledge that some things may be simpler when they are gone. It doesn’t mean you didn’t love them wholeheartedly; it means you’re able to be honest with yourself.

    * We all have the freedom to put things in God’s hands. When I do this, it’s almost always as a last resort when I’m exhausted. I need to start doing this much sooner so I can feel peace and freedom faster.

    * Paul wrote in Galatians that we must hold on to our freedom. The context is different but the message applies in all sorts of areas: it is our job to not let go of the freedom we have. Falling back into behaviors or thought patterns that aren’t good for us requires action on our part, not just a hope and a prayer.

    * When I was a youngster studying history, it seemed like freedom of speech was to ensure truth could always be spoken. The further I get into adulthood the more it seems to allow communications of anger and hatred to flourish.

    * The path to freedom is primarily paved with forgiveness. Of others and of ourselves.

    * Sometimes I put on my face creams in the wrong order. This does not mean I have too many creams or I am ridiculously old. It means I am tired. Or perhaps I am exercising my freedom to mix them all up to make a paste to see if they’ll work better as a group.

    * One person’s struggling partner is another’s ticket to financial freedom.

    * We can spend so much of our lives hoping to one day be free from things. Fear. Jobs that don’t fulfill us or that drain us. Old heart wounds. Sometimes when we’re struggling – many times, I think – it’s our job to free ourselves and we just don’t do it. And the thing that keeps us from freeing ourselves is laziness. It’s easier to complain, blame others or wait for magic than it is to take action, ruffle feathers, or make changes ourselves. The freedom in change is so worth the pain of the pruning.

    Yesterday on my way to pick up Ella for her Christmas break, I thought about how my Dad used to make the long drives to get me at Emory. Halfway to Richmond with my whole music library on shuffle, Untitled Hymn (Come to Jesus) by Chris Rice came up. Although the song was already a few years old by then, I first heard it not long after my Papa died. I have never made it though the whole song without crying and this year I’ve hit next within a second every time it comes up. But yesterday, for the first time in a very long time, I listened. I sang all the way through and I did not cry.

    I did imagine my Dad laughing as I sang the last part. Perhaps the path to freedom is in keeping perspective: I may not have answers today, but I’ll one day laugh on Glory’s side. And with my Dad again.

    Sometimes the way is lonely

    And steel and filled with pain

    So if your sky is dark and pours the rain, then

    Cry to Jesus

    Cry to Jesus

    Cry to Jesus and live!

    O, and when the love spills over

    And music fills the night

    And when you can’t contain your joy inside, then

    Dance for Jesus

    Dance for Jesus

    Dance for Jesus and live!

    And with your final heartbeat

    Kiss the world goodbye

    Then go in peace, and laugh on Glory’s side, and

    Fly to Jesus

    Fly to Jesus

    Fly to Jesus and live!

  • Words

    Words

    There are no words.

    I’ve sat down to write so many times in the last three months, but each time I get up and walk away because I simply have no words.

    It’s not disappointing. It’s not frustrating. It simply is.

    Each time I wonder what it says that I don’t even care that the words are all gone. And each time I smile as I’m reminded of a trip to the Hallmark store a few years ago. I needed a condolence card and the first one I picked up said only “There are no words.” I can have no words all on my own and for free – the whole point of Hallmark is they are supposed to have the words.

    I do still have words for Words With Friends. Name and profile picture removed to protect the one with the high streak of two.

    Things that I have always been passionate about do not matter right now. What’s happening in Israel and Gaza, elections, legislation, court decisions, health care. My current world is small, focused just on family as we navigate loss and change. My current job is big, getting us all through this season of loss and change.

    I am task after task after task. Trying to predict and prepare for what others will need, trying to appropriately respond as very different people grieve very differently, and often afraid to really think about what I think about it all because I cannot risk a dam breach right now.

    Sometimes I don’t even have words when I pray. So I simply sit and remind myself that in Romans, God says that when we don’t know what to pray the Spirit knows and He takes care of it. And then I hope that my cavalier attitude about not having words is not frustrating to God.

