Another Dad-less Father's Day

Here we are again.

Father's Day.

My children... still without their earthly father in their lives.

I thought it would get easier, going through yet another Father's Day with my children longing for their dad, but somehow this year was harder.

Their dad was "around" last year for Father's Day, sort of.  He had spent roughly six months seeing them multiple times a month after a year-and-a-half-ish disappearance.  But by Father's Day, he was slowly fading out again.

It's now been nearly a year since the kids have seen or heard from their dad.  I am holding onto hope that progress is being made, after finally talking with their dad again, that they will see him again soon, and that he will be a positive in their lives.  But, when you've had your trust violated hundreds of times by the same person, even when you believe with your whole soul that God can and does perform miracles, and can redeem anything and everything, you're very skeptical and guarded even when things seem they may turn around.

This year, the children are all older, obviously, and each one of them understanding Father's Day now, makes it harder on them.  In turn, it's harder on the mom who is also pulling the weight of the dad.

This morning, we woke up for church, the kids were excited as they are every Sunday.  Then, the oldest mentioned it was Father's Day.  The middle one laid back down with the covers over his face and proclaimed he was sad.  He missed his daddy.  He never sees his daddy, and his daddy is rude because his daddy doesn't make good choices.  I never have told them any details of their dad's abandonment or betrayals, just that he's not making good choices.  I started crying, unable to hold back tears, and told them all how sorry I was that their dad is still not making the choices that lead him back to them, and that I know they miss him, and that I miss him being in their lives too.  We regrouped and moved happily on to church.

While at daycare, the children made their gifts for me, or for their Papa.  They were all thrilled to do so.

At Sunday School this morning, two out of three of them made pictures for their dads.  It was either an oversight or perhaps the teacher had no idea.  The kids handled it well, though.

I sobbed at church.  I often cry, because worship moves my soul like that.  But today, I just felt the pain my children have been expressing over the past week.  I have been weighed down with their burden, knowing that I cannot understand what it must feel like to be rejected by their dad.  I cannot imagine being so young, and feeling like my dad doesn't care enough about me to see me.  Or call me.  Or send a card.  I just cannot wrap my mind around that, and to know they have pain I can't understand breaks my heart.

They're all so strong, though.  Truly.

At daycare on Friday, someone kept asking my oldest son repeatedly, "Is your dad even gonna be there for Father's Day?"  My son said nothing.  He was so strong.

The message was obviously themed around fatherhood, fathers of all kinds, including spiritual fathers.  I am so blessed to be able to look around the sanctuary, right around my own seat, and see men who have stepped up as spiritual fathers in my childrens' lives.  God placed me in the perfect church for my children for that reason.  They are loved there.

The message was hard, though, as I sat, knowing that their dad was somewhere across town, not embracing his God given role to be a father to his own children.  I felt the burden of a father, pulling as much as I can of the weight of both roles.  But I'm not a father.  I'm a mother doing as much as she can in the absence of a father.  It's obviously not the same.  I wept.  I'm so grateful for the support I have in church, as my dear friend whispered she had already placed tissues under my chair, because she knew it was going to be a hard day for me.  That's love.

We came home, and the kids all were silent for a while.  We talked about missing their dad again. They watched a cartoon and I hid in my room for a bit, crying again, just thinking about how much they miss him, and how I hope with all my heart he will follow through and be reunited with them.

I decided that we would leave and enjoy the park and the sunshine and fresh air, laughter and memories together, because we are good at that.  But, of course, being Father's Day, the park was filled with big gatherings and lots of kids with their dads.  My children noticed too, and we each had separate moments together under the tree where I filled them with God's Truth about who they are, their value, and my love for them.  Every single one of them told me I was the best mom in the whole world and that they loved me so much.  And I stopped crying.  Because I knew they were really okay, even though they were hurting.

Because God's got us, as he always does.

But, like I said, this year was harder.  I also believe it was harder, because it's yet another year, another milestone, another holiday, where their dad is consciously choosing to be absent.  Yes, he's contacted me with interest in seeing them.  But he hasn't followed through completely, has stalled out some, and we aren't where we thought we would be by now.  And I know that's on him, and I know that I am doing what's best for my children in giving him steps to follow through and not a free pass.  But that doesn't make it easy.  It doesn't mean it doesn't feel like I'm hiding things from them.

I have to just keep praying.

Even when it's hard.

Especially when it's hard.

But hopefully, this year will be the last year where my kids have a dad-less Father's Day.

The good news is, we WILL make it through, no matter what, stronger, happier, more resilient, and filled with boundless joy and love.  It has been our testimony since the day our world started crumbling.  God's mercies are new every morning.

A Mother's Message

Part of my Mother's Day gift this year came a week ago.  I kept it to myself for six days,  and now it's time to share.

It was a message.

Last Sunday, I was in church, as I am almost every Sunday morning.  Worship is my favorite part of the week, but last week, I was struggling to be in the right space with my heart and my mind open and free.  I didn't realize it on my own until a gentle hand from beside me came, followed by loving guidance and prayer, commanding the enemy to flee.

And just like that, the tears began, as they often do, as I suddenly found myself in worship, really in worship.

And seconds later, I realized what was hindering me.  You see, the week before was tough in momma-land.  I struggled through it almost every day, having been sick for multiple days with a nasty stomach bug, the kids and I both feeling the strain of it mentally and emotionally.  Each day was fraught, on some level, with challenges between my children and I, my children and each other, or myself and myself.  And I had, on multiple occasions, doubted myself as a mother.  More than once, I was wondering if I was a good mother at all, if I was really able to do it all as the only parent involved in my childrens' lives right now.

Much of the time, I believe I'm a good mom, because I know that I've got God with me in it all.  I always know God is with me, even if I don't feel him, but I'm not impervious to the self-doubt that seems to plague most all mothers at some point.

But, in that moment, I was given a message.

"You wonder if you're a good mom, and you fear you are a bad mom.  You fear you are not cut out for the job.  But, you KNOW and you BELIEVE that I made you perfect in MY image.  You know that I called you to be mother of those children.  So, if you believe that you ARE perfect because I SAY you are perfect, then you must KNOW and BELIEVE that you ARE THE PERFECT MOTHER for your children.    You are perfect."

Oh goodness, did I cry.

There was the answer to my doubt and my struggle.

Am I always a great mom?

Of course not.  I struggle. I make mistakes.  But, I try to learn from them, and I try my best (almost always) to be a good mom.  I've prayed countless times, asking God if my purpose really is to "just" be a God-loving mother to my three children, raising them in the Spirit, and He seems to tell me that it is my job now, in this season, to focus on them.

So, I know that I'm called for them.  But, I've doubted anyway.  I'm human, after all.

But here I was, weeping, as I felt the Father telling me, so clearly, that I'm not good.. I am PERFECT.

Up until tonight, I hadn't shared this word with anyone.  I've been keeping it in my secret arsenal as I began the week leaving church, thrown into battles and fires as a momma always is.  But this week, it was different.  I didn't doubt myself. I didn't doubt my parenting.  I saw each battle as a lesson in growth, grace, mercy, persistence, and patience.  Yes, I am sure I was imperfect in parenting.  But, I AM the perfect parent for my children.

