As Long as I'm Living, My Baby You'll Be...

Schools been out for almost 2 weeks now. And I've started out keeping fairly close to what I intended to do--make the most of each day. Be grateful. Choose joy. Loosen up my schedules and expectations. Be present with Molly. 

We've already made a visit to Ames while Josh was traveling for work to see family and visit with friends.  And then to Emmetsburg for Father's day weekend.

The three of us visited a local zoo, one we've been meaning to check out and finally decided to go...

And we've made it to the pool too, an activity Molly hopes is a daily thing.

I haven't made it to all my usual Y classes. I haven't been writing as much, on here or otherwise. I haven't texted/messaged/called my friends as often as I usually do (sorry all of you!). Even for Warrior Wagons I feel like I haven't done a whole lot "above and beyond" since Molly's been home.

But it's alright. I have 7 weeks before Molly starts school again at the elementary school in our neighborhood (this school runs on a modified schedule--45 days or 9 weeks on, 15 days or 3 weeks off throughout the year and it begins the last week in July). Which is why I am okay with taking a break from my usual routine. Knowing I'll get my time back soon enough, it's easier to soak up these summer days with my favorite girl.

But guess what doesn't take a break? Grief. The missing. It's another season transition, this time to summer. I've found these weeks as we move into a new season are always hard. And this one brings with it the typical triggers--festive activities and traditions special to this time of year that cause a yearning for the way things used to be.  Summer activities that leave us wishing he was still with us to enjoy this time of year too.

But after the first few days of summer pass, I can tell just how far I've come since last. I'm still carrying this grief, but instead of holding it close to my chest, clutched in my hands, it's more like tucked into a pack on my back. Its still heavy. I'm still very aware of its weight. It causes muscles to get fatigued and sore every now and then. But it also is easier to carry this way. Makes it so much easier to do things and play with Molly.

I can tell how much I've grown, but this year I also can tell how much everyone else has too, specifically, their kids. We see some families and kids during the summer that we don't see other times of the year since Molly's in school now. Familiar faces at school lunch, at the library, at the pool, and teacher friends' kids. Some of these little ones were Drew's peers, his same age.  And he was right there with them.

Last year they reminded me what I was missing--how a two year old boy acts. I saw them all and could almost see Drew right behind them.  It was just so hard to see what Drew could have been, what WE could have been. His memory was still fresh and relevant only 6 months out from his death. The void of his presence, was obvious.

But this summer, they've all grown up so much. They've all changed. Not just in size--but in actions, in abilities. Three to four year olds are so much different than two to three year olds. And I'm struggling to even imagine how Drew would compare--what he'd be saying/doing this summer at four. (four? It's just unbelievable.)

I'm learning what "forever two", a label that's been tossed around, really looks like in reality. What it feels like to have a son who never gets bigger, never develops further. Last year we weren't that far away from where we were. But this year, the gap is beginning to widen. Now, that memory of two year old Drew is aging--or rather, not aging. Frozen in time. Little siblings in families that used to be the babies are now the ones who are "Drew's age", and it makes me wince. My heart has hurt this week in a way that I haven't felt before. A deeper ache. Not so much a sharp, trigger-type pain, but one that seems to be pacing itself.  Because it knows, this is just the beginning....

These first couple weeks of summer I'm afraid I'm just getting a taste of the forever of this life. Sometime in the future all these kids that were "about Drew's age" will not just be four or five year olds, but big kids. Teenagers. And Drew will still be two in our minds. He'll be left behind, a relic of the past. A smile in a picture that will not get bigger like everyone else.  How difficult for a mother's heart to grasp...

This has been another turn in this journey of grief that I've struggled to "figure out". This post I've had a hard time finishing, finding a positive or comforting way to look at it. What can I tell myself that will take the sting out of seeing life go on without a part of my heart?

The best I've been able to do is remind myself that Drew's really not stuck anywhere. He's actually the free one! He's not back in the past, he's moving on from the life he lead almost 18 months ago now too. Drew is in 2018 with us, just in a different realm.

