Happy 38th Birthday son. As I sit and remember you today I begin to wonder who you would be today. What type of man you would have become. Would you be married and have children? How many? I always dreamed you would have had 5. You loved kids and would have been a terrific dad. You would be in the floor playing and laughing. Never caring for the outside world standards but what was in your home as the most important. Would you have coached them in sports like your father. Eager to always step in and be there. Would you have been encouraging and strive for growth over victories? Your team would stand together with everyone feeling like they were the best player because you made them feel that way. Would you have still been an English teacher or gone on like me to become a counselor? Your heart so generous and caring for others. You would have been the cool teacher who wanted their kids to understand the concepts not just give rote answers and learn by getting involved. You would have stayed up late at night carefully reading their essays and making encouraging remarks. You probably would have taken in the down and out and rallied for the less than. Your heart so large and kind. Would you have stayed living close by or gone on to far away adventures? As someone that never wanted to leave home I think you would be close by if even living far away by always checking in. You loved family. You loved closeness. The bond with your brothers and Maycie even today is not broken. You live on in their memories and stories they tell. Would you have been a good man? Yes. As simple as that. You would think of others first, make them laugh, and make them feel as if they were the most important person in the room. You loved hard and loud. Who would you be if you were still alive today? You would be my son. And I would be proud of all you said and did. I would stand in admiration of all you accomplished. Everyday I see a little of you in your siblings, in the friends that still talk about you. Who would you be today? We will never know. But what I do know is who you are in Heaven. You a child of the King. Who will greet me with open arms and give me the best hug when I get there too. I may not know who you would be today here on earth but I know for sure where you are today. Happy Birthday my precious baby boy. I love and miss you.

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.

To go someplace far far away where no one knows my name.

I am struggling today. Really struggling. That is a hard thing for me to admit. I try so hard to present a “have it all together woman.” But I don’t. This past two weeks I have forgotten so many things. I missed appointments, forgot to go to the hospital to pray over someone, phone calls weren’t returned, bills left laying on the table and my house has lacked in the area of cleaning. I even left the house for dinner with family and realized I had forgotten to put on makeup. Forgot to put on makeup!! I have never done that. I have tried making excuses for my forgetfulness, thoughtlessness, my apathy, my sometimes down right rudeness on my busyness. I have been short with people, cried for no reason, and felt like my heart was going to beat out of my chest. At times the anxiety has been crippling to the point of not being able to get up off the couch. My busyness. Started a new job, City Council, church responsibilities, mom, wife, Jacob’s Cupboard, homeless ministry, and redoing a rent house. But that is all an excuse. Today, I looked at the calendar. September 4. September that month that brings so much emotion. I think back to that first September after Jacob died. That first month that I had to realize for the first time in 23 years I wouldn’t be planning a birthday party. I wouldn’t be planning a birthday morning scavenger hunt for your present. September. That month that was once filled with joy not brought dread. And it still does. I want so desperately to escape. To go someplace far far away where no one knows my name. Where no one knows my pain. Where for a moment I can pretend my life is complete once again. Where sadness does not exist. Where when the month of September comes I can be happy and hopeful. But instead I sit here. With meetings, work, phone calls needing to be returned and a family that needs me to be a mom and wife. But linger here for a moment longer where tears flow and I miss you. Longing for you to walk through that door, pick me up in a bear hug and tell me how much you love me. Just to hear your voice one more time. To look into those beautiful blue eyes and be able to see through to your soul. Just one more time. I miss you. I want to go someplace far far away where no one knows my name. But I don’t because life calls. So I continue to plan your Birthday Celebration, number 10 without you. I worry no one will come, no one will remember, that no one will care. I worry that you will be forgotten. Your life will hold no meaning. But son, know that you lived so much in your 23 years and touched so many lives. And that in your death more lives are being touched. But for today, right now, I struggle. I miss you so much. I just want to go someplace far far away where no one knows my name.

