And also...

 A set of pictures came up in my Facebook memories this week. Molly and Drew, reading a book together, my caption explaining that after breakfast, I found them like this in Molly's room. 

The joy, the love, between big sister and little brother jumped right out of the photos and into my heart. 

  

Those feelings coming from the photos, the memory of that morning, woke my heart up from it's peaceful rest lately. Quickly though, I felt the familiar heartache I seem to have gotten a break from. 

If only I could jump back there, to that moment. What I wouldn't give for just one more morning, with my two babies, having breakfast and reading together.  Just us, together, filling rooms with love and joy. 

As I went on with my day, my mind kept going back to those photos, those moments.  I opened up the photos again, and studied the things in the background--Molly's alarm clock on her nightstand, the bin of books under it.  

                                                   

Those clocks--they managed our life back that!  Telling them (Drew too!) when it was okay to be up for the day, or when naptime was over. 

Those books in bin, I remember readying when my babies still fit in my lap. When one wasn't too big or too old, and the other was still alive... 

Thinking about those photos as the tears fell, I decided it's not *just* that I miss my Drew (although that's enough to cry about for a lifetime).  No, I also look at those photos and the others and my heart longs for that chapter, that season of my life.  An "average" mother of two small kids, just trying to get through the day in a town I loved, with friends and activities I enjoyed.

 In these photos, I study not just the face of the son that I haven't seen for over 4 years, but also the face of my dear little Molly.  Only four years old, just a baby herself. 

I know all she had to deal with that year must have been so overwhelming, but she hardly ever showed it.  Poor sweet girl, I just want jump back into these photos and hold you, tell you how much you are loved and not taken for granted...

I sit here, closing my eyes, and I am right back at 1405 10th Street NW, in the wonderful community of Austin, Minnesota.

 I know just who I'd see each place I'd go.  I can visualize the walk we used to take most days after Josh got home from work, both of us pushing a stroller.  I remember just what activities, what events, would be coming up to get excited about in each season in our Minnesota town.  

Austin will always hold a special place in our hearts, and is where I consider home. And this week, maybe I feel a little homesick. 

But wait, I'm happy here in Colorado!  Really, we all are. I would think it's kind of obvious. We love the weather, the scenery, the outdoor activities. We are finally getting connected with people in this community following the pandemic restrictions in place when we moved here almost a year ago. At church, at the gym, in our neighborhood--I am excited, hopeful, about the new activities we are participating in and the friendships we are making.

If I'm missing a season from the past, grieving for a place and time I'll never get back, does that mean I'm not happy in the present? No, I've learned that I can be both.  Longing for what was and also excited about what is.

I have new gym instructors and buddies that I look forward to seeing at each class, but they don't take the place of my peeps in Chicago or Minnesota, they just add to the group.

The CBS class I've been a part of here in Colorado have been so wonderful. I can love them all, and also love all the other women I've been blessed to know through CBS in the past.

I can welcome new friendships and also keep my old friendships going strong that I've had for years.  In fact, this whole "and also" theme, was shared with me by a new friend here!  Giving me another way to say what I've been writing about for years now.  I can be two things at once, and they both are just as real and true.

The longing in my heart for that little girl in the photos, being the best big sister to her sick little brother, is another "and also". I can miss my little Molly, and also really be relishing my big Molly today!  

How old she looks lately almost takes my breath away. 

She's grown up a lot in the last year I think. And it's an absolute joy, I am loving this older kid stage! Seeing her mature not just physically, but emotionally is such an amazing process. She surprises me and makes me proud almost every day with her insights, strength, and intelligence.

But it's okay that at the same time, my heart yearns to have an afternoon with 4 year old Molly again...

Our family of 3 has grown even closer through the pandemic and our moves in the last 2 years.  It hasn't always been pretty, but now we share family jokes, have weekly traditions, and developed a real knowledge and enjoyment of each other, and it feels so good.

But with that said, my heart still aches for the one not here.  My head wonders how different it would be with Drewy back in the mix.  It kills me I'll have to wait a lifetime to find out... 

Again, I can be in love with our family right now, and also grieve for the one that was only together for less than 3 years.

 

Yes, I know it's all true and genuine. I can cherish the the different aspects of this season of my life and the things about this new community that are pretty neat, and also miss past communities I've lived in, and past seasons of my life--without taking away from either one.

Our work with Warrior Wagons is another area I see this "and also" quite often. 

Drew's little red wagons keep me busy these days!  Between managing our 3 busy branches, keeping up our social media, fielding the amazing donations we are blessed to receive from various groups, and virtual presentations I've been excited to give--I have full days! 

