A Familiar Loss of a Different Kind

On Monday, morning, October 9, 2023, my dear friend, Buffy Sue, passed away unexpectedly in her home.

I have lost friends and family before, numerous times.  This loss, however familiar in some ways, is unique and different compared to those in the past.  This feels like new territory in some respects.

During my adolescent years, the internet was just starting to really become common and accessible.  In my tenth grade year, I joined a website for teens with journals, games, polls, messaging, and so forth.  It started out as somewhat of a social experiment in my mind, as well as an exciting way to explore new territory with people my age, all over the globe.  I had a MySpace page, where I found friends and new music, taught myself some basic HTML and photo editing skills, downloaded ICQ and AIM messengers, and continued to make connections.  It didn’t take long before I was fully immersed in the website I first mentioned, making friendships and relationships that many adults at the time would tell you were not and could not ever be real, true, lasting friendships.  It seemed absurd that you could have a relationship with someone you had never met. I grew up in a tiny town with amazing “real-life” friendships, as I would have referred to them at the time.  These online friends were no substitute, they were an addition to my tribe.

That website was the beginning of my online journaling (now called blogging) endeavor, and I wrote almost every day.  At one point, I had journaled every day for one or two years.  I honestly cannot even recall. I had friends that read daily, commented daily, and I reciprocated in their journals.  As we got older, we started chatting, emailing, writing letters, sending text messages, and sometimes even meeting in person.  While it may seem shocking to believe, I have made some of my most trusted friends on that website, and they know me, the real me, and love me in return, and we have had these relationships for twenty-some years.  They’ve been by my side, figuratively speaking, through high school, high school graduation, boyfriend breakups, college, college graduation, engagement, wedding, marriage, infertility, deaths in my family, births of children, betrayal from my husband, divorce, single-parenting, covid, overcoming, and so many more events in my last twenty years.

In 2012, after giving birth to one son in 2010, then losing a pregnancy in 2011, I became pregnant again and was due with our next child in August.  At the time, I was working an in-home daycare with one of my best friends, with a husband who worked long hours out of town and was away a lot.  I joined a pregnancy app on my phone, which came with message boards.  Those message boards were a bit rudimentary, and it wasn’t long after that an August 2012 Momma Facebook group was formed.  So many women around the globe joined that group, and we shared so much of our lives together.  That group still exists, and while it’s not as frequently utilized, we mommas are there and we still love each other.  Some have been fortunate enough to meet in person, and many of us developed deeper side friendships with mommas we really connected with, and have kept in touch in multiple other ways.  When we had our babies, we were there.  When they turned one, we were there.  When we have had triumphs and joys, we were there.  When lives turned unexpectedly upside down, we were there.  It is a core group that you know is going to be there even if it’s been a year and you need to rant about something related to motherhood, you need prayers or advice for any other topic, or you’re in a crisis and you don’t know what to do.  It’s been such a joy watching our children grow up together, even if we are not physically together.

This momma group is where I met Buffy Sue.  

Buffy Sue was absolutely my closest friend in that group.  She brought me such joy.  Her laughter was contagious and when she would get laughing, I may not even understand really what she was laughing about (because sometimes she would be laughing so hard her words didn’t sound comprehensible) but it would get me laughing, too.  She gave great advice when I needed it.  She said stupid funny things when I needed comic relief.  She sent me pictures and videos of herself and her daughters frequently.  She told me all about her coffee shop, when things were going well, when things would unexpectedly break down and cause messes, when things were going splendidly, all of it.  I always told her I wished she could deliver MY coffee, but joked that it would probably taste a little funky by the time it arrived, so she would just have to drink what I would order in my honor.  She blessed my children and I in big  and little ways, from surprises in the mail, to silly letters, and much, much more.  She helped me see straight through tears of confusion and anger when my marriage was falling apart.  She reminded me how strong I was, and how I was never really going crazy even if I thought it might be the case.  She encouraged and supported all my creative endeavors.  She was a champion for everyone she loved and so many other she barely even knew.  She would do anything she could to better someone’s life- not just mine.  I tried my very best to do the same for her in her life, and I can only pray that I made an as much an impact on her as she did on me.  As I’ve been reading tributes to her online, I am blown away, but also not really surprised, by the impact she made on her community, but even further, around the world.

When I read last night that she was gone, it felt like I was being punched in the chest.  I turned off my phone screen multiple times, feeling like I was just imagining what the screen said.  When I realized it was true, I wept quietly in my room, away from my sons.

You see, they didn’t really know Buffy.  They knew of her, because I would show them videos or photos sometimes when they’d ask what was so funny, but they never really met her.

That’s when I realized, in a way, I had never really met her, either.  Well, not in person, anyway.

That thought struck me in the strangest way, as I then wrestled with my own thoughts.  That lasted much of the night, and I cried myself to sleep, still feeling sort of strange to be feeling as sad as I was.

Today is my day off from work, so after I took my two littles to elementary school, my oldest and I carried out our day-off tradition.  I drive him across town to middle school, but on our way, we stop at a coffee shop of his choosing, and we play “coffee roulette” where I let him order a drink for me (so long as it is not straight up black coffee or espresso) and he chooses a bakery item for himself.  When we were picking up our items from the drive through window, I started to feel tears welling up in my eyes.  As we pulled away, I blurted out to him, “one of my online momma friends died this week.”