Forever two? Who knows how old he is. It's something Molly and I discuss a lot. And we end each discussion with, I guess we'll find out when we get there! But I can trust that whatever age, he's not left behind, certainly not. Yet, as long as I'm on this side of Heaven, he'll always be my little Drew, who never celebrated his third birthday.  Always my baby boy.

As I've been wrestling with these emotions this week and last, I happened to come across a book that perfectly depicts what's going on in my heart. With Molly working on reading now, we have books all over the house. And one night as my frozen-in-time-son was heavy on my mind, this particular book was right in front of me.

Now I never liked this book. It always made me cry. If' you're unfamiliar, it's about a mother and son. And as he "grew and grew and grew", the mother repeated the same song to him at night after he was asleep--"I'll love you forever, I'll like you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be"

Until finally it's the grown son's turn to sing it to her as she's old and her life is coming to an end.

Obviously, there's a few reasons why just the sight of this book brought me to tears even before I turned through the pages of the story. It touches on so many of the feelings I've felt in these first weeks of summer.  It reads differently, brings tears from a different place now than when I used to read it and cry before this great loss.  But I knew instantly from the first page why it spoke so strongly to me this week--the words to that little song of the mother's is exactly the song of my heart to my Drew.  And I'll be singing it to him until the day we're together again.

I'll love you forever Drewy, I'll like you for always. As long as I live, my baby you'll be...

Everyday Miracles

So apparently in the last five years, I've gotten behind on my personal health checkups. And once I did the eye exam--we all know how that turned out!--I decided to get the other ones caught up before school was out also. After tomorrow, in the last few weeks I've seen the ophthalmologist, dentist, dermatologist, gynecologist and done lab work to check my cholesterol levels. It's been a fun last couple weeks, let me tell you 😉 But all have been great so far, thankfully!

As I left the women's health appointment a couples weeks ago, I had to stop at the desk to schedule a blood draw for the cholesterol check. As the receptionist and I were finding a time, the nurse came to the desk and told her to reschedule my doctor's appointments for the rest of the morning, that she was just called for a delivery. The receptionist casually said okay, and we finished our business.

I thought about that though as I got on the elevator to go down to my van. Someone's going to be born today! Today is the first day of someone's life. Funny, it was just a normal day for me, but not to some mother that will get to hold her baby for the first time. Amazing. What a miracle! It got me thinking about the day my babies were born. The joy. The relief. The awe in those first special moments...

Last week was a hard one in our community. A family lost their mother to cancer, after a difficult battle. It was so heartbreaking to know that a 12, 10 and 8 year old will now go on without their mom, a husband without his wife. And a close friend lost her young nephew suddenly in an accident in a neighboring town. Right after the High School graduation party of the younger brother. A family was in one moment celebrating, and the next moment thrown into mourning.

In these last couple weeks, I've been reminded that life and death is happening all around us. But it seems only when it hits close to home, do most people really notice. For so many of us, its only when we can't avoid it that we pause and acknowledge the miracles and the tragedies that occur everyday in all of our towns and neighborhoods. Maybe it would serve us better to take note more often, and let them shape our mindsets...




When we were in Hawaii last winter, one of my favorite parts was watching the sunrise in Kauai. It was an event! The first day, we all got up and dressed and hurried! to catch the sun come up over the edge of the ocean.

And each day after that, it was the same-- "What time is it?? We better get moving or we'll miss it!" We'd scurry down, get a coffee in the lobby, and walk out onto the chairs on the beach and watch the Eastern sky. And it didn't disappoint. Even on the cloudy days, it was even prettier because there were more dimension in the colors as the rays hit the clouds from all angles.

After a day or two I finally looked around, in addition to looking forward at the rising sun. We weren't the only ones out eagerly watching this daily event. The sun had quite an audience every morning as it made it's way over the ocean.

On the other island, we were on the West side, so it was the sunsets that people including ourselves gathered to see. Taking pictures and selfies with the beautiful sun falling into the ocean.