The Valley

When out of the blue the pain rips my heart in half and the panic ensues to where my breath can not be caught, my heart is pounding out of my chest and anxiety paralyzes my very movement. When it comes out of the blue so unexpected, it hurts just as fresh as the first day. The pain is paralyzing but duty calls and you have to continue with your life when all you really want to do is lay down and cry. Then you cry out, "Why, why today do I have to relive this? I've been so careful to keep the pain tucked away, out of sight. Then from nowhere it came as if to consume my life. No person or drug can take that feeling away. The only thing left to do is to cry out to God. Please, God take my pain. I slowly feel His arms go around me, tenderly and whisper in my ear My child I can't take your pain. You must go through it but I will be here by your side. As I cry and beat my clutched hands against His chest I feel the wetness. The wetness from His own tears as He grieves with me. Yes, even though you walk through the valley of death- I will always be with you.

One day closer

Happy 29th birthday son. I went to visit you at the cemetery today. Oh, I know you aren't there but that is the last place I saw you. I left you there. So I go to visit and remember. As I pull in I look across the jagged granite tops of the stones that mark the lives of those gone by. I see a tent and watch as people dressed in black pick there way across the terrain, being careful not to step on a grave. I watch as they pull closer so they can hear the hollow words of comfort being said. Slowly, it begins to rain. Little tiny raindrops all around me. As I sit in the grass next to you and watch the mourners from across the way, I realize how right it is to be raining. As the wife, children, aunts, uncles and cousins say good-bye the angels are so touched their tears pour down around those left behind. I sit and stare at your face so perfectly engraved in the stone and feel each angel's teardrop on my arms, face and head. I've shed those same tears. I think back to the years before that I have sat in this very same place and cried. I have probably cried a million tears. I have cried, I have prayed, I have pleaded, I have bargained with God for this to be a dream and for me to wake up and you walk into the house and surround me with those arms and greet me with a great big bear hug. But as I watch the people slowly leave the graveside. They linger just a little bit, hug each other one last time, then make their way to their own individual cars. I realize that to them, the freshness of grief is just starting, the physical pain of a hole in their heart. 6 1/2 years later that hole is still just as big for me but I know I am 6 1/2 years closer to seeing you again. I don't want to go back to that first night, first month, first year. I know you aren't coming back no matter how hard I cry. I know the hole in my heart will never heal. But I am closer today to seeing you again. So, until the day when God says it is time, I will tuck the pain away at the end of the day and start tomorrow knowing I am one day closer to seeing you again. Happy Birthday sweet baby boy. Your momma loves you so much.

6 years

I can't believe 6 years have passed and we are still standing as a family, that I am still functioning. I know it is through God carry me all the way and people's prayers. But still it has been 6 years. 6 years that is 2, 190 days, 52,560 hours, 3,153,600 seconds that I have felt this pain. I wonder will it ever go away? Will I ever discover something new or experience happiness without feeling like something is missing. That something is you, sweet Jacob. I think of you with every breath. I still live, go to work, love, entertain, and exist in this world of ours. But I think of you every minute. I am so afraid that I will forgot your laugh, your hugs, your precious smile. I don't want to ever forget you. I don't want you forgotten. I worry about that. I worry that there will be a world that never knew you. Twice a year I host a party for you, Jacob. A party to help our Jacob's Cupboard's empty shelves, but please know it is much much more that than. I hold the parties so we don't forget your life, the impact you made on us all. I am scared. I am so very scared that there will come a time when people will say enough. Enough talk of him, enough remembering, enough with the parties, enough with the Cupboard. Move on. Every year the group gets smaller. People are busy, people don't want to be sad, people don't want to remember. Move on. It is awkward, uncomfortable. That is enough sympathy move on. Is this the year to stop and go about our day as if this were any other day? For others, maybe, it is easier to go about with their lives and pretend this didn't exist. But for me son, I will never forget. I may go silent but I will always remember the day you were born, the day you died and all the precious time we had in between. Because in the scheme of life, 6 years is not too soon to forget.

