Reflections of a Soccer Mom: More than a Game

As the North Carolina FC Youth Recreation season is drawing to a close, I'm thinking back on how my son Elijah has changed over the course of the season. He has really improved in his knowledge of the game and I see his recreation team improving on how they work together.  I am grateful for his coaches.  He has a thorough experience between his recreation team and his weekly workout with the Junior Development program.

Coaches have such a huge role in our kids' lives.  Not just anyone can do it.  You could have been a talent like Messi in your day; but it's more than about the game itself.  Working with small children especially I can only imagine the task of finding that balance needed to grow the kids in the game and the discipline it takes to improve and play soccer how it should be played while still making it fun.  We have been very fortunate to have Coach Ian. 

I make it no secret that one of the reasons I have my son playing soccer is to increase the male presence in his life.  It is not as easy as it seems as a widow to provide a male child with the positive male influence he needs as he grows up.  So this is more than a game.  Sports provides a lot of life lessons and as much as I do for my son, some things I just can't teach him.  I don't mind admitting the exact words I used had more effect when he heard them from Coach Ian or his JDP coach.

Coach Ian (and the assistants) have been great with the children.  He is patient and kind; but still requires a lot of them.  During spring break he could have stayed home and played with his sons; but he made his way to the park with them inviting the kids on the team who were in town.  I gave my son a choice and he said "Coach called practice I'm going."  Elijah has always loved the game; and he has always had a "motor" but I have seen his interior drive really mature under Coach Ian. 

He has played when he wasn't feeling great because he knew the team needed him.  He has stopped complaining (as much) when someone gets the best of him in a game and just starts talking about what he has to do better.  And it isn't me.  I have read it isn't good as a parent to initiate a critique after a game.  So I don't.  Adults don't want that after a hard day so why would an 8 year-old child?  A sure sign someone has had an impact is them being quoted when they're not around.  You pray that in your children's lives that impact is positive.  Thankfully when I hear "Coach Ian said..." I'm not worried about what's coming next. 

Thoughts at 8 Years: The Struggle is Real...ly Worth It

I saw a shirt recently that read "I survive on caffeine and chaos".  Life is normally a mix of chaos and calm.  When you have children, chaos tends to tip the scale.  My life is no different.  I have one teenager.  The female child is a complex one. Raising her is probably the hardest thing I have had to do.  We are alike in a lot of ways, some good, some not so good.  She has concerns I did not have as a teenager.

She has Dyslexia and ADHD.  She's smart and scattered as a good book I once read regarding teenagers and ADHD suggests.  She's creative and disorganized.  She stuffs brilliant work into the back of her binder past the due date.  Her art desk looks like a tornado hit it; but the pictures are beautiful.  It would drive her father up a wall if he were here.  But he's not.  And this year, for her, he has now been gone longer than he was here.

The relationship with her brother?  His love and loyalty for her I believe is limitless.  He can be upset with her; but he will try to protect her if he thinks I might be too harsh.  She doesn't quite realize how powerful she can be in his eyes; but she loves him immensely.  Every so often she will admit he is her best friend.  She has an artsy, quirky personality.  She's pulled her brother and me into her world.  We listen to her music when she isn't here.  My son is just as likely to ask Alexa to play "What About Us" by Pink as he is to ask Alexa for the PJ Masks theme song.

Music and Art provides a sanctuary for her in this world.  It's a struggle I know.  School isn't really set up for kids like her.  She wonders why she can't just take her English, Art, Math and Music classes.  She tolerates World History because the beauty of these other countries speaks to the artist in her.  She'd never take another Science class if she would get away with it.  One of my greatest challenges is somehow getting it across how important these annoying little assignments are.  I often think, "Oh the Places You'll Go," as Dr. Seuss said.  How do I get you to the right path?  I ask myself that question more than one time a day.

The right Art Classes, I'm ready.   Choir practice, okay.  Read that book, I'm on it.  A bit of volleyball on the side, that's cool.  She is also super competitive.  Assistive Technology so you can get that essay done...how does it work again?  Study for that Biology test.  It's mom again.  If I nod in agreement then lean back in the chair, put my headphones on and close my eyes, maybe she'll go away.  Her father did the same thing when he wanted me to be quiet.  I wonder if she fully understands how much I love her.  She may not until she is on this side.

I also have an 8 year-old.  The male child is my Science kid.  Daily I narrowly avoid injuring myself stepping on a Lego or stumbling over some new invention.   He creates entire battlefields in almost every room in the house.  It would drive his father up a wall if he were here.  But he's not.

When he locked in and building, he is also creating stories and adventures.  Writing that story down on paper...I might hear, I don't want to as he streaks out of the room like a track star.  He's also Dyslexic with ADHD.  He's a determined little boy.  Despite it all he has worked to become a strong reader.  He does time and a half with school because multiple days a week, he sits through lessons I have reconstructed to cater to him.  I have so much material I'm getting stuff in the mail offering me an educator discount on materials.  But I get the privilege of seeing him learn new things, grasp new things and experience that I knew you could if you were just given a chance feeling with him.

He has started down a path of athletics.  He is more serious about it than his sister.  He knows his father played multiple sports and he has successfully pulled me into that world.  Soccer is his love right now.  It's probably the one sport his father didn't play and that's fine.  He's having fun and it is a decent source of male bonding as he gets older.

It is tough to balance.  Sometimes I can't be everywhere.  Have I accepted it?  Yes, although I admit, grudgingly.    Twists and turns and even a change in jobs.  Two things have helped us a lot.  One was Ariana growing up enough to babysit.  The other was me finding a job in my field where I work from home.  I have had at least a 30 minute commute for almost 20 years.  Now that brought on a new one as I now put in close to 50 hours some weeks.  But even when I'm a starter on "Team No Sleep" I'm grateful for a lot of things.  Getting to soccer practice, swimming lessons and a host of other things wouldn't be possible.  It wasn't as easy as it sounds.  I had not left a job in 25 years.  Jobs had always left me.

I never pictured this life until we were in it.  I try to think of it as an adventure I'm privileged to be on; but I don't always succeed.  God often runs this train despite me.  It's hard.  Grief, feelings of abandonment, feeling cheated, like my children were cheated still happens.  I get tired, angry, and overwhelmed.  I have days where I will picture myself walking away from the next person that asks me for anything.  But it is an adventure and I am privileged to be a part of it.  So, eight years now, we have been on our own.  The struggle is real...really worth it.

Reflections of a Soccer Mom: Staying Back

My son started playing soccer when he was about five and a half. His school added an extracurricular activity called soccer fundamentals. It was open to Kindergarten through second grade. He fell in love with the sport. At now age 8, he still plays. He is in the lead on this. It isn't like school. He has to finish any camp, training or season he asks to do; but he can stop at the end of any season. I ask, "Are you having fun?" I ask, "Do you want to keep playing?" He has the occasional rough training; but he continues to love the game.

As he gets older, sports provides more than a fun way to use his boundless energy. He is learning sportsmanship, how to interact with other children his age and how to interact with other adults. And he is getting stronger. And I don't mean his little six pack. He once cried when someone knocked him down during a game and didn't stop to apologize. After all, he would stop if he accidentally knocked someone over. We just had a little talk. Manners are important son; but unless you are hurt, get up and keep going. If you are hurt, alert the coach and he or she will know if you need me. The game (nor life) will stop for you otherwise.