As I looked around there too, I found it kind of humorous. How funny was this crazy scene of people gathering to spectate something that literally happens everywhere, everyday! It was almost ridiculous when I really thought about it, the sun rises and the sun sets in everyone's hometown, all over the world. Why were we all standing here acting like it's a miracle every morning and evening? Like we've never seen it before?

And I got it, it's breathtaking over a beach in Hawaii--I was standing there taking pictures too! I decided all of us staying at the resorts were on vacation. So we had the time, we were in a relaxed state of mind, to sit and enjoy the beauty in the rising and setting of the sun. We were unplugged enough to observe and appreciate the beauty in life, a rare occurrence in today's world.

I then wondered, wouldn't it be great if we all could have this reaction to sunrise at home? If we all woke up with the "don't want to miss it" eagerness about the start of the day on some random Tuesday in Minnesota? What if we all greeted each day like the gift it is, took the time to stop and appreciate the miracle of a new day starting or ending everyday?



Its something that Drew was so good at. And probably every little kid, really. Waking up, one of his first questions was about what we were going to do that day. "I go hospital today, Mom?" , "I go park today, Mom?"

He was so excited for life, no matter where our day was taking us. He wasn't worried about tomorrow, or upset about all that he endured last week. Just in the moment, living life. Trusting us that we'd take care of him, and everything would be okay. What an awesome attitude. I pray to have that trust in my Heavenly Father, and the eager attitude for life like he did. Which was similar to the excitement about the start of each day in Hawaii when I think about it.

Now I realize not every moment can be profound. Not all day can we walk around in this deep state of mind. That would get exhausting! But could we at least have one time in each day that we see through the haze? That we slow down for a minute and just live in the moment, take note and witness life--real life?? The wonders and the catastrophes?

What if each day we actually appreciated like it could be our last, or celebrated like it was our first? Would we overreact when someone offends us on Facebook? Would we not schedule our lives so much that we "don't have time" to do anything for ourselves or with our families? I think if we found this attitude, this awareness, there'd be a lot more kindness. A lot more thankfulness and joy.




It's the last couple days of school up here in Minnesota. I'm preparing to switch gears, getting ready to be full-time mom once again. For Molly and I to become, "Holly", or "Meidi (Mighty!)" if you prefer, as we're together so much I feel like we're one entity. Watch out Austin! 😉

So I'm writing all of this today as a reminder to myself as much as anything else. Don't take a day for granted Heidi, appreciate all that you are blessed with. Get up with an eagerness and appreciation of the gift that each day is. Be a witness of life, not just running from thing to thing, or waiting for 5:00. Look for that special moment in each day, and maybe I'll find more than one.

I know not every moment will be profound, or even pleasant possibly. But those Kairos moments I wrote about before will be mixed in there too if I'm paying attention. Maybe I won't catch the sunrise (as that happens at like 5AM around here these months), but I can get up a little earlier to have some time to myself to thank God for the miracle that each day is. And to ask Him to help me see through the haze to that big picture. To recognize the life and the death, beginnings and endings, that surrounds us all day if we choose to see it. From the start of the day, to the end.

Last week, there was a full rainbow across the sky above Austin. It was the brightest rainbow I think I've ever seen. Molly and Josh and I watched it for as long as we could still see all the colors. We called our neighbor, to make sure he didn't miss it. I saw many other photos of it from other people's angles and perspectives on Facebook and Instagram. It was a moment many did just what I'm talking about--standing still and looking around in awe. Not half an hour earlier, many were probably at their windows like we were, watching the wind whip the trees and the rain downpour. That evening many observed the furry and the beauty of life, to our amazement. Let's try to do that more!

Drew's Shoes

Last week, as the weather is FINALLY starting to turn warm, I went through Molly's clothes. It's something many moms are doing this time of year--going through drawers and closets. Sorting out the too small stuff, and bringing out the next season's wares. I gathered all the out-grown Molly clothes that are taking over the house and got them ready to pass on at a local Mom's group. On a last sweep, I found a bin of shoes that I carried to the van.

As I got there and put out the clothes and shoes, I realized it had boy shoes in there too--Drew's shoes. As I dug through them, my heart knew instantly which pairs I just couldn't part with. One pair in particular brought back a vivid memory of the day we bought them....

