Dear Son, As I sit closer to death than birth, I realize how much the people left have to do. How much stuff they have to dig through to decide if this is important or is that trash. So, I decided to downsize the attic. I found clothes from the 70’s and 80’s. Maybe they will come back in style. I found baby clothes and a saddle. Then I came to your things. It has been 15 years. 15 years since I held you, saw your precious smile or heard your contagious laugh. 15 years. As I sat in the attic looking at a box brimming with school paper from elementary school, I wondered what do you do with a life time of school math sheets and color pages. I pondered your brothers and sisters going through all our stuff. Crying, laughing and wondering why we had kept so much. Would they want to sit here and go through your things or would that reopen those wounds that they have so tightly kept closed. I opened the boxes and there was your little hand print in plaster, your journals from kindergarten that made no sense, your Bible School certificates and Mother’s Day Out color sheets. But I also found sweet, sweet notes you had written to your dad and I saying thank you for all we did for you and how much you loved us. I placed my hand in your handprint and read the sweet notes and cried. I cried for all that you have missed by not being here. I read your booklets of your dreams from 1st grade and hopes for the future. And I cried. I cried for you, for me, for dad, for your siblings, friends and those who never got to know you. Never knew what they missed out on. Then I sorted the papers. Kept the special ones and threw the math pages, color sheets and things that had started to fall apart. I slowly put all the special treasures back in the file folder. I closed that chapter of your life. As I worked to sort, I Can Only Imagine came on. As I sat there missing you and thinking of all you had missed out on the song reminded me of all you are experiencing right now. The peace and joy of Jesus. Your final prayer entry in your prayer journal, God, let me be rid of my demons and focus on you every moment is answered. You my son are not missing out but enjoying life to its fullest. As I finished and was trudging to the trash can to throw away all the memories, Lauren Daigle’s Trust in You came on. Letting Go of every single dream Oh Jacob I had so many dreams for you I lay each one down at Your feet God, I give it to you Every moment of my wandering Never changes what You see I’ve tried to win this war I confess My hands are weary I need Your rest Mighty Warrior King of the fight No matter what I face, You’re by my side When You don’t move the mountains, I’m needing You to move When You don’t part the waters, I wish I could walk through When You don’t give the answers as I cry out to You I Will Trust, I will Trust I will Trust in You Truth is, You know what tomorrow brings There’s not a day ahead You have not seen So, in all things by my life and breath I want what You want, Lord, and nothing less. You are my strength and comfort You are my stead hand You are my firm foundation: the rock on which I stand Your ways are always higher Your plans are always good There’s not a place where I’ll go, You’ve not already stood. So my sweet son, enjoy your days with Jesus, dancing on your grave, beating death. I put your things back in the attic and tuck that pain back into my heart. I miss you every day my son. But I keep going because of the promise of Jesus, I will see you again. Love you Mom

Another momma

Last week I sat at the feet of another momma. Another momma whose world had stop spinning, her heart crushed, her brain unaccepting of what had just happened. I sat at her feet and promised her she would survive, she would keep going, she would continue living. How do I know that? Becasue just 12 years ago I sat in her chair. I too wanted to die. Why should I keep breathing when my child was dead. Why should I want to continue on in this cruel world. Why? I told her what my husband said to me when I uttered the words, please just let me die. He said NO, you have other children who need you and I need you. You can not quit living or breathing because we need you. I told this sweet momma the same thing. I think back to that moment. We were walking out of the hospital, numbed by the pain but all I could think of was not wanting to continue breathing. I did not believe that I would survive, keep going or continue living. But just as I promised this sweet momma, she was not alone, I would travel this journey with her, others would hold her up when she could not continue on. But most of all I promised her God knew our pain. He watched His son die on the cross. He knew our pain. And while we have to endure the sleepless nights, the questioning the not wanting to live, God would see us through. So what kept me going? Bart telling me I had to live for my other children, the people praying, the friends surrounding me but most of all, God. I could cry out to Him and pound on His shoulders and He would just hold me. Hold me in His loving arms, weeping with me. He would surround me with unexplained peace at times when it made no sense. So sweet momma, as I watched you sit in front of your child's casket, I pray for you. I pray that God will surround you and your family with a peace that is unexplainable. I pray that as people begin to go back to their lives, that God will put others in your path to help you through this time. That a card, a flower, a text or phone call when happen when you need it most. That you will not feel as if you are on this journey alone. There are far too many of us mommas out here who know your pain. We pray for you and hold to the faith that we will see our children again. That some day we will hold them in our arms and our sorrow will be erased. For now, they just have a different address, Heaven. We will see them again and oh what a glorious day that will be. But until then, we keep on surviving, breathing and living. God will see us through. Stop for a moment today and lift the sweet mommas whose children have died way too soon up in prayer. Call and let them know you are thinking of them. Tell them a story about their child. Use their name outloud. But most of all pray for peace.