He was stunned.  He stared at me for a moment before he said “that is so tragic and I am really sorry, mom.”

I told him how I didn't want to burden them with my loss, and how I nearly broke down this morning when I realized if I sent her the goofy Snapchat photo I was sending some friends of our cat trying to get involved in non-cat-related activities she wouldn't ever open it anyway.

I began to tell him about Buffy and all of her great qualities.  I told him how she was really “Steve the Elf” a couple years ago who sent us tickets to For King and Country’s Christmas concert locally.  He laughed about it a while and then told me how she sounded so cool and it made all the sense in the world that we were friends.

“We really were friends,” I said, trailing off a little.  

I finally began talking aloud about all the conflicting thoughts I had been feeling the night prior- how could I possibly be so sad when I had never even been in the same room as her?  How could I be devastated knowing I wouldn’t get to hug her in person when we still hadn’t had that chance?  How could she possibly have left such a lasting impression on me when she was so far away?  

He and I then talked about how it absolutely makes sense that I was so sad.  She was real.  She was a real friend. She knew me better than many people.  Just because we had never been in the same place geographically, she was with me so often, in a few second spurts, day in and day out.  We shared each other’s triumphs.  We shared sorrow when her dad died.  We laughed when we would say or do stupid things.  We shared music.  We shared a friendship.

He and I then had a great talk about how you really can create life-long, true, deep relationships with people you have never met, but how you also have to be careful in letting people online into your life sometimes, especially with sensitive information.

I explained how I have two groups of real-life-online-friends, those who are still in my life from high school, and those who came into my life as a momma, and are still in my life today.  He knows I have amazing friendships with some of these.  He began asking me questions about many of them, and I got to tell him stories about how one friend and I would write a fiction blog about a world where we were actually together, and another friend and I would fill up a notebook with multiple letters before sending it off, and how I met one in Nashville, and stayed with one in Brooklyn, and met up with two in Omaha, and one came to Sioux Falls.

He told me I was a really great friend.  He wiped away my tears and reminded me he loved me.

As he got out of the car and I drove away, the song “Banks” by Needtobreathe came on the car stereo, and it brought me right back to Buffy, and the type of life she lived and the way she loved fiercely.

I was watching the sun rise above the trees, alone again with my thoughts and my sorrow.  I had finished my coffee, and remembered that my favorite local coffee drink, the Honey Bee Latte, was half price at that time in the morning, and I had enough pocket change in my cup holder to stop and grab one. I wasn’t quite ready to go home and sit with my thoughts yet, because my emotions were still swirling.  So, I stopped and ordered my favorite, one I had told Buffy about long ago, and decided to go to the outdoor campus here in town and go for a walk.  I dove deeper into my thoughts and emotion and decided that I needed to write.

I always find that I need to write.

This time, it was a little different.

I realized that I could search all over for a physical place where I felt my friend and I were together, but when it came down to it, the living room of our friendship was really the internet.  It was in writing, mostly.  I knew I needed to come sit on the virtual couch of our friendship and feel the emptiness in that room, and embrace the love I had for her in this life, through the screen in front of me.   I walked a couple of miles until my coffee was gone, with the gentle wind blowing through the trees, thinking about the songs she might send my way on a day like this, what joke she would make, and if her Honey Bee Latte would be even tastier.  I believe it would have been, no contest.  

So here I am, writing my heart out, wondering what she would say if she saw all of these words before us.  She would downplay her own significance for a while, but tell me how much she loved me, and turn it right around and build me up, because that’s what kind of champion she was.

This sorrow I feel is like that of any other friend or family I’ve lost, but different in that unfamiliar ache of the in-person hug I won’t get on this side of heaven.  As I sit through the grief, I realize this won’t be the first time on this path, because I am so blessed someday, potentially (unless I go, first) lose many more I love so deeply in this way.

My sorrow must only be a fraction of the sorrow felt by her mother, her siblings, her husband, her beautiful daughters, and her countless friends.  I’ll be thinking of them often and praying for their piece as they live out the immeasurable grief I’m sure they must be feeling.  I’ll continue to read the tributes to her online, and count myself so fortunate to have a treasure like her in my lifetime.  

I know you’re singing with the angels, Buffy, love.

Until someday,

-Me

She opened her window.

My beautiful Sweet Pea has been emotional for the last 10 days or so, quite clingy, and not quite herself sometimes.  I've been wondering what was going on, but was unable to pinpoint it.  Tonight, I think I am better able to understand. Tonight, after bedtime prayers, my sweet, sassy, perfectly quirky little princess opened the window to her heart for me, for one of the very first times in a way that both nearly broke my own heart, and amazed me with the depth of her self-knowledge and ability to articulate her emotions with clarity beyond her young three-years.  I had kissed her goodnight, as she said to me (roughly, edited to remove some names), "Mama, my friends don't see me anymore and play with me and don't like me anymore.  They're my best friends and I love them and I miss them."  

You see, almost two weeks ago, she went through a big transition at daycare, where she spends the majority of her time.  She moved from one floor to the next, from young toddler rooms to older rooms where the preschoolers are growing up.  And, while it isn't a big deal geographically, or in many ways, it dawned on me tonight, that it's a big change to her.  

