Keep Calm and Carry On

I survived Father’s Day 2014. Think I should get that printed on a t-shirt or something? Nah. I’d need too many t-shirts to cover all the holidays and hard days I’ve survived this year.

I knew from the very start that this first year would be the hardest. This year is full of firsts that amplify his absence. This is year is full of firsts that make me sad or miss him or angry that he up and shuffled off this mortal coil (Shakespearean for “died”), leaving me to figure out these things on my own.

There have been birthdays and holidays on top of milestones that come as children grow up. Those are the hardest sometimes. They are tiny victories of childhood that he’s missing. That’s the thought that struck me when the first one came up. It was Jarod’s first high school play and all I could think was, “Kraig’s missing this.” It repeated when Lucy lost a tooth or Kati ran in track.

Right now the meme for “Keep Calm and Carry On” is all over Pinterest and the internet to the point people are sick of it. It will be so dated in about five minutes from now. It has become something people have altered to fit their fandoms or their hobbies or their warped senses of humor. “Keep Calm and trust Daryl Dixon” or “Keep Calm and Call Batman” and so on, and so forth, all line up to put a personal twist on the original. I’ve loved seeing the creative takes on it. But as I’ve walked through this year of firsts, I must say I find something steady in the original.

I looked up the origins of it online tonight which made me love it more. If I can believe sources on the internet it was a slogan created for the Brits in WW2. Only they saved it for extreme emergency. This was the poster to pull out when things looked bleak and so it was never used. These posters were found in storage and instead of tossing them, someone thought they’d be cool to circulate. And an internet sensation was born.

Seriously? Bombs falling on London, children evacuated from their families to the countryside, and air raids weren’t enough for Brits to think it was bleak?! We may grossly underestimate the toughness of the English, I think. Perhaps it is the British in my lineage that contributes a bit to my being able to keep calm and carry on. My love of tea would seem to back that up a bit. And then there’s my love of Dr. Who, Sherlock, Downton Abby, and other British TV. Hmmm… Perhaps I’m more Brit than I realized.

So today I kept calm and carried on. I limited my Facebook more than normal and didn’t talk to anyone on the phone. I focused on getting the kids out of the house into the sunshine. The recent rain limited our hiking choices so we went to the Arts and Crafts festival I usually sell my wares at, this time as customers and spectators.

The kids had fun and each left with something. Jarod purchased a concrete lawn gnome that eerily resembled one he’d drawn for his movies. Lucy spent her money on a cheetah purse. Ryan admired a bud vase a potter had made and was rewarded when she gave it to him. She’d dropped it and the chip meant she couldn’t sell it. He was thrilled. Kati found an upcycled bohemian blouse for only $8 and she does need clothes so I caved.

On the way home we went to Armadillos Ice Cream, a family favorite. They were serving Kraig’s favorite flavor of the day—Strawberry Butter. I seized the moment in the van when they all had ice cream and couldn’t escape to ask that each one share a fun memory of dad. Three of the four could think of something. We laughed. I tried to ask more but was asked to change the subject. I did. I let them lead on many of these conversations. I’m far from perfect in how I bring up his absence but I don’t want them to think we shouldn’t talk about him, remember him, or laugh about his stories.

So for today, I managed to keep calm and carry on. For today I survived. For today I made it not so bad for my kids. Ryan even told me as he went to bed, “Except for missing Dad, this was a really nice Father’s Day, Mom.”

I’ll count that as a win.

 

 

 

Kids and Grief

It’s mid-June already. June is half gone and still the journey of grief has not ended. If you would have told me when he died that I’d still have days when grief sapped my energy over 9 months later, I would have thought you didn’t know me. You would be underestimating the fact that am not a curl-up-and-stop-living kinda gal.

But then again, I’d never walked this kind of grief. And I’d never been responsible to help four fragile souls walk it too.