Tonight, in silent meditation on a two hour drive home, with the children sleeping in the back seats, I felt the pull to share my personal message.

Tomorrow is Mother's Day.

And I realized, this message isn't for me alone.

No.

This message is for all women out there in mothering roles- biological mothers, adoptive mothers, foster mothers, aunts, grandparents, sisters, close friends, mentors, teachers... and anyone else I may be unintentionally forgetting.

YOU are PERFECT.  God made every single one of us, whether you accept Him yet or not.  And knowing He made you, the Bible says that we are each fearfully and wonderfully made (Psalm 139:14), and we were made perfect in God's image (Genesis 1:27- because God is perfect).

Each child you are given is a blessing from God, and if you accept your calling to be in the lives of child (young or grown, really), then you need to know that you are the perfect one for them.

Yes, you're going to make mistakes.  You're going to be imperfect as a person, but you ARE perfect for the job.

In being imperfect and simultaneously perfect, it is your duty to embrace the imperfection, to learn from it, grow because of it, and share it.  Because we are made stronger and we are formed more beautifully when we do.  And, it's a blessing to others when we do.

Each of us is going to struggle.  It's a given.  But, knowing you're made wonderfully and specifically for the purpose of being a mother of any kind to any child in your life, you can carry on when you do fall short.

But, you have to be willing to accept God in it all, to live up to your true perfection's potential.

With God, you are renewed each day (Isaiah 40:31, Lamentations 3:22-23).

With God, all things are possible (Matthew 19:26).

With God, you can do hard things... like what I believe to be one of the hardest things of all- being a good mother. With God, you can keep on when you feel like giving up.  You just have to ask Him to guide you, lead you.  You have to abandon your need to have everything in control, and let Him be the one to help you.  And it's easier said than done.

I have to do it, personally, every single day, and often more than once.

I believe in you, Mommas of all kinds.  God believes in you, too.  It's why He placed children of all kinds in your life.

----

I apologize if this read was a little difficult to understand or decipher as I am quite exhausted and about to fall asleep. I just couldn't go to bed without getting it out there.  I hope it makes at least a little bit of sense.

(This entire message also very much applies to every kind of father figure out there, too.)

The silence resumes.

I wish I wasn't writing this.  I contemplated not writing this.  But, I felt like not writing it was harder than writing it now.

I gave it a month, even though, I was pretty sure, one month ago today, almost exactly to the minute, I felt I knew what was coming.  I prayed against what felt like the inevitable at this point, but I prayed knowing that prayer does work, not always, but sometimes.  I know it worked once in this situation.  I guess, in my heart of hearts, I know God is a God of miracles, and prayer could bring radical change again.  Yet, at the same time, I'm being practical, and releasing my breath and realizing that for now, this is reality.

You see, for some reason that I fail to understand, one month ago tonight, my children's father disappeared from them, again.  He came back to them on December 26, 2017.  He walked out on them again, almost six months later, to the date.

I wasn't in town, but he had plans to see them with someone I trust dearly.  Up until a few hours beforehand, he was still planning on seeing them.  And then.. he just didn't show.  I reached out to him to find out if he was okay (the bitterness inside me, truthfully, swelled up and I asked him if he was dead), or what had happened.  A few days later, feeling it was the case, I asked if this meant he was done and walking on out again.  No reply to either.  I tried two more times, the most recently, last night.  I pointed out that today marks a month.  There is still dead silence.

I know he is out there.  I know he's active online, and while I can't be certain his phone works or he hasn't changed his number, I know he knows my name, and my phone number hasn't changed in years.

There's silence.

He's abandoned them again.

I find myself quite emotional this week.  I have known all along this was a distinct possibility, but I threw it all in and allowed him back in the children's lives, with the mentality that no matter what happened, whether he was here for good or gone again, we would get through it.  We already walked through hell in regard to this, and we made it through, because of God and his blessings of support.  I knew it would be "easier" this time, as "easy" as something like this could be for four hearts that aren't jaded and cold.   

But that doesn't seem to make it better.  

I'm currently at a point of both thankfulness and despair, pride and humiliation, hope and hopeless.  The part of me that has Christ dwelling inside has a positive spin on it, but my more practical, emotional, momma bear side is angry and negative.  It's a battle.  Yes, I'm going through a battle.  

But, I'm a warrior. I have to remind myself of that even though I feel like laying in my bed and throwing a toddler inspired tantrum.

As I said, I knew it could all fall apart.  But, truthfully, I thought it would be either right away, or years down the road.  

I didn't think he would get bored with his children this soon.

Is he bored with them?  I don't know.

I wish I could understand how someone I "knew" so well for so many years could be this way.  I wish I understood what, in a matter of hours, changed his entire plan.  I wish I could decide if he was incapable of making good decisions, or just chooses not to. I wish there wasn't silence.  The silence, again, makes it even worse.

People have started noticing and asking me about his involvement in their lives and our lack of discussion on the matter.  I am hoping that these questions continue to be directed solely to me, not in the presence of my children.

My children, heaven bless them, are starting to notice his absence.  I don't know if they noticed or felt it right away, because they've been very normal, happy, and truthfully haven't asked about him or mentioned him until this week.  Actually, so far, our three-year-old daughter is the only one who has.  But, I feel it's coming with the birthdays and milestones up ahead.  I am at a crux, wondering if I should confront the issue head on and prepare them, or wait and see when they're ready to talk about it.  I don't really want to assault them with the realization if they haven't come to it on their own yet.  

Also, this probably goes without saying, but... please do not speak ill or negatively of their father in their presence at any time.  Whatever their opinions are to be of him, those need to be formed by their own minds, through their own experiences.

I am so torn, right now, emotionally and faithfully. I want to find comfort, knowing that God will get us through, provide, restore and heal our hearts, minds, and souls.  But I'm a bit angry.  I'm not angry at God, because I know their father has free will, and is choosing his own path away from his children and away from God.  I know this.  I know in my heart that I did do the right thing letting him back into their lives, even though it hurts to be where we are now. I know God wanted me to forgive him.  I know God wanted my children to know their father again, for our daughter to create happy memories with him, because up until now, she had no recollection of her own and relied solely on her brothers or word of mouth from other people who knew her dad.  I know God wanted to show my oldest son that He does in fact listen and answer prayers.  I truly believe that his reappearance in our lives last year was God ordained, and for good and not harm.

I try not to blame myself for the fallout.  In the past, I've been so good at taking the blame, from their father, for things like this.  I KNOW I didn't cause the heartbreak that's to come by allowing them the opportunity to have their dad for a while.  I KNOW that is on their father.  But that's something I have to remind myself every time he crosses my mind, because I also know the enemy wants me to take it all back on myself.  I did open the door, but I did not cause him to walk back out.

I know that my children will know I tried.

But it doesn't mean this doesn't hurt.  It hurts my heart for my kids. 

It hurts so much. It feels like I'm being crushed again, admitting this all "aloud."