She's been making it seem pretty breezy and not that big of a deal, even though her mama was sad about it at first.  She loves the kids and staff upstairs and will thrive and flourish in the new environment, and I haven't been worried about it at all.

But tonight, as I tried to calm her fears that her friends do in fact still like her, love her, and even miss her too, I realized that she was feeling her first real insecurity.

That time and distance mean people don't care, don't like you, don't miss you, or don't love you.

It's a common thought, even for adults, so I was blown away by her innocent little saddened heart.

After comforting her and reassuring her that she is loved, that her friends miss her, and some will soon be back in the same room as her with the new schedule, teachers, friends, and environment, I left the room and began thinking about what had just occurred.  I understand where she's coming from.

Her previous transitions at daycare have all been on one floor, with schedules that are relatively similar, where she would see the same people passing in hallways.  Her last transitions were done at a younger age where, while still forming attachments to teachers and children, she wasn't as mature and able to process and fear things like she does now.

So this was her first big change at daycare.   She still sees some of her most beloved people on a regular basis, but there are a lot of empty spaces in her day that used to be filled by people she had grown exceptionally close to.

Not only that, but on another level, I can feel her equating that to some of her past experiences where he dad was absent from her life.

And I can understand why she may feel that gaps in time and distance can affect relationships.

I mean, really, they often do.  Only the strong ones survive and grow, I suppose.  It's amazing to me that she is so young and already experiencing these sort of friendship quandaries. 

So, to my darling little three-year-old, her heart is in some sort of jeopardy, and it's my blessing and burden to calm her fears and speak life, truth, and love into her heart, just as with her brothers.  I try to build up their store-houses with these things, to help build their self-esteem, knowing that the way of the world is often to bring you down.  I never want my children to feel worthless, unloved, or anything other than of exceptional value and worthy of the deepest, most sincere love on earth.

They're treasures, and they should know it.

While this moment where the window was open was over an insecurity, I am so fortunate that she chose to open up to me, share her deepest fear at this moment with me, and trusted me with her heart.  I wish I could make her feel better, but aside from praying, which we did, only time will heal.  

And, my darling, my sweet, sweet girl, I can assure you, you are worth missing, and you are loved by those that you  miss right now.  

You've Got a Friend

It's been said many times that as we get older, it gets more difficult to make friends.  Maybe it's not necessarily difficult to make them, it just isn't as easy to come across them, I suppose.

I have found this to be true.  I look at my children, and they will make friends almost instantly. Sure, most won't be lifelong friends, and half of the time, these "new friends" are people they'll never see again, but they're so non-judgmental and uninhibited in their friendship making that it's something in which I find myself awestruck.

I remember being in kindergarten, like my oldest is now, and making new friends.  Thanks to the technology of my generation, I am actually still friends with many from my youngest school-age years, even if we aren't close, we can connect on Facebook and keep up with each other's lives.  I am still friends with my high school best friend, and my college best friend as well.  I have a handful of online best friends who have also been there for 16 years or so.

I have been blessed with the fortune of making a few really close friends in the end of my college years, as well as a really close friend in the beginning of my motherhood years.  I have one close friend from my the end of my childbearing years as well (that makes me sound much older than I am, I suppose).  

I then found my world quaking and myself withdrawn and secretive about it.  My walls and my guard went up, and I shut myself down in many ways.  I got a new job and met new people, but I didn't really allow myself to make friends with them for a while. I was terrified that what they would find, they would not like, and then I would be an outsider who was nothing but drama and chaos.  

As time went on, I opened up to some, and grew quite close.  I gained a few of my current closest friends in life at that job, and I am so very blessed.  Through that job, I began attending my church, where I have met even more people, that I would consider to be more than just acquaintances, they're my friends.

Much of these friendships, while I wouldn't say are superficial in any way, are not deep-rooted at this time, though many have the potential to be so.  I hope that more become rooted as time goes on.

That said, this evening, I had an experience that caught me off-guard.

It was a transitional experience, I think.

I think I made a new friend.

This friend.. well, I've known her a while, and I thought of her as my friend at church anyway, but as I said, not necessarily a deep rooted friendship.  But tonight, I found myself feeling like a school-age child as I went home, realizing I had exchanged phone numbers with my friend and text her a couple times.

Now, this friend, I've seen her and conversed with her many times, topics both light and deep, and we've exchanged quite a few hugs. I always enjoy seeing her, and I have hoped she felt the same.

Tonight though, I don't know what really switched.  Perhaps nothing really did, except that I really sat down and realized I had this friend, who had been there for quite some time, and she really did want to pursue my company and my friendship.  She told me "I love your heart."

Immediately after, the enemy was on my back telling me that people couldn't really "love my heart," it was just something you say to be nice.

Ugh.  At least I knew it was a lie.

It got me thinking about making friends as an adult.  As a mom.  As a single mom.  As someone who had recently let down her guard in a big way, and is allowing new people in without them really having to "prove" that I could trust them, because I'm not nearly as guarded as I was even a few months ago.

Where I am in life, I do not get out much. I go to work most hours of the week, I go to church, and I go to the grocery store.  That's pretty much it for any invested time regularly.  So, in line with my invested time, most of the meaningful friendships I've been blessed with over the past two years are through work, and one that was mostly through church.