He is still having fun; but he wants to get better. He is still in the lead. We have switched programs based on his personal goals. But I have also sought out programs based on an experienced and yes, male presence in the coaching staff. I'm ever aware of my son's needs and one of them, a large one is to be able to look up to where he is trying to go and see a man pointing the way. His father is gone; but my son even though he doesn't remember having a father is no less in need of male guidance.

He is still very young so I am his source for just about everything. I point him towards Jesus, develop his faith. He considers Jesus his superhero; but the almighty isn't shooting himself down to put a physical hand on his shoulder. My son can't hear Him speak in a deep voice. That's a grief that won't end; but my son's need remain. So I told myself I would let him be coached. I'm dropping significant money on these training sessions, practices and club fees. Then there's, the clothes, cleats, and the time. I don't need to coach him too. The emails asking for volunteer coaches are hard to ignore; but when raising a child on your own, it is important to have a chance to step back and let someone else push him forward, pick him up, turn him around as I watch.

He continues to take falls. But he always hops up. But then yesterday, I had a chance to see if I could be about what I'd been saying. About half way through his Junior Development Program training with the local professional team, he took a fall I could see was different. I heard that faint muffled cry. Parents know this cry, the one I was likely the only one to hear due to the unique connection we share. I leaned forward but gripped my chair as he slowly brought himself to his knees. He looked my way but then he looked the other. I knew he was not going to run to me. He wasn't quite sure yet if he was okay; but, he was clearly going ahead.

His coach came to his side. I could hear him ask Elijah if he was alright. I could see him check him over; but I could also hear him encourage you in a way I could not. He had a mouth full of dirt. "Great job. Some of the best sometimes taste the field. Means you're going for it. Keep working hard." My son got up. He went ahead. The next water break came. He looked at me; but then he looked away. He finished his break. He didn't take one step towards me. He gave me a wave and went back to his coach. If he didn't move fast enough, I heard "Hustle up Elijah!" And he moved. When he wasn't ready to defend during the one on one drills, I heard, "Be ready Elijah!" And whether he got beat off the dribble, he was ready for his turn.

Did we talk about it afterwards? Of course we did. "Did you see me fall?" "I saw you son." "I cried for a little minute." "I know you did." "How did you know?" "I heard you." "How did you hear that? I was keeping it quiet?" "Your cry came right to me through the other noise." I knew he might not get that so I went right on past it. "You're okay right?" "Yeah mom. I'm good. I got up and kept playing." "Did you have fun?" "Yeah, it was fun." "I'm glad you had fun. And you worked hard." "I want to be great, mom." "I know you do son. That's one of the reasons why we're out here." While he doesn't yet fully understand some of the other reasons, he'll still benefit.

Rest Now, Superman. Saying Goodnight to My Spiritual Father

  Girls have this thing with their fathers.  They tend to see them a certain way.  My own natural father wasn't around as I grew up; but when he comes around, even as an adult, I somehow turned into a little girl needing to settle underneath his wing.

But at age 25, which wasn't exactly a highlight year for me, I laid in bed flipping the channels until I saw something I had never seen.  I wasn't one for watching ministers on television; but I stopped.  I could not look away from this guy.  He was walking but his feet didn't seem to touch the ground. Then he took off running, knees high in the air.  Oh and he had yet to stop talking.

The next week, I searched and found the program again.  And the next week I found it again.  He was still running.  He had his bible; but for the most part it was closed.  Didn't stop him from quoting multiple scriptures in that time.

On July 27, 1997, I got there for my first service.  Only July 27, 1997, I signed on as a member.  It wasn't long before I was that little girl, settled under the wings of (at that time) Pastor Frank Summerfield, later ordained as Bishop Frank Summerfield.

Over the years, he prayed, he walked, he talked, he taught, he loved.  He prayed, he walked, he talked, he taught, he loved.  He did what a father does...to all of us.  He corrected, he prayed, he walked, he talked, he taught, he loved.  He corrected, he prayed, he walked, he talked, he taught, he loved.  The greatest of these was love.

I was doing great, he loved.  I wasn't doing so great, he loved.  The moments I am sure he was frustrated, he pushed and he loved.  He said try harder.  If I did, he loved.  If I didn't, he loved more.

"Love like God.  Wait like God.  Forgive like God.  God's Love always forgives in advance."

Bishop Frank Summerfield 

There hadn't been anything like it for me from someone without a natural familial bond.  But I understood quickly this bond was different.  God had done this.  He was dad.  My hero.  He was Superman.  In every way he was a Super Man.  

In that time, he made sure we knew God was the source of it all.  He wanted us to see God and not him.  Still, God empowers some who still don't manage to correct, pray, walk, talk, teach and love in the way he did.  In all of the accomplishments was a humble character, a servant who just wanted the best for everyone.  Like a hero, he used what God gave him to come to the rescue.

At 37, I had to revert to a little girl when life got scary.  After a long illness, my husband died leaving me with a 6 year-old daughter, a 2 month old son and a big grieving family.  He corrected, he prayed, he walked, he talked, he loved.  He helped me bury his spiritual son and he helped me take the steps to go forward on my own.  He loved me.  He loved my children.  And when it got crazy, and it does, I could hear his voice.  

"How long should I say it?  Say it until you can see it.  How long should I confess it?  Confess it until you possess it.  Don't give up."

Bishop Frank Summerfield

At 44, I had to say goodnight to Bishop Frank Summerfield...dad...my hero.  He was Superman.  He was a Super Man.  Even as he walked slower, and the reality came to the front, his body wasn't invincible, his spirit, which was of God was faithful to love.

I will miss him.  I will miss his smile, his sure steps, his humor, and that goofy "Look what I've got, I'm so in love," look he had whenever he looked at Pastor Joe Nell.  But he left us so much.  

He corrected, he prayed, he walked, he talked, he taught, he loved.  He did it all with everything God gave him and now, God, in his infinite wisdom has taken him home.  It hurts.  I want to question, "why now?" but I would have never been ready.  I want to ask "why us?" But he taught us we were most definitely not above tragedy, just equipped to push through it.

All that's left is Rest now Bishop Frank Summerfield...dad...my hero.  Rest Now Superman.  I love you.  Thank you.

Six Years Later: I Remember Day One

 It's said you have a vivid memory of the most significant days in your life.  That every sight, sound and even the smells of the moment come back to you and it's like you are back in the moment.  It's true for me too.  The best days like the day each of my children were born and the nightmare I lived six years ago today when I got home with them and found my husband had died and life flipped upside down.  I went to bed last night keenly aware of the dates of this week.  I woke up this morning keenly aware of the date.  I have not forgotten anything about it.


I try not to relive it and as time has gone on I have done much better even though I won't forget.  I still don't know how I survived the evening that I now call: The invasion.  Death, after all the times we fought it off, it invaded.  And despite all we had been through, when 911 had to be called, it was the first time.  And the strangers invaded.  I recall answering the police's questions while nursing my son under a blanket.  Yes, that's right.  He was 2 months old.  The moment meant nothing to him when his dinner time came.  But the police had questions.  The firemen had questions.  The EMS people had questions. I still remember. 


I still remember the pain in people's voices when I made the dreaded phone calls.  I still remember the quiet tears from my baby girl and her words, "So now we don't have a father?"  A month shy of seven years old, her grasp of the moment struck me then.  Her sadness was only interrupted by her many many questions.  Now a month from being a teenager, her grief journey has changed over and over.  She has begun to discover herself.  It's a challenged life; but it ain't dull.  She has the answers to all of those questions she had back then and can express herself in ways now that she couldn't then.  She's a poet, a musician, a humorist, and a real work of art who can push every button I forgot I ever had.  I so want her belief in herself at a level nothing can bring it down.  I want that for her that much more because I didn't have it.  It's work.

