My Joyful Mysteries, and A Revolution of Real

Today my hair was a mess. 

I smelled of campfire, and everything is full of sand. 

There is a hole in my jeans from the hook on a fishing line. 

I road in the back seat of our old pickup truck the whole trip with two of my boys, because the teenager’s legs can’t cram in the back any longer. It was reminiscent of my childhood driving hours with four kids crammed into a Toyota Corolla, which later became my first car. 

I watched my husband try to fish, but spend most of his time untangling hooks, and rods. 

We climbed rocks and I did my best not to say “Be careful” too much. 

And my hair was tangled the whole time. 

And it was okay. 

Because I watched my children live…fishing off the dock, fishing in the dusk, laughing in a fort in the sand. We ate scoops of melting ice cream in cones, and I let them wipe off their chins with their sweatshirts– that were covered in sand and summer. 

We were away. 

Away…from the painful pieces of growing up. The past year I’ve seen a lot of growth in my family, and many of it has been the hard kind. I keep trusting God with it all. But it is hard stuff. 

It can all be so Rocky. And sometimes the sand gets in everything. 

And so we needed it…this time. Time away to do the messy good stuff, over the busy life stuff. 

I’ve been trying lately to embrace the experience of living part over the just getting through each day part. I’ve been spending more time looking for all the beautiful over all the things that make me anxious. 

It’s a powerful shift. 

And a good one. 

 I’m still a mess. 

I will never have it all together.

But the tangles are bringing my family closer to each other. And our faith is a constant in the messy. And God continues to draw us closer to Him and bring people into our lives who get us. And love us. And we love each other and I’m realizing what a gift that is. 

Embrace the experience. Love the mess. Live. 

to God be the Glory. 

Today when I was driving there was a spot as I merged on the freeway where the other lane was supposed to merge into mine. I was driving when suddenly the car in the other lane that should have merged behind me sped up and cut me off. There was no car behind me, and it gave that person maybe a few extra seconds getting closer to where they were going. 

As I continued to drive I thought about how often we try to get ahead of others…

We need to be just a little better. A little faster. A little stronger. More together. More organic. Blah…blah…blah. Just to be more than someone else.

And sometimes the people we love, or the people who trust us, are the people who suffer the most. 

We are so busy trying to get ahead we become focused on road rather than on the scenery. 

We don’t stop…we’ve gotta keep going…make that deadline, finish that task, look good on paper –but fail the people who need us because we don’t stop, we just keep driving. 

Conversation becomes just talk. Words lose their significance when we never really mean what we say. When we never stop and be present for people who need us. It’s just words. 

Connection becomes a checkmark, and not a necessity, and we make others feel small. Insignificant. Because we can’t connect with them, and won’t make time. 

Ok I get it. You’re busy. I’m busy. We all are busy. But how often is our busy- time wasted by things that don’t matter?  

You will never lie on your deathbed and say “Man I wish I’d kept up with the Kardashians…” Or with your snap chat followers…or some random celebrity you follow on Twitter. Really you won’t. Those people won’t show up when you need someone. 

We have become defined by entitlement and privilege and we’ve forgotten to look around. We’ve forgotten how to listen as we spew endless enlightenments and repost “truths” that we’ve never ever followed up to see if they are actually true! Because we are too busy to actually research and look for the truth. 

And we’ve forgotten how to set limits because we’ve settled for “cruise” and have given up control for the right reasons. 

You know what? It’s ok to say no to our children.  It’s ok to slow down. Its ok to work out. Its ok to follow your gut. It’s ok to take care of yourself. It’s ok to let someone else be good at something else, maybe even better than us. Maybe we’ll learn something. And it is ok to fail, and admit we’ve failed…as a friend, as a coworker, as a parent, as a spouse. And then we apologize and we start again. We ease into it, we merge and go slower. 

We take our time. 

I’ve been letting Jesus take the wheel for a while…because I can’t drive this life alone. Every time I’ve tried I’ve failed. I don’t mind being the passenger.

I do my best to ensure that my words are followed by my actions, because the people along the journey mean something. I will take my time, because in the end, the people that have stopped along the way and helped me, will be the people who will take care of me and my family if something happens. They are my flares. My safety belts. 