But tonight, I realized I made a new friend, in my new season of life, with my new hope and my new faith.  And for some reason, that seems like a big deal. I am excited to get to know her better in the time to come, and I am so very thankful that she feels the same way.  

I have been so very blessed by the rich friendships I carry in life, especially through the hardest struggles and deepest valleys I've been through.  But, there's always room for new friends, too.

It has been a while, Ole.

Yesterday, my children and I found ourselves at my alma mater homecoming parade.

I choose this as my alma mater, although I did not graduate from the college, my heart never left.

My roommate, best friend, the other half of my brain was in town for our graduating class 10 year anniversary. Had she not been, I likely wouldn't have gone at all. I love her something fierce though, and gladly snatched the opportunity for much of the day together.

It was the first time I've visited in a few years. It was fun, and sad, and nostalgic, and contemplative.

I was nervous to go, because most everyone I knew from there knew me back when... back when I was young, in love, starting a life story with my former husband. They watched our relationship grow and blossom and be challenged and solidify. They all knew me back then.

Over the course of two years, I developed friendships there. One friendship in particular, with my aforementioned roomie bestie, has remained strong and really been cultivated over the last 14 years. As it usually goes, most dissipated to merely Facebook type friendships with occasional check ins and comments. I still consider these friends to be friends, but not close friends. It doesn't mean I don't value them, of course.

I knew that seeing my bestie would be wonderful. She's stuck by me through better and worse, longer now than my former husband did, and long enough to be family. But, I didn't know what to expect from seeing anyone else I knew.

I wasn't really a part of Augie long enough to leave a lasting mark, and I certainly don't believe I was very memorable or important to most people beyond my bestie, a camp friend, and one professor. When I saw people I knew, my inclination was to shy away because I was pretty sure they didn't know me well enough or like me enough to really have a conversation. It's okay, though, because I had my kids along to supervise.

As I sat and listened to people catch up with one another later in the day, while I pushed all three kids on swings, I felt myself retreat inwardly. Here were my classmates living their dreams and pursuing their careers and making something out of themselves and their degrees and had all sorts of accomplishments and stuff to talk about and compare.

And then there was me. The one who left after two years to pursue a social work degree that I used for a while. The one who had a fairy tale love story and three children whose life turn a psychotic thriller type turn, and now lives day to day usually, her main aspiration and goal to raise good children and provide them with a home and some sort of consistency. 

I felt inadequate, by no fault of anyone's except my own inner demons.

After talking with a trusted friend, I realized that my three children are a huge accomplishment and while they're not a career accomplishment or any great material reward or something, they're happy, thriving, and filled with the joy and love of the Lord.

So there's that.

Sometimes, I wish I had stayed there. I wish I had been a part of the last two years with my class and had those lasting friendships many do.

But, I won't play the what-if game.

I'm blessed as I am and my worth isn't defined by the two years at my alma mater, the things I did or did not accomplish because of or inspire of my degree, or what people remember of me or whether they remember me at all.

Really though, it was a good day. It was filled with laughter, smiles, some hugs, new memories, renewed and new friendships, and the beginning of sparked interest in my oldest child toward pursuing academic dreams in his future.

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. 

Go, Team!

I haven't really let on, but the past week has been a struggle for me emotionally. Ever since church, despite my continued efforts at giving myself pep talks, praying, listening to worship music, and talking to a friend, I've been feeling weighed down. I've been feeling kind of oppressed.  I've been feeling a bit defeated.

The parenting struggles have been many, the exhaustion has been exceeding, and the reminders of the life we had for a while are many.  There have been multiple avenues bringing me back, and not as many leading me forward this week.  I know that happens from time to time for everyone, so I haven't been trying to dwell on it much.

But a dear friend pointed out midweek that she could tell, and we talked about it.

Today, we prayed about it together.  She lead me to break off the spirit of defeat that has been weighing me down.  I feel silly admitting the spirit of defeat, because obviously, from outside looking in, I haven't been defeated.

As we prayed and commanded it to go, she reminded me to ask God to fill me up with something to replace the defeat, to speak to me or show me something, and fill me with his love and peace.

Almost as soon as we finished praying, I felt my shoulders rise and my mind felt clearer.

Then, I heard "I know you feel defeated, but I AM undefeated. I AM un-defeat-able."

I sat there, quiet, thinking about it, and feeling myself regain the consciousness that I had been lacking for most of the week, just muddling through each day.

I have never been really into sports.  I collected basketball cards as a child for no reason I can discern as an adult.  I've watched them occasionally, but I've never been a die-hard fan of any sort of sports team.

But here I was, sitting there, hearing God speak to me in sports analogies.  Perhaps it's because my kids like to play ball.  Who knows.

It's been almost 51 weeks exactly since the children and I last saw their dad, or since they had any contact with him whatsoever (despite our efforts to be in contact with him over the weeks).

I felt Him telling me, "You've played these last 51 innings, batting hard.  You've been struggling through them on one team, with half of your team having forfeited already. You've pressed on. You've played hard.  Overtime is done."

I realized that when my former husband and I were raising kids, we went to church, but we didn't really do much more than that in regard to God in our family.  We were our team, and for most of that time, I really was the only one fully invested in outcome.

