Great Sorrow, Great Joy, and Everything in Between

I must have started this post in my head a dozen times. I'd get ready to sit down and write, but each day I'd change my mind, my heart would shift, one way or the other. It seems can't decide how I feel about the anniversary of Drew's death coming up on Friday, or maybe it's that I don't just feel one way about it.

One day, I'm feeling actually okay, even somewhat pleased with where we are now and what we've accomplished in the last year. I feel like if my self from a year ago where to see what we have done, what we are doing in a year's time, I'd be encouraged, hopeful.

We've continued to live, not just be alive. Something I vowed to myself a year ago--I won't let this destroy us too. Cancer may have taken Drew's life, and that's done, but I won't let it take ours too.


And we haven't. We've traveled...

We've celebrated...

 

we've laughed, we've grown...

We've tried new things, started some new endeavors...

And we've loved each other and others beyond us. Which really, is probably pretty good.

And as I think back on the all that Drew went through--all he would have had to go through to remain with us, I'm grateful he's done with that. I'm at peace knowing he's not sick anymore, he doesn't have to be a "tropper", and he's free to be Drew...a perfect Drew. Experiencing things we only get glimpses of here on Earth. Surrounded by the love and perfect peace of God.

And another day, as I read through my CaringBridge posts from this week last year (my wonderful friend has archived them for me within this blog--under the "Drew's Story" tab, http://drawingfromdrewstory.blogspot.com/2017/09/1-15-17.html ; http://drawingfromdrewstory.blogspot.com/2017/09/1-17-17.html ), more specific emotions resurface. I had so many feelings as I watching his life end a year ago...

Witnessing the seemingly slow process, came across to me much like labor before a birth. He was sweaty. He was thirsty. He just wanted to hold our hands, and would fuss if we tried to do any more than that.

Yet, it was beautiful once I recognized it, once God allowed me to see what was happening through His eyes. He was laboring, he was preparing to be reborn into Eternity. Just like giving birth to a baby, it's a hard, painful process to separate from what you've only known. But it makes sense when it's over. You are where you are suppose to be, it couldn't have continued any longer the other way. And so it was, a year ago this week.

Bringing myself back to those last days, as I watched him work, I remember being so proud of him. Here he was, a sweet little boy only two years old, who had already endured so much, just laying there, patiently enduring the last of it. Not moaning, crying or even really whimpering... seeing him though, I also felt panicked too. I just wished I could do it for him, wished I could make it stop. My heart seemed to scream, "Just leave him alone already! He's had enough." It broke my heart. I told him several times that week how proud I was of him, how much I loved him, and that he could be "all done".

And finally...he was.

There was relief when it was finished. When the rattled breathing stopped, and his little body finally was still. I knew he was free. And that he was, at that very moment, with Jesus, completely healed. I felt peace, it was like a weight was lifted off of me even if a new one was being placed, because he was done. I got my wish, and would now bear the struggle, so he didn't have to anymore.

Reading through these posts also reminds me of the calm, the peace I somehow felt, obviously from the Above. I remember writing those words, but still cannot claim them as my own. God was as much talking to me as to everyone else, and the words speak to me just as much as I've re-read them this week. How beautifully tragic. How amazingly sweet, and totally awful at the same time. But He never left us, never abandoned us after we followed Him up that tall mountain.

And isn't that all we are promised? As I also struggle this week to keep myself from getting too deep into the "whys", the anger, and the disappointment, He reminds me the only promise He actually made and has faithfully kept--that He would never leave us. Not that we'd never suffer, or that we wouldn't struggle, but we'd never be alone. Jesus in Matthew 28:20b, " I will be with you always," and God to Joshua in Joshua 1:5 "I will never leave you or forsake you", and of course in Psalm 23: "Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death....you are with me". Certainly He has kept that promise. Clearly, He never left us, even in our darkest hour, and every hour since. And that gives me hope. He will continue to be with us, and with Him, we can get through anything. What do I have to fear? (Psalm 27:1)

Psalm 23:4 “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/christiancrier/2015/10/15/top-6-bible-verses-about-god-being-with-you/#p2FL6toBU88wOwMu.99

Psalm 23:4 “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me; your rod and your staff, they comfort me.”
Read more at http://www.patheos.com/blogs/christiancrier/2015/10/15/top-6-bible-verses-about-god-being-with-you/#p2FL6toBU88wOwMu

And then today, I just miss him. OH, I miss him. What would he be like now? Almost four, I can't even picture it. He is so different than Molly in many ways, yet definitely one of us Beckers. I miss his laugh, his antics, his faces, his smell. I miss the noise, the fighting, the struggle of getting two little kids in and out the door. I miss holding him in the middle of the night. Hearing him talking, singing, playfully calling out for me in his room after I told him not to before bed.