I will be there for them. If I say I’ll do something or be there…I will be there. I will back my shit up with a ton of love. They are worth that. 

So slow down…you don’t need to get anywhere that fast. The Final Destination will come soon enough.

To God be the Glory. 

This is a love story. 

But it isn’t about everything coming together. Or anything being close to perfect. It’s about the gift of love when everything didn’t work out…

One of the greatest gifts my parents gave me, was never doubting I was loved…through their divorce, and through them both finding love again. It was rocky, and twisty. Many times. But I learned what love was through it all. 
Yeah some of it was messy, but what part of life isn’t messy and painful? 

The good stuff is what counts. 

Faith, Grace, Hope, and Love is all good stuff. 

And the good stuff is what made me who I am. 

My parents never gave up on love. They didn’t become bitter or hardened. And I never doubted I was loved completely and totally. By my Dad. By my Mom. And by my Papa John, my bonus Dad. 

29 years ago my Parents, Papa John and Mom married. 

And I found as the years passed that God gave me two Dad’s with very different gifts, gifts that I now share with my children. Being a bonus Dad isn’t easy, but Papa John gave love and his faith freely with me every single day. And he loves my Mom so much. He takes more photos than God, and he captures every family event. 

And my Mom, she lives her vows in beautiful incredible ways. She loves so well, and prays more than any person I’ve ever met. She’s taught me to talk to God on the good and bad days, and has given me a relationship with God that is as natural as breathing. Truly. My daughter also looks exactly like her so I get to see and think of my Mom every single day. 

I am thankful for their 29 years of marriage(which is also the age I’ve been for 8 years.) 

But they make it look good… They gave us the gift of my little sisters. They live every day through cancer and health. They taught me how to live richer by giving to those with less…they cherish their children and grandchildren in big and small ways. They pray together. And I am so proud to call them mine. 

I am so thankful for the example of my parents. All six of us are. 

16 years ago this week I walked down the aisle with both of my Dad’s at my side…holding me steady towards the Man who was everything I was brought up to look for. 

A Man of Faith, a Man of His Word, a Man of Honor…and a Man who would love me the rest of our lives.  And Waiting there to help them give me away was My Mom. 

And there was so much love. Love that they have gifted to me over and over.

This is a love story. The best kind.

Because it’s the kind of love that God anoints. Even when it didn’t always come together,  it’s the kind of Love that can never be doubted. 

It’s the kind of Love that stands the test of time. 

It’s the only kind of Love I’ve ever known. 

Happy 29th Anniversary. ❤️ thank you. 

I can’t remember the last time I felt motivation to write. Everytime I tried to start it all felt so heavy. 

The world  was too heavy. My heart was too heavy. I couldn’t find a way to weave hope into all the heaviness that kept me cowering in a corner with anxiety. 

Yeah I was cowering. Because my whole life when it’s come to Me and Anxiety, anxiety has always won. 

Around late June I noticed I was getting increasingly tired and anxious. I began to take longer naps in the day, and not just because of my anemia. At night my brain would race…never turning off. There was a murkiness that had settled over me, and it was all so heavy. 

I was starting to break slowly. 

Truth be told…I get anxious around silly things: classes at the gym with no fans and circulating air, public pools, social settings where I don’t have safe people, parking in a crowded parking lot, and anyone who calls Nickleback and Florida Georgia Line their favorite bands.

See? I’m a hot mess. 

And I couldn’t write. 

Because it was all too heavy. Because words seemed too complicated. Because life was so busy. And because of you…you, my readers, who have read my words and seen the pendulum swing for me. I’ve shared overcoming depression and anxiety. I speak of the Grace of healing and giving it all to God. 

And yet. And yet…here I was. Again. 

And my anxiety also led to fear. Real fear that affects my family. Real fear that has been blown up from the media and people who I thought I knew…and who I trusted. 

And I just couldn’t. I could not. 

Battling back against anxiety and depression takes work…God can bring great healing and restoration, but you’ve got to be willing to work. When you’re in that head space-  all of it is seductive. It’s comfortable. Especially when that’s what you’ve always gone to…isolate, sleep, and numb so you don’t have to really feel stuff. And if you think it doesn’t take a toll on your people, it does. 

