Not This Weekend

I opened my eyes this morning as the sun was just beginning to filter through the shades. I felt it immediately-- the tightness in my throat and chest, the heavy weight of my arms, the writhing in my spirit, tears stinging the back of my eyes, a sense of disconnect from the world around me. The human body is an amazing thing.  Even before my mind could brush away the cobwebs of sleep and form a coherent thought, my senses knew, it's Labor Day weekend.

Six years ago we were in the midst of a beautiful weekend. That Sunday was spent hiking and climbing the cliffs of Giant City State Park with my parents.

We had a picnic lunch under a pavilion as we waited for a rain shower to end. The kids thought it funny when grandma tried her first taste of Pepper Jack cheese and immediately dubbed it "evil cheese." We ate ice cream in a joint that could have been the setting of an old western movie.

It was hot and humid, just like today, but grandpa toted Laynee on his arm all day long. Grandpa and his youngest granddaughter formed a bond that weekend. He was her newest hero and she added Papaw to her vocabulary. We all laughed at her sweet little girl antics.  We loved her.  We adored her.

Six years ago today, life was so good, so happy, so free of grief and trauma.........and then it wasn't.

I wasn't taken off guard by the feelings that greeted me this morning.  They are a familiar part of grief and loss.  I know them well and have come to expect them. What does come as a surprise is the intensity of the feelings.  How can it be that, six years later, the wounds can still be bleeding?  How can it be so raw, so fresh?

Labor Day weekend will forever mark the anniversary of the last time we held her. It hurts, it always will.  I've long ago given up the ridiculous notion of "getting over it," as society would like for us to do.  My heart, my life has moved on but I'll never be "over it."

After six years, I have come to understand and expect that somewhere around the middle of August, around the time that school starts, my senses begin preparing my heart for this weekend.  There comes a day, each year, when I step out my door and I know it's that time. Something seems to change in the atmosphere. The air feels different, hot and dry. The morning dew is thicker. It smells like a combination dry leaves and corn ripening for harvest, a smell forever stamped in my mind as the "smell of Laynee's death."  It's the smell that permeated the air as our horror unfolded and we fought to bring back life.  Bright colorful dahlias and mums begin to make their appearance and my mind knows those are the flowers of Laynee's funeral.  I hear the sound of a hunter's gunshot somewhere in the distance, another reminder that it's that time of year.  All of the senses come together bringing memories of our last days with her.

A couple days ago a photo came up on a my facebook timeline.  "You posted this 4 years ago," it said.  Four years ago, three years ago, every year since 2009, this weekend has been painful.  We've remembered and we will continue to remember.

Last week a friend ask me, "will it be better the day after Labor Day?" It won't.  There will be foggy memories of her funeral, of putting her in the ground,, of broken hearts, wounded children, and trying to go on when our world had crashed.  It won't be better right away, but it will get better.  We've been here before.  The pain will not go away but neither will it remain in the fore-front of our hearts. 

 Good things will come again.  We'll laugh again.  We'll know peace and happiness and joy.  But not today, not this weekend.  

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. 

Psalms 147:3

God is good, all the time. 

Does Heaven Have A Yellow Bus?

The first day of another year of school.  Momma's all over the world experience that bittersweet emotion as they send their children off to the world of learning.  My own stomach was a pit of nervous and excited tension as I packed lunches and book bags and, one by one, sent my children off.

Moise was smiling and happy as we wheeled him to the bus.  My heart tugged a little as my over active mind imagined his confusion when he finds that school is not the same beloved halls he knows.  There will be no familiar faces, or secretaries who hand him candy when he delivers the lunch money.  His Aunt Gail won't be there to see him in the cafeteria at lunch time and all the kids at the new school won't know to give him "knuckles."  But I'm trusting in the knowledge that God has this under control, that he knows Miose's needs better than I do.  I'm going back to the calm, peaceful assurance that we felt when we made the decision to transfer him to a different school.

Kruz exuded sweetness as he marched out to the bus in his walker, sporting  new duds and Spider Man on his back.  His world is expanding on this first day of school.  He's gaining friends and teachers, new toys and exciting adventures.  He'll learn from and teach those with whom he comes in contact.  Before he even begins, I know that he'll spread his infectious joy to all.

His bus ride entertainment is covered by the strap he found the minute he got on the bus.  

I felt my chest tighten as the bright yellow bus pulled away with two of my boy's in it. Tears clogged my throat and pain knifed through me.  As I tried, unsuccessfully, to keep all of the emotion in check, I had to be honest with myself.  The pain that I felt was not about Moise going to a new school or being separated from Kruz.  It was about Laynee.