I miss holding both my baby's hands on the way into Walmart. Looking in my rearview mirror and seeing two faces. I miss boy clothes in the wash, and shoes by the door. I miss having them both around my kitchen table and in my tub...

I miss then both in my lap side-by-side on the couch, or in the chair, one on each knee...

I miss a part of me.  Even though he looked so much like his dad, I could recognize a part of me in his attitude, his excitement for life.  And I miss seeing it in him.

It's the pictures of the two of them together before everything changed that really get me. I just ache for those days again....for what used to be.

  

For the times before I knew how terrible this world can be, when I was fairly oblivious to the suffering going on so close to home. I miss the innocence that used to be in our house. I miss the days Molly didn't know what cancer was, and we didn't talk about death and Heaven so casually. I miss being normal, being average, being like seemingly everyone else...

I've learned a lot in the last year, much that I will have to write about next. But the biggest is that you can feel all sorts of emotions at the same time. That its possible to feel great sorrow, and great joy, in the same instance. And both are very real, and very strong, yet they don't cancel each other out. I can decide that I won't let the sad wipe out the joy, but I also have to accept that all the joy in the world won't erase the heartache. I can expect and accept that probably for the rest of my life I will experience both the good and the bad together, and it's okay.

I think about how different my life is now than a year ago. How normal my days appear now, compared to what they were. It hits me some days how many new friends I've made this year--at the Y, families through Warrior Wagons, Molly's new Kindergarten friends' moms--that never knew Drew. Sure, they know about him, but never knew him... They never knew me with two kids, with a son, and never knew us during the time cancer was such a part of our lives. And even some old friends too--one moved away the week Drew was born, and moved back the week he died, really. All she's seen me with is Molly, never Drew. It's weird.

But I guess as time goes on, this is the way it'll be. We'll have logged more time being influenced by Drew, then actual time with Drew. Years from now it'll be an even fewer percentage that actually knew him versus know about him. But some day, you all can meet him. He'll be every bit as awesome as I've made him sound. I can't wait to introduce him to you.

So as I face the day he died on Friday, January 19th, I go into it with all these emotions--reluctant contentment, peace, relief for him, and hope. But also with remorse, longing, and disappointment. I'm a different person than I was a year ago, and even more different than I was two years ago. I like who I've become in a way, however, I can be so sad for what it has cost to get here. For the expense Drew paid in his life that he shouldn't have been required to pay. But, as I've seen this whole year, I'll get through it. And now I'm one year closer to being with him again, one year closer to being as free from this world and all these struggles as Drew is today, and has been for a whole year.


Happy Heavenly Birthday Babycakes. I'm still so proud of you, and I love you so very much. I miss you terribly, but I'm glad that you're all done. "See you" someday again, for all days ❤

Together Through Joy and Our Love

We made it through. Molly's back to school, the tree is put away, my house is clean again, laundry caught up, the fridge is stocked. The first Christmas as a family of three, done. And you know? It was okay. Much like the whole of last year, it had its high and low points, but the highs outweighed the lows, and I guess that's all we can hope for.

I am so glad I took the time to think, to feel, and to grieve before the celebrations began. To get my head in the right place, so it could guide my heart through. As Christmas came closer and closer, I braced and repeated in my head all I know to be true. But the closer it got, I was surprised how less and less I had to remind myself why I could have joy--because Molly was SO full of it.

So much like her brother during his last year of life, Molly got so excited, nearly burst with joy during the last 2 weeks, it was nearly impossible to not have joy with her.

She made a sign to welcome Santa (with some help), and carefully picked out carrots for the reindeer, and left a cute note along with cookies for the big guy.

