Roosters

We recently had the opportunity to go to Hawaii with my family. My Dad had business in Honolulu, and took my siblings and my family along. We also spent a few days before the workshop he was speaking at in Kauai, sight seeing. It was a trip we'd been looking forward too all winter. It gave us something to get excited about, something to work towards. And boy, the islands did not disappoint.

Molly had a few things she wanted to do, her "bucket list" for the trip. And we were able to check them all off!  She wanted to drink out of a coconut with a straw:

                                              

See a waterfall:  

Meet a Hula girl:

And build a sandcastle:

We did LOTS more. I was surprised and a little embarrassed as I realized I took over 150 pictures! But there was so much to see, so much I wanted to capture. And after all I've been through, I know how special it is to have pictures to look back on. I uploaded many of the photos onto Facebook, so you can see all of them all if you want. But the high lights:

We visited a coffee plantation and a pineapple plantation...

We went to Luau, took a Hula lesson, and made Lei's.

We saw Waimea Canyon, Spouting Horn blow hole, and the famous North Shore of Oahu. 

Josh and I went to the Pearl Harbor Memorial one afternoon.

And of course we took in the absolutely beautiful sights. Beaches and mountains and canyons and sunrises and sets. God's glory was on full display--and it was magnificent.

It was an amazing trip, yet Drew's absence was still felt in this mother's heart.

The wonder in Molly's eyes, and the joy in her squeals made me wish she had another child to share it with.

The "boy stuff", like the off-roading we did in the jeeps on the way to one secluded beach--it would have given him such a thrill!  And after watching Drew with the princesses in Disney World, I know the Hula girls would have caused him to turn on the charm for sure!

But I know as glorious as Hawaii was, and as much fun as Drew would have had there with us, where he is even more glorious and fun. All that Molly loved, the awe and joy she felt, is a mere shadow of what he IS experiencing right now.  It's really mind-blowing, isn't it?  And those thoughts are what didn't let the longing, the heartache of his absence, ruin our trip by distracting me from the present.

And maybe Drew really was with us in Hawaii after all...

I use voice text a lot. As much as I talk and as slow as I text, its so much easier for me to communicate. But, as anyone who uses voice text a lot knows, it messes up words sometimes (a lot of the time if you talk fast like me). You have to go back and correct a lot. During treatment, as a friend would ask for updates, I'd tell her how "Drewster" was doing. Well, voice text always transcribed it as "rooster". I missed it enough times that I stopped correcting it, and my friend and I lovingly referred to Drew as "Rooster" from then on out. Its kind of our thing, our inside joke that no one else really knows about.

Flash forward to now. If you've ever been to Hawaii, and the island of Kauai in particular, you know there are chickens running loose all over. We saw our first one as we walked out of the airport, right by baggage claim. 

And throughout the vacation, they were everywhere; in the trees at the beach, alongside the road, at your feet trying to get crumbs from your road-side fish taco. And once we got out of Honolulu, we saw them on Oahu as well. My family teased me about how crazy they drove me, and how jumpy I was around them! They seemed to pick on me the most. I couldn't get away from them.

On the plane ride home, I was texting a different friend about the chickens, and casually called them roosters--since many of them were indeed roosters and they were the most note worthy since they were the biggest and loudest. And in that moment it hit me--the symbolism, the connection. Of course! Roosters. I couldn't help but tear up when I saw it looking back. They were there with me the whole time--from start to finish. With me on the beach, and in the maze at the pineapple plantation. Along all the roadsides and by the pool at the first resort. I got goosebumps when I thought of all the times during the trip that a rooster was a part of the memory, butting his way in.

Now I know chickens have been running loose on Kauai for a long time. And they are around everyone whether they have a connection to them or not. But I DO have a connection, a "thing" with them. A rooster means something to me, and it's not just a coincidence they were always around me. I don't know what to believe about signs from Heaven, but the moment it "dawned on me" about the roosters, I know it was the Lord's whisper to me. His gentle reminders, His comforting grace. Through wild roosters...God's funny sometimes! Reminding me that Drew's still with me. Wherever I go on earth--even across the ocean to Hawaii--he'll always right there with me somehow, trotting along and bobbing his head.