A momma's heart

This week, two families’ lives were shattered. Two families found out their child had died. Two families. One family I know, the other I know only by name. But even if I didn’t know the names I would know the devastation that this death is wrecking havoc over their lives. Both families went to bed praying when they woke in the morning this would all be a bad dream. Both families woke up with a start that this is the new reality, their child had died. They will wake up every morning for the rest of their lives with that realization. I know this because it is my reality. My son’s death has blessed and cursed me. I feel the pain for them. I remember the long walk down the hallway and falling to my feet screaming out “God no”. I wake up at night reliving that first night and crying for these families. I go to the store and stand there in the middle of an aisle remembering my anger when the world kept spinning and my world had come to a screeching halt. How could these people shop and smile and walk through life without a care when I carried this much sorrow in my heart? I physically get ill when I think of them having to go to the funeral home to pick out the casket for a life cut too short. I get on my knees and prayer for God to spare them but it is too late. So, I walk this journey again. Reliving the moments knowing that others have walked it before me and others will come behind. I am thankful that God placed people in my life February 20, 2010, to guide me through. To walk along beside me if only just in prayer. Even though these two families' situations are so different, the pain is the same. Because of my journey, God has shown me how to pray, how to minister, how to sit quietly and listen. I know the realization that praying is just too hard and others need to intercede for you. I know to remind them to keep breathing and live one moment at a time. To not get too far ahead of their grief, don’t think about the future and how will you live without that child. Just get through the next 10 minutes, the next second, just keep breathing. And for that I am blessed. To know that some good will come from my son’s death. Oh, believe me, that does not take away the ache and the tears but gives some validity for the pain. Just to be able to go before God and pray for these families from the heart means maybe, there was a reason. Maybe some good will come. So I come to you, and ask you to pray. To lift these families up to God and wrap them both in His sweet arms. To put people in their paths that will continue to reach out even after the funeral is over. To know that even though they may be angry at God, He has big shoulders to pound on and will pick them up when they are done. To help them find a blessing somewhere in the midst of the curse. To know that even 6 years down the road the hole will still be ripped through your heart but that God’s grace will see them through. I ask too that you pray for my family this week as we celebrate the healing of Jacob’s soul. Today he walks in Heaven where he is free from his demons and focused 24/7 on God. To help us to remember that this is just a moment in time until we see him again. But that every morning when we wake and before our eyes are open, we wake to the realization our child is gone, pray we have the strength to stay strong in our faith and help others. To help all the mommas and daddies who buried their children, I pray for strength. I miss you sweet Jacob. I long for your precious hugs and infectious laugh. You will not be forgotten. Love you.

Maybe just maybe I have begun to heal.

Last week in an attempt to destress my life, I read an article about decluttering and how it can create a more serene environment. I cleaned out the bookcases in our bedroom and simplified what I filled them with. It did create a better atmosphere. But something was missing. I needed a picture. I found myself searching and searching through the boxes of pictures I hadn't been able to go through. Pictures that took my breath away and made my heart skip beats. Pictures that created a hollow pit in my stomach because I knew they were the last. The last pictures of my son, gone far too soon. But today, I searched, searched for that one picture I knew I needed. At last I pulled it out. It was him, the beautiful eyes, the charismatic smile, the wind tossed looking hair, my Jacob. But this time it was different. I longed to look at it and remember. Something had changed. It was peaceful, comforting and for the first time in 6 years I put his precious picture on the bookshelf. I begin to look at his face every morning when I first came to the shelf by the door to let the dog out. I begin to look at his face every evening when I went to bed. I begin to feel his presence and it was peaceful. Today, I went to the cemetery to put new flowers on the graves, graves of my parents and my Jacob. I had made Valentine's arrangements, hearts and I love you's filling them . I busied myself putting them on the different graves while Bart secured the arrangements with wire. We both worked quietly but peacefully. Feeling like we had a sense of purpose. I realized something was different. There was peace. Soon I found myself walking through the cemetery putting flowers back in empty vases, straightening wreaths that the wind had tossed about. As I walked past my cemetery friends, the grave sites I always check on, people whose lives should not be forgotten, I felt such a peace. A peace that doesn't come so very often. As I sit here I realize that even though I miss my Jacob so very very much, with a longing that physically hurts my heart, that not a moment goes by that I don't think of him, that slowly very slowly there is a peace. I realize that in the 6 years since his death maybe just maybe I have begun to heal. Will this pass and the anxiety and pain start again? I don't know. I pray it won't. I hope you pray it won't but for today I want to sit here and enjoy the peace that God has given me. I love and miss you my precious boy but look forward to seeing you again. I will hold you in my heart until I hold you in Heaven.