She went to bed so full of anticipation and excitement that night, that the shadow of Drew, although still there, shifted to the background, as I was just as eager as she was for morning to come so I could see her reactions the next morning.

Morning came, and she opened her gifts, squealing with delight...

Even a special one I bought "for" Drew. You see, as I wrapped dolls and pink Legos and sparkly crafts, I just had to wrap something for a boy. For MY boy. So I went where I knew I couldn't go wrong--the John Deere dealer. I took my time looking over each shelf, the same ones Drew picked a toy from last year. I finally decided on the perfect one. A hay baler attachment for his big tractor. Molly and I had talked about them a lot in fall as we'd see them in the fields, and I knew she'd love it too.

Will I do this every year? Maybe. Maybe this can be a new tradition, a "thing"-- we'll add to our Green collection each year. Perhaps after time it'll be just a little ornament or trinket. But for now, as not only Molly, but other little boys visiting still play with the tractors, it made me happy to buy and wrap up something for Drew's tractor to pull... 

After we opened Santa's gifts, we went straight to Ames for Christmas Eve/Day with my family. It was a nice time and I'll never forget the awe and wonder in her eyes as she stared at the candle during the Christmas Eve service.

We all stood together with my 96 year old Grandma, watching my mom on stage with the choir, singing Hark the Herald by candle light. As we sang of the angels singing "Glory to the newborn King", I thought, I bet Drew has that same look of wonder and awe. Surrounded by all of our loving relatives already in Heaven with him, not only singing of the same Glory, but actually being a part of the Glory. It really is mind blowing to think about: my Drew, a part of His Glory...

And as the tears fell, a peace washed over me, a familiar calm that I've felt before. I could feel us together somehow, the four of us, through the divide between this life and Heaven, in joy and through love. And my heart could believe for a few minutes that it's going to be okay, we are going to be ok...


And of course Molly's birthday. It was an all day affair, celebrating her turning six years old. From start to finish, it was a everything a little girl could want! I put some streamers and balloons around the house before she woke up, and made a special breakfast. At the Y, she "got" to play in the kid's room she normally doesn't get to go to anymore since she's in school (bonus Mom got her workout in😉), then after a quick stop at home for me to shower, we met some friends for lunch at McDonald's--since we don't normally do Happy Meals it was a treat too! Then she and I went to the nail salon for her first manicure, which she loved! We opened gifts at home after Josh got home from work, went to Pizza Ranch for supper (one of her favorites), and capped the day off with a candle in her snowflake cookie. Whew! I was tired. But it was worth it.

Something about birthdays now. I have always enjoyed birthdays, and used to vow I would never be upset about my age, it's a privilege to make it another year! Well, after this year, this truth has never been so true. And on December 26th, I celebrated the gift that Molly is to me. On the day she was given to us, and everyday since.

I celebrated the strength, wisdom, and bravery in my little girl that's not-so-little anymore. The way she pulled me into the wonderful season of Christmas with her joy and excitement, is just what she's done for me all year, and what I suspect she'll do the rest of our lives. She'll help me to find joy in life, because she does. And I won't take a single of her birthdays for granted. I will celebrate and be so grateful for each one I get with her here with me. And really, shouldn't that be the way it is anyway, for all of us?

And so we did it, the Beckers made it through the end of 2017. Maybe not all together like we'd hoped at the beginning of the year...

...but together in a new way. Through joy and our love for each other, possible through the Grace of God, the Beckers were together at the end of 2017 too, I felt it. And I will take that with me as we begin this first year that Drew was never in, and face all the memories--grand and awful--from this month a year ago. I'll especially hold close the peace and hope I felt this Christmas season in 16 days, when we mark one year from the last day we were with our Drew. Maybe my heart can believe it again...it's going to be okay, we will be okay.

The Beginning of The End

I think I've got the "Christmas" side of the struggle of this season worked out in my head now.  I know the "right" way to look at it, I've processed and know what I "ought" to remind myself as we move through this special season in respect to the holiday. I've learned, though, that doesn't mean every day my head and heart will be in a place of peace and joy about it, but that I feel better overall that I can handle it.  That I'll be able to make it through, remembering the real reason for Christmas--celebrating the birth of my, and Drew's, Savior.