I can feel the momentum building behind our organization.  New possibilities for growth, gaining support and exposure, and making plans to do some things better.  It's all pretty exciting! 

As things keep falling into our laps, I continue to be in awe of God's provision.  How He truly does have a plan for everything--including Warrior Wagons.  Watching it unfold, being a part of the movement, is so fulfilling.  Seeing good come from the tragedy, beauty come from the ashes, is so encouraging, satisfying, and healing.

But as I pass Drew's urn and folded blanket as I file donation stubs--reality hits me too. 

 Oh, my heart knows I'd give it all up in a moment just to have another moment with my Drew. I would walk away from it all, if no other family had to experience the overwhelming loss of a child. I wish we didn't have to do what we're doing, I wish no family had to come behind us on that difficult road and need a Warrior Wagon.  

My satisfied smile turns, as a tear falls down my face. What an awful, tragic world it is that innocent children get cancer and die every day. This isn't how it's suppose to be.

Once again, it's all valid and genuine. I can be encouraged and excited about all that's happening with Warrior Wagons, and also be totally heartbroken by the "why" behind it all. 

I haven't been writing a lot this spring--mostly because our family has been in and out a lot!  We went back to Iowa for St Patrick's Day weekend in Emmetsburg, and then again for Easter in Ames two weeks later. It was a lot of driving, but worth it for the wonderful time with family.  

We took our time coming back during Molly's spring break week and visited the Omaha Zoo together!  I wasn't the best day--rainy and 44 degrees--but we still had a great time.

 

I was able to help my sister-in-law celebrate her 40th birthday with her friends in Kansas City over a long weekend most recently, which was so fun!

It's been a busy, but fun spring. 

And in the middle of all this, on April 1st, we celebrated the day our Drew was born. 

We didn't have an extravagant celebration, didn't make the biggest deal of it this year.  But our current family of 3 celebrated the 4th member not with us by having cupcakes and ice cream. Which this year, felt just right.

So once again, in giving myself permission to be sad and also happy, I feel so much better. Not guilty or confused, ashamed or fake, but at peace. Being aware of and sensitive to the whole host of genuine feelings found in my heart.  

When I sit down to write lately, it feels like the same things, themes, keep coming out.  I've said since the beginning I write these for myself as much as for anyone else.  This is a place where I sort out my feelings and share the reality of losing a child, or at least what it looks like in our lives. So maybe the reality lately is that grief is an ongoing, repetitive process. 

If my stories or themes seem to repeat themselves, its because I often have to remind myself the truths I've learned. Give myself the same pep talks as I need them. Because it's not like one day you just decide that "and also" really is true, and then you never have to revisit it again--but you need to remind yourself of it on a regular basis.

Maybe further down the road, after a few more years, I won't need as many reminders.  I will have gotten the messages and themes and truths engrained in my head so that I won't need to keep telling myself the same things over and over.  

But for now, every so often, I still have to re-coach myself on the things I know to be true.  And this week, that it's okay to be happy and move forward in life and also grieve for what was. 

The Dove's Call

Hoo-hoo, hooo!  The dove is a bird that I wasn't used to seeing all that often just flying around in the wild back in the Midwest. But in our part of Colorado at least, they're everywhere! Their unique call we noticed right away last summer as we spent the first few nights on our patio, and afternoons out in our kiddie pool. Snickers the cat seemed to notice them too. He'd sit at the window, watching them on the top of the playset, which is eye level from our upper level bedroom window, with his mouth open doing that cat chatter at them.  

I don't know if I really noticed when their call became missing from the outdoor sounds this winter.  Not sure if I even realized they were gone during the last few cold weather months.  But man, in the last week, I am so glad to have them back!  Hoo-hoo, hoooo....it's a welcome sound coming through the windows that haven't been opened since November. 

 Josh and I have the same debate every spring on the first warm day of the year. When 60 degrees never felt so good, the snow is melting and the sun is warm, I always point out that it's because of the recent winter that the day feels so much better.  That if it wasn't for the cold, dark months we just went through, this first day of warm sunny weather wouldn't feel so good. 

We had this annual conversation this week, as we got our first real taste of spring.  And as always, he disagrees.  Saying he would like 60 and sunny no matter what, and doesn't need winter to fully enjoy it.  

Out here in Colorado, my point isn't quite as strong, as the winters aren't nearly as long and hard as back in Minnesota.  But still, it hasn't been in the 60s for months.  And I maintain that the glorious feeling we are filled with this week exists because of the winter blues experienced most recently.

And I'm relishing in the nice weather. My senses were overwhelmed as I sat out on the patio over the weekend.  The birds (including those doves) were almost obnoxious in their songs, filling the air.  The windchime we put out again at this house, clanging it's chords at the perfect level.  