Laynee desperately wanted to ride the school bus.  Every morning, as our other five left for school, Laynee would dissolve into tears over being left behind by her siblings.  She pointed and reached and begged to get on the school bus.  Our beloved bus driver, Danny, would sometimes intercept her as she made a mad dash for it.  And every day, as I carried her back in the house, I would wipe her tears and promise her "pretty soon. You're not quite big enough, but pretty soon you can ride the yellow bus." Pretty soon was just a couple months away.  It was almost in our reach, but it never came.  I couldn't keep my promise.  Laynee never got to ride the yellow bus.

The deep pain that I felt this morning was a fresh wave of grief that collided and tangled with bittersweet emotion of back to school.  In the early hours of this crisp August morning, Kruz lived out Laynee's dream, the promise that I was never able to deliver to her. Even though I know that heaven is better than I can comprehend, I want her here today, waving at me from her school bus.  But since she's not, I hope there's a yellow bus in heaven.

God is good, all the time.

Summer's End

"Summer's almost over" has been the back drop for everything I've done or thought this week. Summer's end, marked, for as long as I have memory, by the first day of school, looms before us, coming a day closer with every sunrise.

There's a bright yellow sign in the periphery of my mind.  It's flashing and warning:  CAUTION: BIG CHANGES AHEAD.  Brock, last child of my womb, is a senior in high school.  Moise is going to a new school, one which presents much newness and uncertainty.  A fact which guarantees a few bumps in the road.  Kruz, my baby, child of heart healing, is going to school.  Another bumpy guarantee. 

And my heart? It's working to prepare itself.  I remind myself, like a broken record (does anyone remember what a broken record sounds like?)  that change is good, that Moise and Kruz will be fine. No problem. God's got this. 

Meanwhile, we're sucking every last drop of fun from this summer.

We snuck in one last camping trip with friends.  I've always thought of camping as something that we did for our kids.  With kids it's a lot of work for mom and dad but they loved it so much and so many memories were made at the campground.  Now, with Kruz being the only little camper, we're finding that it's not work at all. I find myself asking "what's wrong?  Why is the refrigerator not stuffed full? Why are we not dragging umpteen bags around?  Why is the door not slamming eleventy hundred times? Why are we actually getting to sit on our big ol' Bass Pro camping chairs? It's marvelous and bittersweet.  While we enjoy the quiet, we miss telling Grant to "quit messing with the fire."  I miss squirting blobs of shampoo on four little heads and telling them to head for the shower.  I'm certain we'll adapt to these camping changes quite nicely. While the memories are the sweetest, I'm certainly not opposed to making memories of a different kind.

Baby doll gets drug all over the place, typically by the arm.  She is going to need many baths in her lifetime.  Here's to hoping her stuffed body can withstand the many washings.  I have my doubts. 

I've had the pleasure of spending extra time with my sweet nieces this summer.  When they're around, the place rings with the sweet sound of little girl voices once again.  Although this summer's temperatures, by comparison, have been mild, we've sought water every chance we could.

It's been several years since Moise has been in need of the typical back to school supplies but this year found us venturing back into the school supply aisles with Kruz's  list in hand. It was euphoric. There's so much color and excitement in those aisles.  I opened a box of crayons and wanted to cry over the sheer perfection and organization nestled inside that yellow and green box.  I hope Crayola never feels a need to change their box.  

I grabbed a box of markers and marveled over the reality that standard, primary colors are hard to come by.  What happened to red, green, yellow and blue? But then there they were, all of the primary colors carefully molded and unblemished in the oval slots of the water color paints.  Kruz didn't need a pencil bag but I grabbed a plastic one anyway, just to sniff it.  It smelled so schooly.  My mind took me back to my own school days and my annual resolve to be more organized.  I always knew, as I sat with all my crisp new school supplies spread out around me, that I would be  less messy.  I carefully penned my name... Karol Glueck.... as if there were a hundred other "Karol's" in my classroom, onto every item and determined that  I wouldn't doodle on all my notebooks this year.  It was a resolve that lasted all of two days.

Then I came upon the "Trapper Keeper." In our house, the excitement over being old enough to need a "trapper," was nearly palpable.  Our children searched those aisles painstakingly for just the right one. And once we found the right one?  The scritch of velcro being opened was all we heard for days, until they finally boarded the bus, trapper in hand and the world by the tail.  The trapper was a right of passage into middle school.

The quest for a backpack was an interesting one.  Kruz is not big.  At three years old, he measures on the growth chart of an eighteen month old.  Backpacks, apparently, are not typically made for eighteen month old.  I went store to store, my euphoria quickly morphing into irritation over the size of backpacks. "Why are they all so huge?!?!?!  Don't they know that there are little kids in the world who need a backpack?!?!?"  School supply shopping is only fun when you find what you need. A standard child sized pack nearly drug the ground and knocked him flat on his rear.  I finally found one that was a bit smaller, and in primary colors too.  But once I put it on him, this too seemed like a great big backpack fail.