It was sometime during the six chemo cycles. We had appointments in Rochester in the morning, and then one after lunch. Drew and I were by ourselves, Molly was at preschool and then walked across the hall to the drop-in daycare, Josh was at work. My boy and I had a couple hours to kill, and I decided to take him for lunch.

Which was kind of special since we normally didn't go out to eat very often (and still don't, really). By myself I hadn't taken kids to anywhere but McDonald's alone. But Drew and I found ourselves in Rochester at lunchtime occasionally, and so we'd started to go out to eat together.

And I guess I'd say "we" went to eat lunch together, but since Drew had a feeding tube, he didn't eat much of anything. Yet, he was pretty good at a restaurant for a two year old boy who wasn't even eating. We'd go to Chipotle, Subway, and Noodles and Company, one of my favorites.

And on this day, I decided to take him to Five Guys. He was a little whiny, but a day of appointments will do that to anyone I figured. As we sat down, I was excited to be reminded what the fuss over this place was about. I'd only been to a Five Guys one other time. As I started to eat my burger, Drew started the whimper. It must have been deep enough into the chemo cycles to recognize the I'm-going-to-be-sick look, but apparently not deep enough to realize I needed to be prepared at all times for sick. Scrambling, I put my lunch sack over his mouth to receive. And receive it did. I forgot my fries were still in the bottom of the bag 😔

I remember being embarrassed. I bet these people wonder what I'm doing taking him out anyways--clearly a cancer patient, and now he just got sick in a restaurant. I got him calmed down and cleaned up as best I could with napkins, trying not to cry myself. I asked for a rag from the man behind counter.

No one offered to help. But when I looked around I didn't see annoyed or grossed out faces either, only pity (which I've found can be just as upsetting). I collected our stuff, and headed for the van with him. I realized once I got there though that I had no change of clothes for him. Come on Heidi!

Luckily, we were across the parking lot from a Target. Saved by Target! I took him in, puke starting to absorb into his clothes. Drew and I cruised the little boy aisle, and found him a new outfit. I know exactly what I bought that day--the stretchy denim pants, the soft light blue hoodie and dark blue heather V neck t-shirt, and then a pair of shoes. Because he had gotten his shoes messy too.

I took him into the bathroom to change him, and I remember that I smashed his little fingers on the door as we came out. His fingers were griping the edges of the cart and the shutting door pinched them as it shut on the cart. I remember looking into his tear-filled eyes and feeling so bad I hurt him, wondering if this lunch date could get any worse.

But I also remember realizing I really wasn't as upset as I would have been just 6 months earlier. And on the way home after the final appointment, I had a sense of accomplishment, of pride in myself, as I thought about the day.

Yes, Drew puked on my fries at Five Guys, and I had no back up clothes. But luckily, we were right by a Target and bought him some new ones. We weren't late for our last appointment of the day, and we got back to pick up Molly before Josh got off of work. The day had turned out okay. I had handled it. This caring-for-a-child-with-cancer-thing I was getting the hang of, and not freaking out!  I recall thinking to myself...

It was a lunch date and day I'll never forget with my Drew. And these little shoes hold that whole story. They got worn a lot after that day, and got puked on themselves too. I can see splatter and even dried up evidence on sides of the sole.

But they took him lots of places.  Went with him on many adventures.  Lucky shoes!

There were other shoes too, ones I have to keep. Ones that were a part of our story and also hold many memories. Like these ones that he wore home from the hospital, that first time after he got diagnosed. They were his friend Andrew's shoes, as many of his clothes were. Hand-me-downs, that will now be kept for a long time to come.

After reliving that memory so crisp from those shoes last week, I felt the urge to go through his clothes again too, to bring more memories to life.  Last year when I put this stuff away, I could feel the numb-ness.  I put his clothes in bins, along with the shoes, his blankets and his little feeding pump backpack. I knew how much they meant but I just wasn't ready to deal with it, I couldn't look at them.  And I have only opened the bin again a handful of times. 