There was a bit of smoke in the air, not the forest-fire-haze variety we experienced last summer, but instead a pleasant distant yard waste burn from someone getting a jump start on spring clean up. And the warm sun (even warmer out here at 5,000 ft!) felt so, so great on my face and arms.  The breeze that still had a small chill in it almost brought goosebumps, counteracting--no, balancing--the warm sunshine.

I sat there thinking about how delightful it all added up to.  Spring in the air.  I started thinking about how I could refresh the patio area, began planning out yard work/landscaping ideas, and looking forward to warm weather things--backyard fires and swimming pools. Soon, I found myself sitting there with big smile on my face...

I think this spring in particular feels so much better after the long winter we just came through.  This week marks one year since the first lockdowns.  The beginning of the COVID pandemic, and many of our worlds were turned upside down. It was the hardest year some have experienced in a while, testing us in many ways. Some areas of our lives withstood the strain--and actually ended up stronger after a year.  Some did not, and we may still be trying to figure out where to go from here. 

As the vaccines start to get out, states are moving forward from pandemic protocols and precautions to a more familiar atmosphere. Activities are beginning to resume, plans are being made again for celebrations and travel. 

We are daring to believe that we might be over the hump here, that things are really going to get better. The light at the end of the tunnel is getting brighter, and the optimism and hope feels so refreshing.

That's how it is here anyway.  I finally need a planner again, as I have enough presentations, calls, meet ups, and appointments that I can't just keep track of it all in my head. 

I've given 4 virtual presentations this year already, with 2 more next week!

Molly's rockin' in school, and I'm also back to a regular gym routine which always feels so great. Josh is at least talking about when they may go back to the office too, fingers crossed! We're hesitantly optimistic that our cruise we've moved 3 times may actually happen this coming June. And even though we've explored a lot on a few road trips in the last year, we're starting to make a list of new things we can explore and try out right here now that things are more open. We haven't done much in Denver yet!

Would having a planner again, going on a cruise feel as good if we didn't just spend a year with such things on hold? Would simply the thought of being able to attend concerts, celebrate milestones with family, or participate in activities be as appreciated if we didn't just have a year without them?  I'd argue not as much as this year. In like fashion of that first 60 degree day in spring, it feels more glorious right now, because of the season we just went through.

Yes, I'd say there's more than just warmth in the air in the last few weeks, there's also hope. Hope that we won't have to go without the things we've missed in the last year anymore. Things like seeing stranger's smiles at the grocery store, greeting our friends with a hug, if that's your sort of thing 😉  Just like like the dove's call, we may not have even realized we missed some things, but when we hear it again, we'll be filled with a peace, a joy, that winter is on the way out, and this is just the start of many nice days to come.

Now, as any Minnesotan will tell you, the first 60 degree day doesn't mean we're done with winter just yet.  There will inevitably be some cold, snowy days still to come before we are in the backyard pool with a Summer Shandy (In Colorado too--a big snow storm is in the forecast for the weekend!). But it's a start.  It gives us a tease, something to look forward to as we endure a few more days when we need our coats and boots.

Just as it is with life.  Things looking up, the light getting brighter at the end of the tunnel, doesn't mean we're through the darkness totally.  There will be setbacks, new trials to endure, but we have the same hope and motivation to keep pressing forward. And then to stop and savor the comfort and peace of a more familiar way to do life--just like I delighted my senses last Saturday afternoon on my patio.

I can't end a post about spring and hope without talking about Heaven. This relief we feel, this glorious return of warm weather after winter, I believe to be just a taste of what it will feel like when we step into our Eternal Home.  How amazing it will feel indeed when we reach the ultimate joy and never-ending peace that awaits us after this lifetime of winters and springs, hardships and vacations is behind us.  Bring on the day!

And my Drewy will be there to greet me.  He's already there. Basking in the warmth and light of the full glory of Jesus.  Save me a lounge chair little buddy...I'm coming some day 😊

Not Forgotten

January 19th, 2017.  The day my Drew, died. 

In the last four years, some of the details of that day have faded.  I couldn't tell you the exact time things happened, but I will never forget the moment when his hand in mine, stopped feeling alive. I don't know exactly what the stats were on his vitals machine, but I can describe to you how slowly they were dropping that morning, before they quickly fell to nothing around noon. What his exact last words were the day before I'm not sure, but I will never forget the things he was seeing and telling me about that day. I'm not totally sure what I said to him last, but I know the last song I sang to him, one I'd sang so many times before as he went to sleep, but this time, he wasn't ever going to wake up.

One of the things bereaved parents fear the most is that their child will be forgotten.  Not only by others, but by ourselves. 