I left Hawaii so thankful. Thankful for my parent's gift to us in the trip. Thankful for all we were able to see, do, and eat! Thankful for the time with family, the memories made. Thankful for the tastes of Heaven we got as we saw, felt and touched an Earthy paradise. And thankful, even if it still hurt not to have both my babies with me, that my Drew gets to be in a place that's even more amazing than Hawaii...

Kairos Moment

Molly has been doing so well in Kindergarten. She loves the bus, taking her lunch, her friends and teachers. We've been working with flashcards at home first with the alphabet last fall, then with the sounds, and now with sight words and sounding out three to four letter words.

This week after I picked her up from school, as we were approaching the library, she asked to stop. I don't normally pick her up, so stopping at the library on the way home from school was kind of a fun deviation from our usual. Knowing she's been making so much progress lately with reading, I picked up some early/easy reading books.

When we sat down together to read them after we got home, she wasn't sure about the ones I'd picked out, "Hey! Who put these in my pile, I didn't pick these ones out!". But we opened the first one up, and it was so fun to see her quickly realize she knew some of the words. I watched her rattle off the sight words she knew, and then listened as she under-her-breath sounded out the others. She'd figure out the word and exclaim it loudly!

We got through the whole book, with me only helping a little (you don't realize how many words in English don't follow the "rules" until you're trying to teach someone to read!) and the look on her face was something I'll always remember. She was so amazed, so surprised by herself that she could actually do it! We picked up the next one and as she gained more confidence, the books read faster and faster. We cheered when she finished each one.

It was a special moment, and I was so proud and happy for her. It was so neat to have witnessed the progression that brought us to reading that book. To know how hard we've worked and to see it pay off in her confident smile, was such a warm and wonderful feeling.

As she went to her room to do her earned tablet-time, the smile stayed on my face while I got supper ready in the kitchen. It was so beautiful, such a special moment. A Kairos moment my friend calls it---when time stands still. We all know how the minutes of each day work, but those special times, the moments...those are the Kairos ones, those we should try to find in each day.  And when we experience them, we should recognize them as gifts, something to treasure.  This was one of those moments.

And the more I thought about it--it dawned on me that the moment was untouched by Drew! It hadn't even crossed my mind that I'll never watch him learn to read in this lifetime.  I didn't feel sad that Drew wasn't there to cheer Molly on with me. I was totally "in the moment" with Molly.  Something that at the beginning of loss, when its so much a part of every thought, you never think is possible.  I said a prayer of thanks, that the Sprit made me able to appreciate that moment for what it was, and feel the joy and wonder of the new experience, moving past the shadow of grief.

I remembered the words of a different friend too. One who also lost a son, a five-year-old, twenty years ago to childhood cancer.  She told me last year that the time would come when I don't think of Drew everyday. And it's not like you have forgotten, he'll still very much be a part of you, but you move past constantly having him on your mind, she suggested. I told her at that early point in my grief, that I couldn't imagine that happening.  But I remember asking, "isn't it sad to realize you didn't think about them?" No, she told me, "it's peaceful." It is a moment of hope because you realize you can be free from that constant nagging that they aren't there, she shared.

This week, as I rejoiced with Molly during this big moment for her, I understood what that friend told me.  As it hit me that I didn't have any thought of Drew, but only the celebration of Molly's accomplishment, I felt a little sense of accomplishment as well. I am making progress! I am getting through this difficult season, one day, one row, at a time. I can see how the rest of my life doesn't have to revolve around this--it isn't always going to be the first thing that comes to my mind. And it is so peaceful, so freeing.

I'm sure Drew was cheering too as he watched Molly (however we think they watch) read that first book of her life--saying to the little girl next to him, "That's my big sister!" with a big proud smile. And I was smiling too, because for one of the first times, I didn't even think about the fact that he wasn't here with us, and it was okay.

What I've learned...

As the first anniversary of Drew's passing passed, I took time to remember. The week, the day. To remember him and all that died that day, January 19th, 2017. And although it wasn't pleasant, it didn't feel good, I'm glad I did. It felt right to pause, and to go "back there". To hold his blanket and light a candle at the hour he was born into Eternity in remembrance, in honor, of the life that he lived, the sparkle that was Drew in this lifetime.

Since then, my "one year ago" reminders on Facebook don't included his smiling face anymore, but our new family of three.  My "two years ago" reminders are filled with shock and well wishes as we were just beginning our journey. It's really weird that it was almost exactly a year from our trip to the ER that Wednesday afternoon not knowing what was wrong, to watching his life quietly fade away. And actually, it kind of helps to see those posts. To see Drew so sick around diagnosis time right next to the ones where I know he's free--finished with that awful beast.