But now I'm left with the other side of why this is a difficult season for us--because of where we were in our minds and hearts during this season last year.  It will be a year tomorrow when we had the scan that told us whether the trial was working or not.  It was, in our minds, our last chance.  I wrote in my personal journey that I never wanted anything so badly in my life.  That I felt sick that whole week, I actually hurt, as I anticipated what the verdict would be.  And then the day came, and some many stood behind us in support, joined us in prayer for positive results. 

A friend came with me for the scan that morning, but the day seemed to go all wrong from the beginning.  The wrong scan was taken, Drew's bone marrow biopsy was difficult--they had to puncture the socket in his hips three times on both sides, and still didn't get a very good sample.  Drew woke up hard from that procedure.  He was upset for quite a while, and it was so hard to see. My friend snapped this picture. I'm amazed at how many times I've asked her for it (I kept not saving it).  I don't want to remember that day, but it's like I have to see it.  I have to see how bad it was.

And then finally, the results later that day: bad news.  The cancer was continuing to grow, and spread.  It was around his heart now, and in his lungs.  The doctors were fighting back tears themselves as they told us to take him home and enjoy Christmas together, go on that Make a Wish trip, and do it quickly.

We went home that night and went straight to Molly's school concert, that that same friend had to get her ready for because we were so late after all the delays that day in Rochester.

I could feel the eyes on us at the concert, since so many were praying and waiting for the news too.  But I couldn't tell them, I couldn't see their faces as their spirits were let down, like ours, with the news.  We watched her and left, trying to keep it together, but I remember tripping and falling hard down the back stairs.  We bribed Molly with a Culver's sundae to-go so we didn't have to face anyone at the reception following the program.  We came home, and I took a hot bath, and cried.  And then sat down, posted the awful news, and went to bed.  Feeling like we let everyone down.

We had to make a decision at this point, a year ago.  And it was the hardest one I hope to ever make.  God knows we would have done anything, ANYTHING, to save our Drew.  But it was time to think about Drew, not ourselves. 

Earlier that week,  after a difficult dressing change, a feeding tube replacement, and still sick from chemo, Drew looked up at me in the clinic with the saddest, most heartbreaking look in his eyes.  Without saying a word, I seemed to hear him pleading with me "no more, please".  I tried to cheer him up just after taking selfies with him, but instead I just captured the look that I'll never forget anyway:

After all that he went through, bless his heart, I only saw that look a few times during all of treatment.  But especially this last time, I knew I couldn't see it again.  I couldn't ask any more of him.  I couldn't pack him up and ask him to endure anymore without being convinced it would help.  And we weren't convinced anymore.

Josh and I decided together that week that when it was over (because we understood it was when, not if), that we'd regret what we put him through more than what we didn't try.  We knew that watching him suffer anymore, seeing those sad eyes one more time because we couldn't let go, wouldn't accept "defeat", would cause us more guilt and remorse than wondering if some phase one trial in Texas would have bought us another 3 months.

And so, despite how much we personally wanted to "keep fighting", we stepped back.  We took our hands off, and put Drew into God's.  We scheduled his central line removal, and made no plans to do any more kind of treatment--palliative chemo was declined.  I learned a year ago this month, that sometimes the hardest thing in the world to do, is to do nothing at all.   To sit back and watch, completely out of control...

We knew what it meant.  We hoped and prayed for the miracle like everyone else.  But I felt God preparing us for what was coming.  We knew it was our last days together.  And indeed, we had just over a month left.  In His power, he gave us the strength to say, "we will enjoy this time together.  If there is a day coming to be sad, we will be SO sad, but today, we will choose joy".

 It was our last Christmas as a family of 4, and it was amazing.  Surprise after surprise for our family.  A gift on our step for each 12 days of Christmas.

Of course Santa coming on his sleigh to visit:

High school students coming with more gifts for the kids than we had bought them! 