I had to seek out what I know will always work. Tell people where I am, not physically but emotionally, and be willing to do the work…counseling, meds, exercise, all of it is the work I do. And I work hard.  Tell people who I am, and if they can’t be a safe place for me and my family, they have no place in my life or my heart anymore. Tell people I love, I need them…to be there, and I have to know they may not always show up. But that’s no excuse for me not to put in the work. And prayer, prayer and my God always works. 

My faith is my safest resting place.  I give it all to God every single day. 

And my life…is a good life. 

So here I am…bearing a little part of my soul, and all my wobbly bits. I’ve decided to write in my blog everyday for the rest of the summer. 

To share my real again. 

To share my words again. 

Because maybe through it all you’ll find some hope. Maybe you’ll see yourself. 

Or maybe, just maybe you’ll rejoice in your real and your life. 

So, here I am…Not broken. Just a little cracked. The light shines through every day. 

Dear Rex,

I remember when she brought you home all those years ago.  Although we’d suspected you long before we met you – the sudden changes, the ways she was so worried about little things, the way she slowly started to withdraw from us.  I guess because we didn’t understand what was really happening, we pretended you didn’t exist.  We pretended for a long time that you were just a temporary fling in her life, a phase. But you stayed.  She never asked you to leave, and we loved her, even though she was different after she met you.

I remember her round, perfect cherub face.  She was the happiest child, a little Angel.  Fun and easy to be around with bright sparkling eyes. She radiated the kind of innocence that comes from peanut butter smeared kisses and sticky hands.  We all adored her. She was the only child I’d ever met who couldn’t bear to go outside the lines of her coloring books.  She always wanted things to be perfect.  Then when we all met you, we realized you wanted her to be perfect too.

From the day she was born we had a connection beyond just being sisters.  I could sense when she was hurting even if we were far away.  When she had an emergency appendectomy at five years old, I had my boyfriend (now my husband) pull over on the freeway so I could use a payphone to find out what was wrong. I could sense something was wrong with her.  We have always sensed when the other needed something and called “out of the blue” only to know it never really is.

From the minute You met me, You hated me.  And I hated you.

Sometimes she was so busy that she didn’t see you as much, and we would see the old her again.  Off and on those first years she broke it off with you…But then you were there again, you grew bigger in our eyes as she became smaller.  Each time you came back, was worse than before. She would swear you hadn’t changed her, but you had, and became skittish when we mentioned your influence.  Nobody knew what she saw in you.

We saw how depression came in and stayed when she was with you.  How when you were broken up she could participate and love sports, but when you were there you consumed too much, so she chose you.  And she’d lose every time.  She became cruel and cutting to herself, her voice would take a tone only you used with her. You ruined her State Cross Country race, defeating all possibilities of her doing well under your control.  She was devastated. You were elated.  She invited you to dinner and we pretended not to see the way you folded your hands over hers.  Our hearts ached at how you would make her “fake” happiness…with every word, every bite, and each breath.

Her eyes weren’t bright anymore.  She was tired all the time, but she couldn’t sleep.  It wasn’t the first time we’d seen this sort of abusive relationship, my Mom had been in one during my childhood.  I had briefly flirted with one.  I started trying to understand what she saw in you.  I read books after she brought you home, stories of women in these exact same relationships trying to help other break up with this dark abuse. I’d show them to her, and she’d look at me with a blank stare.   Our society is filled with people promoting these obsessive relationships.  So all it did was reaffirm to her that you were perfect for each other. And once you knew she was staying, you just got meaner.

You filled her with constant shame.  We begged her to break up with you, to get away, to run.  She tried. For six months, she ignored your calls, but somehow you always found her at work, at lunch.  You kept waiting for her to take you back.  When she moved away from town to get away from you, we were elated.  She was three states away from you. She was running again. She was surrounded by new people. But after a couple months, she stopped returning our calls…

Then one day she did call, her words not making sense, but between her cries, I discovered you’d followed her there.  You were living together. You had isolated her.  Her codependence and hysteria tumbled out in broken sentences and I knew it was much worse than before. So much worse.