But that little baby, the tiny little boy who kept me from losing my mind that day (and a lot of days since), he is not a baby anymore.  He's happy; but he's no longer happily unaware of things.  Seems like such a short time ago he came into the world.  But he is a little person.  He's funny, energetic, obsessed with cars, trains, and legos.  He loves soccer and football.  He has gone on to school and is participating in his first sport.

 Now, he is the one with the questions.  He's in Kindergarten and he has friends.  He loves school; but he knows his house isn't like that of his two best buddies.  He talks to me about how "N" and "C" have daddies at home and he doesn't.  It's like day one, only instead of Ariana, it's Elijah asking these questions.  "Is he going to stay gone, mom?"  "Is he still sick, mom."  "Is he going to come back mom?"  "Can he just come back and give me a hug, mom."  "Did he go far mom?"  I answer as best I can and I hold him when he buries his head because the answers are never what he wants.


But we continue.  No matter how many times Elijah takes me back to day one, we continue.  No matter society's ideas of the fatherless home, we continue.  The number of times I have to change myself to fit this role don't matter.  That I'm just doing what I should while a father can stroke a brush once across his daughter's head and glitter falls from the sky, that really doesn't matter.  Just makes me roll my eyes some days.  Yeah, I know.  How I have to work during the day, support learning and activities and manage to get in 30 volunteer hours at their school...doesn't matter either.  I made them and I'm the one left. 


So we continue.  And I learn.  I taught my son how to write his name and I taught him how to tuck a football.  I watch the Avengers and The Descendants.  I hold him when he cries.  I tackle him when he wants to play rough.   I'm a poet, a humorist, a soccer defender, a musician, a historian, a wrestler, a driver and the rest.  Still working on my spiral though.


It's life day one and still is nearly 2200 days later and life is for remembering, learning, moving, pushing, loving, changing.  It's for living. 

He's Been Faithful to See Us Through: Five Years of Life With the Five Percent

In some ways my children and I have grown up together since we have been "three".  As they have gone through their changes I have changed.  As they have been challenged, so have I.  I think they have taught me as much as I've taught them, definitely more than I expected to learn.  They have both tested my sanity and kept me sane.  Motherhood has been an adventure of  heartbreak and hurray, holding on and letting go, troubling times and celebrations, confidence and uncertainty.  God has seen us through it all.  He's been that force that kept me going in the absence of their father.  To let me know I could keep going when I felt like stopping.  I still struggle with the fact that I'm still one person.  I find myself trying to overcompensate for it even though the reality is I can't.  That's something I'm still learning to put in God's hands.  But, we have enjoyed a lot of triumphs over the years.  It's sometimes hard to believe they were so little once.

It wasn't long after Thomas' departure that I started facing important events without him.  Just weeks later we were at church to have Elijah dedicated to the Lord. 

But unlike Ariana's dedication, the children's Godparents stood with me during the ceremony.  That was the first of many.  Between the two children we've done eleven birthdays, seven "first day of school", two graduations, several recitals and performances, Ariana has entered middle school and Elijah will enter Kindergarten this fall.  But somehow we made it to where we are today.  It's been a ride.  Finding ways to use their gifts and energy has kept me on my toes, used a lot of time and highway miles.  It's all been worth it. 

Elijah started preschool.  And while he loved to learn, he wasn't real traditional either.  He wasn't much on his school work during the day; but the technology based learning he got into when he pirated my tablet was another matter.  Then the transition from the first year of preschool to the 2nd tested my faith.  He didn't understand moving to another class.  At one point he even stopped talking. 

 

His teachers had to meet him halfway in a lot of ways, engaging him talking about outer space, science, trains and football.  Those are things he continues to be obsessed with even now.  He could name all of the planets at age 3; but the eight basic colors not so much.  Knows it all now though and more.  Still not much on worksheets though.  But we made it.  Kindergarten, here we come.

 

 

During all of that though, both roads were rough.  The path to finding out Ariana was Dyslexic was one of the most challenging times of my life.  The time before we found out, was like I was treading water while she slowly drowned three feet away.  It was close to three years during which I dropped an insane amount of money I couldn't afford on the wrong kind of help.  It was close to three years I spent being told I wasn't doing enough to help her.  It was close to three years of homework time ending with tears or just giving up and going to bed.  It was close to three years of her hearing she just needed to try harder, occasionally from me.

The first clues probably showed up in Kindergarten.  The struggle intensified though in first grade.  In 2nd grade her teacher experimented by asking her the same test questions in a different order immediately after she graded a test.  Written test grade was an F.  But she answered all but one questions correctly when asked in conversation.  She knew the material.  I was more confused than ever.  We sometimes took trips to escape the everyday grind.  She was finally diagnosed in third grade.  For 4th grade I hired a Reading Specialist and a homework helper.  She had classrooms accommodations and adjusted tests and homework, the implementation of which her teacher was brilliant.  She flourished.  She even won the Science Fair.

The following year was a whole different challenge.  I dove deeper into the world of Special Education Law, various reading programs and therapies.  I ended up with a 2nd homework helper by the end.  I had to hand it to my daughter.  She pushed through at times when I wanted give in.  She worked on homework from the last bite of dinner until way past my bedtime without complaint.  Knowing about the Dyslexia gave us both more patience.  I can admit, a lot of the time she displayed more of it than I did.  My soldier finished.  The last year of Elementary school challenged us to the point though that a transition from private school became necessary.

At the start of middle school we found ourselves in a new place with some familiar features.  The new school still had documented expectations of character, uniforms, small classes, carpool and it was all in one building.  This might have been the toughest first day of school for me.  I think it was tougher than leaving her for Kindergarten.

 

It was a relief to have an active (IEP) Individualized Education Plan set up prior to school starting.  With placement in a special learning summer program, I saw our confidence return enough to pursue her dream of an education in music.  Prior to school starting, I placed her in her very first after school activity.  She just finished her first year in a local group of young singers.  They just happen to meet just 10 minutes from her new school.  They had a winter concert, a spring concert, and some other performances in between.

God's had His work cut out for him the last five years.  But even when I felt alone, in my mind, I knew He was still there.  It's just who He is whether we deserve it or not.  With every challenge, I still see His faithfulness to us.  In my times of anger, and moments of unbelief, He'd show me that one little thing so I'd feel His love.  When I look back on all of these moments and some others, there's always a twinge in my heart; but I'm grateful He's kept me in a place where I can experience joy in the small and large things. This tragedy nor the circumstances we faced afterwards had the power to steal that from me.  As we go on, I'll do my best to hang on to that because while I know we have more challenges ahead, I also know God doesn't change.  He's got nothing left to prove, never has; but He's been strong for me.  And I need Him.

 

 



Help, I Want to Trust You: Five Years of Life With the Five Percent

Of course I couldn't get it all in one blog post right? 

Losing a spouse does something to your world.  I had thought a few times what it might be like if Thomas didn't survive one of his episodes; but nothing prepared me for his departure.  Something blew up that day in March and a lot of damage was left.  But slowly and surely as I allowed Him, God put our earth back on its axis and we put a life together as a family.  I didn't always make it easy for Him; but He did it anyway.