Gifts from so many in our lives--the babysitter brought them a fish, the oncology receptionists gave him his first combine of the season:

So much joy, so much to be thankful for, and we hadn't even done the Disney trip yet!  Drew was very much himself.  Very much "just" a two year old boy, a  little brother, enjoying Christmas.   I watched it all, took it all in.  Feeling a little like Mother Mary, "Pondering these things in her heart", fighting off the despair, trying not to think about what was coming.  I knew as I watched that this was the Drewy I was going to miss.  Not a Drew hooked up to machines and struggling to breath, I somehow understood how I could let that Drew go...but this Drew.  Oh!  I just wished I could have bottled  him up.  Frozen time.  Snatched him up and ran away somewhere that cancer couldn't find us.  

Through God's strength, we were able to enjoy it, enjoy him, last year.  But now, that day has come for us to be SO sad.  It's like my heart won't be cheated.  It was promised it's time to cry if only it held off so we could enjoy our time together.  And it did.  But this Christmas, he's gone.  It's over.  That Drew of a year ago is not coming back to us.  And we are left with that deep disappointment, that frustration and confusion, that huge sense of loss. 

This year has shown me that grief can't be avoided.  Our feelings won't be ignored forever.  And the longer they are held off, the more they hurt coming out.  Each step of our story this year that I've relived in hindsight, I've had to deal with the emotions that I set aside at the time.  And that was fine, thank God He empowered us to do that!  But now is the time to feel them.  And this season, these feelings, are the hardest.

How am I going to get through this side of Christmas time?  I think I'll just have to feel it.  I'll just have to remember the desperation, the disappointment, the deepest hurt I buried last year and lean in to God as I let them pass.  Rely on Him, who has gotten us this far.

I am beginning to suspect that even if I know all the right things in my head, my heart will probably never truly understand, never be "okay" with what happened.  I'm trying to change my heart's prayer from, "Why?? Convince me this is okay!" to "Give me peace about it".  Lord, let my heart be okay with it just sitting there as it is, ugly, seemingly unfair, and not making sense. Allow me to be able to leave it alone, chalk it up to something I trust I'll understand someday.  Because I think not doing that, trying to convince my heart it's okay Drew died will be a lifetime of work that I'll never finish.  But through the Grace of God, maybe my heart will be able to say, "I'm okay with not knowing why, and it doesn't make sense to me, but I trust it will someday because I know God loves me"

This is why this season is so hard.  Because it's not JUST about Christmas without my little boy, which is hard enough.  I have all this emotional baggage around this holiday, all these emotions associated with this time of year-good, bad, and awful.  But, with many prayers and the strength of God, I know I'll get through it.  Because He's gotten me through so much already.  Row by row ❤

The Real Meaning of Christmas

Molly asked to turn the radio station to the station that plays Christmas music.  I hesitated.  I'd been holding her off before Thanksgiving, saying it wasn't time yet.  But finally, it was time.  Yet, I still didn't want to do it.  I told her I just didn't think I could.  "What do you mean you can't?" she asked.  I thought a minute, and I told her I guessed I was afraid.  "Afraid?  That's silly.  How could anyone be afraid of Christmas music?" Well, I thought another moment, and told her I guessed I was really afraid of how the songs would make me feel.  "Oh, because Drew's dead?" She asks bluntly, like any five year would. "Yes, that's why, " I answered.  "It's okay Mom, you don't have to be afraid."

And I decided, she was right.  And maybe about more than just the Christmas songs.  I don't have to be afraid of how I'll feel this holiday season.  How doing all the preparations, going through all the motions, continuing with favorite traditions, will make me feel.  Will it make me sad?  Will it hurt so, so deep?  Maybe.  Probably.  But maybe not sometimes too.  And if it does, is it any worse than normal?  Any worse than what I've felt in the course of the last year?  I guessed not.  And I turned the station on.  And you know?  The first song--"Happy Holidays" by NSYNC didn't make me sad at all.  I like that song!  (don't judge...).  I sang along, and it was okay.

But songs came on during our half hour drive that did make me feel sad-- The Veinna Boys Choir, with the orchestra singing Cannon in D.  Is Drew singing in a choir like that this year?  Is his voice among the beautiful ones in Heaven singing carols to Jesus?  The little drummer boy, oh! I'm sure Drew's going to town on his little drum...And it went on like that for a few songs.... and I cried.  But you know what?  It was okay to cry too.