"You're on my team."  I had goosebumps, chills, and tears.

Of course I am, I thought.  But I felt it again. "You're on MY team."

"I'm the coach.  I'm the quarterback.  I'm the MVP.  I AM. And my team is bigger than yours.  You aren't going at it alone on my team."

Well then.

He's right.  I am on His team. I have been all along. He's been on my side, and I have been on his.  But I haven't fully invested in my draft, because I've been still longing for my old team.  That team that failed me.  And why should I want to play alone, investing in that team, when I have the undefeated champion right alongside me.  He's got it all under control after all.  He defeated death.  

I realized also that, as I have been reminded numerous times by my friend, that we aren't supposed to live life alone.  We don't live life alone.  He gives us people to support us, to play on our team with Him, and to help through each tricky inning.  I know this.  I've known it.

But, apparently, I didn't see it as clearly as I should have, and God had to show me through sports.  Go figure.  I'm an art person.  I married a sports person.  My oldest son is definitely a sports person.

Go, God!  Go, Team!

Sometimes I cry.

If you know me well, you know that I am not a stranger to tears. I used to try to fight them off every time I felt them welling up. As I have grown, oddly enough in my mind, my resolve has been less and they fall more easily.

There's something to be said about crying. Well, there's many things to be said, actually.

For starters, it can be quite therapeutic. It helps release all bottled up tension, sometimes to the point of such exhaustion you just pass out for hours.

It can lead to headaches. I've had one too many crying hangovers, as I call them.

It is both beautiful... and ugly. The brutal emotions being let go and your heart being so open is beautiful. The faces, the boogers, the swollen eye lids and nose... not so much.

Sometimes it's a few silent tears. Sometimes it's a heaving, boisterous sob.

Sometimes it is purely of joy. Sometimes it is of heart shattering sorrow. Sometimes the tears are from overwhelming exhaustion and crying is the only thing you have left.

Crying alone can be just what you need. Silence and privacy to be at your best, weakest point with nothing but your pillow and Jesus to listen...

But crying with someone can be even more powerful.

I understand why children want to be held when they cry. It's comforting. It's the physical reminder that there's someone right there who cares enough to drop all else in the moment and just be with you in your bare emotional state. There's security in someone's arms.

To be honest, I look back, and I cried a lot in my last years of marriage. I cried about my marriage and the many things going on within and outside of it that I felt needed attention but were deemed unimportant. I cried about crying about my marriage. I cried about not having someone to hold me while I cried because he hated that I cried. 

I still often miss having someone around to hold me while I cry. Just like a child, the comfort and security of having someone there is invaluable.

I know God collects your tears, feels your burdens, records your heartaches... But sometimes it doesn't feel like enough.

I know that's not how you're supposed to feel when it comes to God. I know it. I'm growing, and I try to let it be enough most of the time, visualizing myself curled up on Jesus lap leaving tear stains on his chest.

What I also know is that God provides for me, not every time I cry, but sometimes, especially when it seems I need it most. He knows how I feel about the tangible arms of someone who cares while my tears get the best of me and I feel like I may crumble. He has shown me this by providing a trusted friend or family member who, without reserve, will hold me tightly while I cry.

Sometimes, that's all I need to get through that overwhelming moment. I cannot adequately express the gratitude I feel in those embraces, both for the person with me, and for God providing them at the perfect time. 

God is great like that.

Thank you to those who have ever held me while I cried.

Great Blessings

 I'm sure each of you has heard countless analogies and metaphors about friendships and what a true friend is.  True friends are like diamonds, true friends are like stars, true friends are like mornings, true friends are like angels, true friends are like a high school algebra word problem on the homework you almost forgot to do last night before bed...  So forth and so on.  Yes?  I know that I have.   

There are so many inspirational quotes that tell you how to be a good friend or what a good friend looks like.  If you're looking for some sort of wall art or a nice little closing to a greeting card to let someone know you care, you don't have to look much further than an internet search and you have thousands of sayings to choose from, from Oscar Wilde to Winnie-the-Pooh.

What makes a good friend, I suppose, is in some ways, subjective.  You may think a good friend is one who will give you the answers to your psychology homework, or maybe you think a good friend is one who will help you change a tire when you have a flat.  Perhaps your best friend lets you borrow her dresses or your books.  Whatever you think makes a good friend, I would hope that you have someone in your life who fits that bill.

I have been richly blessed with friendships in my life.  I say that not to brag, but as a reflection after a wonderful, laid back day with my college roommate, one of my best friends in the world, after a year or so of not being in the same room together.  She is one of my "lifelong" friends.  I met her 14 years ago, nearly, and despite the fact that we can go a year without seeing each other or weeks without texting, when it comes down to it, I know she's there and she has been and will be through thick and thin.

But, I am so enormously spoiled that I know it doesn't stop there.  I have a friend from my childhood that I moved next door to in 1991, and she is still one of my dearest friends.  I have friends that I met as an adult that are equally important and wonderful to me.  Some I see nearly weekly, others less frequently, but their love for me and my family is immeasurable, and I am reminded of it often.  I have met friends through my job of 18 months that are some of my closest friends in this life.  I have friends that I only know through the internet and have for over a decade that I consider my some of my very best as well.