    The path forward is pretty clear most days. And I even wonder how that is, and if that’s okay, and what that really means or says about me. Am I able to move forward and get stuff done because I care(d) less than others? Am I just more experienced at compartmentalizing? Am I a biblical Martha who just always focuses too much on the tasks? Is a massive dam breach coming? Is it today? There is no end to what I can overthink.

    And yet, I know that everything is and will be okay. I was reminded of it this weekend when one of my favorite worship songs came up in the shuffle. Tauren Wells singing Echo always gives me a boost, but the words hit different (Taylor Swift!) this time. Your love is holding on and it won’t let go.

    When I don’t have words or peace or answers or prayers, I sometimes wonder if God is far away or busy or that I’ve done something really wrong or that I don’t have enough faith. None of those things is true. I may not be doing a good job of holding on to Him, but He’s still doing His part of holding on to me.

    Our household love language is constantly trading memes and reels.
  • Forward

    Forward

    If you remember anything about Robert Frost from your high school CliffsNotes, it’s likely some version of “the best way out is always through.” Maybe that’s true sometimes, but other times I think the way out may be to go back or even to be still. What I’ve come to believe is more true, particularly in navigating grief, is that the way through is forward.

    Forward.

    One step at a time. Left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot.

    The morning after my Dad died, I received a very clear message that the timing was on purpose. Tough days were ahead for my girls, and how I behaved would be what they looked to and what they remembered later. I needed to show them how to live and how to grieve – specifically how to do both at the same time.

    In the last 10 weeks, my girls have lost both their grandpas and their Dad. They’ve watched me cry and they’ve watched me laugh. They’ve watched me watch the same old episodes of Criminal Minds repeatedly, they’ve watched me do the crappy paperwork that comes with notifying companies that someone has passed away, and they’ve watched me excitedly buy all the shirts we even remotely liked at the VCU bookstore. They’ve watched me in funeral homes, shopping malls, church, the hospital, prom dress boutiques, long car rides late at night, and even doing my own yard work which they know I hate. They’ve watched me very purposely put time into projects where we could all see the progress and then the completion, and they’ve watched me take steps to plan things we can look forward to later in the summer and year. They have heard me pray for healing, peace, and knowledge of God’s presence in their lives and in the lives of people that I didn’t pray for for a very long time. And I am just not sure it was enough. Or that I showed them good balance in terms of moments of sadness and Easter basket hunting.

    I’ve been thinking a lot in the last few weeks about the word forward and how it relates to grief. What propels us forward, what stops us from moving forward, how best to move forward. Especially when life is unfair, or things are unfinished or unresolved. How will I help the girls move forward? What can I say? What can I do? How can I show them the way?

    I think maybe the key to forward is found in 3 other f words. (None of which is that f word.)

    Forgiveness. Forgive that they left, and believe they didn’t want to. Forgive yourself for relief they are not in pain anymore. Forgive them for old wounds you’ve been hanging on to. Forgive yourself for having mixed feelings about these people you grieve and love. Forgive that they weren’t perfect and forgive that you aren’t perfect.

    When at first I will not listen, God will send a message through Words With Friends. Because I am stubborn.

    Freedom. We must give each other and ourselves freedom to grieve anywhere, freedom to grieve differently, and freedom from any timeline. We must also acknowledge that someone’s death brings them and us freedom, and that’s not something to feel badly about. They are free of all the yuck that comes with living in this realm and we are free to live without them here. The people who really love us, our people, delight in seeing us thrive – whether they exist here on earth or in our great cloud of witnesses.

    Faith. Holding on to your faith can be especially hard in this time but is especially important in this time. People will say things like God needed another angel. They mean well, but they are just wrong. (And if I find out this happened, the fourth F is Fite and I will make it stop.) God does not make people sick and God does not need more angels. You know who God is. It is deeply ingrained in you. HE is deeply ingrained in you. He grieves with you. And He promises in Matthew that those who mourn are blessed and will be comforted. Whenever you question this, and you will, it’s remembering His faithfulness at other times in your lives and in other areas of your lives that will give you peace.

    He knew death here is not forever…He wept because knowing the end of the story doesn’t mean you can’t cry at the sad parts.

    I guess the simple truth – without steps and f words – is that the way forward is on a path of grace. Grace for ourselves, grace for those around us, grace for those who are gone.