And as a few more songs came on about baby Jesus, I got to thinking about the real meaning of Christmas anyway.  It's not about putting a tree up together, watching the joy of children opening presents and looking at twinkling lights.  It's not just about making cookies and pies, sending out Christmas cards, and visiting Santa.  It's not even all about spending time with family and friends, as much as we all enjoy that.  And I realized that if I just focus on those things, and how all of them will be so painfully different this year without Drew, it will for sure be an awful Christmas.

What is it really about?  What is the point?  Celebrating the birth of Jesus.  Remembering the miracle of all miracles--Jesus, son of God, born of a virgin, to die and save the world.  It's the reason we're able to have any joy at all in this terribly unfair world, and especially during this very special season.  And that, THAT, I decided I could celebrate.  All those prayers for a miracle in Drew that were said a year ago, which seemed to go unanswered in this age, I believe in my heart were answer in that past age, when Jesus was born into this world to save us all.  I can rejoice this season if I remember that.  That the God who created all things, loved us so much He sent His only Son to save us.  Not merely to save our earthly lives from horrible things like cancer, but to save our very souls for all of eternity.  Joy to the World, indeed.

And in the van that day, I realized this.  I got over my fear of how I'd feel, and left myself open.  I was sad, but in a more unguarded state, God reminded me what we still have to celebrate, what can bring me joy, despite my current sorrow.  He showed me how I can get through this season, without all of my family together at Christmas--by focusing on what it's really all about, not just what we've made it to be in our culture.

And as Hark the Herald came on, it sunk in how wonderful this Christmas will be for Drew.  Someone gave me an ornament sometime last year which we hung last weekend, which had a poem on the back:

"This is the greatest Christmas That I've ever had"  Yes, its my first Christmas without Drew, but it is Drew's first in Heaven!  I can just imagine the delight, the joy, the wonder in his eyes as he gets to watch the celebration unfold in the Heavenlies and be a part of it.  He had so much joy when Santa came to visit us last year, how much more joy will he have when he beholds the face of Jesus and sits on His lap this Christmas?

And he's not alone, he'll be surrounded by more family than I will!  Great Grandpas and Grandmas and so many others will get to watch, will get to experience that with him.  And I can smile about that.  I can be happy for him.

As I watched Molly sing along to Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer in my rearview mirror that day, it also reminded me how much I don't want to miss with Molly this Christmas.  How much more of a tragedy it would be if I was so distracted by who isn't here this Christmas, that I miss who is.  At almost 6, and a very rational thinker, she already is asking a lot of questions and coming to conclusions on her own about the Elf on the Shelf and Santa.  It very well may be the last year we can even pretend like we believe in that kind of magic at Christmas.  And I know now, there are no second chances.  There are no guarantees of a next year.  I have to fight to stay present this year despite how much my heart aches, for Molly.

So I'll enjoy watching her get her face painted and giggle because of how much it "tickles", before she isn't interested anymore...

And I'll ride on the horse drawn carriage with her at the Christmas in the City festival, before she doesn't want to ride it with her old Mother anymore..

And I smiled from ear to ear at how adorable she looked before her Kindergarden Christmas concert, and watched proudly as she did all the actions to songs...

But even if I stay focused, even if I do a good job of remembering the reason for the season, I know certain moments, certain events and certain songs will still cause that deep ache in my heart to flair up (like Jingle Bells).  As we put our tree up, certain ornaments made me cry.  While I watched Molly on stage at that Christmas concert, I couldn't help but realize that I'll never see Drew as a Woodson Critter singing about snow pants. And I'm sure as I make my Christmas cookies and pies without the sweetest little helper,  I'll probably cry again. Life has taught me that you can be presently sad, yet still have joy.  They aren't mutually exclusive.  I'm determined to show during this season how that's possible.

I'll keep reminding myself the reason we can rejoice this Christmas every day.  Because I've also learned it really is a daily battle, not a one time decision to "Choose Joy".  I can be sad about who's not here, I can grieve at the loss of what I thought I'd get to experience with both the children I brought into this world, but I can still celebrate this season.  I can still have joy in my heart, because of the miracle of a little baby, born over 2000 years ago.