I still have his clothes hanging up in the closet.  One of the only things I haven't done anything with, that are hanging there just like they did when a little boy lived in that room.  Some still with tags on them, never gotten to, never worn.

What is it about clothes, and shoes? Why do they trigger such emotion? Many moms I know feel a little sadness as they put out grown clothes away. I know I still do when Molly out grows her (or my) favorites. I think we reminisce about all the summer days that favorite sundress was a part of as we tuck it away. Maybe even some tears fall as we realized that a chapter has closed. They'll never be a 2T little girl again, we can never go back...

Going through his old shoes, his old clothes, brings up the same feelings as my peers feel. Except that when I go through his clothes now, it's not because Drew outgrew them, but in some cases that he never grew into some of them! It's a similar feeling, but much, much deeper and a more profound pain.

Why am I doing this?, my head asked as I picked up the first few shirts in his bin. I knew it'd hurt. But, I guess I hurt anyways, I reason. Turning up the hurt to feel close to him, to get to those memories again, seemed worth it today. And, somehow I feel like it's time to go through this stuff. But that doesn't mean it isn't hard.

It's all I have left, I realize as I see some of these pants and shirts that used to be in my wash every week. All the physical evidence that the boy in all these pictures really was here. It lets me visualize his form again, recall the memories that unfortunately are fading, like that day we bought the shoes. I smelled each of these pieces when I went through them, still searching for his smell. I got the picture of him in them and put it side by side it, somehow hoping that the picture, the shirt, my DREW will come back to life.

It's like they are a part of him.  The red "I dig being 2" shirt was a birthday gift--on his last one.  And he wore that shirt A LOT.  The orange and gray monster truck shirt he wore while he sang Jingle Bells in a video I still watch just to hear his voice.  And the bright orange shirt with the palm trees and guitars, his "gee-tar shirt" as we called it (top left), was a part of so many memories, one of my favorites.  So familiar to us, and I'd be willing to guess to others too who saw him in it regularly or in pictures. 

And the first shirt he ever asked for--"googley eyes shirt".  He'd get all sad when he'd get sick on it, and it'd have to be washed. Which, unfortunately happened a lot.

And the jammies.  Oh, the jammies... Just thinking about them makes me tear up.  Who doesn't love fresh-from-the-tub, baby-lotion-smelling little ones?  And Drew was a snuggler...I just ache to hold that little love bug in these pjs again....

I had offers from people to take his clothes and turn them into things--teddy bears or quilts. And maybe someday I'll be okay with that. But I still can't stand to have them altered. I want to hold them up, hug them, smell them just as they were when my baby boy was IN them.

I guess this is another phase. I couldn't face the clothes and the shoes a year ago. And even now, could only take a short time of going through the first bin. But those shoes started something. I was able to pass by a few pairs that weren't all that special to me. There were ones that I could let go of. Maybe the clothes will be the same way. I'll have some pieces I will always hold dear, but will be able to send the rest on. To another little boy to wear and have fun in, get dirty, and make memories.

But until then, I'll slowly go through them on my own time. I know that when Summer arrives and Molly's home, I have less (read--almost no) time to myself. So I'll take these afternoons where I can just sit and hold his jammies and cry for the boy that used to fill them.

When I have days like this, I feel like I'm going backwards. That I don't have any of this figured out, and wonder why I think I do sometimes. Doubt creeps in. Despair tries to convince me it'll never get better, I'll hurt like this forever. I start to fear that I'm forgetting him, as it's getting harder to bring up the memories. I am tempted to feel defeated...

But my head reminds me, the Spirit leads me in Truth, that sad days don't cancel out good ones. That missing him doesn't mean I'm not faithful or choosing joy in my life. I can cry while I hold his jammies, but then put them back in the bin. Put a lid on it (literally and figuratively), wash my face, and walk to the corner to wait for my other precious child to get off the bus. And if I can enjoy her, be present with her, and love her like I haven't lost, then I haven't lost after all. You beat cancer by how you live and how you love, I remind myself again.