Almost

I almost made it. Almost. I have stayed so busy the entire time from Thanksgiving to Christmas. I have filled every moment with work, shopping, errands, tv, and more. I have kept my mind moving every moment of every day until sometimes it is hard to fall asleep at night from being beyond exhaustion. But, today it came crashing down. Today, in the Christmas candy aisle at Dollar General my carefully guarded heart fell out and shattered as it fell upon the floor. First the stinging in the eyes. I squeeze them closed to keep them at bay. But slowly, they began to fall then faster and faster. I stand in the aisle of Dollar General looking at Christmas candy I begin to fall apart. I shake my head in wonderment, thinking why now? Why here? My brain quickly goes back to the very last Christmas Jacob is alive. I bought blinking Christmas cups. A silly thing to put in their stockings. I remember Jacob laughing, throwing his head back and laughing out loud. He jumped up and poured milk in his cup. Said he was going to drink out of it all day. He drank from it the entire week. It made me smile. The memory, the heartache side by side. Coming from the hidden dark parts I keep locked away. A single memory and the flood gates open. I blindly make my way to the counter. Pay and run to the car. I pull out and before I realize I know where I am going. Where I am drawn magnetically. My car goes without me even guiding. I go to my solace my last place to see him. I go to the cold dark earth of the cemetery. I pass the other visitors who stand in silence gazing at the earth and I know I have to go. I have to get out and bend down on my knees and cry out to God once again please, let this not be true. I have to see his name on the granite to make myself realize nothing has changed. Please God don't let it be. I lay my head next to the image of his face and tell him I love him. I miss him. I want him to be here. Silence. And as the coldness seeps into my body, my tears slow and the sobs that have racked my body lessen, I pull myself up. I tell my baby boy goodbye. I almost made it. Almost.

Birthday Celebration

As September the 13 nears I feel my heart tighten. I could tell you it was this time of year without a calendar. I can tell by the air and the leaves and temperatures. I know when my son's birthday is. I was there 28 years ago when I gave birth and for 23 years we celebrated his special day with cake, presents and family. February 20, 2010 changed all that. My son died. But even though my world suddenly came to a halt time didn't. Before long it was September 2010. I was faced with the idea that I would no longer plan a party or buy a cake or have our traditional birthday morning hunt for your present. No, September 13 would come and go. But as a mother I could not bare to think about this day going by without celebrating the birth of my son. It didn't matter that he no longer lived. It was still his birthday and I was still his mother. We must celebrate. I had not map, no guide book, no plan on how to be a mother of a deceased child. No one tells you how to do this. But I knew I must celebrate this precious child's special day. I began to think what could I do. What would not seem strange to family and friends. What could I live with. I thought of his tender heart and the desire to help others. Soon I realized that I had to continue on his giving. His no questions asked. Just do what Jesus said, give and how they use it is between them and God. Jacob's Cupboard was born that day. This Sunday my son will turn 28. This Sunday Jacob's Cupboard will turn 5. 5 long years without my boy. 5 long years of sorrow and sadness. But I can say today we walk a little stronger. We breath a little easier. We have come a long way. This journey has not been easy. Death of a child is not for the faint hearted. Death did not win though. We are not only surviving, we are thriving. Every day is an act of grace from God. Every day if not for the prayers of others we would fall. But somewhere along the journey God has given us our joy back. Our hearts still break and will never heal but our joy can not be stolen. This Sunday I will talk about our journey and what God has shown us along the way. Come hear the miracle of restoration and fulfillment of the scripture. This Sunday at West Metro Community Church, 601 W Main Yukon at 10:45 come hear our story. That night we will have our Birthday Celebration from 4-6 at the same place. Come, bring some food, have a piece of cake and visit for a moment. Help us celebrate the birth of our child. No tears just joy. Happy Birthday my precious baby boy.