This Didn't Mean God Had Left Us

Not as easy as it sounds when you spend years hoping for a miracle; but one thing was for sure.  I wasn't going to get through this without God.  I wasn't wired to do that.  He was a major part of my life before this happened.  I was dependent upon Him everyday.  So navigating life on my own at my lowest point wasn't an option.  Interesting thing is it was being at my lowest point that had me considering it.  Yes, I said it.  I thought of walking away. 

Things were just that dark.  I had to work hard to get past the "I can't believe you left me here with these babies" with Thomas and the "I believed and what did it get me?" mentality with God.  If I'm honest I still have trouble with that first one. 

I read a book by a woman who lost her husband when he was killed in the line of duty.  She said she looked up and asked, "God, are you even there?"  The struggle is real.  So was Thomas' struggle; but as long as he had breath, there was at least a small chance.  When he'd taken his last that was gone.  So what was left?

This is Elijah.  He's about a day old here.  And what very few people know is that this is a person I longed to have in my life for what seemed like forever.  For various reasons I had always wanted to give birth to two children.  This isn't something you can really discuss with people in a world where so many experience the difficulties of infertility and infant loss.  You come across as ungrateful expressing sadness over not having the number of children you want.  When I did choose I thought carefully to mention it, I was told to just be grateful for the one child I had.

But it was more than that.  No one was infertile.  This was another thing the illness stripped from us...from me.  It was insult to injury.  I wasn't going to have another baby because our marriage...well, it wasn't like many other ones.  So when I look at my souvenir from that one rare night on a rare vacation, it's like God returned something to me.  Even now five plus years later Elijah represents knowledge that God had not forgotten my desires.  It felt like He remembered me.  It felt like He remembered us.  See after Thomas' health got to a certain point, I didn't say I was done having children.  Someone I love had advised against that.  But I had stopped asking God for another child.  But there was still someone asking.

 





Everyday she asked.  Every single day that God mercifully gave us, she asked for a little brother.  She sometimes tells him he wouldn't be here without her.  So when I thought about picking up the pieces of my life and walking a different path, I held on sometimes by a thread to the fact that God remembered me...He remembered us.

Some days in our family it felt like Thomas was all that mattered and after he died, there were days it felt like God left with Thomas; but that's a possible side effect of grief as a Christian.  I knew that.  Eventually I settled on the knowledge that it was going to take God's presence to put the pieces back together. 

It doesn't mean I've done everything right.  Far from it.  I've had dumb days and done some dumb things.  I've gone one way with my little family and had to turn and go another and had that to admit to my daughter in the process of making the correction.  I've had days where I didn't handle the pressures the way I should have.  See, there was some distance between knowing God could and would heal my heart and actually handing Him the pieces so He could do the work.  After March 9, 2010, that took a level of trust I struggled with more often than I like to admit.

God Knew I Was Ticked Off

I talked about being mad in the last entry and I see and hear  and read about not having such emotions towards such a kind, perfect, loving being.  But God is also omnipotent.  As much as I tried especially in those early months to focus on Thomas being free from the suffering he endured, that feeling of abandonment persisted.  As much as I tried focusing on my children not having their father to even talk to was like a 50lb weight. 

So yeah, I dealt with anger.  The only reason it didn't conquer me was because I admitted it and went to Him with it.  But it took me over a year.  I cried for Thomas more often than people know.  But for too long, I was so caught up in how I wanted to handle this, in wanting my daughter to see God could make things alright, in wanting people to see God could make it alright, I didn't really give Him every piece of my broken heart.  I broke down under that pressure around month 18.  I had said, God I trust You.  He had nothing left to prove right?  But after tragedy, the honest thing for me was...Help me, I want to trust You.  It worked in the Bible right?  (Mark 9:24).  I say this a lot; but God is a big boy.  When I said, "God I'm mad," it seemed His response was "Now we are getting somewhere."

Life Out of the Boat: Five Years of Life With the Five Percent

Statistics state that five percent of America's children live with a widowed parent.  That is actually less than the percentage of children who live with neither biological parent.  So it's a small group.  I regularly communicate with men and women in my online widow support group, others who can emphasize with the ups and downs, the triumphs and complications of raising children solo.  In my three dimensional world, I very often feel as though I don't fit in. I've learned to live with it....mostly. 

Here I am five and a quarter years on the road since my husband's death and that is after years as his caregiver.  If I had to pick a few words to describe it?  It's life out of the boat.  That's what it feels like walking this path.  It's an adventure.  There haven't been any dull days.  The challenges have been significant and so have the triumphs.  I have felt pain I didn't know was possible.  I have felt pride I hoped for and love I knew I would.  We have gone through a lot of changes.  I mean now they are 12 and 5.  So I have a child a year from entering the teenage years and another who will start Kindergarten this fall.  At the start of this journey I had a little girl and an infant.

These folks are growing fast.  Everyone agrees on that.  For the most part I like our life.  The children are loved.  They have had nice things, they've been on vacations, they've had challenges facing new things.  They pray and believe in Jesus.  They've also questioned Him as to why their father isn't here.  Well, Ariana has questioned Him.  Elijah?  He questions me.  I can't fix that.  God walks us through and I'm grateful.  He's seen us through some rough periods and shown me the beauty of motherhood no matter what I was facing at the time.  He's been kind.  He's been my protector.  He's been the breath of life.  I love Him like a love song.

 

Now that all of that is established, here's what else I have to say about it.  I mean we're talking about a grief journey after all.  Let's be real. There's been many days, I really wanted to find that boat and my conversations with God sometimes showed it. But He could handle it.

 

God, I...I'm Tired...

 

I don't always remember to project that I'm so full of faith.  One day I see a meme that says "A Single Mother Who Believes in God Never Raises Her Children Alone," and I think to myself, "Amen!  He's Amazing!"  If I see it on a different day, my mind spins and after I say "Amen! He's Amazing! I love Him like a love song; but dang, I'm tired.  Dang, it was me changing every diaper, wiping every nose, wiping every other part that doesn't need to be named. God thanks by the way for stretching my check so I could get the diapers.  God I'm tired.  There's no more diapers.  The boy practically toilet trained himself once he decided he was okay with it (and yes, I waited) and I still get tired; but that's okay.

 

God, is This The Right Way or What...

 

There's this thing called "decision fatigue" and I'm here to tell you the struggle is real when that one person that's equally invested in the children is gone. In the past few years I have been on a journey, not just as a widowed parent, but also a parent of a child with a learning difference.  I've had to make a number of adjustments in how I parent and in how I manage education.  It meant going off of the path Thomas and I had decided on for the children.  We had decided on a private Christian School.  But it became necessary to change schools to get the IEP my daughter needed. 

 

I lost a lot of sleep deciding on a new school. Gone are the days you just send your child to the school closest to your house.  Choices range from the base public school to the local magnet around to any charter within driving distance and the two private schools with programs in place for children like Ariana that didn't cost more per month than my house. 

 

On the first day at her new school, she looked a lot like she did every other first day of school, freshly permed hair, a new backpack with supplies and a uniform.  She couldn't believe I managed to find a school with a tighter dress code than her old one.  I drove away still wondering, God is this the right way or what?  The waters calmed on that one around the 2nd IEP meeting.  It was around that time Ariana introduce me to several new friends. 

 

God, Another Loss...

