See You Later

The sign out front of the house is somehow the hardest part. You’d think it would be the least of the things involved with moving that gets to you. But that sign up is a constant reminder that this is real, it’s happening.

                                                

For the third time in five years, we have a sign in our yard. Our Colorado chapter is coming to an end, and another is about to begin in our family’s journey.

We could feel that the time was coming. Josh had gotten some hints that we should be preparing ourselves for the next opportunity. And in early September, he got official word. The next role for him within Hormel would be as a Plant Manager! An exciting step up for him. The plant he’d be at? Corn Nuts! In Fresno, California.

We are so happy for him! And proud of the career he is building. I know he'll do awesome leading Corn Nuts, and it'll be fun to cheer him on. 

Colorado wasn’t going to be our forever home; we knew we’d probably have only a few years here. And where we’d go next was kind of a fun guessing game. We knew California was a possibility, and when Josh learned that was it, we took a little bit to get used to the idea--at least I did. It’s a long way from Iowa and Minnesota! And I had some concerns. But we did a little research, watched some YouTube videos as any normal person in 2023 would. And what we found was really encouraging.

Honestly, it sounded a lot like Colorado! Lots of outdoor things to do and see. Hiking, National Parks, and beautiful weather to enjoy. Fresno is a very ag-centered community in the central valley, something a Midwest family could fit in to it seems. The housing is actually more affordable than most places in California, even a little better market than our high prices in Colorado! I found great school options for Molly—which was one of my biggest concerns.

The more things came together, the more I couldn’t deny that God was leading us to our next home in California. So many specific prayers were answered that gave me peace about our family moving the rest of the way across the country. I felt God reassuring me—do you not trust me? Don’t you think I’ll take care of you, that I can protect you wherever you go? You don’t have to be afraid.

My heart joined my head and got on board for a Becker California adventure.

The last weekend of September I went out to Fresno to join Josh to house hunt. I watched out the window almost the whole time as the mountains changed to desert, and finally green patches of fields checkered the ground as we made our final decent. 

I got on the escalator and couldn't believe my eyes as what, maybe who, was waiting to greet me in Fresno:

 

I couldn't deny the sign from my Drewy 💚💛

Josh had already been in Fresno for a week at the plant and was able to start the house hunting process early. By the time I got there we were already negotiating a contract for a new build near the neighboring town/Fresno suburb of Clovis.

                                          

We found just what we were looking for in this new build, which is the last new home in the subdivision to be finished! I’ll have a dining room again, and a big closet 😊

                                                  

I left that weekend really feeling like we'll do okay there, in California. Fresno will be more similar to our home in the Chicago Suburbs, with everything you could ever want within 20 minutes. But it will also have a lot of what we love about Colorado--scenery and weather. I'm not sure how my first winter without snow will go, or if I'll ever get used to palm tree sunsets, but I'll try to enjoy it 😉

 

Back on the Colorado side, our house went on the market on October 5^th. We had six showings in the first four days, and two offers. We’ve moved forward with one of them, and the inspection was this week. The final steps are being taken, and I’m so relieved and thankful that the selling side worked out so well. More answered prayers!

                                      

 

So now, much of the work is done. The big decisions made, the major stuff figured out. Next month the moving crew will come and pack up our life. In what's becoming somewhat routine for us, I’ll supervise as almost everything we own is boxed up, wrapped up, and moved onto a single truck. It’ll pull off, and I’ll know, there’s nothing to do but follow it. We just have the hard part left, the actual hard part.

Saying goodbye.

This will be a hard move for us. We’ve absolutely loved Colorado. The weather as been almost life changing—who knew summers could actually be pleasant, and winters not brutal? I never thought of myself as outdoorsy in the least, but in Colorado, I’ve really embraced the opportunity to take in all the sights, sounds, smells, and experiences of living on the front range.

Molly and I even went to a rodeo this summer in Estes Park! We felt very Colorado Cowgirl, if only for a night.