And I have blood family that are some of my best friends.

Growing up, I know a best friend could change day to day, depending on whether you like the same boy band, book, color, food... you name it.  Friendships seemed easier to come by and somewhat more trivial as a child.  You broke up and made up more times than you can count, I'm sure.

As an adult, it seems much more difficult to find true, dear friends that you trust with your deepest secrets and your most broken bits of heart.  

Somehow, though, I have this amazing group of best friends.  I can't choose just one best friend like I could as a little girl. I have a handful.  God has blessed me so richly.  He's given me women all over the country who I could reach out to in an instant and they're there for me, emotionally, physically, spiritually, and so much more.  It's an invaluable blessing, when I so often find myself feeling overwhelmed and lonely, living this life of a single parent with such young children.  It's something truly special to have a select group of friends who can read through the lines of a text message and know when you're not really doing as okay as you claim, or that can almost read your heart as soon as you enter a room, even if there's a smile on your face.

I have known this for quite some time, but it seems that as I grow older and as I have gone through so much in the past few years, losing the one who meant the most to me, I see these friendships more clearly and with so much more value and gratitude.  These people chose to stand beside me and stay with me even when the one who promised to stay forever walked right out. They have seen me at my best and my worst and they love me through it all.

I've been told many times that God knows what he is doing.  It's true.  Even when it's hard to trust him, especially knowing that, although he has reasons for what He is doing, you don't always get to know on this side of life.

I'm so thankful to my very best friends for all they bring into my life.  But I am thankful also for each one of my friends, not only the best ones, because the prayers and love that I've been showered with, from friends near and far, old and new, have helped shape me into the woman I am today.

I pray that my own children are equally blessed in their lives, and that each of you are as well.

Not forgotten

For as long as I can remember, I have had the blessing of being able to remember people's faces and names fairly easily.  If I see someone I recognize, there's a good chance I can recall their name and likely where I met them or know them from.

I know this isn't so with a lot of people, and for that reason, I find it's rare that I approach someone that I haven't seen in years, especially if we weren't ever close, and let alone ask if they remember me.  I don't want to put them in a position where they feel awkward or feel bad that they can't remember me.

Why? Because I don't feel that memorable.  I really never have felt memorable.

I feel very common.  I'm a very ordinary woman, really.  I don't see anything that remarkable about myself that would make people remember me after years, especially if we never had a close-knit relationship.

Today, at church, two questions were raised in the message.  Where are you from? Where are you going?

I realize I write often about where I have come from, specifically the saga leading up to my current single-mother-of-three-ages-five-and-under-who-never-hear-from-their-dad situation.  If it gets old, I apologize, but as I have said before, I write therapeutically, and also for those who may need to find someone to relate to.

Anyway...

In the message, there was a comment about how it is okay to look back to where you've been or what has happened and compare it to where you are now, and to see where God is leading your life.  I know I'm guilty of looking back, probably more than I should.  The past week, I have had many instances were I looked at where I've been, and I see God in the steps along the way to where I am now.  I see them much more clearly and much more significantly than ever before.

There are so many moments that I can see that God had it all under control.  I see people and places and situations he orchestrated that broke down my walls and chiseled away at my pride, to mold who I am becoming.

I see that even when I felt like I might have been forgotten, he never left my side and he never forgot me.

What is equally mind-blowing is the fact that, although I'm ordinary, there are many people who have remembered me that I would have not expected to remember me (or my children).

Over the past year or so, there have been multiple people that I have not had contact with for a very long time come back into my life for various reasons.  There are people I was never close with, that I just sort of knew from high school and my hometown.  There are people from college, from former jobs, from old blogging and message board websites, from local mother support groups, and so forth.

These people have all shown me and my children God's love in ways both big and small.  I never sought them out, and they found their way to us.

It's totally a God thing.

Because although I'm ordinary, to Him, I'm remarkable. I'm memorable.  And as I have been struggling with the fact that I feel discarded and forgotten by my former husband, he's been in the background sending me these messages  (that I may or may not have understood at the time) that my former husband is just one little person in this great big world who happened to hold a huge piece of my heart and was a part of my life's treasure.  But, he has so many other people who I had placed on my mind or heart's shelves and set aside.  And these people, people that I remember and never expected to remember and love me, these people remember me.  They remember me because God remembers me.

He has also brought people into my path who know me, or know of me, that I didn't know had any clue who I was.  Considering how, really, when it comes to my daily life (although I am much more outgoing on my blog) I shy away from meeting new people and feel uncomfortable doing so, it is incredible to be known and not know it.

And God wants me to let go of the value I placed on what one person thought of me, because what He feels for me is much more significant.  He cares about me enough to show me in tangible ways that I am remembered, because as he knows, sometimes I need to see something tangible to get through my fogged up vision.

He remembers each and every one of us the same.  He loves each and every one of us the same.  And while he may have sent people to show me that I am remembered, it doesn't mean He will speak to each of us the same way.  But, He does know how to reach us, when we are open, ready, and willing to receive Him.

Thank you, Jesus.