She told me she was losing her hair. “Stress,” she said. She said she was tired, but antsy.  “I can’t think straight.” She said. Anxiously she talked and talked, not making sense as alarm bells went off in my heart. But what she didn’t say was what we both knew.  It was you…All you.  You were abusive and cruel.  So cruel she’d began to have chest pains, and we knew you were a part of that too.

So we took extreme measures.  We took her away.  We hid her from you. For months and months we hid her away. You found her a couple times, and after you’d make a brief damaging visit, she’d sleep for two days.  You were toxic, and she still loved you. On the hard days she would plead to us in a foreign paralyzed voice, “You DON’T understand.” She was caught in this web of your lies and poison, your darkness, and control. She couldn’t move on without your permission.  So she’d sleep. And while she slept, we cried.  Hurt because she’d chosen you, Rex, the darkest son of a bitch I’d ever known, over us.

But then we hid her again, at my home, for longer this time.  And things changed.  Shifted. She began to enjoy life again, she made friends, and she had an identity that didn’t include you.  We hid her where she could become whole without you.  Her voice became clearer, her hair shinier, and she began to laugh. A real laugh, a whole laugh.  It was beautiful.

But then one day, out of the blue, she was very tired again. I thought maybe it was just the weather.  Then three weeks later she was cold all the time.  And then I blinked, and there you were. You were back.  You had found her…again.  She loves you.  But you will kill her.

So that night I called the reinforcements.   All the people who knew about you, who had fought with us to keep her away from you. And although we live in a world who romanticizes versions of your sick tainted love, we know who you really are.

So I sat with her, and I held her, and I told her.  I said “We will never stop fighting to get you away from this.” I told her how much I loved her.  And that we’d been scared for years to lose her to you, but we would keep fighting.  I told her I hated you more than I had ever hated anything.  And that I hated everything you’d done to her.  You’d stolen years. And you were no longer welcome in my home, on my doorstep.  That I couldn’t enable the pain you brought to her life.

And so we packed her up, and sobbed in each other’s arms.  She didn’t want to leave me. But she had to leave you, so we found what we hoped to be the final “safe” place for her to go.  Across the country. Before she boarded the plane I sent you a text.  The text went to her phone, because I knew you’d see it.

She is beautiful.  When she was born it was an answer to prayer for all of us.  She has an amazing personality, a heart for service, and a love for God. She is worth more than any jewel or amount of gold – and is the truest gem I know.  She is worthy of great love and great blessings.  She is worthy of healing, and of feeling and knowing worthiness. 

You, Rex, have NO place in her life.  You are mean and shallow.  You steal joy and make her feel small and insignificant. You have twisted her thoughts and controlled her for too long.  I have changed the locks.  I am leaving you no forwarding address for her.  You can’t have her.  She was OURS first.  And we are here to keep her safe and bring her home eventually healthy and FREE. She is a child of God.

You, Rex, are only darkness and I’m exposing you for the piece of shit you are. So Fuck You!

I pushed send.  And waited. Four hours later I received a reply.  “I love you. Thank you.” And then we waited…Eight years is a long time to be with someone. But I believe she can break free from you. I believe that light, so bright will someday shine through and you will fade away.  And until the day I die I will fight you. I will watch for you whenever I’m in public. I will remain vigilant when I’m with her and when I’m with my four beautifully whole children, because I am terrified they will meet someone like you.

And I will speak the truth, and not hide from the fact that you are there.  You are a stealer of lives. You are a murderer.  You are anoREXia.

-Kristin

I wrote this letter two years ago.  I wrote this for my Sister, my beautiful brave courageous sister, and I am proud to say after a lot of hard hard work, work that will continue for years – She broke up with Rex. She graciously gave me permission to share this. She is a living miracle.   She has rebuilt her life.  She fights for her life.  Recently a dear friend from treatment of hers passed away, and I was stuck in a traffic jam in my City states away.  I began to cry uncontrollably even though I hadn’t even heard the news yet.  Still to this day we are connected.  Eating disorders are a disease and affect every person who loves the person who is suffering.  Two years ago I held my sisters brittle body as we sobbed and she left for treatment again.  As a caregiver I felt I had failed her, but after a year of fighting with Rex for her I was spent.  A year ago we wept into each other’s hair as I held her healthy body against mine, praising God for his miraculous healing – for her life. Her life is a testament of healing and hard work, and a fight that she will fight to win. To live. She will save lives. She already saved hers. 