I pray that my children's minds and hearts will be protected from severe trauma if their dad really is gone for good this time.  I pray that they'll still believe in God, in his miracles, in the power of prayer and that this does not negatively affect their faith and relationship with Jesus.  I pray they'll still feel overwhelming love and know that they're surrounded by it even if their dad walked out on them again.  I pray that someday, God will truly, wholly restore their father.  I pray that I will be able to forgive him again.   

If you pray, please do.

I found myself, tonight, as I sifted through my thoughts, trying to find scripture to calm my heart.  This is the one that spoke to me the most.  I'm trying to just do what I am often (but not always) able to do, and find peace and solace in my Father's words and promises.

But, I'm not perfect, and it's hard.

I know we will be okay.  And I know I need to give it all to God.  But, I think I also know that my imperfect, human side may still need to cry about it, talk about it, and maybe need a hug or a shoulder at some point. Maybe.  Or maybe not.  Guess we will see.  But, I think that's okay, too.

The silence was broken.

There was silence.

Seventeen-ish months of silence.  That day in July began it all, and a day in December ended it.

Seventeen months of absence.  Seventeen months of wondering. Seventeen months of trying to believe on my part.

Seventeen months where my oldest son believed, prayed, and hoped, even when I felt like giving up, and even had given up from time to time.

Before that day in December, when the silence was broken, I had begun to wonder if my children would see their dad again in this lifetime. My mind would wander and I would contemplate what I would do if I had heard through the grapevine that their dad had died.  Would I take them to his funeral? Would it be worth it? How would I help my daughter learn about her dad? What would I tell them about him later in life?

Yes, that's where I was at.

And every night, my six year-old would pray that God would protect his dad and help him to make good choices. He would hopefully ask that someday, they would see their dad again.

Honestly, I've been nervous to let this secret out of the bag, because I'm sure it could be a controversial topic, but I feel like it's time to swallow my nerves and just be honest.  I know God is telling me it shouldn't matter what others think, but my human nature gets me sometimes.

I've been keeping the secret for a couple reasons.  The first being that I wanted my children to have the privacy, and our family to have the freedom to see what unfolded without feeling the pressure of society or social media.  I didn't want or need the countless differing opinions on the matter, and needed to just pray it out, seek God's guidance, and go with what I believed he was leading me to do.

I was also a little scared. I didn't want to admit that I was being cautiously brave and believing life over death in this situation, and then have it all fall apart in a couple of weeks.

If people had come to me questioning how things were going, or flat out asked about the situation as it had been, I was honest, and I told them this secret, asking them to keep it to themselves.  I thank those of you who have upheld that promise and allowed my children the privacy and time to walk through these last few months.

And for others, I'm sorry if I have offended you by not telling you about this development.  But, I hope you can try to understand and respect my decision.

As I was saying, in December he broke the silence.  I had given up on trying to get ahold of him, and had tried to put on a positive face for my children when they continued to pray for a reunion and God to help their dad make better choices.  I had been through Cleansing Stream, and despite what I believed I could do, and what popular culture would tell me to do, I forgave the unforgivable.

It was perfect timing, in some ways, when he waited until December to break the silence.

I prayed long and hard afterward (I blogged about it weeks ago, without much detail), and believed that, although many would call me crazy, or stupid, or tell me he shouldn't be allowed to, that it was okay for him to see his children again.

I don't have to explain why I chose this, but I'm sure many will wonder.  Why on earth, after all that had happened, after all those months, did I let him see the kids?  I talked with him in depth for quite some time, met up with him without the kids, talked some more, and made my decision.

Because he is their dad.

People would say he has no right to see them after all that happened.  Legally, that's true. The children are 100% mine legally.

But he is their dad.

In my heart, I knew I couldn't look my children in the eye someday, after he had been gone so long, and admit to them that, had I chosen to not let them be reunited, I would have been the thing to keep them apart even longer.  I didn't need the blame for that.

It had already been so long. My daughter didn't really know him.  She would look at photos of him and not call him daddy, and the boys would get irritated.  She didn't remember him, really. But the boys, they still had that longing desire to have him in their lives.

And here he was.

Perfect? No.  Did it make everything that had happened okay?  Certainly not.  Did it erase the pain?  No.

Did it give the potential for greater healing?

Definitely.

After consulting with a few professionals on the matter, and praying of course, I knew that the only way to allow healing and restoration, was to give their dad a chance to try.  Yes, he could have been lying and just trying to fill a temporary void over the holidays.  But, I couldn't know that.  Just like I couldn't know if it was for real, and God was really leading him back to his kids unless I gave him the chance to be with the kids.  I couldn't give this a chance for success without giving it the chance to fail, but I couldn't live with myself knowing that there would be no chance at all.

I had to really, truly give it to God.

And I did.

It's still fresh and new.  There are still details we work out as we go along.  I am in control of the situation, the visits, everything.  It is all under my stipulations and schedule.  There are many details that I will not go into, but, after three months, I truly believe I've made the right choice, as vulnerable as it made me feel, as terrified as I was for my children.

I believe, as does my son, that God was answering months worth of prayers.

We are still praying for their dad as we maneuver this new road in our path.

It can and likely will get messy and confusing, and there will be countless questions from the children as time goes on. But, I have to believe that God will guide us through them as they come along.

Because, as our story has shown in so many ways, God has been here alongside us this entire time.  He's taken our pain and brought joy.  He's taken the mess and brought so much beauty.  He's taken the brokenness and restored our hearts.

He is so good.

And, I have to believe that He will continue to be good and perfect, no matter how these chapters pan out.

Because He's unchanging. He's sovereign. He's perfect.  He will never leave us, even if everything fell apart again.

I am sure there are many reading this who vehemently disagree with my choice. I've encountered that already.  I pray that there are those out there who understand, and that regardless of how you personally feel about it, you can trust that I am doing what I truly believe is best for my children.  I've always had their best interests in my mind, from the moment the world started crumbling.  They're my treasure, and I would do everything I could to protect them from pain, but I can't sacrifice their chance for healing and joy with their dad.

There may be heated and controversial opinions.  I know.  There are countless people out there who care so deeply for me and my children, and who are so angry over the pain we've been through.  I get it. I was there too.  We are so blessed that we are cared so deeply for that people have such strong emotional responses across the spectrum.  Regardless, I pray that anyone who hears my children speak about seeing their dad will be respectful of their excitement in the story, non-judgmental in their presence, ad just give them your love and support.

Thank you to everyone who has been there for us through any and all of the legs of this journey.  Thank you for the prayers you've prayed, the tears you've wiped away, the hugs you've given, the words of encouragement, consolation, humor, compassion, and everything else you've given us.

(There are MANY posts leading up to this one. If you're new to my blog, feel free to search through by topic, or start scrolling backward to 2014.)

I think...

I think about that last day, a year go.  The sky was cloudy. The wind was blowing. You were in yellow.  The kids were anxiously excited. They hadn't seen you in many days. Their laughter rose over the rustling leaves as they squealed your name and ran to you, jumping into your arms.

You followed them around, playing occasionally on the park equipment.

 After 40 minutes or so, you asked briefly about your daughter's hospitalization the week before. After another twenty minutes, you declared you had stuff to do and had to leave. 