A strong elderly man

I sat with a man who is dying today. I held his hand for an hour and a half, until my arm went numb. I watched as he dozed. I watched the peace on his face. He would begin to smile and the smile would soon move to his eyes while he slept. The crinkles around his eyes shouting out the joy that he felt inside. He awoke and I told him of his smile, the joy I saw. He told me he was filled with joy. He had had a good life, he is 101. He was truly at peace. I read his Bible to him while he listened with closed eyes, occasionally nodding his head. When I finished he opened his eyes and told me he was ready. Ready to go meet Jesus. His eyes twinkled. I prayed with him and then left. The peace that he is approaching death with is something we rarely see. We don't want to leave this life. It is familiar. Death is scary. But this man was ready. Just days before he was full of life. He exercised and walked to every meal. He wasn't sick or full of cancer. He just had a full life and was ready to go home. Home, heaven. I learned a lot from this 101 year old man. He lived a life with no regret. He lived a life with passion. He lived a life in a close relationship with God. He lived a life where he saw goodness around him. He lived a life of contentment. And he faced death the same. I pray that he goes quickly. I pray that he closes his eyes in that hospital bed and opens them to see the face of Jesus. I pray that those of us left behind will feel the joy and peace he felt someday and face death with the same dignity and longing. Today, a week later this amazing man left this world and enter into the arms of His sweet Jesus. Thank you God for bringing him into my life.

The Flowers

I went to buy the flowers. I buy flowers every season for the cemetery, my mom, dad and Jacob. I do it almost without thinking about it. I make a large saddle for my parents headstone and a tall full arrangement for Jacob. I do this often. Today, I went to buy the flowers. I picked up several ones then all of the sudden the place in my heart that I keep very very guarded and closed flooded open. Screaming through my brain was, "What are you doing?You..are..buying..flowers.. for..your..son..who..is..dead." Why? Tears brimming on my eyelashes I stopped, holding a stem of small pumpkins. Why? Why do I do this? I spend money,that could be used for people who are living, on flowers that will fade and blow away. So why? Why do I continue to do this? As I stood in the aisle holding the stem of pumpkins I knew why. I buy them in hopes you will come. I buy them in hopes that someone out there thinks of him often besides me. I buy them in case you are there for a funeral and out of the corner of your eye you see the flowers and wander over and realize that my son lived. My son lived and now is dead and that someone cares enough to put flowers on his grave. I buy the flowers because I can do nothing else. I can't help with his bills, or buy him new clothes. I can't send him a card or pick up the phone. I can buy flowers and put them on his grave so in case someone happens by they will know he is loved. He is thought of every day of every moment. I buy the flowers because there is nothing else I can do.