My kids are so unique. They have been since my pregnancies with each. Each one is a unique person created by a loving God to do amazing things. My favorite part of motherhood is watching who they are growing to be each day. Each one has their own personalities and experiences and hobbies. And so it makes sense that each one also has their own unique means of dealing with grief.

My heart has ached for them since that sad night when tragedy forever altered their universes and I had to tell them Daddy was gone. This was not something I could shield them from or make go away. This was not something I could fix. This is life and this is the journey God entrusted to them, as painful as is it.

As I’ve walked the past nine months as a widow, I have had to deal with my own waves of grief and struggles to deal in the day-to-day with the loss of my husband, my partner, my friend. I’ve also had to deal with their grief. I have had to become head of the home, spiritual leader, and grief counselor all rolled up inside this one exhausted mama.

The week he died little things that he liked could reduce me to tears. Seriously I burst into tears when someone held up a bottle of Famous Dave’s BBQ sauce to ask if the kids wanted it with dinner and all I could say was this was his favorite. Sobs poured out and I remember collapsing against Chelsea’s shoulder feeling lost, helpless, sad, and a touch embarrassed that BBQ sauce caused this reaction.

Now I can make the bed and smile remembering how he loved the smell of the blankets fresh off drying on the line. Now I can laugh with Lucy about a day when Daddy swung on a swing next to her. Now I can appreciate the irony that the exhaustion of dealing with all this has forced me to give in to naps. Kraig used to say I needed to appreciate naps more. I rarely can shut my mind down to nap. Kraig could fall asleep at the drop of a hat.

For the most part now, the things that sap my energy and reduce me to watching House Hunters International when I should be cleaning are when grief sneaks up on my kids. When grief sucker punches my son and he confesses to me something that has bothered him since the funeral because he didn’t understand it. When one of my daughters still doesn’t want to talk about it much and I wonder how long I wait between asking how she’s doing. When my tiniest princess comes upstairs at bedtime and tells me she misses Daddy’s snuggles, again. When my son with autism confesses to me his fear that it’s his fault that dad died because he prayed for God to take Dad’s pain away and I told him there’s no pain in heaven.

That last one stole my breath and made me reach deep for a Biblically-sound answer. Five years of Bible college, don’t fail me now. But more important than any theology class I took is the journey God has allowed me to walk with Him and the time I’ve spent praying that I would not screw this up with my kids. These things have shored up my foundation and reminded me of the security of my faith.

I took time to explain to Ryan that, no, it wasn’t his fault. God is not like a mean genie waiting to twist our words. I explained that God sees all of the world and time like a big picture that we can’t see because we are tiny parts of the picture. God knows what is best and loves us. I trust He had a reason for letting Daddy go to heaven and He will continue to take care of us. Ryan smiled through his tears and told me he believes me. He even told me I could put it in my blog because he had read one of my blogs and it helped him understand how I feel missing Dad.

These things make me lose sleep. These things hit me in the gut. These things make me understand why someone would enjoy a glass of wine to cope. I can’t stand the taste so I settle for popcorn. But most importantly, these things drive me to pray.

God knew the kind of journey this would set my kids on. He knew the wounds that would show up on their hearts after losing a Daddy who loved them. He knew how this will affect their lives and He still promises He has plans for them—plans to prosper and not harm them, plans to give them hope and a good future. He has promised He will use even this for their good. I trust that with every fiber of my being.

So I continue to work on a more disciplined devotional time in the morning over cups of tea. I will allow myself the occasional House Hunters marathon to recover from the whirlwind of dealing with four unique people I’m guiding through grief. I will allow myself the expense of some Smart Fit Popcorn from Sam’s club the next time I go. I will allow myself a nap every now and again because these things help me recharge for the next time one of them needs to be sad and ask questions from wounded hearts.