The laughter subsided and smiles faded. The kids all protested as we walked them to the van. You helped buckle them into their seat belts after giving them a hug. You told them you loved them, and you would see them soon. You promised to call your oldest son the next day, and planned to see them after the holiday weekend. 

I closed the van doors. They cried. They didn't want you to go. They missed you so deeply already. My heart ached for them as you drove away.

They never heard from you again.

I have been thinking about that day, the last times, frequently throughout this past week. I think of their joy and subsequent sadness. I think of your lies and broken promises. I wonder how much truth was in your salutations and hugs. 

I think about the days that followed. I think about how our son waited around for you to call. I think about how he asked me over and over to call you, and call you again, and you wouldn't answer. I think about the fury burning in my heart as you silenced the last calls and I told him daddy didn't want to talk today. I think about the next two days before you text me the last time. I think about how I asked you why you didn't call or answer and your response was an illegitimate non-answer, and when I pointed that out, you never corresponded with me again. 

I think about how I tried so very hard for the next few days, and weeks, and months to get answers. I tried to find meaning. I longed for even a stupid excuse. I tried to help your children find you and tried to foster a relationship between you and them.  

I think about all of the "I don't see daddy anywheres" I heard, or the "I miss my daddy" cries, or the "where'd daddy go" questions. I think about how I had to explain to our daughter who the man in the pictures was and how he had no idea what I was talking about, and decided to just call you Jake instead.

I think about all the cries at night. I think about all the prayers that we have said for you.  I think about the hours of therapy our sons have undergone trying to make sense of your absence.  I think about all the anger and sadness and frustration that they have and how they take it out on me, because I'm the constant in their lives, I'm their safe zone.

I think about how they used to say you were lost or missing, and how in the last week and a half, our oldest has realized that you're not just lost.  He has told me that his daddy ran away.  He knows it was a choice.

I think about how much I have struggled knowing you chose to leave.  I used to sit and doubt myself, my sanity, my mothering, my friendship, my love.  I used to think how much easier it would have been if your disappearance hadn't been a choice that you made, but just a circumstance of life or some other means, because a choice feels like abandonment, like being tossed into a dumpster, then crumpled and burned before buried in a landfill.  I think about how I am an adult and I can hardly wrap my mind or heart around it, and how our children are too young to comprehend as well as I do, knowing full well even I don't really comprehend.  It slays my heart to know they're going to question themselves and doubt and wonder why they weren't good enough for you to stay  or to even send a birthday card.  I pray that a miracle will prevent it, but mentally brace myself for what feels like the inevitable.

I think about how much I loved you, how I still house some love for you, and how badly I wish I could run you over with a piece of farm machinery, knowing full well that is completely an unGodly thought, and knowing it wouldn't really solve anything anyway.

I think about how I want to see your face.  I think about how I want to get answers.  I think about how your answers would probably be non-answers anyway, or lies that I would have to try to decode again, and how I know that maybe it's better that I can't ask you questions because the agony of trying to trust your answers would wring my heart dry.

I think about how I want to forgive you, and how often I feel like I have forgiven you, and other times I realize there's more I haven't dealt with that I need to deal with in order to forgive each piece.

I think about how people I know run into you, and tell me they run into you, and how you act like nothing is out of the ordinary and everything is normal.  I think about how not once in a year have we ran into you.   I think about how you were literally blocks away from our children last night and had absolutely no idea.  I think about what would have happened if you knew that or even cared about it enough to see them again.

I think about how much I wish you could see them now, but how much I do not want them to see you.

I think about all the lies you've spread about me. I think about your boyfriend and how he claims you tell him I'm a great woman, and our kids are amazing, and I think about how he was so excited to spend time with your children.  I think about people telling me you're both good guys, but how I know that can't be true if you can abandon and he can support it.  I think about the lies that have been told about me or are told about me, and the lies others believe about the situation.  I think about the webs you're still weaving and the messes you're still making.

I think about all the effort I spent trying to find you to divorce you, and all the effort I still have to spend in order to either find you again so that the state can force you to pay all the support you owe, or how I have to work my butt off to make ends meet all on my own indefinitely.

I think about all the ways, the words, the time you spent trying and often making me believe this all my fault, like I had this intense power I had no idea about while I felt crippled by weakness.

I think about how you walking away and shattering our lives and pulverizing my heart brought me closer to God, and how God brought such dear friends and supports into my life that I had never imagine I would find.  I think about all of these people who care so much for and love us all so much when for months I thought we must be completely unlovable.  I think about how your absense has given me freedom to gain mental clarity and personal strength and control.

I think about all that you've taken away, but I think about all that we have gained.

I think a lot.

I still think about you. 

Just Mom on Father's Day

Here it is.  Father's Day.

Today, I've already been wished a Happy Father's Day and a Happy Second Mom's Day, more than once,

In some ways, it's been a very typical Sunday. I woke up this morning singing "Good Good Father" in my head, at 5:45 when Norah decided we should get up and get ready for 8:30 church, bathed the two-year-old princess, fed the kids, watched Norah tattoo herself so she can look like me, gone to church, came home, and fed the kids lunch,.

But in other ways, today feels like agony.  I sat through church and heard, as I have many times before, the various ways that children can be screwed up by not having a dad in their lives.   From home life, to church life, to school life, to social life... there's numerous, detailed effects that have been studied and documented linking the lack of a father in children's lives to problems later on.  I get it.  I have heard it all before.  And each time, I always break down in tears.

That's not the only thing that I got from the message at church, mind you.  But it's always a lingering reminder that just a mom just isn't good enough by worldly standards.

I'm mom. It's just me.  I'm not dad.

Yes, I have the responsibility of both parents.  I provide the income and stability that way, and the emotional and educational development.  I love with a momma's heart and discipline with a father's hand.  I do both sides for the most part and I do them the majority of moment I am with them  every day.

But, I'm not their dad.  I'm not a father.

God calls on me to show them a mother's love and to show them His love through the heart of a mother.  He calls on father's to show them the father's love and discipline, and I do that too.  But I am not their dad.  I am not a father.

They have one.  He's somewhere out there.  He's not showing them the Father's love, though, or a father's love.  He's not fulfilling that role God called of him, so I have to make up the best I can.

But I am not their dad. I am not a father.  I never will be. I can't be.

For much of the last year, I've been trying to pull double duty. I've been told I'm an awesome mom and an equally awesome dad.

But I'm not.  I'm just a mom.  I'm just filling in father type roles when I can and am capable.

I don't have to be a dad.  I don't have to be a father.  As much as I want them to have one, it's not going to be me.  It doesn't have to be me.

I'm finally becoming more okay with that.

Someone messaged me a week or two ago, telling me something very similar.  Her exact words were, "Sometimes it feels like you are trying to be two people. In some respects, you have to be both mom and dad, but you are physically one person, and you need to allow yourself to live within that limitation. Some days, you just need to put one foot in front of the other, and call it a successful day. You don't have to make up for their father's absence, and some days, as long as your children's basic needs are met, you have had a successful day."

Since I first read her message, I have been dwelling on it. I've been letting it sink in and been trying to wrap myself around the truth that is in the sentences.