 

Then I had to pick a new home.  I mean it makes sense going from two working people to one just after adding a second child was bound to cause some financial adjustments.  Add to it the fact that at times I just didn't have my head together to make the decision I should have and I really had little room for error. 

 

Our home became a weight I could not carry alone.  I made the most sense to find a new one that would be easier to care for and more affordable.  But after being in the same home for nearly 15 years making the transition was like a shock to my system.  And the question of whether I should stay and fight to keep it ran through my head all the way through the first two months after the move.   Some days I think of the other house and it just feels like another loss, one more thing taken from me. 

 

But I realized this move was God's way of giving me something.  See, when I walk around our new home, a cute little town house in the same area, there's no traumatic memories in any room.  It's not Thomas house, it's ours and in several ways, we brought him with us.  I realized I had fought a fight; but it wasn't necessarily a good one.

 

God, Help, I Want to Be Enough...

 

They are loved, they eat, they have experienced a lot of things already that some people never will.  I run around getting Ariana to choir rehearsals because she loves to sing and her new school doesn't have a choir yet.  Okay so some of it is my sheer determination that they won't feel inferior to children with two parents who either share a home or don't.  They don't have anyone to call daddy there when they wake up, to call on the phone, to write to who will write back, to talk to who will talk back without some supernatural visitation.  It hit me like a ton of bricks when I took this photo of them on Father's Day in 2012.

 

 

 

 

That's the time of year we get to hear it seems every other minute how important fathers are.  And they are; but it also comes with a message how children with one in their lives turn out so much better, have more confidence in themselves, make better grades, I mean you'd think the air must be better or something.  I took on the mentality that I wasn't going to cower under that notion.  I've raged against it this whole time.  No one was going to tell us we weren't a real family.  No one was going to suggest my children couldn't have every chance.  Okay it was part determination, and part anger.  It was like the world was trying to say I wasn't enough no matter how much I dedicated myself to my children like I didn't battle with that in my own mind oh all the time.   

 

God, I'm Mad...

 

Yeah I get angry.  He was sick and then he died and it was rough.  I lost my husband.  Four people lost a father.  A son was lost, a brother, an uncle, a mentor, a friend, a community leader, you get it.   I would like to be able to say that over the time since Thomas died, that I always keep it in the front of my mind God's grace that keeps us and His love that carries us and His faithfulness that strengthens us.  In truth I confess I ask His forgiveness because I don't.  I'd love to be able to say that I have never wallowed in grief or let the pain and fear take over at all because of the knowledge of God's hand on our lives. 

 

I can't do that.  I would love to say that I kept my eyes on Jesus every moment and because of that He kept us.  But I know there were many days He did that despite me because I was all in my feelings.  The heartbreak, feeling abandoned, cheated and deserted, the anger, the fatigue, it's all real.  I take time for breaks.  We like to have fun.  It releases stress.

 

God, Thank You for Not Leaving Me...

 

The thing about life out of the boat is I've felt His love for me in ways I never imagined.  His patience I can't even describe it.  I've seen that even when I take my eyes off the prize, Jesus never does.  If I turn my head because some life change brings that heartbreak, fear or anger to the surface, eventually I close my eyes and lean back looking for that feeling that He's still there.  When Peter lost focus and began to sink, Jesus extended His hand to save him (Matt 14:22-33).  

 

Yes, I feel the challenge of solo parenting.  School volunteer hours requirement anyone?  But Jesus has handled every emotion, every bout with depression, and every fit of anger.  He's seen me through battles with fatigue and irritation and the times I acted on shattered faith.  Had He not I would have drowned.    Grief tried to blind me to what is in front of me; but, His love continues to conquer it.  His strength is made perfect in my weakness (Col 2:10).  And my babies.  They're worth it all.

 

 

 

 

 



 



The LD/ADHD Journey is More than Emotionally Challenging: The Price of Help

We are at almost two years on our LD/ADHD journey and it continues to have its ups and downs and it probably always will. She has worked hard and so have the various people that work with her. Her 3rd grade teacher whom she adores helped her with Math weekly over the summer and she has gone to her twice weekly since school started. She actually does most of the math homework with her. She’s had a reading specialist she has seen weekly for 18 months too. But middle school is looming.

Though her accommodations have been minimal she has to work very hard and I really wish we were armed with more strategies. I’m at the point in the year where I begin again to look at summer programs and evaluate her progress. It’s a tough time of year. Why?

For heaven’s sake, these things are outrageous. One camp is $2500 for 3 weeks of a half-day camp. It costs $5,000 for 6 weeks-still a half day camp. Now when I went through my school search after the diagnosis I found some schools that provide specialized instruction and found them to be out of my reach financially and that is putting it mildly. There were three I looked at here and the cheapest was $18K per year.

I continue to evaluate the choice of school all of the time. At first I concluded I couldn’t do public school for a few reasons, the main one being she’d end up spending significant time in therapy just getting the tools to deal with the change. So she stayed at her same school, a small private school she’s always been in, and she continues to feel she will go out of her skull if I make a change, even if just for a year or two so we can learn from more experienced educators. I blame myself really for not having her experience more of a variety of things before now. Of course I’d always planned for her to continue there, and I still plan for her to graduate from there, but I didn’t plan on ADHD and Dyslexia. She doesn’t qualify for any free assistance being a parent-placed student and with paying for her additional help, I shell out over $800/month for her education. Then pay another $600/month for daycare. That daycare bill is cheap in comparison to most, but I get a “multi-child” discount because the daycare and school are under the same system. But after doing that through the school year, it is difficult to find money for a special summer program.

It is little wonder so many people parenting children with learning differences homeschool if they can. I read a blog of one lady who has four Dyslexic boys. It’s interesting because I imagine the summer program is like the one at my daughter’s school and mainly aimed at the parents already using the school. These people are paying (unless they are receiving help) a hefty amount already. But then maybe after spending the entire year in the school, they go to a regular summer camp.

It was just very discouraging looking at these numbers, but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised. I researched the programs they use in the summer camps and during the school year and the cost of training and getting educators certified in these programs is anywhere from $1,000 to $3,000 per person. Then there is the cost of materials, periodic testing, the time put in to make each child's individual plan, etc. They have to push that cost off on the consumer. Still, $5,000 for a half day camp?!?!?!?

My eyes will likely again turn towards Chesterbrook Academy. They were the only ones who have a program embedded in a regular school. I toured the school last year and spoke to the teacher my daughter would have had. Honestly, if I could have afforded the tuition, I would have put my daughter in that school and my son in the preschool down the street from it. I was impressed enough to rearrange everything despite how far out of our way, the campus is located. It is half-day like the others, but a 3-week session at least last summer was about $750, which is paid up front in full at the time of registration. Then the child can spend the rest of each day in the school’s regular summer camp at a discounted price, which last year was $112/week. Oh, and I would have to provide lunch each day. I will have to wait to see what the 2014 price will be, but it did stay the same the last two years. I believe this is the last year I can send her.

This has certainly been an emotional and financial challenge and one of my main challenges is to keep this from defining her, from defining us. I don't want everything to revolve around this, but the way these programs charge you would think that is exactly what is supposed to happen to people.

Mommy is a bit tired.