In the first few weeks and months you remember your loved one so clearly, they could be right in front of you, or wrapped in your arms, but they aren't, and never will be again. It is agonizing. 

Then as time passes, the sharp memories that haunted you begin to dull. And seemingly all of sudden, you can't remember as clearly as you once did. And it fills you with panic, guilt, and shame that you haven't managed to hold on to every detail of your loved one. See, when someone close to you dies, you promise yourself you'll never forget.  You try to memorize everything you can and lock it away, keep them safe in your heart. And for a time, it works. Your heart and your head work together to preserve every detail. 

At some point though, a shift comes.  Your mind can't keep all the details straight. Reason begins to take over, and you know it's impossible to keep your person perfectly preserved and you begin to wonder if you even should. You feel yourself moving forward, and its a good feeling, actually. You understand that your person isn't stuck in the fading memories, but has moved forward as well. But, as always, the heart lags behind. And feels betrayed by the letting go, and shatters all over again...

This seems to be where I'm at, four years later. 

It kills me that I don't remember every scar on my own son's precious little body. 

 

I feel awful that I can't recall how the different shades of blue blended together in his eyes, or how different they looked each day.

I wish I could close my eyes and see the shape of his little fingers and toes, which I sore I knew by heart.

I hate that I have to watch videos to hear his voice, because it's not in my head anymore. 

I pick up his blanket and still try to smell him, not really knowing anymore what it's suppose to smell like. 

How have I forgotten the details of my own son?  Only four years, that's all it takes to forget the particulars of my Drew? I should have tried harder to guard the memories. I should have taken more photos, had the molds made of his hands and feet, done all the things to document the details, my heart cries.

Oh baby boy, please believe me that I love you as much as I did four years ago, even if I can't remember every detail about you anymore. I'm sorry I haven't kept my promise of not forgetting a single aspect of you...

As I sit here and weep about what I've forgotten, my head comforts my heart by reminding it of what I do remember, and that I know I'll never forget.  No, I may not know just what shades of blue make up the color of his eyes. But the brightness, the sparkle in them, still lights up my mind and makes me smile.  

 

Where the scars are on his precious body and the shape of his fingers and toes doesn't matter anymore, he's done with that body! He's got a new one that is sewn in glory, totally healed, and clothed in righteousness. I can't wait to see it. 

His voice, how he spoke when he was alive, isn't of consequence anymore, because I have come to know how he speaks to me now.  I can recognize his presence, the feeling I'm filled with when I know he's with us. And it is so loving and comforting.

And even if I don't know exactly what I'm smelling for when I bring all the things that were once his to my nose, I have faith that when I find it again, I'll know it immediately. Even if its not until he's right in front of me, I know that it'll be as familiar as it was on this day, four years ago.

Just like my memory of January 19th, 2017, I'm not completely sure of the details, but I remember what's important about my Drew. I know that its impossible to forget him because he is a part of me, and always will be. 

And if I think about it, I know I don't have to be afraid that others are forgetting him either, because he is a part of all of them, too, in small and big ways. He is known by people still, even though he's not here anymore. People were changed by what happened to him, to our family.

Yes, four years have passed since my Drew has. More time than he was alive. There may still be some nurses that cared for Drew at St Mary's, in Rochester, Minnesota, but fewer and fewer each year. Several of the oncology department staff have changed, along with support staff, the surgery team, anesthesiology, ect. There may be more who know of Drew than actually knew Drew. But because they see the little red wagons, given out in his name, they understand a little about this one short life that is continuing to bring joy to others.

Of our friends, there are still many close to us that actually did spend time with Drew, and remember our family when we had four living members.  But with time and with each move, we've made new friends that are only familiar with his pictures. They know how I've described him, but never had the pleasure of being charmed by him.  Yet, I hope they feel our family's enthusiasm for life, our compassion for others, and get a sense of what our son Drew was like.

Those who have received a Warrior Wagon in the last four years, who find themselves in the position that we found ourselves in 2016, may read the letter included in their wagon and see our family's picture.  They learn of our own journey, and even though they weren't one of the families going through treatment with us that year, we pray they gain encouragement and hope from Drew's strength and resilience. 

And I hope that for those of you who have followed our story, read along here with me as we've made our way forward following his death, have acquired a new perspective, drawn from the example of our Drew some lessons about how to really live your life, despite your circumstances, as I have. 

As time continues to march on, I know that this will be how it goes. That the details in the memories will fade, but the important things will not. That fewer people will have known him, but instead know about him. But it is in what he left behind, in his legacy, that he will still be a part of our lives and others', not to ever be forgotten. We'll continue to see the ripples from his life, the impact of Drew Becker on this world, if we are looking for it.  He's still very much in the present with us, even though his life is in the past. 