It feels in a way like we've come full circle. After remembering the event of his death the last couple weeks, I can now reflect on the year since, and how far we've come. Many of you who have gone with me this last year either through this blog or in person, know I've realized and discovered a lot. It seems appropriate to reflect on that as well, to take stock of how we did our first year without Drew.

A year ago, when I was just at the beginning of this grief, everyone told me there were no rules, do what feels right to you. And I don't think that was necessarily bad advice, but I needed more. I am a very structured, rule-oriented person, I like that security. So I started making some rules of my own as I moved forward.

Some were physical boundaries: I decided first I didn't want to form any habits from the beginning I didn't intend to keep in the long run. I realized I certainly could justify whatever I wanted to do, but I knew I didn't want to let myself engage in destructive behavior, even for a little while, because it'd be so hard to break free. And I think I've kept to that well. I didn't let personal hygiene slip, didn't overeat, or start drinking every night. It seems dumb to have to set those boundaries for yourself, but at the beginning, when it hurts so bad, you are very tempted to do whatever it takes to make it feel better. And forgo anything that seems pointless in light of your loss.

On the flip side, I also wanted to keep in place some good habits I already had. Like getting enough sleep. I need to sleep to handle myself--I'm kind obsessed with getting a full 8 hours (okay, maybe more like 9...), and I wanted to keep that habit so I could remain stable. I decided for me that meant keeping away from things that are upsetting too close to bedtime. So I tried not to look at photos/watch videos of Drew, write my heart out (and simultaneously cry my eyes out), or let my mind go to those dark places right before bed or as I was laying in bed. I told myself I could think about/be sad about/figure out my feelings the next day. And for the most part, I've been able to do that, and I continue to be careful about this. I think that has helped more than I know--to be rested. I'm so thankful I haven't experienced much insomnia/nightmares that disturb my natural rhythm as some grievers do.

Then emotionally, I decided I couldn't hold myself to anyone else's standards or expectations in my grief. We are who we are, and in some ways who we've always been. If we weren't the touchy-feely types before, I shouldn't wonder why we aren't holding each other and crying together like some couples/families who go through this kind of thing do. We have never done that, and I shouldn't feel bad or guilty that we aren't now. Once I gave myself permission to be myself, do things my way, I felt so much better about how I cope. And I reminded myself that this is true for each member of my family too. Josh and Molly both have their own ways of dealing with things, and do a pretty good job with it, so I can't hold them to my way of grieving either.

As I moved forward in those first few weeks and months, I figured out new things to add to my list of personal guidelines for my grief. Like consciously trying to remain present--especially with Molly. At one kids group in February last year, I caught myself daydreaming about what Drew would be doing in the class, and totally missing what Molly was actually doing. That really scared me. I don't want to lose both my baby's childhoods because of this! One I couldn't do anything about anymore, but watching Molly grow up was mine to lose if I couldn't stop being distracted by Drew's absence. So staying present went on my list, not missing special moments I'll never get back...

I also figured out as we went along that it helped to set up new routines--try different events/adventures, even if I wasn't sure I wanted to. We started going to the Y. We go up to the cities more often. We got season tickets in the fall to the ISU football games. We are about to go on a big vacation with my family to Hawaii. It gives you a break sometimes, to go to a different space Drew never was, or to do things that we never did with Drew. So much in this town, in our lives, have memories with Drew but some days it's nice to have some that don't.

I learned in the last year that helping others sometimes is the best way to help yourself. That when you put yourself out there in service, two things happen--you realize the needs/situations of others, not just your own; and you recognize that there is still something in you that you have to offer. You are still valuable and useful, even in your broken state. Which gives you a sense of purpose again, of power. Not to mention the good "feels" of helping someone who needs it. We all should do more helping of others, in big ways or little ways--they are all important. How much better off would the world be?