For the first time, we’ve had family close by. Molly’s been able to have sleepovers with her second cousins, and I’ve been able to be a part of my cousin’s everyday life. We’ve really connected with the friends we’ve made here. Molly has a BFF that will be so hard to leave. I have a BFF that will be hard to leave! We’ve shared so much life in just three years with them, it’s hard to believe it’s only been three years in some ways. These will be friendships we have for life.

We’ve become a part of this community and they’ve been so kind and welcoming. We will miss our neighbors, the post lady, and my friends at Papa Murphy’s where I get a pizza most Fridays! My CBS ladies, Josh’s work group, and of course my gym buddies. So many wonderful people that we are blessed to have had in our lives.

It’s a bittersweet time right now. We can be talking about how far it is to the beach from our new house, as we get ready to leave for a “last” and trying to hold it together. It’s another “and also” situation. We are excited for California, and also so sad to leave Colorado. Both can be true at once; one not making the other any less real or valid.

Saying goodbye is never easy, which is why I refuse to do it. As you all know, in our world, it’s just “see you later”. See you later in this life, see you for forever in the next.

As we begin to take things down from the walls and purge stuff that doesn’t need to make an 831 mile move, the house is already starting to seem less like home. It sounds different, feels different. With the sign in the yard and talking about the move each day, the transition has already begun. Which, in a way, helps. Even though you desperately want to hold on to the familiar and the comfortable, the subtle changes, the baby steps, help make the big steps more manageable.

And I know that’s how it will go in California. Once we get our photos on the walls there, when our couch is in the living room and we have our first meal at our dining room table, it’ll begin to feel more like home. Each piece we put into its place—school, church, gym, favorite pizza spot—California will feel more familiar, more comfortable. I'll continue to run Warrior Wagons from yet another time zone away and can finish the edits on my book from the new home office. We’ll still miss our Colorado life and friends, just as we still miss our Chicago friends, and our Minnesota ones too.

And unfortunately, we have practice in missing. We know what it feels like to long for a time, a season, that you’ll never have back. And maybe that helps us too. After saying “see you later” to Drew, our perspective has changed. This world as it is now is not our home, ultimately. We all are on a journey through this life that will have its ups and downs. It’s celebrations and it’s tragedies. Only through God’s power and strength do we make it through.

No one knows what tomorrow will bring, how much time any of us have. The only thing we can do is to be grateful for each gift we are given and make the most of each day. And each day we have the choice to see the beauty in this world and grasp the joy, despite all the hardships. Which is why I couldn’t say no to a big opportunity like this one. I know we’ll gain wisdom and perspective from California and have the chance to share our story and the faithfulness of God through it all. Isn’t that what life is all about, what the point is?

We're going to close our eyes, hold on tight, and enjoy the ride. Just like a little boy taught me 7 years ago right about now...

So that’s where we are at. We are living in our final weeks in a home we’ve loved, trying to be present and soak it all up. All the while looking forward with hope and excitement to our next adventure. It, also, won’t be our forever home, so we plan to live it up and do all the California things.

Next month we’ll follow the moving truck over the mountains, into the sunset, wiping a few tears I’m sure as we say, see you later, Colorado. You'll always have a piece of our heart 💖

In the Blink of an Eye

 

I turned down the long drive and surveyed the situation. A new school means a new drop off lane to navigate and attempt to get through without delay. Molly had her new sage-green backpack in her lap, ready to put on when we got to the front of the line. The outfit she'd picked out looked nice, and so did the hairstyle she asked me to do for her before we left. As we got closer to the front doors, I gave her the standard mom lines that we say as much to ourselves as to them. 

"Okay well, have a good day! Don't be nervous, you got this. Have fun, and I can't wait to hear all about it when I pick you up."

"Thanks, love you!"

And she got out. She didn't look back as she headed in to her first day of Middle School. My heart tightened as I pulled away and headed up the long drive out. 

First day of school. 

Many moms struggle this week as they realize just how fast time really does go. At first, you don't believe it, at least I didn't. When you're knee deep in babies and toddlers, you feel like the days crawl by. But there are events along the way that remind you just how fast it's actually going. And the first day of a new grade is an undeniable signpost that they really are growing up. 