I've been thinking a lot about legacy lately--what we leave behind after our life to others. The longer I live, the more I see how very much we all are connected.  How our words, actions, and the manner in which we live our lives have an affect on and change things for others.  Our life matters, and what we do with it is important. We all have the opportunity to have a positive impact, to leave a legacy that is a blessing to others. I now know how simple it really is, because I watched a little boy, who wasn't even trying, live a life that continues to change others' lives--long after he's been gone.

In the last year, my family grew with the edition of my brother and his wife's first child. A new grandson, my first nephew. When I finally got to meet him, it was such a special moment. I'd heard so much about him, we'd waited anxiously for his arrival, and here he was. The smile he gave me when we first met just melted my heart!  Molly was very excited to meet "Brian's Baby" too, her only first cousin!

 

His name, Jameson Drew. 

They told us over the summer their plan for his name, and asked for our blessing.  Jameson being a variation of the family name James (my dad's name) with Drew for his middle name. We of course said yes, and were very touched they wanted to have Drew be a part of their son's name. 

This Christmas, I made ornaments for my mom and dad. Their tree already has ornaments with mine and my sibilngs' name on them, as well as Josh's.  But we needed to catch up with the next generation and the latest in-law! 

Once I got the letters placed for the names, the similarity between my late son's name and my new nephew's was striking. I knew how close the names were to each other, but seeing them spelled out beside each other took my breath away.

Drew James, Jameson Drew. Different enough that he is very much his own person--which is important.  But the name of the cousin he'll never meet this side of Heaven will be with him all of his life. Which means a lot, to this still grieving mother's heart that is worried he's being forgotten.

As I looked upon the face of this sweet new baby, yet unharmed by this world, innocent and fresh, my heart felt a lot of things. The best of which being hope.  Hope for a new life, another Grove in this world. Life is so very precious, and I sat in awe of the miracle it is. What a gift God gave my brother and his wife, our family, with this little baby. 

Who will you turn into little one, what will be your legacy sweet boy??

Obviously my heart was also sad.  Sad for my own baby I'll not get to hold again.  Sad for the adventures this little boy and mine could have had. The holiday kid tables they'll never sit at together, the photos of summer time visits that will be one cousin short... 

I've learned in the last four years that I can be both. Both filled with hope and sadness, without either canceling the other out. Hopeful, and also a bit sad.

I remind myself that, just as Drew's life was never meant to be any longer than it was, Jameson was never meant to know his cousin here on earth.  God, in his perfect plan, never had their lives overlapping. They weren't suppose to share those moments, be in the same realm...yet. 

He'll no doubt hear stories about Drew. See his picture.  He'll be another one that knows of Drew, and what happened to him, but never meet him. Yet, God will use Drew and what happened to him to make Jameson just who he intended him to be.  Drew's life will impact his cousin I know, and that is how they will be connected, through more than a name.  He'll benefit from the legacy Drew left behind for him, just like all the rest of us touched by his life.

Maybe we all could spend some time thinking about our legacy. Some great tragedy didn't have to happen to you, or some grand achieved reached-- each day of your life influences, and impacts, those around you. For the better or for worse.  Which will it be?

This year, our connections with the world were very apparent. Contact tracing can be a nightmare for the really involved person.  What if we could contact trace our legacy?  See the ways we've changed others by our life?  I believe some day we will.  And that my Drew already us been shown his great impact on this world. And I can't explain it, but I can just feel in my heart that with that knowledge, Drew would do it all again.  He would endure each round of chemo and the week of being sick after, each painful procedure, each uncomfortable scan, for the good that it has brought into the world. And that makes me so proud.

 Yes, by the end of this my head has convinced my heart that even without every detail memorized, he certainly is not forgotten by anyone.  We are connected with him, and he with us in many ways (some we may not even be aware of). His life impacted many, and still does today.  In our family, in our family of friends, and in our community. His legacy continues to gift joy, wisdom, and peace to those who are a part of it. 

We miss you Drewy Clause.  Happy Glory Day. We think of you often, our hearts and minds know that you are with us.  You are with us in our memories, in our work, in our attitude, in our adventures, and in our joy. Our hearts ache to see you again, to hold you and never let go. In one year less time, that's just what we'll do 💗

Cleaning out Closets

And just like that, 2020 is over!  We're starting a new year, having a fresh beginning.  Or are we?

Our family had a nice last day of 2020. Like much of the year, we weren't able to do some of things we've done in the past to ring in the new year--attend a party, go out to eat, ect.  But we made the best of it.  We went coat shopping actually, and picked up take out for supper on the way home.  We watched the coverage of Times Square, but it wasn't the same this year either.  Empty streets, no excited vibe.  