I've found out for myself in the last year just how hard it is for the bereaved to allow ourselves to be happy again. To decide it's okay to laugh, to play and to love after our loss. Somehow you feel like you are betraying them, that you must not have really loved them if you can actually be happy without them. Some people even perpetuate this lie with nice-sounding phrases like, "the amount of grief one feels is directly proportional to the amount one loved." And while I think there is truth to that statement, I think it easily can put us grievers in a corner. Because many think of grief as overwhelming sorrow and sadness, tears and gloom--not inspired, hopeful and experiencing joy despite our loss. And if we somehow are feeling the former, we're afraid our lack of despair is a reflection of the depth of love for the one we've lost.

But the truth is, as different as we all are is as different as all of our grief is. We Becker's have our own way of expressing our grief and showing our love for Drew (although as you have seen if you follow this blog---I do my share of lamenting and crying). Overall, we are more "doers" than "dreamers". Our grief has come out as beginning new things, building from this. And if you measure how much Drew was loved using what we've done in the last year as a measuring stick, I think you'd determine we loved him greatly indeed. You don't have to be a sobbing mess everyday to prove you loved, and that doesn't mean you don't remember or care.

And really, I'm more and more convinced that limiting yourself to the sadness of grief, the yearning for what was, only makes you miss out on what is and could be. It's what happened that morning at the kids group last spring, when I couldn't have told you where Molly placed the heart on herself during the silly children's song, because I was too busy imagining where Drew would have placed his. This is biblical guys, remember?  Isaiah 43:18-19 "Forget the former things; do not dwell on the past. See, I am doing a new thing! Now it springs up; do you not perceive it?" I'm so glad that God spoke this to us, and the Spirit has helped me see it, because it's so true. And Drew can very much be a part of my life now, but only if I'm present enough, if I'm not so focused on the past, to see it.

And as I got through more of that first year, I began to see it. I've recognized not only his influence in me and the ways his life continues to impact this world, but recognized a new relationship with him. I "sit with him" each morning when I have some quiet time in his room before everyone wakes up. I talk to him when I'm driving around town in my van, or at home by myself (to be fair, I talk to Snickers, the cat, a lot too!) and it takes him with me, brings him back into my daily life. Maybe I won't do it forever, but right now, its what my new relationship looks like with my only son. And in the last year I have had reassurance that its not just a one sided relationship. I've felt him in such special moments, and have had things happen or saw things that showed me he continues to live on, which helps me know I ought to also.

 

Remember the two scales I talked about a while ago? A concept I got from a grief book. The idea is that there are two scales from 1-10 in grief, the first is a scale of your emotions, how big they feel today. And the other for how well you can handle them. The goal isn't to tame the first so you never feel anything, but to adjust your second scale to match. And I like that. I don't want the "sad" to ever completely go away, do I? I don't think it will, even if I did want it to. I think I just need to do what I've learned this year, to accept and expect there will always be a little sadness along with the happy moments of my life from here on out. So the key will be to figure out how best to cope. What does today's feelings call for? A long run to clear my head? A happy hour with friends to lighten my mood? Or some time alone, where I cry or pray... the better I am at knowing what I need to do, the better off I'll be. Not "the less I am reminded, the fewer times I'm sad or upset" the better I'll be...

I'll probably always be adding to my "list of rules" for grieving and be learning or experiencing new things along my journey. Because I know now it's not really a journey with a destination of "over it". But a journey for the rest of my life. Until the day we all are waiting for when God makes everything right, and eliminates all the sorrow, tears and pain. I think what I've really been doing this last year is figuring out how I'm going to be now, what it will look like for Heidi Becker to move forward through this life, one precious child down. And luckily, I don't have to do it alone.

That's the good news in all this. All that I've learned on my own is good and useful, but I will never be able to do it all. To "handle it well" if I try to on my own. And God has shown me the rest, the peace, the hope, and joy He has to offer if we just take it from Him. If we give up trying to figure it out, stop wearing ourselves out trying to carry the burden of grief alone, we will truly experience the freedom and peace that only He can give--even in the worst circumstances.

Looking back, its been quite a year, and we've done fairly well. If I can boast in anything it'll be in the Lord--how well HE'S gotten us through this first year. All that HE'S taught us and done through us. Paul's words truly have played out this year in my life when he said in 2nd Corinthians 12:9, "So now I am glad to boast about my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ can work through me..". Watching my brave Drew take his last breaths after we tried SO hard to save him left me feeling so very weak, in every way. And it was in that weakness that Christ's power has shown through in the words He's given me to write, in the projects we've started that are taking off, and in the joy we have found despite our grief. All glory be to God.