The Unamed Father, I feel you man! Lord, I Believe, Help Thou Mine Unbelief

Sometimes this road is bumpy.  I am often reminded of a passage in Mark 9 where the guy I call the "unamed father" brought his sick child to Jesus in hopes of him being healed.  Lord I believe; help thou mine unbelief.  Blatant honesty there and I feel the dude.  On the real I do.  It has been hard for me to navigate with the shaken faith. I have trusted God for provision and I have trusted His patience. What I have doubted even though I try not to is the idea that I am as important as say Thomas was or as important as my children are. It is hard to admit, but sometimes I feel like I'm just here to take care of people.


Don't get me wrong. I'm glad I could be there for Thomas.  He was my heart.  He outlived his prognosis by over 3 years. And I like to think God allowed me to help that happen.  I also adore my babies and I love being their mother.


I loved Thomas, but I never got to really feel important to him or like I was first after God with him because of his illness. Our lives revolved around his condition. When he died I had a 6 year-old and a 2 month old so it was about them. Nearly 4 years later I have a 3 year-old and a 10 year-old. It is still all about them. My 10 year-old daughter is dealing with Dyslexia and ADHD Predominantly Inattentive and every night it literally school work from the last bite of dinner to past bed time while I try to make time for the 3 year-old and his ever developing brain and personality.  What a worker that child is though.  Once motivated, she puts in the work.  Motivation is a challenge and the same method might not work on consecutive days.  But you could say that about any child.  Somehow, she's developed an internal expectation of herself beyond what is generally expected of a child with Dyslexia and ADHD-PI. But then I haven't shared those typical expectations with her.  She is expected to work at the level at which she is capable.  I spend hours and hours finding ways to increase that level for her.




And I find myself thinking…where am I in all of this? In the midst of 2 jobs, education plans for 2 children, a 20 year-old house with a mortgage that needs work, vehicle maintenance and everything involved in taking care of and truly parenting 2 children, where am I? I want to lean on God, but I can’t seem to permanently and completely escape the feeling I have to make everything happen. Thomas depended on me to run the home when he was here and I remember being very afraid of making mistakes.  I still made them. Usually unless it was a huge screw-up, I could fix whatever happened before he even knew because I thought he couldn’t handle the stress of anything going wrong. There were also times I cried from the stress and he didn't know why.  The medication he was on would not have allowed him to comprehend the situation.  Other times, I figured he had all he could handle going to work (even though he’d been told long ago to stop) and going to church.


Every day was like a battle for survival and as weird as it sounds knowing how unlimited God is, it’s like I somehow thought, we’re using up our share keeping Thomas alive and I can’t ask any more of God. Then afterwards with everything that happened, I converted from that to thinking we’re using up our share with me staying employed in this economy and being able to keep the children on the track on which they started and them being happy and healthy. It’s like provision is all I expect.  For everything else, I literally bust my behind day in and day out.  Nothing wrong with that I guess, except for the fact that I know that sometimes I'm doing it because that's the only way the life I want will happen.




I know in my head I can hand God my shattered heart for mending and I know only He can mend it, but I get half-way in and step back. I’m on guard so the healing process I believe has slowed for me. I spent so much time on guard as a spousal caregiver and now as a solo parent, it is troublesome to think of completely letting my guard down even with Him. Lately when I am brave enough to talk to God about me and listen I hear “true love”. It’s not just what He’s offering. It’s what He’s been giving the entire time. Only that could have stuck with me not just the now nearly 4 years Thomas has been gone, but during the time of caregiving.



I made rash decisions then. I sometimes had a crappy attitude about having to give up so much. I was angry about losing our dreams and sometimes I felt cheated having to be married without certain privileges, others enjoyed. But true love came through in the fresh air, in the love from my (then) little girl, in a rare moment we could laugh together Thomas and I without thought of his condition and in being able to watch him interact with his children, especially the times my stepchildren came to visit. And I was given one dream back when I had my son. His conception was nothing short of miraculous.


God has shown me true love and patience beyond what I have shown. I know it. I’ve even expressed appreciation for it. I just don’t think I have fully embraced it. And I think that’s resulted in some regretful decisions. Some was “I’m going to do what I want right now because I’ve been cheated out of so much already.” Some of it was just not looking far enough down the road to see the full result. Some was thinking I have to make life happen because no one else will.



But I’m smart enough to know that as alone as I have felt, God has been there or I’d likely be somewhere in pajamas looking at the soft walls. Still trust is an issue. It’s like when employers have teams do that trust exercise where you fall back into someone’s arms because if they really trust each other things will work better. Life is decent, fun even with multiple difficulties and challenges, but I think one of my issues lies in wondering how much better it could be if I let myself fall backwards to Him. Am I keeping myself and my children from better? A new love even? God’s never let us down. Not really. And I hear that still small voice: “Trust Me, I’m not out to crush you.” Still with everything that has happened, I haven’t yet been able to completely and permanently shake that nagging feeling that I can’t ask any more of Him and if I lean back I’ll get hurt.



My hope is in His patience and understanding. We can all place hope in that. God loves us.  He loves me and even more than that, He is well aware of how difficult all of this has been.  I'm aware that I can keep going with apprehension as long as I keep going.  Afterall, it worked for that guy.

A New Stage: Frustration (A Summer Journal Entry)

My daughter was just shy of 7 years-old when her father died and I'm not quite sure how she felt. I knew she was going to miss him but mostly what she talked about was what was going to happen to him once we buried him.


Eventually when she was about 9, she got to "It isn't fair."

She's 10 now and we are over 3 years out. Thomas is off the pedestal and that has brought out a lot more in her. She's looking for reasons and for this to make sense. Lately, she wants to know not just why this happened to him, but why it happened to her. "How did I get here? And I'm not talking about you and daddy having sex, mom." "How did I (emphasis on I) get here into this (emphasis on this) life?"

Now we are a Christian family so the answers in this house center around faith when it's warranted. As the conversation went on she confided that she's (like a lot of us) having a tough time with her faith and she eventually told me it had to do with daddy. She described it as "frustration" and wanted to know how to deal with it.

First I admitted mine. I told her it hasn't been easy to hold on with all that happened, how daddy was so sick, then his death, the problems with the money, not being able to spare her the pain, all that. I admitted I have times of frustration, but I've tried to because of all of the positive things I can attribute to praying, believing, etc. and we talked about those.

I told her I know it must be hard because we miss daddy, but whatever you feel about what happened whether it is sadness, frustration, anger, it's okay. You won't hurt God's feelings. He can handle it. That's why I've stuck with Him. I feel like He's handled all my anger and still loved me and helped me. He's felt sadness and anger and everything else and He'll still love you even if you have to tell him you are frustrated with Him. And I told her that just like God, I could handle her telling me whatever she was feeling about God and about daddy.

Then the flood gate opened. She hadn't broken down like that in quite a while. It was what we would probably call a cleansing cry. I've accepted I can't protect her from the pain and that's been hard. Guiding her through it sure isn't in any way easy, but I feel grateful she isn't closing up. She said she felt much better and we've started some reading as she asked for a book to help her with praying and her behavior. She's Dyslexic so she very rarely asks for anything to read, so it was pretty big, but we plan to read together. I got her a child version of a prayer book I have.

So, it was one of those times my part time job got no attention.  I write and transcribe at home part time. Quite a few nights became snuggle on the couch for a movie nights. Weekends were for field trips: one to a farm about 40 minutes away. Other activities for the summer: museums, nature walks, aquariums, and once the weather cooled, the zoo. Those were way more effective for her than worksheets and books alone. Helps my son use up quite a bit of energy too.

I look at him sometimes and wonder when we'll hit these stages with him.  Having him meant starting over in a lot of ways.  As he grows, I wonder if I'll be starting this journey over in a lot of ways as well.  We'll see.