Time does not heal everything

Time heals all wounds. That is a lie. I miss my son as much today as I did 5 years 3 months ago when I heard the words "He is dead". Oh, I may look ok. I may act ok. I may sound ok. I continue living, staying very very busy, and smiling. I don't want to make you uncomfortable. I don't want you to be at a loss for words. I don't want you to not want to be around me. So I pretend. But the moment I get alone I miss my boy. I can feel his hugs, hear his voice, smell his special smell, see his smile. And all I can think about is how much my heart hurts. How at the thought of not seeing him again this side of Heaven takes my breath away. My heart aches and my stomach is tied in knots. My chest is so heavy and breathing is difficult because I literally can't understand how this all happened. How one moment you are alive and then next you are dead and my world is crushed. I miss my Jacob today and 10 years from now I am sure the physically and emotional pain will be the same. You may think I should be over it. But time does not heal the loss of a child. A part of me died that day and will never recover till I see and hold him again in my arms. So look at me and think how well I am doing. Tell me again how it is time to move on. Think to yourself it is better but know it is an act. My tears are just a moment away. I keep my heart closed to feelings because if I let myself feel I am afraid I will the pain will break me in two. 5 years 3 months later time has done nothing.

Five years

Five years. Before I opened my eyes this morning this thought ran through my brain. Five years. Five years ago this morning I woke up and started my day with not a care in the world. I ate my breakfast while reading the paper, dressed and went to my moms. I worked around her house doing those things she wasn't able to do. Around noon I began trying to fix her cable. At 12:30 my phone ran and I almost didn't answer because of frustration with her remote. I wish I never had. That phone call changed our lives. Five years ago today I ran into the emergency room and saw the chaplain walking towards me and I knew. I knew my son was dead. Five years. I sit here this morning and think how can it have been that long since I felt your all embracing hugs and heard your laughter throughout the house? How can it have been five years. It still feels like yesterday. Yes, we have "moved" on. Yes, I continued breathing and living. Something five years ago today I saw as impossible. Yes, the world kept spinning even when I didn't understand how it could. Yes, we have felt joy and happiness when I thought I would never feel anything ever again. How? Through God's grace and mercy. I remember telling God while I waited for Bart and Kyler to arrive that my faith was not big enough to handle this. I told him I was going to fail. I told him I wanted to die right then. I begged Him to take me not Jacob. And while my faith was not big enough and still isn't, my God is. The only reason I am still sitting here this morning and able to take another breath is because of the prayers of others and God. People tell me how strong I am and I am not. I look strong on the outside. I talk about Jacob's death and how we celebrate where he is, not where he isn't. But know that myself and I think I speak for every other mother whose child has died that one never "moves on" or gets over it. I have done as my friend, Theo, told me back five years ago. I have taken that part of me that died that day and tucked it very carefully away in my heart. I closed the door on it and locked it tightly. It weighs my heart down heavily. I know it is always there but I keep it closed tightly. But on days like today when I am alone and no one is around to see me I go to that place and carefully unlock that door. Just the turning of the key brings me to my knees and I weep. I weep as if I was walking that hallway again. I weep as I remember having to face Bart and Kyler and tell them Jacob was dead. I weep as I walk into that ER room and see my child lying on the bed with life drained from him. I weep as I sit, once again, in the room with my family, not able to even hold my head up as we plan his funeral. I weep as I see his precious beautiful body lying in the casket. I weep as we lower his body into the cold dark ground. I weep for the hours of sitting in my living room, alone, waiting for him to come home. I weep for the loss. I miss him more today than I did that day five years ago. How is that possible? How is it possible to grieve even more today for the what will never be? I sit motionless while the tears flow then the racking sobs take over. But after my body is entirely spent, a peace comes over me. One I have felt so many times before. God's loving arms wrap around me and I am reminded of where Jacob is not where he isn't. Jacob's last entry in his prayer journal, "God I want to be focused on you 24/7 and rid of my demons." has been answered. And while my cry from that day five years ago is still true, my faith isn't big enough, my God is. So I wipe the tears, take the key and lock that room back up and tuck it quietly back into my heart. I know I will visit it again, sometimes when I least expect it. And while I know what the cost of visiting is, I will go back there. But I also know that when I am finished and all the tears have been shed and my body lies still, God will pick me up and carry me back to the peaceful moments when He assures me I don't have to be strong, He is. Jacob, I love and miss you. But I rest knowing that I will see you again my precious baby boy.