To God be the Glory. 

I guess I shouldn’t be surprised at how on a week when my own failures as a parent have left me heavy and swallowing back tears, that I would be so overcome at the absolutely audacity of the failure of Justice. 

Recently a woman who was raped wrote a heart wrenching letter to the man who raped her* during his sentencing hearing. His sentence was a pittance, an absolute joke. 

He is a rapist. He is no longer a student athlete, but the fact that his “bright” future was ruined by his choices, gave him an advantage…even though He violated someone else’s dignity. He took something from someone else with his own hateful actions. 

She did not choose this. She was saved by two Men who witnessed his abuse, and chased him down. 

I was angered…seething in fact, but not surprised. 

Because someone I love deeply, was the victim of a similar crime and it couldn’t go to trial because the witnesses(friends of the abuser) said they didn’t “see” anything. “Friends” of the person I love, stopped talking to investigators because they didn’t want to be hated at school. Like the person I love, who was the victim. But instead the “victim,” became the abuser…because he’d had a hard life, because he was popular, because he was a Senior. Suddenly it became a he-said, she-said case…and it couldn’t be tried. But guess what???? 

BULLSHIT! Screw your popularity. Screw your tough life. 

She didn’t choose it. She didn’t choose this. She has to live with the nightmares and the flashbacks. The absolute horror of humiliation as friends turned their backs, and He gets to move on. Even though He took from Her. And she will never be the same. 

It reignited that injustice that We have created…

Yes. We. 

Years ago I was running with someone and I mentioned how angry I was that a   “beloved” student athlete at our local  university was allowed to stay and play after being arrested for choking his girlfriend. Suddenly this girl all over social media became hated, as people wrote cruel things about her, while people praised him. I was upset because I didn’t want my kids to think that was ok…

My friend listened and the response was “Well, She did take his phone.” 

What. The. Hell. You can choke a girl, for taking your phone?! Really? That’s ok? 

We have set the standard. 

If you hurt someone else…If you assault or rape anyone else…you have given up your bright future. You don’t have one, because you took from theirs. You made that choice. You shouldn’t get the right to talk to youth about the dangers of drinking…you should have to apologize to every rape victim who has had their bright future tarnished by assholes like you. 

We have set the standard. But we can change it. 

We can hear the victims, and see them. We can invest in resources to rebuild them, rather than places where “bright futures” can think they are beyond Justice. 

We can stop protecting people because they are good at sports and have a full scholarship…or would never do that sober. 

We can raise our children to be the ones who will jump in, and save a life. Stop an assault. We can raise Men who value women as a person…not an object, not a possession, but as a soul. We can stop making excuses and start owning the actions that damage others…and stop enabling those who do. 

We can see her. She is real. And I can only pray she knows her value. Her life matters. Her future matters. She is a child of God, and He loves her.

Jesus sees her. 

He stopped the men who were about to stone the woman, who I’m sure was a victim of  a lifetime of abuse. And saw her. 

A woman wept as her hair and tears lay at his feet and He saw her. 

She touched his cloak, wanting-needing-healing from a lifetime of anguish. And He stopped and spoke and healed her. 

God can restore…but we need to crush the standard we’ve allowed for too long. 

Because the standard has girls afraid to come forward, and when they do being made to feel it was their fault. 

We need to listen to them. 

See them. 

they are your daughters. they are your child’s classmate. they are the girl next to you on the bus. 

Hear them. 

See Her.

to God be the glory. 