I've been trying so hard to make up for the loss of their dad. I've been trying so hard to be both a mother and a father.  But it's not what I'm called to do.  I'm called to be their mother, and to raise them in a home filled with Christ-like love and examples.  I'm called to surround them with others who live in the same way, and let the influences of those people also shape my children and show them the love of fathers and of the Father.  I just have to be the best mom I can be.

So yes, it's Father's Day, and it's my second Mom's Day of the year, and I will, in some respect, celebrate that I am pulling double duty in many respects, and that it's just them and me, and that we are living in a love-filled, happy household. We will smile, laugh, cuddle, and play.  We will relish the joy that flows among the four of us as we continue to move forward and shape our lives together.  I will cry for myself and my children and my former husband.  I know it. I already have cried more than once.  But, despite the aching hearts and the longing tears, we will continue to pray for their real dad, that his wandering days end and that God can transform him miraculously, so that someday, his heart will be turned back toward his children.  We will acknowledge that dad is still lost in this world and we may or may not see him again some day, but we will also acknowledge that mom is here, she loves them boundlessly, and that there are other fatherly men in their lives who show them a Father's love through the heart of a father.

Here it comes...

Father's Day is coming up so quickly. 

This year, it's going to be different than ever before. Last year, they didn't see their dad either, but they still sort of knew he was around and in their lives... 

It's been an emotional week, not only for me, but for my sons as well. While Collin, who is three, doesn't express himself as well as Spencer, I am lead to believe that he is dealing with some emotional turmoil and confusion as well.

Spencer, who is 5.5 now, is able to vocalize himself better, and is quite intelligent, and able to really pinpoint his emotions quite well.  All of the talk on TV, radio, day care, Sunday School, and among his peers about Father's Day seems to be stressing him out quite a bit.  He asked me tonight why he doesn't have a dad anymore. I told him he has one, but that his dad is still making poor choices and I do not know how to reach him.  We talked about God also being our father. While he is very smart and has great faith already, that concept is hard for him to grasp, I know. We said extra prayers for his dad tonight at bedtime.

At work (daycare) this week, a lot of time was spent working on Father's Day crafts and art all around the center. I took the lead on creating the gift from the children I work with, and helped out with the gift in the baby room. Each one brought joy for those children and parents, but also pain for my own children.

I have, admittedly, had some selfish "why me and my kids?" moments, moments where I personally felt betrayed and abandoned. But for the most part, each time something revolving around Father's Day was mentioned or done, I felt such loss for my children.

My two-year-old daughter who doesn't really understand what a daddy is, my three-year-old son who vaguely remembers having a dad, and my five-year-old son who misses his dad so much that he seems to be on his mind constantly...

I try to talk them through it. We talk about how Father's Day is for dads, but also for grandpas and uncles and men in our lives who love them. Each of my children made their art for Papa Web this year instead of me, hoping that helps them associate the day with the love of other family and close friends instead of the dad who up and walked out on them.

But my momma heart aches. It aches to know the right way to approach the tough questions, for the perfect answers, for the way to show them how fiercely I love them and others love them despite what they're missing.

I can only relate to my children somewhat. I can relate in that their dad up and left me too, left this gaping whole in my heart and life, left me wondering if he thinks of them or if they'll ever see him again on this side of eternity.

But I have my dad in my own life still. Fortunately, my children have my dad in their lives still.  I could have lost my dad this year, but by the grace of God, he survived a stroke and has been on the mend. I have a dad I can call, text, visit, hug. I have a dad who lets me cry on his couch and tells me he loves me. 

And that makes my heart hurt for my kids even more somehow.  Because I have had a dad for 32 years, and Spencer had his dad for 4, Collin had him for 2, and Norah had him for 1... And he wasn't fully there for most of that anyway.

I know as years go by it will get easier and tougher; easier for them to understand a Father's love through God, through extended family, and through friends. They will see and better that you don't NEED your biological dad to have fatherly love and influence. It will get tougher as the questions become more intense and the quest for understanding grows deeper.

If you pray, and are willing, please spare a prayer for my children this weekend. I know I am praying that they see joy, feel love, and have peace, especially Spencer, as they likely hear about Father's Day at church on Sunday. I pray the good memories and love outweigh the ache in their little hearts, and they are able to carry on and grow stronger as they see the day through.

The other guys

Tonight, something inside of me shifted.

Over the last few days, I have been mourning the absence of my children's dad in their lives, as he has now chosen to ignore each of their birthdays and Christmas and Easter, some of the most significant dates and holidays in the year. I found myself thinking he should be here, or even send a card. I found myself wondering if the children even cross his mind.

As I was looking through some photos tonight, I felt tears trickle down my cheeks. I had to stop and process.

What I found surprised me. I wasn't sad. 

I was overwhelmed with gratitude.

While it is utterly heart breaking to know he walked away and my children are left to miss him and wonder where he is or if they will ever see him again, I realized how incredibly blessed we are that God has given them a group of "other guys" in their lives.

I know, as do my children, that these men will never be a replacement or substitute for their dad. But, they are so fortunate to have these men in their lives, helping to show them their value, that they are wonderful, important people who are worthy of being loved. These men have chosen to step into my childrens' lives, or chosen to remain in their lives despite the fact that they could have walked away alongside their father because they were first connected to me through their father. There are also equally important men that are my family, who choose to love them so deeply and dearly as well. All of these men invest their hearts into my children, creating lasting, positive memories, hugging and holding them, helping them feel safe and secure, and letting them see what good men are like and how good men treat people.

And even if some day, for some reason, these men are no longer in our lives, the fact that they are here right now, and have been during such tribulations, and during the childrens' early formative years means the impact is significant enough to last a lifetime.

I have known these men love my children, and they love me, and they want us to be happy. I have known it, and I have felt it to be true. 

But tonight, it shifted, and the impact is deeper and greater than I was able to comprehend or allow myself to feel before. Tonight, it overwhelmed me.

Thank you, other guys, for what you have given to me and my children by choosing to care so deeply. You know who you are, I hope.

Do you miss that sound?

Dear Sir,

It's been a little over a week since I found out that our marriage has legally ended.  The first few days were rough for me emotionally, but I pulled through, by the grace of God and prayers of many, I have found myself filled with more smiles than tears, more joy than sorrow.

Today, our nearly two-year-old daughter wandered around the apartment, asking me "where's Jake?"
I don't know if you read a few weeks ago, but she came upon your photo.  I told her your name and that you were her daddy.  She doesn't know what a daddy is of course, so she refers to you as Jake.  Today, she was looking for you.  Her brothers didn't even notice she was asking for you. Normally, her oldest one will tell her that you are her daddy.  Today, he didn't.

I took the children to the park today.  It was the first park venture of the season, and it was much needed after them all being sick off and on for approximately a week.  I missed three full days of work, and during those days, I will admit that my thoughts fluttered to you occasionally, frustrated mostly that you cannot be bothered to share the burden of sick days so that I can earn an income to provide for them, since you absolutely refuse to take any responsibility, financially or otherwise.

It is what it is, I guess.