In fact, the vibe was very negative, depressing.  It seemed that story after story from the year was all bad, tragic and awful.  Images of pandemic, celebrity deaths, destructive storms, forest on fire as well as cities from riots. From the content to the tone of the announcers, it was hard to watch without catching the contagious "worst year ever" attitude.  Were there no good things that happened?

In conversations online and in person, there seems to be so much hope for 2021 to be better.  But not in a traditional, faithful way--more in a "this world owes me after last year" way.  The statements and posts of many people seem to suggest that they are somehow due for a good year after what they've endured. That hardship and suffering isn't how life is suppose to go, and they were wronged.

I've offered a different prospect this year.  That the opposite is actually true according to the Bible--this world will always give us hardship and struggle.  We are foolish to expect an easy life. But we can choose to make the most of what we do have.  See the positive, and help others.  We can decide not to be a victim but an overcomer. 

Is a challenging year always a bad year?  When things are hard, does that mean there is something wrong, someone to blame? Should we count a whole year of our lives as a loss if we can't immediately see positive results? 

This fall after trying to store more things into the guest room closet without success, I decided there was no time like the present to finally go through the bins of boy clothes that were taking up so much space.  

I knew how many were filled with clothes Drew either wore or I intended for him to. Five totes of articles of clothing from sizes 24mo to 4T. The movers have brought them with us from Austin to Chicago, and then from Chicago out to Colorado. I haven't made myself go through them since I emptied his drawers and packed them away, after he wouldn't be needing them any more...

 I knew it would be painful.  His favorite shirts, my favorite shirts (which weren't always the same), shoes, little boy jammies, barely used swim suits, and a whole new size of clothes he never grew into. I've been putting it off, storing it away. Trying to avoid the pain.

But being stuck at home during a pandemic and staring at the stuff I'd like to be storing in that closet instead of stacked against a wall, gave me the motivation to just do it.  Bring out the bins, open them up, sort the clothes and let many of them go. It was time.

It hurt as much as I thought it would. The "Most Awesome Little Brother" shirt 💔 A physical reminder that we do have a little brother in this family.  That Molly is as much a big sister as every oldest daughter she meets.

And some unexpected blows--his coat that I evidently hadn't washed before putting away, and the drool (probably sicky) still on the front. Something from my son, even if it wasn't pleasant.  And a T-shirt with paint stains on it--what were you painting my sweet boy? I never thought soiled and dirty clothes would be such a treasure.

 

 I sat for three days in the guest room, sorting, crying, and taking photos to sell the stuff I  knew I didn't need to hold on to.  I went from 5 bins to not a full 3 between all the sets that were sold, junk thrown out, and the rest donated.

It felt good to let it go.  And even though it hurt, the stained clothes and familiar shirts brought him back to life if only for a moment...

It was empowering too--those bins of clothes couldn't taunt me anymore.  "Don't dare open me up, you can't handle it!"  Well I did, and I could.  I got the space back in the closet, and the room it opened up was so freeing!

Didn't a lot of us have the opportunity to have this same experience in 2020?  Circumstances kept us home and we finally had had enough, found the motivation, to clean out some of the closets in our lives. Maybe, like me, you had grief from a loss to process.  Or a strained relationship that needed attention.  Bad habits that were on full display with our people around 24/7, which needed to be kicked.  Possibly a secret that could no longer be kept without the usual distractions and crutches. 

If we were brave enough, 2020 was just the year to sit on the floor and sort it all out with a Kleenex box beside us. To let the memories, regrets, anger and resentment out of the closet and deal with them. It isn't easy, it hurts, but if we persist, healing, peace, and empowerment wait for us after we're through.  And then you have room for whatever you want in your closet, things that will fill us with joy instead of pain and resentment, in the new year.  Some of us did just this, and we are better for it than we were a year ago. Which really is the goal, right?

No, a challenging year isn't necessarily a bad year. When things are hard, it doesn't always mean that there is something wrong. Not seeing immediately positive results, shouldn't be a reason to count a year as a total loss. If we can grow, heal, and change for the better, it was a good year indeed. The world doesn't owe us a better year, we have to stand up and make it a better year. Going through your closet, working on making yourself and your life better--that's what will really make 2021 better than 2020.

I hope not to minimize the truly difficult year many had. I don't want to gloss over the loved ones who died from COVID, the businesses that were forced to close, the big life events put on hold or canceled, and the loneliness and isolation too many suffered. Believe me, I know how it feels to have your whole world stop while everyone else's seems to keeps going. Its unfair, frustrating, and worth grieving over.