And I will give thanks that for the most part, life is moving on in their worlds. Jarod is making his clay figures for his big summer movie. Ryan is trying to find books to enjoy so he can keep his Landscaping class at high school next fall instead of additional reading. Kati is excitedly getting ready for Rainbow Bible Ranch for insane amounts of horse fun. Lucy is trying her best to read to me so she moves forward in her reading level—her idea, bless her. They laugh. We live life. We fall into the new rhythm of normal.

I will keep moving forward because I know God goes with me. And if He is with me, as hard as this is, I have nothing to fear.

Count to Five

I closed the door of the van and the sobs just burst out of me. It was irrational. I knew that. I was sobbing because I had needed to ask for help and I received it—with smiles and quick assurances that it was fine. But the fact that I needed it had brought the grief in new waves.

Tonight was one of those nights. Heck, this week is one of those weeks. Tonight Jarod has play practice from 3:40 until 6:30. Lucy gets home at 2:50. At 3:10, Ryan is due home. Kati, however, has dance club practice at school from 3:10 until 4:15. At 3:30 I needed to head to work to record radio show for the next three days and get home before 5 so that I could get Kati, Lucy, and Ryan back to the middle school for Family Night and to view the Science Fair Kati was so proud to show off. It gets done at 6:30, in time to go get Jarod.

That left Lucy, age 5, as a wild card after school. Ryan, the only one who will be home and my child with autism, cannot babysit his sister. They aren’t comfortable around each other. Neither seems to know what to do with the other in more than small, structured doses. So Kati, 11, volunteered to keep Lucy with her at dance club practice since the high school girls were coming to teach them the moves today.

I felt somehow ashamed to have to call the gym teacher, her adviser for this club, and ask if this was an acceptable solution. Lucy had jumped on the idea. My first instinct was to take her to work. But that really is no fun for her and would prolong what I had to do if my focus was split. Mrs. Jackson was so kind when she said Lucy was more than welcome to come watch. She’d had other families need to do this before. It seemed all worked out.

After school, Lucy gathered her crayon tote and a few snacks. She excitedly bounded to the van. As we drove up to the school, she asked if their phones worked the same as ours. Since I would be leaving her in the office for Kati to retrieve, she wanted to help answer phones. It was adorable. The secretaries thought so too. They were so happy to see smiling Lucy and told me there was no need for me to wait with her—they had this. Kati would be called to retrieve her in about 10 minutes. In the meantime, they would enjoy Lucy. “Tell your mom she can go,” they whispered to Lucy, with a smile aimed at me.

As I walked to the van, the feeling just rolled over me, startling in it's intensity. It was anger and humility and sorrow all rolled up in one. I was mad that I had to ask for this help. I felt like I was somehow failing that I could not figure this out on my own. I was angry that my husband wasn’t here to help with all this. And I missed my partner all over again. As soon as the door closed, I buried my hands in my gloves and sobbed.

But only for a moment.

Wallowing is not allowed when you are grieving with children who need to be cared for and shuttled about. When you have to go pick up a kid and keep this chaos moving. I felt like the character Tris in the popular book “Divergent” allowing herself to be terrified, to let fear consume her, but only to the count of five. I let myself sob.

1 – Feel the sorrow and let that be ok. 

2 –Cry, uncaring who might see in the school parking lot.

3- Be angry that I have to figure this out without Kraig.

4 – Wipe your eyes.

5 – Take a deep breath. Count my blessings. My child was welcomed because we are loved at this school. My extra help was gladly given with smiles by people who care about me, about my kids. I have seen the payoff of years of developing relationships in a school full of hard stories.

This is how I grieve when the kids need me to keep moving forward.

I’m so tired of grief. It is exhausting and sometimes sleep eludes me which doesn’t help. But I know I can’t rush through this. I don’t want to because I know if I did, I might have to go through it again. I will let the feelings come. I will let the tears and sobs choke out when they need to—but only for a moment. Moms do not have the luxury of stopping moving entirely.