During certain seasons, they seem to age years overnight. I feel like this pre-teen age that Molly is in now is one of those seasons. Physically, she's now the same size as me--shoes and clothes. And emotionally, mentally, I'm amazed at how perceptive she is, how mature she's become. I catch myself looking at her wondering where my little girl went. 

We've gotten so close, our little family. And with me being home, Molly and I especially. I'm going to miss my not-so-little sidekick this school year.

 

And I think that's why us moms struggle with this week. It reminds us that the sand is falling through the hourglass on our time with our children. They won't be ours forever. Babies don't keep, as they say, and neither do children. They become teenagers in the blink of an eye, and I assume, adults in the next blink. Someday, we're going to have to watch them go, and just be a supporting role in their lives. 

And at the same time this season, my heart never stops aching for the one that's not going back to school, not growing up. 

I took Molly shoe shopping before her first day. I watched her carefully select the color she wanted, and her face light up with a smile as she looked at them on her feet. 

I loved seeing her excited and happy. 

I looked over at the family next to us trying on shoes. Their son had an almost identical look on his face as his mom tied the laces. Is he about 9, like Drew would be? My heart sunk. 

What shoes would Drew have wanted to get for his first day of 4th grade? Would he be all about Converse, too, or maybe another brand? I wonder how big his feet would be by now. On his way to size 13 like his dad, I'm sure.

All last week I asked myself these and similar questions. Would he have cared what his first day outfit was, or would have just put on whatever was top in his drawer? How would my mornings look if I was dropping off kids at two different schools? 

As I drove home on that first morning of school with tears streaming down my cheeks, I wished I had got the chance to know the answers to these questions as they rang through my head again. 

Drew never went to school. He didn't have any teachers that got to know him, but anesthesiologists. I never packed him a lunch, but I filled many, many feeding tube bags with formula. The only backpack he ever wore constantly was one that carried his feeding pump around. The closest thing to "classmates" Drew had were kids in the same stage of treatment on the peds floor. 

 

I'm sorry you never got to do any of this, Drewy. I'm sorry you didn't get to pick out new shoes, organize your school supplies, go to a Meet the Teacher night. Sorry you spent so much of your short life feeling awful, watching the world go by without you...

 

By the time I got home, I realized it wasn't just Drew I felt sorry for, I was also sorry for myself. I wanted to do these things with him, too. Why does everyone else get to see their children grow up, while I had to give one back? 

Anger isn't an emotion I have felt a lot in my grief. For whatever reason, I don't usually feel resentful or bitter. I think my faith plays a big role in that. But this week, I'm a little mad that my son isn't starting school too. That I don't have a picture of smiling siblings together on my step from the first day, like all the other moms. I'm upset I can't just be sentimental like everyone else, but instead have this heavy burden of grief on top of it. I know there are moms reading this who have lost a child that know exactly what I'm talking about.

Before the first day of school, we had a wonderful summer packed with time with friends and family, hikes in the mountains, vacation to Las Vegas, house projects, movie nights, good food, and new experiences. Last week, we made a list of all we'd done this summer. We smiled and laughed as we recalled the memories made together. 

But as always, the great joy wasn't without a little sorrow. The pleasure, without a little pain. Would Drew have been able to make the hike to Delicate Arch? How wonderful if ALL the Grove cousins could be together. I'm sure Drew would have loved the Rodeo in Estes Park! Could he have helped Molly cook a meal once a week for us all? 

That empty chair at the table, the empty seat in the car, haunts us every time.

One of the things Molly and I did this summer was go through a study on the book Heaven, by Randy Alcorn. It's a really interesting and informative book on what the Bible actually says about Heaven. Based on Jesus's teachings and stories from both the Old and New Testament, it gives a lot of detail on what we know about the Present Heaven, and the Eternal Heaven on the New Earth. 

All summer we explored various concepts and realities of what awaits believers both right after we die, and in the age to come. One idea discussed was that we will continue to be learners on the New Earth. God made us naturally curious, with a thirst for knowledge. He put into us the drive to explore and to discover. We can reasonably expect we'll have those same urges in Heaven, and they will forever be satisfied. 