Anyway, we went to the park.  I now have a camera to replace the one you got rid of, and I brought it along to take a few photos.  I forgot how much I loved taking photos until I couldn't any longer, and now I have fallen in love with the process all over again.  I got some great captures of all three of my babies.

There's one in particular, of my darlin' middle child, on a swing, his mouth wide open, his eyes smiling like crazy.  I posted it online for my friends and family to see.  I wrote a caption for it, something along the lines of "I can almost hear his laughter in this photo."

My thoughts ran back to you.  So, here I am.

I have to ask...

Do you miss that sound?  That beautiful, glorious sound of a heartfelt belly laugh?  It's one of my favorite sounds.  I could listen to each of our childrens' magnificent laughter all day long, really.  You know it's one of my favorite sounds, laughter.

And you haven't heard it in nearly a year.  I cannot imagine living this life, choosing to not hear their laughter. I cannot imagine choosing not to participate in such joy, such love.

Do you miss it?   Do you even remember what it sounds like? Do you remember their voices at all? You surely haven't heard the younger two really talk like they do nowadays. Do you long for that at all?

The children are mine now, they're fully, legally, mine.  It makes me furious that you didn't so much as attempt to fight for them a little.  But there isn't much that I can do about it.  I sure did try everything I could think of.

I just want you to know that we are doing okay.  No, we are actually doing pretty good, all things considered.  Our children miss you, sort of.  They don't miss you like they used to.  One has all but forgotten you as a real person and you're only a man in a photo she knows she should like, because the boys do.  But one of those boys... well, I'm not sure he would be able to spot you in a crowd, though he looks daily, and know who you are.  I suppose that's a way to protect his heart.  The oldest one, well, he makes up stories about you, combined from his memories and what he wishes to be true. I let him.  I won't take that from him, even though it pains me to listen to it, knowing it's just fantasy.

Really though, we are doing well.  While some days are harder than others, every day, we smile, we laugh, we hug, we play, we dance, we sing, we cuddle, we create memories.  We have each other, even if we don't have you.

I hope you're well.  I pray you'll find your way.  I hope to see you again someday, knowing full well that I may not.  Only time will tell.

I may write you again.

Sincerely,
The woman still bearing your last name

Who is that?

For quite some time, I've assumed my daughter, who is not quite two, doesn't remember her dad.

Now, I know it.

Just a bit ago, she picked up her brother's photo album that holds photos of their dad with them, a couple of me with him, a couple of me with the kids, and a few of all of us. It's an album I mentioned in a post a few months ago.

She opened it, and the first photo she saw was one of her dad and her brother.

She was super excited to see her brother and proudly told me who it was. She said nothing about her dad at first. She pushed through a few times and pointed out both brothers, herself, and mommy before starting over. 

"That's Spence!" she told me. Then there was a pause and she asked "who's that?" She pointed at her dad.

I was caught in an off-guard moment of panic and told her his name.

She didn't even think it was his identical twin. She asked who he was. She didn't know.

She flipped through again and told me a few times "that's Jake."  

I told her it is, and "yes, Jake is your daddy."

"That's Jake!" 

Over and over. The boys, herself and I... And Jake.

Not daddy. I explained and she wouldn't even call him that.

She doesn't know him. She doesn't know what it means to have a daddy.

I assumed it, but now, I know it's true.

Pardon my silent tears.

Father

The past few days, I've noticed many instances where music, scripture, or dialogue points to fatherhood.

As you can expect, that's a touchy subject around here.

This morning, at church, we were singing "Good Good Father." I love this song, and was singing my heart out in praise until the first word "father" and all of the father-centered things flooded forward. My children are currently fatherless.

Scriptures rushed through my mind.

There are so many scriptures that tell me that although my kids are without their earthly father, they are NOT truly fatherless.  I may feel a bit like a widow at times (due to the unique nature of abandonment), but He's got me covered.

Yes, these scriptures are beautiful and comforting.

Practically, I hate to admit, but they don't always feel like comfort. Considering the young age of all of my children especially, who often talk about their dad being missing, trying to relate to them that God/Jesus is with them always even though they can't see him doesn't make a lot of sense, because their dad isn't with them in the same way, even though they also can't see him. 

It gets so confusing trying to explain and model these concepts. I tell my children Jesus is always around and that He is also in our hearts. I tell them their biological dad is in their hearts, but he isn't with us in omnipresence like God. To an adult, it doesn't make rational sense. To a child, even less so.

I struggle with applying these principles in my own life, let alone my kids. 

How do I get through to them they aren't fatherless when they have a Heavenly Father who provides?  Their idea of a father is skewed, which I have begun to realize is affecting my five year-olds view of Father God. He makes comments like Jesus cracks his heart, or he makes Jesus' heart cracked. He talks about Jesus disappearing. I try to speak the truth in the matter, but he just wants to argue about it.

God the father can't physically be seen to their little eyes, he's not actually rocking them to sleep or drying their tears. He's not there picking them up from daycare like other dads. He's a different kind of father than any of us understand.

It's a frustrating and overwhelming subject, this God the father to the fatherless. 

I am open to advice.

I took the boys to see "the Good Dinosaur" today. Cute movie. The dad dies, the kid loses his family. My boys both had feelings.

The last time.

Dear Father of my Children, 

I am choosing to believe that someday, someway, you will come upon this. I know that you always used to read my blog and love to do so. Maybe there will be a flashing glimpse of that past self that will bring you back here again.

Today, I did something I didn't see coming. When I decided to do it, I didn't expect it to be difficult. I don't know why.

Today, I printed and picked up photos for the children. Photos with you in them. Photos of happy times. 

Your oldest son, who is now almost five and has an amazing memory and heart full of compassion, asks about you often as of late. He talks about you, and thinks about you. I can see in his eyes when you're on his mind, and when I ask him what he's thinking about, his answer is "my daddy."

He tells people that you're missing. He says that you're making bad choices. He says he has lost his daddy.

And all of these things are true.  You're like a missing person on a poster. The kids search for you as we drive around town. They're longing and looking constantly. They don't know if they'll ever see you again but their hopeful little hearts seem to believe that they will. I try to believe the same but it is quite difficult knowing the last I ever heard from you was a text message on July 5. We have spent hours together, the kids and I, trying to locate you and find some meaning in your disappearance.

He is correct. Your choices are not good. You chose to disappear from them without a trace for a life of partying, lust, and frivolous activities, among other things. He knows it's a bad choice to not see the people you love and let them know where you are. He knows it's a bad choice to lie and to not follow through. My nearly five year old son seems to be much better at deciphering right from wrong than you are, and his conscience seems to be much more in tune with reality.

You ARE lost. You're a lost soul who has chosen dark roads traveling with Satan. You convinced me years ago you were a Godly, moral man, and the more I look back over the past few years, the more I am convinced you conned me.  

But not only that, he has lost you. Like how my mom lost her parents, only they no longer live. In some regards, it's like you've ceased to live, though. It's almost like you don't actually exist on this earth with him. 

It's funny how you almost never know that the last time you see someone would be the last time. Much like when someone dies... You often don't get a final goodbye. There's no resolution or closure. That is what you've left him with. It's what you've left us all with. 