Sometimes...I Do Feel Overwhelmed (A Summer Journal Entry)

And summer is one of those times.  When August hits, it is not only the most expensive month, but now it is the month when my stomach starts churning thinking of the upcoming school year.  I could really use someone with whom I could shoulder all of this. When Thomas was here he was sick and I had to be the strong one, the foundation, the one to handle everything.

I was the main parent, the money manager, appointment scheduler, housekeeper, everything. He was sick so long, I hardly remember what it was like to really be able to rely on him like most women I know rely on their husbands, but I tried to be grateful he was here to talk to, but when I really really needed someone to talk to, about my fears, my hopes, my angst, I didn't feel I could add on to what he was already dealing with because of his health issues.

I'd gotten decent at the super woman thing, but it did wear thin before he died and he was upset at having to take more on for himself even though it was minimal. He felt all he should have to do was work, but really I was trying to get him to go out on disability because I thought he'd live longer and we'd be able to be more of a family. No go.

Isolation was the key word.

Now here I am with the children, working to get 504 Plan requests together and whatever else Ariana needs for the upcoming year. ADHD predominantly inattentive seems to be a foreign concept. Oh she doesn't have that, she isn't hyper. So on top of it all, I'm feeling misunderstood about a subject I'm still working to understand. I have read probably 6 books on ADHD since she was diagnosed and just as many about Dyslexia. I finally found a book solely on ADHD PI and I wish I could pass it out to about a dozen people. What an eye opener. I had just finished it but it has changed my life.

Then trying to get people to understand that Dyslexia is not just about falling behind in reading...ugh! She's my daughter and I love her with every fiber and I'll protect her, advocate for her, and do whatever I have to in order to avoid her going backwards. The amount of progress she made over the past year with what little I understood it being the first year after diagnosis was remarkable.

Her school is small and now I'm getting hit with concerns with singling her out. It's really too late for that concern. It is what it is. She is fine with it. She actually tells people about Dyslexia now. She does well with the 504 accommodations and I'm not giving them up for anything. I am working my behind off with her at home to nurture the way she learns best and she is actually looking forward to going back in a couple of weeks. If anyone else has a problem with it I doubt they mind enough to switch and have their child have Dyslexia instead.

Then there's my baby.  I changed the night time routine so that it is more interactive with my son to get him talking more and using his motor skills more and following directions. The speech lady that came to see him felt he was a bit behind. He is already starting to use more phrases and words. She said something to me about him repeating his instructions and had a name for it. Who knew that was something bad. Geez!

And at night when they are in bed, it is just me with all of my research up way too late at night...and no one's shoulder to lean on when I do lay down.  It's just heavy sometimes. I'm generally not too bad about doing this alone. I was practically alone when Thomas was here and if I have to tell the truth, he might actually be with the crowd on this one as far as Ariana is concerned.

But others though they may be difficult to bring around, do care.  I'm going to use that to my advantage.

But You Don't Go That Way! Toilet Training: A Battle of Wills

It's amazing what we celebrate. We have had our ups and downs with toilet training, but with no man in the house, I found myself in a power struggle with my son in the quest to get him to take his rightful place in front of the bowl. My niece gave me some suggestions on what worked with my nephew. My son stood firm in his position. He even claimed he had to poo poo to get his way, but what that did was let me know he understood what I meant when I said "boys stand to pee pee and sit to poo poo".
The man in his life, his Godfather gave him a pep talk and offered to take this on for me, but told me I could not give in when he asked to sit. This was a test. I had been able to demonstrate to my son anything I wanted him to do until this. He really had to trust me telling him this was what he was supposed to do. And it didn't look good. He didn't have the words to say it, but I was sure from the look on his face that he thought I was off my rocker. Every parent knows that look when they see it.

I started to wonder if I was just trying to get him to do this too early, but while he understood he shouldn't wet himself he would because he tended to want to avoid sitting on toilets away from home unless he had to poop. I couldn't take his pull-ups away at school until he went to to the toilet consistently. So the urgency of this is that it was actually holding up potty training. He was wearing undies with me and pull-ups at school.


Finally one night we found ourselves in another battle of wills. I again offered him a sticker if he went. I had some left over from his birthday party. He told me he was tired of standing there and I said, "Me too. Go pee pee so we can get out of here." We had talked, I had given him a bath (hoping the warm water would loosen him up), taken a break and gone back, but he still stood there. Every other time I had given in and let him sit. I promised him it was okay to let the pee pee out.


Finally the tiny little stream appeared. The boy hit the toilet better on his first try than...well, better than I expected. Maybe all those times standing there thinking about it were worth it. I held my excitement in check until I was sure he was done. Then we celebrated. He was so happy. And as promised, he got to pick out a sticker. He decided to put it on the side of his train table.
Eventually there was a string of stickers on the side of that train table. He began to notice how the toilet water changed color when he went and it became a game to spread that slight yellow tint around to practice his aim. It is amazing what we celebrate. Soon enough, it was "Mom, I got to go potty!" And the answer to my question, "Do you need help?" was "No". Now, he's earned time in his big boy pants at school. He's grown from my baby to my little boy. So I'm sure we've only seen the first of many times he'll think I've lost it.

We Plowed Through Monster Month to Victory

February into March 2013.  I've called February Monster Month, something I needed to attack so it wouldn't attack me.  With Valentine's Day, my wedding anniversary and it being so close to the anniversary of his passing, it had been rough on me.

Here was our last month.
I work full time
My daughter has tutoring during the week, which she loves.
She has 1 hour with a math tutor each Monday and Thursday 4-5pm
She has 1 hour with a reading specialist each Tuesday 4:30-5:30pm
Regular homework
Regular test schedule
School, church, work, preschool, housework, fractions, diagramming sentences, learning letters and teaching Elijah to recognize his name in print.
In February:
3 Black History presentations: Each one required researching a chosen person in Black History, preparing a 3-5 minute oral presentation and giving it in front of the class dressed as the person with props. Due dates were 2/8, 2/19, and 2/28

Science Fair Project: Due 3/7. There was a mix-up where I ended up thinking it was due March 4th. I actually didn’t know what happened until we walked in and my daughter tried to hand in her project. Two other children also brought theirs in. Her teacher was very apologetic and she’s a great teacher and as the day went on, I was glad for it. Just homework to focus on the rest of the week.

Needless to say these projects bring some challenges regardless, but completing these along with everything else with a child with learning challenges I have to take certain paths I might not normally take and it does increase the time involved. I’m still learning about dealing with it too, but things have been much better now that we know. That doesn’t even take into consideration having a preschooler in the house who needs my time as there is no one else in the house to give him any.

Her project was on magnets.  The background research took well over a week.  It was reading and writing and learning, all things that give Ariana the biggest challenges.  And this was after the monumental task of finding an experiment online that was written up in language a child could understand.  Sometimes I think the people that put these projects online expect the parents to be the ones doing them.  You'd think a Science website for children would be written for a child. 

Putting the project together took all weekend prior to March 4th  including Sunday morning when I was suffering from a migraine. Ariana had a hypothesis (questions), she made her guess as to what would happen when we did the experiment, and we did the experiment. She enjoyed parts of it and others were a battle. She enjoyed shopping at the science store for the materials, doing the experiment and recording the data, even chasing Elijah down when he would steal magnets off the table. Doing the calculations to get to the conclusions and getting the data ready to present, not so much, except for the part where she had to make bar graphs. We had a large tri-fold to present the Hypothesis, procedure, data and conclusions, then a log book that included the information she gathered on magnets, the experiment procedure in pictures, her calculations, and her data in little charts she made on index cards.