*https://www.buzzfeed.com/katiejmbaker/heres-the-powerful-letter-the-stanford-victim-read-to-her-ra

We are in the busy season. Baseball every night. Dinner at 9 pm. Scrambling to finish deadlines, homework, endless piles of laundry. There are promotions to plan, parties to host, so much to do. I’ve given up on buying healthy stuff for lunches, instead it’s lunchables and random pieces of fruit thrown in. I’m never catching up. Somedays I feel like I’m drowning in the busy. At night I fall asleep quickly and then am wide awake at 2 again, remembering to put the clothes in the dryer. 

A couple weeks ago I had a spare hour between a baseball games. I took two of my kids to a nearby park. There were a handful of kids there and every single parent was on their phone. Looking down. Something about it really hit me. 

Why? Because that could have been me. Easily. In fact it has been me. Decompressing from the busy by staring. Staring at other people’s words. Reading about other people’s lives. “Liking” other people’s real and not looking at mine. So I turned off the phone that sat in my purse, and I looked up and saw them. 

I’ve been doing more and more of that lately. And I am seeing and noticing the little things in between the busy. The things I want to remember forever…

How his eyes twinkle even when he thinks no one is watching…He is inquisitive and wickedly funny.

How his freckles make my little old soul stay young…he has a heart for others and listens with a beautiful insightfulness.

How his legs hang off the bed, and how sweet his curly hair looks in the morning…He always offers to help first, says Thank You, and is the most loyal person you’ll ever meet. 

This sparkler with the dimples. She is the light of our lives. She’s always the biggest fan. She’s always the most excited. She’s always up for an adventure…as long as she can cartwheel there. 

It’s a lot less busy when we pick what’s most important. I’m seeing it now. I’m living it now. 

They are worth it. 

Look up. See Them.

Without fail I feel it building. Slowly piece by piece, inch by inch, beat by beat– it builds.

I tell myself this year will be easier. 

But it builds.

Until I’m standing there doing something normal, monotonous, like putting on my shoes, or folding towels and it can’t build anymore- tears spill one after another, grief pours out of me, and it is all so very unfair.

But here I am.

Mothers shouldn’t have to grieve their babies. But there are so many of us. And we don’t speak of it- the ache at baby showers, the frozen mask we wear when we see small bundles or children who would be the same age…because the lump never goes away. It’s a silent heartache that wails as we stand with a lasting grief that never goes away.

But here we are.

I shouldn’t have to grieve my first daughter. My daughter who was born sleeping. My daughter who I carried, and delivered, and held. She was so beautiful. And looked just like her siblings. She is ours. For years I was so afraid people would forget her. Our loss was so huge, that it just followed me. But then I started worrying about making people uncomfortable, I didn’t want to draw attention. My grief, our grief became more private. But sometimes, it just hits me and I have to be real and raw…We should have her here with us!  Today she would be 11. My Mary would be 11.

She’s not here.

But I am.

Yesterday as my tears came, and my heart physically hurt I whispered some truths to the heavens- and hope that Jesus whispered them in her ear…

My daughter,

I am so blessed to be your Mom. You are in every pink delicate flower. I think of you when the skies are open and vast. I long for you when I hear certain songs, or read beautiful words about being chosen. You are in pennies we find in the most random places, on the hardest days.  You are in my heart when I am so wrapped in prayer that I feel closest to God…in those moments you are still right here with me. I carried you in my womb, our little girl, so very loved. And now I carry you right here…next to my heart. Always. You are a part of me. You are a part of us. Our beautiful daughter. I love you Mary Therese…I cannot wait until we are all together again. I cannot wait to hold you. I love you forever. 

Out of all the little boys and girls in all the world how were Mommy and Daddy so blessed to have a Jonah, a Daniel, a Mary, a Micah, and a Gracie. 

Love, your Mommy. 

11 years later life is good, but it doesn’t go away. I miss her always. I know one thing since I’m still here, I’ll be all here. I’ll be present to her brothers and sister. I will tell them how much I love them. I won’t take a moment for granted.  And I will love better.

Without fail every year I feel it building. Piece by piece…because I carried her. Inch by inch…because she is a part of me.  Beat by beat…because Mothers shouldn’t have to grieve their children. But I do.

And I see you- those who grieve children you’ve lost. I stand here with you. Wombs that lay hollow. I stand by you. Families with empty seats at the table. You are not alone.