I've read that grief is a spiral. That sometimes you feel like you're going backwards--and to one reference point, you may be. But if you are moving forward, then you are always making progress in the spiral. We have come a long way. I don't have these kinds of days as often as I did a year ago. I was able to pick myself up and get on with my day. I don't have to listen to the lies, self doubt, and fear. God has given me the strength, has shown me the Truth, and it really has set me free.  I can have these feelings, but I'm not enslaved by them.

I'll keep moving forward then, on my spiral. Keep taking each day at a time, row by row, clothes bin by clothes bin. It helps me to remember all that Drew went through, and how he kept going. He kept smiling, kept loving. If he can do hard things at the tender age of two, I can do hard things at 32!   

Gaining Sight

I had been noticing that things were blurry for a little while. I'd be ordering from a menu at a fast food place or coffee shop, or find myself squinting to read street signs and would think to myself, I bet that should be clearer than this. Josh kept telling me to go to the eye doctor, who I hadn't seen since before Molly was born. So when I was making him an appointment recently, I made one for myself too.

At the checkup I told the eye doctor what I'd been noticing, that things aren't as clear I know they should be. He said he wasn't surprised things were blurry to me after looking at my report. My eyes had changed a lot since the last time he saw me, and he recommend correction now.

As we flipped through the different lenses and finally landed on the right prescription--I was amazed. I was suppose to be able to read that poster on the wall over there? How much clearer the office looked already!

I decided to order contacts, and hopefully wear them most of the time since I'm out and about a lot wearing sunglasses, I didn't want to have to switch back and forth or go without. But I picked out frames for glasses too that would come in sooner and could be a back up option.

I waited over the weekend and a few more days for the glasses to be ready. I was anxious to get them--excited to see! But also nervous, not wanting things to change at the same time. I like not having to bother with any of it, just getting up and going! I also have a claim to fame I can't make anymore--without ever having a cavity, broken a bone, have any allergies or required glasses, I joke that I'm a perfect specimen! Not anymore..

Seriously though, I do feel like it is the end of an era. I made it 32 years without glasses, but from now on, I'd be dealing with either contacts or glasses to see. A part of me is sad that I'm not going to be the same as I was when Drew was here. I'll look different now, or will now add another step to my routine in the mornings. I know that may sound trite or corny, but when you are a mother who has outlived her child, you do think about things like that. It is another reminder that life is going on, without my baby boy. He'll never have been in my life as a glasses-wearer, and it's one more thing that has changed since the time he was here.

The next Wednesday they called to say my glasses were ready. I eagerly drove over to pick them up. I handed the eye tech my phone to take a few pictures of me as I put them on for the first time (yes, I'm a typical millennial that has to document everything they do...).

Just as I expected, it was so amazing. Everything was so clear! It would take some getting used too I could tell (like looking underwater! Depth perception was even effected!), but what a difference. I didn't wear them home, but had them on the rest of the day. Pictures on my walls, book titles on the book shelves, even Molly's face that day when she got off the bus seemed so detailed! Trees outside were so intricate--their leaves and bark. It is incredible. And crazy that I was that blind and didn't even realize it.

My family has been supportive, in their own ways. Molly told me by day two, "Can you stop talking about what everything looks like!". Josh is teasing me that I didn't even really see Hawaii, I don't even know how beautiful it truly was! I think maybe that just means we have to go back 😉

I've gone a week now with corrected vision. And the more I experience this shift and have time to think about it, I've realized just how similar this is to the new perspective we've gained in the last few years. It's like we too can finally see clearly all that's in this world. From tractors in the field, to the changing of the seasons, and plants in my garden...

Life can open your eyes to what is real in this world. And once the Spirit lifts the veil from the surface stuff that so often conceals and distracts from the divine that really is out there, it's amazing what we can see.

I feel like in the last two years, that is what has happened to me. I am amazed at what I see now, what I learn, what is revealed to me in the everyday things of life since I've become aware of them. Now that I take the time to take it in. If you've been reading along with me these last couple years, you've seen what I mean, you know what I'm talking about.