A pretty good friend

Back in September 2014, my husband and I sat in our van, discussing this crossroads we were at, where he wanted a break from his family and wasn't sure if he wanted to stay married. He told me reason after reason he didn't want to stay, didn't know if he wanted to work on his issues to try to better himself and didn't know if he wanted to try to work on our marriage.

He knew I wanted to and would fight til the death, and I would give him the time he needed. 

While we talked, tears down both of our faces, holding hands even, I voiced my concerns about the future if we divorced. What happens if he finds another wife, where would he live, would we still share family, would I have to say goodbye to his family that became mine for over a decade, would he still care about me at all or would he hate my guts?  There were so many unknowns.

He answered most of them with how he believed it would go. He said he didn't think he would remarry because he had so many issues, I wouldn't have to lose his family, he never wanted to live far away because he wanted the kids and I in his daily life. Because he still loved me and always would, because before anything, we were friends. And he swore we would always be friends.

Then he disappeared for over seven months. He was served divorce papers and didn't even respond or fight. He didn't fight for his kids. He didn't fight for a friendship.

He just didn't do anything.

Tonight, I miss him, not as a husband, but as the friend I had almost 15 years ago, where we stayed up late on the phone or emailing, visiting, chatting, road tripping to see each other. There were so many hours of talking, laughing, dreaming, playing games and guitar, reading and writing, taking photographs, walking and exploring...

And now there's nothing.

He was undeniably one of the greatest friends I had for a hue portion of my life.

Until he wasn't anymore.

I didn't know it until too late.

And I believed him a year and a half ago when he said he would never want to lose me as a friend.

All things considered, even going through all this mess, I think I am a decent friend. I know I possess a few qualities that many would deem good for friendship anyway.

And he just walked away. Completely walked away. He lied to my face and took my best friend away.

It makes me angry. I start to stir up the pot of self-doubt. I battle it down telling myself that God loves me. I seek out friends I know will speak truth over me so the lies in my heart won't scream.

But regardless of that all... It hurts. I thought I was a pretty good friend, and even through a divorce, I could have been a pretty good friend to him. I wanted to be a good friend to him through all of this. I wanted to. 

Until now. Just minutes ago, actually. Realizing he didn't even fight for a friendship... 

Now... I have no words.

Conflicted

 

It is absolutely heart-wrenching to suffer with infertility. To try, to battle, to lose month after month, while friends and family around you bring new life into their families. It's crushing to hear people say "we weren't even trying!" or "we got pregnant the first try!" when you live, day in and day out, in the agony and turmoil that infertility brings.

I know. I've been there.

It's so incredibly hard to lose a baby. It takes your breath away. It makes your uterus ache with emptiness, and your arms ache with loneliness. The hot if a positive pregnancy test shattered and stomped on with the absence of the heartbeat that was once in your womb. The constant ticking of the clock that no longer brings you closer to the joyous birth of your miracle. 

I know. I've been there.

When I went through those dark journeys, I did so openly, not caring that there would be (and there were) judgements and ridicule, shame and condemnation, for choosing the level of openness that I did. I knew that if I held it inside, seemingly to hold it all together, my hope and my spirit would crumble quickly. (You can read about my journeys here on this blog.) 

I've been blessed now with four pregnancies, and the births of two sons.

And in this fourth pregnancy, I find myself on the opposite side of the some of the darkest of journeys motherhood, or the pursuit of motherhood, can bring.

This time, I've been the one to openly confess that, despite years of infertility battles, we conceived without trying. 

I feel like I should be over the top overwhelmed with pure joy in this miracle that we never imagined would come naturally. And yet... 

I've been conflicted, openly, from the beginning, mostly regarding the timing of this new miracle.

However, there's more to it.

This time, I'm the one with the baby growing inside of me, while multiple friends that I love so dearly, struggle through the darkness of infertility, miscarriage, or the sheer longing to be a mother but the inability to be one due to various other life circumstances.

When I was going through the battles and the loss, as I said, the pregnancy announcements and births were quite a paradox. There was the incredible joy I felt for those I care for, but also the sharp stabbing pain in my own heart and hope. Jealousy, anger, despair- they are miserable and lonely emotions. You feel ashamed beyond description to feel the negative side while also the joy for them. You find yourself either distancing or trying to overcompensate by being extra interested. Not always, but sometimes. I've done both to various extremes. 

You try so hard to discount your negative feelings, because you think they shouldn't be there.

I say, embrace them. Explore them enough so you can understand them. Then, pick up the pieces of your broken heart, and try to heal. Somehow.

I don't have the magic answer. For me, it was being surrounded by support. Love. Empathy and encouragement. Understanding. Compassion. Prayer. Blogging.

It may take years, but I believe you can heal.

But, I digress.

I'm learning about the other side, as I said. I'm now the one who, God willing, will be delivering a baby in April. I have multiple friends due to welcome new life into their families around the same time.

But, I also have a few friends who were supposed to join. That's what their pregnancy tests confirmed. That's the joy they've embraced so fully, dreamed about, and maybe even shared with the world. And suddenly, as happened to me, the dream was shattered. They've empty wombs and broken hearts. And, no matter how much I portray I understand, I'm now a living, breathing reminder that they lost their child.

I am sure it was so with the previous pregnancies, though I cannot say with the certainty that I can this time around.