Even in those times though, we have a choice. And it serves us best to not let our circumstances get the best of us.  We'll end up the winner after all if we don't give up our power to things we can't control. 

But we know that if nothing changes, nothing changes.  A negative attitude like what was all over TV last week to ring in the new year, will only bring more of the same in 2021, and unfortunately it looks like it already has.  This first week of 2021 shows that many have not learned much from 2020.  That closets are still full of anger, pain, and aggression.  We still are looking for others to blame, or someone else to take out our frustrations on.  

I hope that changes.  I hope and pray that this isn't how 2021 will go too. For our country, for our families, for the world.  But it's up to us.  Each of us, in our own homes and hearts.

There were some positive things that happened in 2020. There were beautiful sunrises and sunsets. New life joined many families. Intimate, loving memories were made while we were all stuck at home. New opportunities came up, and adventures were taken. Miracles of healing occurred as science and God's mercy worked together to treat sick patients. Scientists produced a vaccine, in record time, to eventually bring an end this pandemic. And all of us came one year closer to the day that all will be made right when the Lord returns, there will be no more sickness, true justice will prevail, and we'll be reunited with our loved ones forever 💕

Election Night

 I thought I had gotten through all of the "firsts" without Drew.  But four years later, another first came up this month--the first Presidential election night.  Now you wouldn't think that would be too significant of a first, that it would trigger a huge wave of emotion.  But the last time we all held our breath in America and watched the results come in deciding who would be our next President, it was one of the worst nights of my life. 

Drew was beginning the first round of the clinical trial we decided to be a part of through Mayo Clinic after his cancer was found to be active and growing again. A little more than a week had past since we were told the devastating news that Drew "probably" wouldn't be a long term survivor. I shared about those feelings last month, and how it put such a dark cloud over Halloween that year.  But a little over a week later, we had pulled ourselves together enough to keep marching forward, keep fighting with and for our Drew. 

This trial had about a 50% chance of slowing the cancer down, of making a difference at all in the progression of the disease. No one had gotten far enough with the trial to be declared free of disease long enough for it to be counted as a successful treatment, but it was our best shot at buying more time. And my heart held onto hope that maybe, just maybe, Drew could be the first to reach "No Evidence of Disease" from the therapy.  Maybe he could be the one it worked on.

We checked in to the hospital on Monday, and got all the usual things going.  I was excited to see a friend I had made at the hospital was also on the floor this week too, with her son who had a form of brain cancer.  They were just 2 doors down.

We had visitors the next morning, Election Day--Drew's best friend Andrew and his Mom.  It was so fun to see him with his friend--playing with cars, and riding big wheels around. And it was nice to have his mom there too, my friend who had gone through the year right along with us. 

With the new realization that these play dates may be numbered, I watched Drew play and enjoy simply being a little boy with his friend with even more interest.  My heart wishing, Oh sweet boy, I hope you get to play with your friend many more times, outside of the hospital! 

That evening, it was time to get to what we came for--treatment.  First up was the infusion of the antibodies, and chemo would follow. I'd heard that the body can have big reactions to the introduction of the antibody cells, and terrible nerve pain can follow.  So much so, that they give narcotics right along with the antibodies to keep up with the pain.  Nurses told me that older kids who can express themselves better describe the pain as a full body pain, like nothing you've experienced before. 

I was nervous for my sweet 2 year old son, to say the least.  But as the infusion began, he showed no sign of pain.  In fact, was dancing on his bed!  

We did his bath, and began getting ready for bed when the pain caught up to him.  He started by telling me he was hot. "Hot, hot Mom, HOT!" as he came over to my arms...it quickly escalated to him being just beside himself in pain.  Crying, harder than he had all year, as I held him, rocked him, and sang in his ear trying to calm him down, with tears streamed down my face too.  Nurses came and I asked for more pain drugs. We slowed down the rate of flow for the antibodies.  We tried everything to give him some relief. But with each increase in narcotics, no relief seemed to come. Finally they nurse said we couldn't give him anything more, we had to wait for it to catch up. 

Sitting with him in my arms, crying in pain, I pleaded with God, please, please make it stop.  Have mercy on my boy, and don't let him hurt anymore. 

It must be so difficult for the Lord to hear those kinds of prayers, the pleading of a mother to take on the pain for one of her children.

It made the whole thing worse to remember that night as I held him, that throughout the whole year of treatment Drew had endured so much in such brave form, hardly complaining at all.  Why, why did this sweet child have to do anything else?  And what was the point.  If it wasn't going to work anyway, why were we putting him through all of this...  

The drugs finally caught up, and I could feel him go limp in my arms, falling asleep after about an hour and a half of intense pain.  I remember finally standing up out of his bed and feeling the tension in my own muscles, the stiffness from the adrenaline in my own body from the whole ordeal.  