And just like thinking back on my uncorrected eyes in Hawaii and wondering how much greater the views could have been, I wonder what I missed in life before I started paying attention. How many moments were right in front of me with my kids that could have been so much more if I wasn't so stressed out, or too frustrated to appreciate them?

How many interesting people, wise souls, could I have learned from if I would have been willing to listen? What struggles could I have avoided if I only had the perspective I have now?

And how many people are out there right now who, like me, don't even realize how blind they are? They are so wrapped up in keeping up, staying ahead, being the best "ME" they can be, that they are missing what matters, what actually counts.

This new outlook on life has come at a cost though, as you all are well aware. The price I had to pay, I carry around with me everyday. The loss of something as great as one of your own children is an eye-opener to state the obvious. Is it worth it? Do I wish I could just go back to the way I was before, oblivious and ignorant to the bigger picture?

I'm not sure I'd say it is "worth it"--how could I?  But I know I can never go back. It's not my choice anyway, even if I wanted to. So I guess it's worth the weight I carry today to be able to see the joy, learn life lessons, be awed by His mysterious ways every day.

I know sight from contacts or glasses come with some hassles, some inconveniences. But it's worth it to see the eyelashes on my daughter's eyes.  In the same way, even if I wish the circumstances that brought my perspective would have been different, I would never want to miss all that I see now. 

And will endure the "hassles" and "inconveniences" of this outlook.  The grief, but also the not so wonderful things I notice now.  Because sometimes I see things now that break my heart too.  I overhear conversations at the hospital, I see pain in people's eyes, I feel the struggle that some people are facing and it hurts me also.  I see the good each day, but sometimes I see the bad as well.  But, that has a purpose too.

Now that I've had glasses for a week, I'm really starting to get used to them.

I don't get too far in my morning routine before I am reminded I can't see too well, and I put them on. Or after a shower, when I forget them on the bathroom counter, it's obvious I need them quickly. And one night last week we went to a party and I decided not to wear them, and was amazed at how blurry everything was--this is how I lived?

And it happens like that too with perspective I think. Some days we get distracted again, the veil of worry, jealousy, pride, or resentment conceals the big picture from us. But after we've been enlightened so-to-speak, we can quickly catch it. We realize how silly we're being, how petty. And the deeper world calls us back. At least that happens to me, but I'm so glad I realize it now, and get myself back to where I know I belong.

I hope that not everyone has to be shown what's real in this world in such a dramatic fashion as I've been. I hope perspective doesn't come with the cost I've paid for it to any of you. My hope in what I write is that you'll use what I've been through and take a short cut to some of the conclusions I've drawn from life, that I've drawn from Drew. And with this new perspective, this new spiritual sight I guess you could say, I feel like I'll have material for a long time to come!

So just take the time to look around you. It's not silly and dramatic if you really do learn something about life from that experience of running a long distance race. Or if that squirrel teaches you what it means to trust God for your daily needs. Or the changing of seasons speaks to you about where you are at in life. It's pretty cool what's out there, if we have the eyes to see it. Literally as I've found out this week, or figuratively, that I'll spend the rest of my life finding out.

Spring

Spring is finally here. It was just over two weeks ago that we had 9 inches of snow. But the grass is finally starting to turn green, the trees and bushes are beginning to bud, we finally can open the windows, and enjoy the warm sunshine on our deck.

It's been great for Molly to get outside too. After a few days of going to the park, playing in the backyard, and going for walks, I can tell that this is what she needed in this last month of the never-ending-winter we had here in Minnesota, as her attitude was tough to deal with at times. I think we all are happier now that the freeze has broke and life is blossoming again.

The first warm days in the spring, as I've written about before, feel so good after a harsh winter. I'm convinced its because of the harsh winter that it feels ever more glorious. I've likened it to the joy in the normal things that you find after trials in life have passed. After the circumstances finally break in the winter of a big struggle, you are so appreciative of the little things, happy for the "warmth" and relief of easier times. The bad days make the good ones seem so much better in comparison.