Perhaps more concerning, even than the size of the bag, was Kruz's lack of interest in the bag itself.  He was far more interested in the straps.   This is going to be a problem. Straps are one of his quirky obsessions, which in many situations is a beautiful thing.  Waiting endlessly at a doctor's office?  No worries, we've got this. Just hand the boy a purse strap.  But in school this distraction will need to be reckoned with.  Bring out the strap eliminators!!!! He'll find straps in places they never knew existed.



But Grandma G saved the backpack day.  Exit primary color, strappy, too big backpack. Enter Spider Man.  It's just the right size.  It doesn't pull him over.  And there are no straps.  Oh......and it's Spider Man.  Enough said.

Come Wednesday morning, ready or not, I'll be sending three boys off to school.  Bring on the changes.

Until then, we've a few more mornings of long snuggles and we're not missing out on a single one.

Happy back to school days.

God is good, all the time.

Summer Days

Every season is my favorite season.  When it first arrives (the first snowfall, the first hint of orange in the tree tops, the first robin or the first smell of fresh cut grass) I know, without a doubt that this is my favorite, until the next first sign of season arrives. There's always something, the next new favorite, to look forward to. But right now, we're soaking up summer and enjoying it immensely.

The first part of summer was consumed with preparing a small house in town for Grant to move into.  It left precious little time for much else but we did manage to squeeze in a camping trip and a couple of days on the lake. As the older kids move on with their own lives, doing grown up things, we find that our family excursions are starting to consist of Jim and I, Kruz, and Brock and friends. There is an ever present awareness that soon Brock will also be off doing grown up things.   Until then, we're enjoying the calm, laid back camaraderie of not quite adult boys.

Climbing continues to be little brother's favorite past time.  Even when we go camping, he finds something to climb on.  His world is so big and full of exploring.  I treasure the opportunity to see the world through his little boy eyes.

He wins hearts wherever he goes.  He's so quiet, so joyful, so full of peace.

On weekdays, everyone is off to work and my days are filled up with little boys. We do typical and some not so typical boy things. Our mornings start off lazy. Moise's current cocktail of medications has him sleeping much later than usual and Kruz has always been a great sleeper.  As long as there's not an appointment to rush off to, brothers sleep late and mom enjoys the quietness.

Moise is teaching me braille and it's truly amazing that something so simple as dots, when put together in proper configuration, can open up a whole world of communication.  And blindness, frustrating as it may be, has renewed my never-under-estimate-him motto. He amazes me with the things he can learn.

Play dough is a new favorite past time. Kruz still shudders a bit at the feel of it in his hands but he tolerates it better each time we bring it out. Moise has many uses for the stuff.  He smashes and rolls and cuts it.  We also cut out shapes for math.

Wet has been the central theme of this summer.  It rains often and when it's not raining, the extra moisture in the area causes the humidity to be stifling.  But we get out as often as we can, in the mornings or evenings when it's more bearable.  We swing.  We swing a lot.  Moise on his swing, Kruz in his swing or both of them together in the hammock. 

After years of dormancy, Kruz has happily put the swing set back in motion.

Kruz's walking with his walker is coming along.  He hasn't mastered maneuvering around objects and often finds himself stuck in tight places but we're getting there and I'm hoping he'll soon be independent in it.

Moise's two primary sources of exercise are swimming and riding his bike.  We try to get at least one, preferably both, of them in every day.  There are times when having two non ambulatory boys requires some creativity.  Sometimes I just have to laugh in wonder at the fact that this is my life, so dramatically different from anything I could ever, in a million years, have dreamed up.  

Laynee's garden becomes fuller and more beautiful every year.  There's an ache deep inside of me every time I look at it.  It's such a beautiful reminder of the child who enriched our life so much.  It reminds me every single day of the growth that has taken place in my own heart since we said "good bye" to her.  In spite of the pain, God has been so incredibly good to us.  

Aside from playing with little boys this summer, I admit that I'm not accomplishing much else.  I am a perfectionist by nature and there are eleventy hundred jobs and projects that jump out at me every day, things that nature and instinct tell me I "should" be doing.  I was raised with with the words "don't put off for tomorrow what you can do today" ingrained in my brain.  And, while, I think there is much wisdom in those words, I have also learned that "if it can wait til tomorrow, I won't regret playing with my children instead."  Children grow up quickly and sometimes tomorrow doesn't come. And if tomorrow doesn't come I'd rather say "I played with him on that last day" than "I cleaned my garage that last day."

 "Today why don't you love a little deeper,

 laugh a little harder, 

hold the ones you love a little tighter

Because tomorrow is never promised."

So much love to all of you.
God is good, all the time.