And I pray for you. Because I get it. My life is good, but she is missing. My life is hard, but it’s worth living. My life is more beautiful, because I know God.

And He is good. Even when life isn’t.

In the monotonous moments where grief spills, especially on days like today I’m reminded that this is my normal. I grieve Mary. I always will. I’m her Mother.

It is a universal truth of an unshakeable bond.

We give ourselves away…piece by piece.

We carry tightly to us…inch by inch.

We love. Completely. Always.

May 28. I miss my daughter with all my heart. 💗

I wrote most of this on Mother’s Day four years ago while I was on a run. Today I sit and write next to my teenager as he rests next to me his face pressed into a pillow, the antibiotics for strep throat next to us. His little white patch of hair, his birthmark, peeks out and I’m reminded of the day I first met him. And now I know him. His long legs sprawl out over me. This man-child, my son. He tries harder than any person I’ve ever met. He’s sensitive and gifted. He is respectful and honest. He hates being left out…but is usually the third wheel. He is the most faithful person I’ve ever met. He hates missing church. He’s strong, but he doubts that. He wilts from criticism and shaming, he blooms from affirmation and loyalty. He is not perfect, and is the first person to tell you that. I worry about depression with him. A lot. His smile when he’s truly happy makes me beam and breaks my heart all at the same time. 

I’m not alone in these thoughts. I echo the thoughts of so many others who have loved so completely that it has turned their soul inside out. 

I wrote this…

For You. 

For You… I threw up behind a Chinese restaurant as your dad helplessly rubbed my back, because I couldn’t keep anything down while I was keeping you safe. 

For You…my ankles swelled, my heart burn would only subside from ice cream, and I’d lay on my side after drinking orange juice to count your movements. 

For You…I felt my body torn apart, and watched through hazy eyes as your Dad held you, and named you because I was too weak to hold you. 

I had never been more emptied. Or full. Or blessed. 

For You…I waited at another doctor appointment, to be told once again there was nothing they could do. I would never grow a child in my womb. 

For You…I cried at every Mother’s Day card, every child’s ornament, and at every baptism of a baby that reminded me I was broken. 

For You…I took the classes, I cleaned the house, we waited…and got the call. You would be ours. My whole life led up to this. 

I have never been more scared. Or brave. Or blessed. 

For You…My body would leak, and I would cry because things were cracked and you were crying and wouldn’t sleep- and I didn’t have a shirt that did not smell like spit up.  

For You…I would sit in the doctor’s office, my legs shaking as I had to admit that I could still hear your screams in my head, as I hated myself and thought dark thoughts. Because for the first time in my life I was scared of myself. 

For You…I had to carry you out of the grocery store, cart full and left behind as you screamed, “But I NEED a balloon!” thinking I’m just so glad I was wearing a bra. 

I have never been more exhausted. Or ashamed. Or blessed. 

For You…I had to deal with everything she took when you were in her womb, every side effect and hold you and ask God to let me be your Mom forever, and for being jealous that she got to grow you. 

For You…I watched as she holds you and loves you, and I thank her again for letting me love you. And we both cry because we love the same person so much and I feel guilty for getting to keep you. 

For You…I will never ever be able to thank her enough. And as we work and bond, I can’t remember the day you weren’t mine. 

I have never been more emotional. Or exhausted. Or blessed. 

For You…I walk away from him, even though everyone says I am making a mistake…but his choices, will hurt both of us. You are all I see. I need to protect you.

For You…I let you go. Because I know I can’t give you what they can. Even though I love you more than the world, but my world is too dark for you, and they will love you.  

For You…I don’t graduate from college. I give up a salary and benefits for you to poop on me. 

I have never been more afraid. Or grieved. Or blessed. 

For You…I stand in a home full of meth, feces on the floor, as you cling to me scared, and your Mother screams “How dare you take my baby.” I am away from my own babies, as your Mom takes you for granted. 

For You…you scream “You’ll never be my REAL Mom!” And you’re right, I won’t. But my heart still stings.

For You…I fall in love again, because while no one will ever replace your Dad…you deserve to see a happy ending. 