We were both exhausted. She actually fell asleep before decorating the cover of her log book, so I drew a magnet on it for her. Oh, and for good measure, Elijah started puking after he woke up from his nap that Sunday afternoon. A stomach bug was going around his school. Somehow it got done. But we learn a lot about time management when we have projects and this time was no different. We always talk about what we can both do better next time.

But along the way, there was also incidents where I fell short in the eyes of others where I think about what others expect of me and I just think, we still just get most things done. It is not usually smooth and rarely without incident, tears even. But there you have it. It drives the point home that there’s no one to be me, but me.

Even when I lack patience with my children, I know there likely isn’t anyone better for them. The multitasking, the sacrifice, it’s on me. If our lives will get easier and run any more smoothly it’s on me and God. That’s why they got their leap pads instead of me getting that new phone I wanted. I figured I’d reward Ariana for her hard work in February and Elijah for his patience even though he doesn’t know what patience is, he exercises a lot of it. And I'd slip in an educational toy that would also serve to quiet them at times. Elijah has a strong desire to learn and I can't always sit down with him. These toys tend to help Ariana learn a bit too, but I've read that games are good for people with Dyslexia. She's managed a 3.0 the last two quarters and I appreciate it.  So my motives were mixed. They came off ebay and they’re the Leap pad 1 and not the most recent 2, but that was the only way to get 2 of them. When they got them it didn’t look like it mattered. Now I don’t have a tablet of any kind and my phone is an antequated Blackberry Curve, but that's okay.

But thanks be to God, we plowed through to victory.  She got good grades on all of her History presentations though she struggled with the 3rd one.  And all I was after as far as the Science project was for Ariana to learn something and get a good grade.  To my surprise, the girl's project won first place.  I started off February calling it monster month, but my little family attacked it, clawing back even though I am sure my children had no clue what it really meant to me. 

Eventually known to only myself between the three of us, March 9th came and went.  We were on a little road trip we take every year to see UNC Women's basketball team in a tournament but it usually falls on a different weekend.  I acknowleged in my heart and on facebook, the 3rd anniversary of the date my best friend stepped beyond my reach. 

In that three years, I have experienced a wide range of things.  I was not shielded any more after Thomas passed than I was during his illness.  I have experienced what some might call the ugliness of grief.  In that time, I have pushed God away and pulled Him close.  I have doubted His love.  I have turned my head.  I have pleaded for help and then wondered how He put up with me.  I have wondered if He was even there anymore.  That's real.  I've experienced unexplainable peace and unbearable fear and doubt.  The truth is I have had days of feeling empowered and days I wanted to hide, so that anyone who didn't have the experience to know God for themselves would not be confused by what this Christian was reduced to, but I've come to understand, that while it is a lot for people to handle,  it's okay with Him.  God's shoulders are infinitely broader than the entire human race combined.  He easily handled it all and loved me.

What is real and what people need to know is that despite the ugliness, God never left.  On the days I couldn't reach inside myself enough to find that place where everything is possible, He didn't think less of me.  What is also real is that I have expressed my anger and frustration and gratitude and admiration and I've seen the beauty of His patience.  I've seen how He's still been present at my lowest moments, even if it was in the smallest way.  He's been there for me even when I didn't believe, didn't trust, didn't want to listen, was overcome in the sadness and stress just as much as the days I was empowered, believed all, hoped all, long-suffered, had all patience, and counted it all joy.  He's there when I'm about to scream in the 3rd hour of homework with one child while the other is climbing up my leg and He's there when I've gotten everything done at home and I'm in the park playing with my children.  When my 3 year-old son told me he needed a daddy too and I was lost for words, to the point I shook my fist at Thomas, God was there. 

That's why I appreciate Him more than I can accurately say.  The love that sent Jesus to the cross...it's always there.

My (Grief) Monster Month

February 2013

February is my monster month.

Valentine's Day, Wedding Anniversary, the beginning of the end even though I didn't know it.

In February 2010 he went into the hospital with pneumonia. I had just had the baby.

Valentine's Day and our anniversary were 6 days apart 14th and 20th, so we usually did something on the 17th. That year he had a procedure, so we just exchanged cards.

On our actual anniversary he told me he was going to do better about listening to the doctors and our lives would be better. I don't know why, but that day now feels like the beginning of the end. I had no real reason to think he was going to die soon, but when he said what he said, I didn't believe him. I didn't know why.

17 days later on March 9th, he was dead. So the sadiversary approaches.

In 2011, February kicked my butt and I cried a lot. March my son was actually in the hospital, released on the sadiversary date and I was so exhausted I couldn't cry.

In 2012, I was just uneasy. I cleared his clothes out and changed a lot of the house. It exhausted me.

This year, I'm just mad. I'm mad he was that sick. I'm mad I'm alone. I'm mad about all that was stolen from us while he was even here. We were stripped of everything that pretty much makes a marriage a marriage for 3/4 of the time we were together. And yes, I'm mad at the possibility that I'll never be loved, know passion or even lay in someone's arms at night. After the first year, I never got that with Thomas because of his illness.

I am grateful for what we did have in the time we had it. I had the chance to have children. It's just this loneliness is intense. First two years it was all for him. Now, my heart just hurts because he's gone, things were crappy a lot especially those last 4 years and our friendship was all we had, which was strained from caregiving and stress.

I still feel robbed. And I do wonder if of love, that will be all I know. I wouldn't be the first to have that happened. I'm struggling to dream right now.

I feel like my children were robbed. My son is 3 and he's starting to realize someone is missing. My daughter is 9 and is starting to ask more questions about what happened the day her father died. She and her brother were actually in the house with me when I found Thomas, but they were downstairs. I found him upstairs, somehow resisted the urge to scream my head off, and called someone to come and get her. She's found out in bits and pieces. First that he died in the house, then that I found him here and just recently when she asked more about that day I told her that she was in the house when I found him. My son just tells me needs a daddy. 

One day we were leaving the doctor's office and he called the pediatrician daddy. Just turned and waved and said, "See you later daddy," with so little effort. Other than being the same race, the pediatrician looks nothing like Thomas. I was completely caught off guard.

Maybe I shouldn't have been. My son is a happy little boy, but twice has just outright said, "I need a mommy and a daddy." Maybe it was just a matter of time before he placed that title on someone. I really thought it would be his Godfather before anyone, but I guess I successfully headed that off by emphasizing early on calling him "uncle" like the rest of his Godchildren.

We talked about daddy for a while after we got home. These are the days I feared early on after Thomas died. He's in a stage where he feels the void, but I can neither fill it nor explain it. He is as fortunate as he can get in that he has constant male companionship in his Godfather.

And because my daughter has some learning challenges, the plans Thomas and I made for her education have been hard to keep. It is so much work even without challenges like Dyslexia to deal with. In February, she has 3 oral presentations and a science project. And I'm tired. And because it's been nearly three years, I feel even more alone than usual.

It just really really hurts. A lot of the time I am okay. We are growing together the children and I but sometimes I see all the challenges ahead and have to constantly remind myself I can face them. Some will be a strain emotionally. Some will be a strain financially. Some will be both and the wound reopens on occassion. But I press on.