Today I had the blessing of support from a gracious teacher and kind school secretaries. And even though it sucked that I need it, I am wise enough to ask for it and humble enough to accept it. I am smart enough to know that this was offered in love and in an effort to assist me.

One more day of dealing with grief done. One more night of figuring out how to parent alone done. Here’s hoping for a good night’s sleep tonight. Tomorrow is a new, chaotic day.

Don't Tell Me "I don't know how you do it."

Two months ago my husband died. It was earth shattering. We had just celebrated our 20^th anniversary this summer. We were preparing for a new stage in life with all four of our kids headed off to school for the first time. From Freshman in High School to two in middle school and now our baby in Kindergarten, this was going to be a cool new world.

Except it’s not.

On September 3rd, my Kraig suffered a massive heart attack. We now know he had been having smaller ones for days. Multiple doctors missed it. There was no chance to say goodbye. One minute he was suffering from what we thought was back pain and the next I was having to take a deep breath and tell my children Daddy went to heaven.

I am a strong woman. I say that without conceit or vanity. It is something God has built into who I am. It’s one of the things that attracted my husband to me. Some of it is my nature and some of it is lessons in faith God has been teaching me throughout my life. Some of it is supernatural support from a God who knows my pain and promises to equip me for the road ahead. One truth I know: God is faithful.

October 2013, The Kids & Me

Now my days are filled with caring for confused and wounded kids. I’m trying to figure out a new normal in our lives where once there were two actively involved parents and now there is just me. Each day I’m encouraging the kids and myself to ride the roller coaster of grief as it comes. If they feel sad, that’s OK. Feel it but don’t stay there. Life doesn’t stop. If you feel happy, that’s OK too. Daddy loved to laugh and would want us to laugh again.

I just finished one of the hardest weeks of doing this by myself. There were teacher meetings and parenting challenges that made me mad at Kraig for leaving me here to handle it all alone. There were concerts at school and trick or treating obligations. There was a sick child and craft fair I had to sell my handmade wares at. And there was a mother-daughter event to take my daughter to even though I would have rather stayed hidden. But she needed this.

As the week got harder and harder I began to feel so sad, so overwhelmed, so exhausted. This morning, someone uttered those words that many have said over the past weeks: “I don’t know how you do it.”

Let me tell you I hate those words. I realize they are meant as a pat on the back that I’m doing something amazing. They have been uttered by many people. There are two reasons I hate them.

First, what else am I going to do? I have four little hearts to shepherd through the greatest tragedy of their lives. I have mouths to feed and baths to arrange and schools to communicate with. I do not have the luxury of curling up in a self-pitying ball and stopping my life. I wouldn’t if I could. My children need to see that life goes on and it’s going to be OK someday. They need to see from me that God is here in the daily struggles to breathe and eat and laugh and cry without their daddy.

The second reason I hate that sentence is that there is hidden inside it the implication that I shouldn’t be doing this well. Hearing that sentence makes me doubt myself. If I loved him more, should I be finding it harder to function? If I was sadder, less functional, would that show I was grieving better? Am I somehow too strong? Should I be falling apart more?

I sat here today struggling with exactly those thoughts and realizing for the first time since Kraig died that I was feeling depressed. Up until now I could confidently say I was not depressed. I’m sad, I’m lonely, I’m lost sometimes, but depression was not on the list. Until I realized this sentence was making me question myself, making me feel like I’m doing this wrong.

So here’s my request from strong women everywhere going through amazing amounts of trial—stop telling us you just don’t know how we do it. I do it because life must go on. I do it to honor a husband who told many people that he had faith in his wife to carry on living if something ever happened to him.  I do it because my kids need me and that right there will get any good mother going when life knocks her down. I do it because I trust in a sovereign God who gives me strength each day.

When I need help, I ask for it. When I need to collapse, I have friends waiting with comfy couches and open arms. But as I’m teaching my kids, I do not stay there. Life doesn’t work like that. So please, don’t tell me you don’t know how I do it. You may not like my answer.