Over two months ago, after your daughter was hospitalized with potentially life threatening illness, you came back and saw your children at the park. You saw them for an hour. The boys were thrilled beyond belief to have that time with you, their smiles so bright and their laughter elated. They couldn't stop vying for your attention. They wanted to play so long. But after an hour you "had to go."  You promised you would call the next day and see them again the next week.

And then you ceased to exist. You disappeared. Senselessly and cruelly, you just gave up on them. 

Had we known it would be the last time, would we have even bothered to see you? Would we have allowed you to get their hopes up again, only to be crushed again? Would we have begged you to stay longer? Would they have hugged you tighter? Would they have had more to say? Would they have bawled for hours? Would their hearts have been shattered beyond repair knowing that was the moment you would leave them for good? 

Today, I picked up those photos and put them in albums for the kids. This photo was in there. I decided that it would maybe help our children cope with your complete absense if they could at least "find" you in these photos when they cannot locate you anywhere else.

This photo was taken during the last few minutes of the very last visit they had with you. The last time you heard them laugh or say I love you.

I do not understand, even a tiny bit, how you could toss that to the wind. I do not understand how you could choose to miss out on their lives.

Right now, they love you. They talk about you and how much you love them. Spencer tells me how much you miss him, even though you refuse to contact him. I try my damnedest to agreed with him wholeheartedly, but my mind and my heart are not sold on that as truth. I never forced you out, you disappeared willingly, and could have come right back if you really did love or miss him. 

But unlike you, I am not cruel, and for now, while his tiny heart is filled with the idea of your love, I will try to help sustain it the best I can. I will swallow the lump in my throat and choke on my tears as e smiles paging through the photos telling me these wonderful things about you. I will not break his heart or crush his spirit like you have done. That is true love.

The boys pray for you. They pray God protects you and looks out for you. They ask Him to keep you safe. They don't say it, but I feel they pray for you to come back.

I choose to believe that could happen, but I cannot hang my heart on the waiting for it. And I will not let them invest everything they have in that either. 

I try to surround them with others who love them. Show them others who care. The people who choose to love on them. The ones who aren't lost. You cannot be replaced, but I am trying to fill them up while you siphon away.

I hope when you read this, for at least an instant, God can get through to you. Miracles can happen, our children are proof. I will be the warm hearted woman you claimed to love deeply and continue to pray for you in hope you will find the way before it's far too late.

-Nicole

Fatherhood

I was never sure I would have the opportunity to be a mother. I had hoped, dreamed, and prayed I would, but I never knew it would happen.

But, it did.

I never imagined I would be a father, either. But, I realize this year, I kind of am.

Now, do not get mad at me for saying that, although, truthfully, I am a little mad, and ashamed, to say it about myself. But it's true. I haven't gone through any personal physical transformation, but the lives of me and my children have, and it's landed me as not only a mother, but also as a father.

I know, I know. That rubs some the wrong way. No, I am not downplaying the role a "real" father plays in a child's life, or the role my children's father has played and does play in their lives.

But the fact of the matter is that right now, I take on both roles, almost always. 

I know I'm not alone.

Just as I wrote a year or two ago about motherhood not being defined as having biological, living, breathing, human children, the same goes for fatherhood. A father can be a biological father who created children, a family member, a friend, our Father Jesus... Or a mother who does it on her own, whether by choice or not.

I'm not about to get into any nature/nurture/GLBT type issues, but with my life as it has been over the course of the last year, I have reflected often on those issues and what a father or a mother really means, what plays the most important part, and what doesn't matter as much. 

My children look to me for almost everything in their lives. Me and my alone.  I take on both parental roles, and others as well. I'm not bragging, it just is how it is.

So, while Father's Day is spent honoring and celebrating biological fathers everywhere, this year, I have a new understanding and consideration, and I will be celebrating the fathers in my life, as well as the mothers who act as fathers, too.

a sense of hope

This week, April 22-28, 2012 is National Infertility Awareness Week.

Click here to learn more.

As my friends, family, and long-time blog readers know, infertility is a battle that my husband and I have been a part of, since before our marriage.   I've known for years (since puberty) that something was 'wrong' with me.  I shared these fears and worries with Jake before we ever discussed getting married someday, and from the beginning, he's stuck by me.

We were married for over three years, hoping, praying, and trying to begin a family.    We were married on August 5, 2006.  After the urging and prompting of a dear friend, we finally sought the help of a reproductive endocrinologist in November of 2009.  It was there I was "diagnosed" with Poly-Cystic Ovarian Syndrome (PCOS).   (I use the term "diagnosed" loosely, because it's not something they necessarily tested for and labeled me as in a chart, but rather, they ruled out other issues via blood work and ultrasound, and based the PCOS diagnosis on my presenting symptoms.  I have quite a few PCOS symptoms.  Click here for more PCOS information.)  We sought the RE's guidance, and with the help of oral medications to induce ovulation, as well as an hCG trigger shot, we went on our marry way, trying to conceive.

On February 22, 2010, I tested positive, on a PREGNANCY test.  I couldn't believe it!  We were absolutely overjoyed.   After a fairly wonderful, healthy pregnancy, Spencer was born on November 1, 2010.

On August 7, 2011, after a few more months of seeking the help of our RE, following the regime that helped us conceive Spencer, I tested positive on another pregnancy test.  Though, as life would have it, we lost Baby "Sprout," at 8 weeks gestation.  (You can read about that pregnancy, loss, and journey healing here.)

Though devastated, we never gave up.  After two months of being on birth control to help my system "heal" after a D&C, we tried again.  And on December 12, 2011, we learned that I was pregnant for a third time.  The pregnancy with Baby "Bojangles," or "Bo" for short, has been going well, though I've always been a little edgy about it going rapidly downhill like my last one.

In a nutshell, that's my infertility journey.  You can read more about it through these posts, if you'd like.

Once you've begun to struggle with infertility, you never forget the grasp it holds on your heart.  A Facebook status I read, and shared yesterday, hits the nail right on the head.  It reads:  Infertility is a heart-wrenching, faith-questioning, relationship-testing, life-altering experience. April is Infertility Awareness Month. Whether a friend, a family member, a colleague or yourself has fought through this difficult fate that MILLIONS of women and men are fighting day in and day out. Post this as your status if you or someone you know has walked to hell and back for the chance to be a MOM or DAD.

I remember, when we first started trying, it felt so hopeless, so very often.  I had a few other friends that were also struggling with the infertility demon alongside of me, which made it more bearable, but not always more hopeful.   I could read, and did read, many testimonies of people who struggled and eventually held a miracle in their arms.  I knew you could become a mother through adoption.  I knew I was never without all hope.  But it didn't always feel that way.

It honestly wasn't until a friend, and then another, the same ones I struggled alongside, got pregnant, that I really felt there was true hope for me.   I had prayed to God throughout the journey, but it seemed, to me, at least, I needed reassurance, close-by and interacting with me on a regular basis, that it REALLY could happen for Jake and I.

And, it did.