And, while I'm reveling in my miracle, my heart breaks for my beloved friends. Perhaps they need to distance themselves from me because just the sound of my name brings them to tears. Or, perhaps they've reached out for my comforting ear and empathy.

Either way, I cry. When I cannot sleep, and I feel the early flutters of this life I side me, I often find myself praying for these amazing women. Tears well up in my eyes, and my throat constricts with intense sorrow. 

I feel ashamed. I feel embarrassed. I want to withhold my joy and be private about this miracle. I want to take back my pregnancy announcement so we can be as we once were.

But I can't.

 It kills me inside every time I want to share, but feel incredibly rude in doing so. But, I know also that it's no good for friendships to deny my joy either. It seems the unselfish thing to do, but it doesn't necessarily mean its the right approach. 

It isn't my "fault" that I am pregnant, just as it isn't their "fault" that they no longer are. One of my dear friends said that to me recently, while we discussed how her loss and my sustained (this far) pregnancy affected us. 

But then, what can I do? I don't want to be the salt in the wounds that have not healed. 

I pray for them, knowing that I cannot heal them on my own, but that my God can. And, I pray it happens sooner than later. I pray they can embrace their sorrow, and hope for the joy that will come again someday.

And I miss them. 

I'm not sure I've made a concise point, but I'm hoping that my thoughts, which help me process, reach those out there that need it.

Love to you all.

Note: while I cherish all blog comments, I understand sometimes it is scary to put your feelings out there. You are able to respond anonymously, but if you are wanting someone to talk to, feel free to send me an email at Nicole.m.worthley[at]gmail[dot]com

Made to Love

This morning, I went to MOPs for the second time. Now, I will say it was my favorite gathering so far, which doesn't mean a ton, other than I enjoyed it more than the first time.

And yet... it means a bit more. In my opinion anyway.

This morning spoke to me more personally than the first meeting. The guest speaker, Ginny, was fantastic. She spoke on friendships.

The way she presented the topic reminded me SO MUCH of a day from my childhood, where my best friend, Michelle, and I sat down in her garage, I believe, and were discussing the same topic. Friendships. Where we were in our relationship compared to other friends in town. In not so many words, we had a very similar idea that was presented this morning.

The most coincidental part was that we too diagramed friendship relationships, using circles. Where others were in relation to our closeness.

Just for fun.

I didn't even realize it while Ginny was speaking, but rather a short time ago, back at home, while reflecting.

It seems that we knew what we were talking about at the time.

This morning was a little different in that Ginny took it to a deeper level, binging God into it.

My summary: you are the center. You're the heart of your relationship circle. The ONLY perfect friend that you could have I the heart of your circle is God.

She kept saying that in order to develop deep and meaningful friendships, true, inner circle friends, you had to "power up on the power source."

Loved that.

Anyway, to combat your loneliness and fulfill your desire to be heard, valued, and loved, you need to power up. God comes first. He can do that. He is always there. And he will always love you.

And then, with his power-up, you can have these true and deep friendships. But be selective as to who you let in your inner circle. These people should build you up, not criticize or condemn. They should accept and encourage you. They should support you. They should be honest. Don't let "trash" into your heart (bring negativity).

Thoughts to null over.

I must say that I've had a fairly large (compared to some) group of best/inner-circle friends. Six that I can name immediately, and for that I am amazingly blessed. Of these six, some are closer now than others, in distance and relationship, but I think I could call on any of these six if I need. Two of them, I feel incredibly blessed by, as they share similar life circumstances with me and are very close in distance. I will be honest in saying that seeing them weekly (give or take) is definitely a saving grace.

Relationships, as I've known in the past, change and wane sometimes. It's true that these inner six and I have gone through changes, and maybe some have waned a bit.

I hope that my friends see me as a good friend, too. I try to be.

She also talked of marital relationships, and honestly, it was what I needed. Last night was rough. Things have been kind if stressful at home since the loss of Jake's former job, an antsy toddler with cabin fever, a teething baby (he's really not that bad as I probably portray in my frazzled texts to my husband as I listen to screaming boys...), and my out-of-wack-post-breastfeeding hormones throwing me for quite a loop.

The other night, Jake said he would do dishes. And he didn't.

And then yesterday was TOUGH. And last night, I had a meltdown.

Ginny used the illustration that when you ask your husband to do something, or he says he will, and doesn't, we often take that to as "he doesn't hear me, doesn't understand me, doesn't value me." (I think those were the three she said.) then, that leads to "he doesn't love me." Because love is shown by hearing, understanding, and valuing another (among other things). But that's not true.

I know it's not, but I tell you what, sometimes it really feels that way. Especially after you go through the situation time and time again for years on end.

People will fail you. People will disappoint. Not always, and hopefully not often, but it's inevitable. Because we aren't perfecto only Jesus is.

She challenged us to call on him and his perfect love for us in times of loneliness. Before calling a friend. Before your husband. Before Facebook.

I don't think it has to be a long call to God. I have always been of the "silent prayer/conversation with God" variety, not aloud, and I offer my thoughts often. Though its not always first.

So, I'll try. I don't think it will take away from my time for friendships at all. I think it will actually add to them.

We were created to love. We were created for community. The first was man and God. Then, with God, we love others.

I'm sorry for lack of cohesion in this post. It's another sort of "note to self" writing.