12 years, Too Long

12 years ago tonight I was getting ready for bed and all was right with my world. I was happy, content and loved my life. I had an amazing family, husband and children, a good career, and amazing friends. I went to bed and all was right with the world. Peace. Then daylight came. Within a few short hours the world stopped spinning and I wanted off the planet. I got the call, you were in the Emergency Room. I took off, running every light. I left my car running in the entrance to the ER. The desk clerk saw me and opened the closed doors. I started down the hall and saw him, the chaplain coming towards me and I knew. I knew you were dead. You were no more. I too wanted to die. I did not know how to keep living, to keep breathing, to make it through another moment. As I waited for dad and Kyler to arrive. As I waited to find the words to tell them. As I waited. I told God, I can't do this. I am not strong enough. And through the tears, the shakes and the disbelief, I heard Him. I know you aren't my child. But I am. I am. I heard it clear as day. God telling me He knew my pain was too much to bear but He would help me carry it. And He has. I miss you more and more each day, Jacob. Each day you grow a little farther away in my memories. I don't want you to fade. I yearn for you to put your arms around me and say I love you Mom. I yearn to hear your voice, your laughter. I yearn for you to be, just be here with me. But just as God told me 12 years ago, I still am not strong enough to bear this burden, but He is. Without God I could not have gone on. I could not have continued to live. But because of Him, I know I will see my precious Jacob again. I will once again hear his voice and feel his hug while he says, I love you Mom. I miss you.

Just like Ruth

We have a giant Weeping Willow tree in our backyard. I love this tree and enjoy sitting under it in the peaceful summer evenings listening to the gentle breeze flowing through the swinging limbs. The swishing sound from the slim whip like branches feels me with peace that comes from childhood. But after a day and night of high winds blowing through our area, the tree is not my friend. We walked out this bright and sunny morning to a backyard covered in branches and leaves. Though the limbs are slender, they must be picked up before we mow. As I walked large backyard, bent at the waist picking up the tiny sticks, my mind wandered to Ruth. Ruth worked in the brutal heat and glaring sun gleaning the left over wheat to support her widowed mother in law. I thought how hard this must have been. The stooping o for hours on end just to provide a small amount of food. But she was taking care of her loved one. Giving of herself to provide food for them both. We are called to help each other. And even though Ruth had no obligation to Naomi, she worked. She worked to take care of her and God provided that useless left over wheat so they would not starve. He also provided a Kinsman Redeemer. Someone to pay the price and save one from certain destitution and death. Ruth and Naomi, as women, had no means to support themselves after the men in their world died. They needed a savior. I also thought of all Ruth and Naomi had to do to follow the Law just to be in obedience to God. They had to sacrifice, what little they had, follow countless rules and rituals. All of this on top of daily working in the sun just to stave off starvation. I stood up and stretched the aching muscles in my back and thought how thankful I am that God sent Jesus to be my Redeemer. I don't have to follow the old Law of Biblical times and need a kinsman redeemer. Just like Boaz paid the price for Ruth and Naomi, Jesus has paid the price for our salvation. And all we have to do is believe and accept Him. Boaz saved Ruth and Naomi from certain death. Jesus saves us from death by promising us everlasting life. Ruth had a hard life. Sometimes I too feel like life has been so hard. But just as I knew that tomorrow, I would pay the price with aching muscles, I felt peace that I didn't have to pay that price daily. Thankfully, Jesus saw to that. I continued picking up the limbs thanking God that while times have often been hard, the best is yet to come. This is not my home. I am just visiting and some day I will live in a place called Heaven where there will be no more tears, no more sorrow. And no more sore muscles. Thank you Jesus for paying the price.

10 years is too long.