I walked down the hall to my friend, who had made popcorn on the stovetop in the kitchenette and was watching the election results.  There's a connection that forms between moms up in the ICU. We are the few that can relate to one another, and truly understand what we go through with our children. 

As I stood in her doorway, I think she could tell that whatever was going on, whatever had just happened, wasn't good.  I remember standing there and not even being able to go into just how terrible the last 2 hours had been for us. I tried to hold it together, not break down right there on the spot. But she knew, I could feel it.  She offered me some of her popcorn. And it was the best popcorn I've ever had.

My attention turned to the news coverage, and I was amazed to see that the candidate we both voted for was actually doing well. He wasn't suppose to win, I didn't have a real expectation that he would.  But as the night went on, it got more and more apparent that he was very much in the race.  I kept returning to my friend's room as Drew was still zonked out, and we celebrated each state getting called for our candidate until finally, the winner was declared. That night, it was just what I needed, an unexpected win.  A reason to get excited and be pleasantly surprised.  Both of us did!

I reached out to another cancer mom the next day who I knew who had been through the same infusions with her daughter. The first day was the worst, she told me, but it gets better.  You figure out a balance between the rate of antibodies going in and rate of pain drugs along with it. That gave me some comfort.

I asked the doctors on rounds more questions about the trial itself, and got reassurance that we wouldn't be doing this if there wasn't a real shot at helping Drew.  At giving us more time together.  That made me feel better too. 

The next night's infusion was not like that first night at all. Thank heaven! We made our way through the first round of the trial, one day at at time.

You all know how the story ends though, Drew didn't end up being the one to be cured by the trial.  As it turned out, he wasn't even in the 50% that see any help in slowing down the disease.  

He'd die just over 2 months later.  

So that's why I'll always remember election night, 2016.  And why it was such a difficult "first" since Drew's been gone.  The build up and anticipation felt much like 4 years ago, and triggered all of these memories and emotions.   My friend from down the hall and I reached out to each other last week, both of us thinking of the other and remembering how we spent election night 4 years ago together. Our sons are now together in Heaven, my guess is NOT paying much attention to the election 😉 

The election of 2020 though has obviously not been like the election of 2016 in many ways. Yes, it sure felt the same leading up to it, but there was no winner declared on Tuesday night. We will see who gets inaugurated in January, and many emotions are on display from both sides as tensions rise politically.

The coverage of national reactions and celebrations, the social media posts of glee and relief, but also those of anger and frustration, show the very intense feelings out there. As I watch it all and take in all the comments and posts I can handle, I'm realizing something.  Behind the initial emotions, maybe the most dramatic reactions of some are a result of being too dependent on circumstances for happiness.  Some people seem to either have all of their hopes lost in the election, or likewise have gained back all hope as a result.  

Now, I believe elections and politics are important, don't get me wrong, I get into them too!  I think it is our responsibility as citizens to be engaged and involved in the political process. I too had some strong reactions, felt some of the same feelings many of you have felt in the last 10 days. So as usual, I write this as much for me to think about as anyone else. 

So let's think about it--has anything actually changed from Tuesday last week to today?  Our personal situations, for the large part, have remained the same. What has changed is the perceived future, and with it, perspective.  It's all in our minds whether we're going to be better off or worse off after the election last week, we don't really know for sure. And that perspective has totally, radically in some cases, changed some of our attitudes and moods. Politics aside, do you see what I mean? Can you see how this one result, one event, has made such an impact in the lives of many Americans?  

Is this a bad thing?  Yea, kind of. If your mindset and hope is based on things that are out of your control, bigger than you, then you will always be riding a roller-coaster of hope and desperation. We have the power within our own selves to choose to be hopeful, to have joy, and to not let this world effect our own little world every day. Regardless of what happens to us. Do you see what I'm trying to say?  We shouldn't let an election throw us into despair, or be the only reason we are smiling today. What if we decided each day to be hopeful and happy all by ourselves?  Didn't leave it up how the chips fall around us?  I know its possible, and what a difference it can make.  Drew showed me that in 2016.

I can't leave this idea without adding that the only place to always find hope and joy, is through faith in God.  Jesus has already won the battle, beaten His opponent, 2,000 years ago on the cross. And it's in that victory that I have set my hope, and found real peace and joy in my life--not through whoever is elected President. It would be nice if my candidate wins, but if not, I can still choose to live not in anger, gloom and fear because I know it will all work out in the end. 

And in that ending, I'll never, ever, have to hold my son as his whole body quivers in pain again. Instead, we all will filled with joy, surrounded by love, celebrating the only One who is worthy of praise 🙌