When I blog about infertility struggles, or the struggle of healing after a miscarriage, or the joys of being a parent post-battles, I do it for me, of course, to document and share my thoughts, with myself and my friends and family.  But, I also do it for people I don't know.  It may sound strange, but I do anyway.

And, occasionally, I receive messages from friends, acquaintances, and even people I do not know, sharing with me what I shared with my two supports.   That my story gives them hope.

I feel beyond blessed to read messages like that.  Do I deserve to have them sent my way?  No, not really. I don't feel like I've done anything spectacular for others that warrants me to be a beacon of light or hope in along the darkest path known to a woman who wants to be a mother.  But, I am blessed to be, and to know that I have been.

It always hits my heart like a dagger when a friend tells me that they've been trying so hard for so long, that they suffer with infertility, too.  Especially if it's been going on a while before I knew.  I don't feel like I need to know, by any means, but when I do know, I can instantly relate to them.   And, knowing how ashamed one can feel when they feel broken, insufficient, or inept, I feel honored that they trust me enough to share that secret with me.  Not everyone who suffers through this battle is public about it.  That's okay.   But, sometimes, I must admit, it does help to reach out to someone.  Whether you know them or not.  Just to let someone out there know.  Have someone to cry to if you need to, or to vent to, whatever.  

There is hope out there.

I feel like I've been babbling for quite a while, so I'm going to go.  But, I'm going to leave you with a video that another friend of mine shared yesterday.  It is... powerful, for lack of a better word.  I can relate to it.  So can my husband.  So can some of my friends.  So can millions of others that I do not know.

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.

Today, I traveled about two hours to Minnesota, to attend the funeral of my cousins' father, Roger. He passed away early Monday morning, after a battle with pancreatic cancer. He was 52 years, 9 months, and 2 days "young" when he passed.

You can read his full obituary here: http://www.hartquistfuneral.com/obituaries/Roger-Thooft/

Roger was married to my aunt Kat for quite a few years. After they split, I will admit, I did not feel close to him. In fact, we were very distant for most of my life.

But, that does not mean that somewhere, deep inside, there wasn't a place for him in my heart. In fact, there's a place in my heart for anyone I have ever loved. That doesn't mean that my childhood wasn't filled with memories that included him. One of my favorite family vacations, actually, was taken in his bus (which was turned into a camper) with my four cousins, Roger, my parents, my three (at the time) siblings and I, to the Black Hills.

I remember vividly such things as climbing sand dunes, and playing cards in the bus as we trekked along. I remember feeling like we weren't going to make it up the big hill to Mount Rushmore. We took lots of photos that vacation on my old 110 Kodak camera. Actually, my dad took most of them, and the majority of them starred his pointer finger! Haha.

Today was very emotional, despite the lack of closeness I felt for Roger at the time of his passing. I think it was so emotional, just because I knew without his existence, my cousins wouldn't exist. I wouldn't have one of my very best friends in my life, if it weren't for him and his relationship with my aunt at one time.

The funeral was wonderful, though too long for Spencer so I spent most of it watching from the foyer of the church.

The burial was the most emotional part for me. I think, simply, because I stood there, across from my four cousins, their significant others, and their children, and watched them cry. It was incredibly difficult to fight back tears (and I lost) as I watched my cousins Christopher and Bradley, especially, cry. Watching men cry always gets me crying too, in chain reaction form. Watching Kat & Roger's grandchildren as they tried to understand what was going on, or as they did understand, depending on the age, broke my heart, as I imagined me and my cousins (including the four of Kat and Roger's children) as little children at the time my cousin Carissa (who was two when she went missing and was found in the river at my aunt and uncle's farm) was being buried.

Watching my father pat Roger's casket as he said his goodbye to his long-time friend also broke my heart further.

Saying "goodbye" to him myself... was almost surreal.

And realizing for a moment at my arrival at church, but really grasping the thought as I drove back home this evening that my father is only a few months older than Roger. I am a few months older than Christopher, and I was suddenly putting myself in his shoes.

I cannot imagine losing my father at this point in my life. I have friends who have lost parents, and I have lost other family members, but there was something about experiencing the funeral today that really drove home the fact that my father (and mother, and family and friends) are mortal, and we are all here for a very short time in the grand scheme of things.

Needless to say, the thought of losing my father like my cousins lost theirs overwhelmed me to the point of sobs as I drove down a lonely Minnesota highway.

My prayers are still being sent to my cousins, and the rest of Roger's family and friends as they learn to cope with the new normal where they know they'll never be in his physical presence on this earth again.

My Christmas Wish.

This morning, I was sitting in the chair next to the Christmas tree, doing what I do every morning when I get up, when I had this flashback to last year.

Before Christmas, it was just the two of us and our dog. We set up the Christmas tree on December 5, after playing with the lights and camera.

Come Christmas Eve and Christmas Day, we were snowed in at our house, just us, due to a lovely blizzard. I recall lying on the couch, staring at the beautiful Christmas tree, recalling years of setting up the Christmas tree with my family, my siblings and I taking turns every year with who put the angel on the top. I could see my dad putting the icicle tinsel on, making our tree shimmer. Putting up the Christmas tree was always one of my favorite traditions, and I was very happy that Jake and I started putting it up together last year, as I had done it alone the years before.

I recall sitting there, praying, and wishing that by Christmas of this year, I would be pregnant. We had been seeing the reproductive endocrinologist for not that long yet, two months, but I was hopeful. I was so tired of the constant heartbreak watching people have babies, and feeling like I was so broken as a woman, so hopeless, and feeling like I just might not have that lifelong wish of mine ever come true. But, I sat there in silence, praying my prayer.

In January, as a gift, my husband and his best friend enrolled me in the Landmark Forum in the twin cities. Begrudgingly, I went, though I felt forced into it against my will, and it really made me not want to go. But, I'm thankful for the experience, and happy that I went anyway, and didn't walk out when the offer was presented to me. I left the forum understanding my feelings better than ever before, and finding more peace within myself. I knew I was perfect as I was, and I had to accept me for who I was. It's not to say that I couldn't wish to be a mother, but I realized I really wasn't broken, that was a lie I was telling myself, which was effectively killing all my hope, really. I mean, my hope was there, but it seemed kind of shallow and superficial hope, just putting on a happy face while secretly still thinking, "yeah, it will never happen." That all changed. I found peace with myself, peace with my past, and peace and anticipation with all the brilliance that my future could hold.

While I was there, actually, I was so hopeful that I was actually pregnant. My cycle was a week late with no signs of showing, but each test I would take proved what I had felt and known to be true up until that point "slim chances it would ever happen."

The evening I was on my way home, I got my period. I wasn't mad. I didn't even really cry about it that much.

As miracles would have it, less than a month later, I found out that I was pregnant. It was funny, that cycle I didn't think it was going to happen either, but it wasn't bogging me down. I thought "next time, you never know." I had changed. And God blessed me in the biggest way. He gave us a pregnancy, one without complications of any important kind, and nearly 40 weeks later to the day, He gave us a son.

This morning, I felt overwhelmed with gratitude and joy as I realized that this year, there were three people in our house when we put up the Christmas tree. A daddy, a mommy, and a son.

What a beautiful Christmas gift.