I have never been more helpless. Or hated. Or blessed. 

For You…I cry, curled up with your blanket against my nose and I wish it still smelled like you. I would do anything for even five minutes with you in heaven. 

For You…Holidays hurt. And my heart aches. And I think about how long your hair might be, and if you’d have woke me up with your brothers and sister. 

For You… I wonder if it will always hurt, or if you’ll ever know how much I love you and am so blessed to be your Mom. 

I have never been more sad. Or heartsick. Or blessed. 

For You…I spent your entire life building and growing and loving you. 

For You…you were the first thought when I got sick, and the only one I worried about. 

For You…I am so sorry you are spending Mother’s Day without me, because being your Mother is the best thing I spent my life on earth doing. 

I have never been more proud. Or missed. Or blessed. 

Happy Mother’s Day to All of the Mothers in the trenches, the Moms who are missing their own Mothers, and to my amazing Mom, my Mother-in-Law, our Grandmothers, and all my sisters…Missy, Erin, Susan, and Jodi. And all of the people who are trying to make it through this day.  

I am surrounded by beautiful amazing, strong women. This is for you. -K

Five Years.

How has it been five years? 

How has life kept moving and changing, as so much of our little world froze that day? 

April 22. 

The day Officer Chris Killcullen was killed. 

The day a Department lost one of their best. 

The day countless men and women lost their friend. 

The day a family lost their Son, their brother, and cousin. 

The day two little girls lost a Father. 

The day my kindred lost the Love of her Life, her Husband.

April 22. 

5 years ago. 

Since that day five years ago, Chris’s goodness that he lived so fully in life has been reflected in the beautiful way his family has continued to scatter…freely, willingly, with great care. 

It hasn’t always been without cost. 

It hasn’t always been easy. 

But Chris’s name is still spoken with Love and Life. A life stolen, but a legacy that speaks volumes about what a man should be. And who a Hero is. 

Often people have told my kindred Kristie  “You are so Strong.” 

And she is strong. But not for the reasons they say…

My friend Kristie is broken. 

Her entire world was shattered into a million pieces publicly. No amount of support can change that reality. 

But she got up. And she got her girls to school. And some days she laid in bed all day. And some days she worked out for too long. And some days she didn’t work out at all. She stood in the pits of a hell that many will never ever understand. 

And some people she loved, who loved Chris stopped showing up. They weren’t strong enough in their grief to watch her grief. 

They came around a few times that first year. 

They showed up once or twice the second. 

And then they stopped. 

It was all too much. They just couldn’t. 

Even though…

She was still right there. 

She was the one walking over shards of broken grief. She was the one with the name, who woke up to the small round face with his smile, in a home that had walls echoing memories of a life. Of a love. Of a family. 

And yet…

She didn’t allow that grief to become an incinerator of red hot anger and bitterness. Don’t get me wrong, there have been tears because of the thoughtless, the insensitive, and the takers. 

But there has been so many more moments of her searching through the brokenness, through the grief, and still honoring his life and their life together. 

Most won’t see that sort of darkness. Not like she has. 

But there are those of us that have waded through some of it with her. And we know how strong she really is. 

And it’s not for the reasons people say. 

She is strong because even in her brokenness she has held women who walk in the same shards of grief she has. Because she knows how sharp and cruel grief can be, and she knows what it’s like to lay in the dark and never know if it’s going to end. 

And she has gotten up, every damn day…for five years.

Through her brokenness she has shown up in Life. She has forged a different kind of life. A life with cracks. But a life where happiness can be found even in the brokenness. Where love can grow and thrive even if it’s a different kind of Life. 

Her circle has gotten smaller but it’s a strong circle. It’s the kind of circle where you can be broken and cracked and real. It’s the kind of circle where you are safe. You can yell at God and then pray together the next minute. We show up for each other. We need each other. So much. 

Five years ago this world lost a Hero. And his life mattered. His life still matters. 

But the goodness he shared with anyone who met him, still lives. 

It’s been Five years. 

Learn from the broken. 

See through the cracks. 

Show up. Love. Thrive. Live. 

We will never forget you Chris…

I love you Kristie. You are so strong.