It's what I was looking forward to during Drew's treatment--the "spring" after our winter of such suffering. How amazing "normal" life would feel like after this great trial we were in. But actually, we learned it was really right in front of us, in the everyday. There was joy to be embraced, warmth to be felt, even before the winter of suffering was behind us if we chose to see it.

I wrote an article for a small publication out of Iowa detailing our story through this perspective, how we learned to see the joy, the "springtime" in each day, even before the thaw we hoped and prayed would come. It's my first officially published piece!

Pretty exciting. It's the first part in a 3 part series. I've submitted the second part, and will begin working on the final part soon.

But the time of changing seasons also brings with it a host of emotions in my current season of grief. Last year as each a new season broke for the first time without my baby boy, I had to grieve all new ways that I missed him. Things that he was there for the year before, that we enjoyed together as a family. In this second year, it isn't the first time he's not been here on that first warm day, but it still hurts just as much.

Kids love being outside. Especially little boys. I watched Drew get into everything, push around whatever he could find in the warm months of the year. He wasn't a risk taker, he was afraid of tall slides or being pushed too high on the swings, but he always wanted to be part of the action. He would climb right in to have Molly drive them around in the Gator, hanging on tight.

As Austin comes to life again after the long winter, all the memories of my boy playing outside seem just as fresh as the buds (even though I only had two real years of them). I see all these little boys everywhere and I find myself trying to picture what my life would be like if I had a four year little old boy too.

He'd be driving the Gator himself by now I'm sure (probably fighting with Molly now over who's turn it is). Maybe learning to ride a bike alongside Molly this spring. I'm sure the playset would be getting much more use than it is now, as I look out at it in the mid-morning sunshine, empty. No little boy climbing up the ladder, or hanging from the handle bars. Just a lawn mower Drew loved to push around that Molly left out from the weekend...

This was HIS time of year. He didn't like cold weather, was not the first out to play in the snow. But when it was nice--he'd make a break for his shopping cart every time we got home to push it up and down the sidewalks if I didn't catch him. In fact, I went to find a still shot of him and the shopping cart, but all I have are videos--he didn't sit still long enough to take a photo!

Oh I miss that little boy. As the weather brings up all these memories, and the little boys at the park make me envision a life that was never meant to be, I miss him. I miss his smile. His playful/teasing attitude. I miss his energy, his clowning around. I miss his gentle touch, his snuggles before bed. I miss seeing him interacting with others, and watch the joy he brought to them. I'm left again asking God why, why did it have to be this way...

In this second year, I can see what I was warned about. Passing the one year mark doesn't magically make it easier. The heartache hasn't changed much. I'm just more used to it. I am just better at handling it, and still being able to function. I remember the first nice day in the spring last year, and how I just could not stop crying. I can stop myself this year, but it still hurts, I feel just as incomplete.

I've been able to function though, and even more than that. It's been a joy to see Molly learn to ride a bike without training wheels. It's been an experience--let me tell you. She's a pretty determined, headstrong girl. She gets frustrated and mad before she gets something! But the wonder in her eyes as she rode for the first time by herself was worth the tears. It was just like when she read her first book! She's growing in so many ways right now, it's amazing to witness and be a part of.

Sometimes I'm tempted to think we never got that spring I wrote about, that we waited so patiently for during the winter of cancer treatment with our two year old. Instead, it seems we've been plunged into a new winter of grief. But since we learned how to find the joy, the spring, in each day during that winter of treatment, we are able to find the joy in each day of this winter too--like the first spin around the block on two wheels.

And the glorious sunshine, the warm breezes this week after such a long winter for us here in the Bold North, makes me all the more hopeful for the ultimate spring. That's what we're waiting for this time, I've decided. When the winter that is this life with all it's heartaches is over, and our souls finally thaw from the struggles we've face. How glorious God's glory will feel, even better than the sunshine! How comforting that warm Heavenly breeze will be indeed the day the brokenness in each of is completely healed. 

Drew's already in that springtime. His spring has come, and I'm sure he's enjoying every minute of it! Running with his new pack of friends, playing at the parks, driving gators...maybe even pushing a new shopping cart, up and down the sidewalks of Heaven ❤ (I found a still of him!)