Ten years is really not that long. It passes in a flash. But ten years since I have felt our Jacob's arms hugging me or hear his voice yelling out, "Mom" feels like an eternity. I miss you sweet boy, plain and simple. I thought by now it would hurt less. But it doesn't. It is just as raw as the first day. I remember that a day vividly. I was at Nana's house working on her DVD player. I got the call from Kyler saying something was wrong and you were at the hospital. I screamed something to my mom and took off. When I arrived at the hospital emergency room doors, I threw open the car door and ran in. I left the car running, I didn't care. They front desk clerk saw the wildness in my eyes and opened the door immediately to let me in the doors to the ER rooms. How many times had she seen that look in a momma's eyes? She knew what was coming and needed no words, she let me in. As I ran down the hall I saw the chaplain coming towards me. In slow motion I fell to floor and heard a scream like no other. I knew. I knew my child was dead. The chaplain reached me and I knew the screaming was coming from me. I didn't want him to touch me. I wanted him to walk on past me and tell some other mother she would never hug her son again. She would never feel his arms wrapped around her. She would never again see that precious smile on his face. That child that she gave life to had ended. That day haunts me. It is what I see when I close my eyes. I miss you so much baby boy. 10 years. Double digits. Does that make it real? More final? No, it was very real that day. It was real when I saw you lifeless on that ER bed. I miss you so much baby boy. I try so hard to focus on where you are not on where you aren't. But some days are harder. Would I wish you back? You bet. But would you want to leave? No. You live in a place free from your demons and focused on God 24x7. Your prayer from your prayer journal is real. You are living the life, with no sorrow no pain. The pain is here and someday my son, we will see you again. Your arms will embrace me with the biggest Mom I love you hug. I will hold that face in may hands and weep at how amazing you are. I will sit with you and talk for hours about everything and anything. I will listen to your music and be amazed at your talent and passion. But until then we keep going. Looking forward to that day but knowing our work here is not done. We still have people to feed through Jacob's Cupboard. We still have people to minister to and tell about God's love and grace. But just for today, I will sit and weep. Jacob Selby 9/13/87- 2/20/2010 A Life cut way too short but a life that impacted so many. Love you.

Breath

Have you ever had such a tragic experience it takes your breathe away? Death does this. It is not just an emotional problem but a physical one. Breathing should be natural but having a child die is not natural. So it takes our breath away. We struggle to keep breathing. As I lay in bed this morning, I thought I can do this. I can make it through the days with few tears. I am strong. It has been 10 years. I can do this. Then I took a breath and realized I probably shouldn't put on mascara today. I took a simple breath. You see since Jacob died 10 years ago, I hold my breath a lot. It is one of the side effects of grief. It started the day he died. I did not even have the energy, desire, or ability to breathe on my own. I would be sitting on the couch watching the people as they crowded into our house to help and be a part of our grief. But I would sit, not breathing. I would finally have to gulp air and remember to live. When I work with new moms, I tell them all they have to do it breathe, and that is a lot. I have signs around my house that say, Breathe. They are reminders to keep going. As today approached, I realized I had been holding my breath a lot this month. I think it is a way to just be still and hold in the pain. To stop time. But like this morning, I was fine until I started breathing. Breathing is life and continuing on with the future. I want to breathe, I just have to remind myself to do so. Keep on breathing friends.

I use to love the holiday season, the bright lights, tinsel, crispness in the air and the ever playing Christmas Carols. Decorating was an event. A time to be treasured and savored. A time I looked forward to all year long. A tree in every room, even the laundry room and pantry. Such fun, such memories. Memories that I don't look back fondly on. Memories that are too painful to bring to mind. And today I go through the motions of decorating. Decorating for Christmas. But what once brought joy now is dealt with on a has to basis. The first year after Jacob died I made our entire family go on a cruise. We left Christmas Eve morning and stayed gone for a week. No decorating, no wrapping, no Santa to deal with. The second year we crashed Zachary's brand new girlfriend's family Christmas in Florida. Yes, they had only been dating a short time and I invited us all to Tampa. Again, we left Christmas Eve and landed in sunny Florida with no Christmas tinsel near. The sunny beaches with sand Santas made it feel less like a holiday and more like an escape. The third year the boys said NO. No more running, no more ignoring, no more acting like Christmas doesn't exist. We are staying home and we are decorating and exchanging presents. So up went a tree. One lonely tree with haphazardly placed ornaments that matched no Christmas theme. Just a tree with presents. No joy, just existence. Going through the motions. Now year 10 have gone by without you Jacob. Isn't any easier. Yes, I put up more trees and I see a theme running through the house. But it goes up without though, because thought would be too painful. Thought would bring up past memories of happier times. Of a house filled with kids and laughter. Of a house filled with anticipation for Santa. So this year, yes, the house is decorated and presents are being ordered. No department stores with piped in Christmas music and small children waiting in line for Santa. No. Just online shopping with wrapping done to mystery movies rather than Hallmark. I will go along with the plans and keep a smile on my face. But friends, know behind that smile is a breaking heart, for the one who isn't here. For the one whose stocking is left in the box, for the one who no presents are wrapped, for the one who doesn't get to celebrate with us again this year. My son, we celebrate because it is Jesus' birthday and for that reason alone I still breathe. But my son, it will never be the same without you. We put up the tree, wrap the presents, sing Christmas Carols, and eat holiday meals but a part of me is missing too. The part that died when you died. So forgive me friend, if I stand alone for a while, or tire from holiday parties. Know that I am present, still believe and love you dearly but a part of me is missing and I could use an extra hug just to know you still remember and maybe just maybe a little part of you is missing too. Thinking of you my sweet momma friends as the holiday season approaches.