So, if learning is a trait God created and encourages, education must be as well. Molly and I talked through this one morning and decided it wasn't a stretch to think that there will be schools on the New Earth, and who would attend them? Maybe the children who never attended one before. All the sons and daughters who never had a first day of kindergarten on this side of Heaven. It would fit in with the idea of redemption. That this opportunity will be redeemed.

I reminded myself of this hope that first morning of school. It's a hope not just for Drew, but for me. Maybe I will get to take my son to school after all. To be proud of him when he gets a good grade on a test, to cheer him on as he makes his first basket on a rec basketball team. To see him grow from a little boy into a young man in the blink of an eye. 

It would be a dream come true. I think there will be a lot of those in Heaven. 

I remember back in Minnesota hearing the perspective of a mom who was in the last stages of parenting. Her youngest was going to college in the fall, and she was asked how she was doing with that. Her response was encouraging. Her daughter was a confident, independent young woman who will do just fine. This was the goal all parents are working towards since their kids are born: to make them functioning, successful adults. She was happy for her daughter and satisfied that her and her husband had fulfilled their role as her parents.

It's a perspective we all can find encouragement from, especially this time of year. If we keep the end game in mind, as this mom did, we all can meet our sentimental feelings on the first days of school with determination as well. We have a job to do, and each year, we are getting closer and closer to completing it. But maybe that's what scares us, too. We can see it happening. They need us less and less. They don't look back when they get out of the car anymore. And that hurts our mom hearts. 

When I think of the progress of getting Molly ready for the world, I am filled with gratitude and optimism. I know we still have time, and a way to go on multiple fronts, but I can see it. By the grace of God, we are on the right track. She is already a strong, confident girl who has a lot of compassion too. I can't wait to see what God will do in her life, from a supporting role. 

 

And you know what? I guess I could say the same about my Drew, and even go a step further. If our job was to get him ready for the world, make him confident, independent, and successful, I guess we did that, didn't we? He handled so much more than most of us will ever have to with strength and love. He brought others joy and taught them about life without even trying. And when it was time for him to go, he wasn't afraid, he didn't look back. 

So, I guess I can sit here, on this first full week of school, with peace. Even though I'm a little sad, there is comfort. Yes, Molly's growing up and needing me less, but that just means we're doing our job. I can savor these days, make the most of them, and have no regrets when it is time for her to start her own life. 

And I can have peace, along with hope, that the firsts I'm missing with my Drew will be redeemed someday, that they aren't lost forever. We accomplished the job God had for us as parents in preparing Drew for the next life, beyond this one. 

I dry my tears and head out the door to pick up Molly with the expectation that keeps me going every day: we will get to be with our Drew again, in just a blink of an eye 💖

Timing

Well, after 16 months of work--some weeks more intensely than others--I finished the first draft of the book. I printed two copies, one to work with and one as a keepsake.

There is a possibility that it'll change, but I really like the title. Josh actually suggested it when we were discussing how Choosing Joy or Finding Joy seemed too overused and cliche. But the book really is about joy and how to experience it during difficult seasons as illustrated through our cancer journey with Drew.

"How about Grasping Joy? You have to really hold on to it in tough times." 

That's it! And as someone pointed out, it can also mean that we really came to understand joy that year, grasped the concept. The book kind of explains joy or teaches it through the story.

Perfect!

There's still plenty of work until it's actually done. At 276 typed pages and 146,269 words, there will be some thinning out to do first! Multiple rounds of editing. But at least I'm through the story. I poured over each CaringBridge post and personal journal entry from Drew's last year of life. I went through photos trying to gather details for certain moments in time--the pattern of the pillowcase, the look on Drew's face. 

On the blog here I use a lot of photos to help tell my stories, but in a book, I have to create the pictures in the reader's minds. Bring them on the journey with us through good descriptions. Something I found very challenging at first but started to get more comfortable with.

I got the first draft done the week before Christmas break. I gave myself that deadline so I could put it away, rest from the emotional work over the holidays and through the first of the year. The books I've read on how to write a book say to leave it for at least six weeks, so when you come back to start editing, you have fresh eyes and a new perspective. So that's what I'm doing!

Thank you to everyone who encouraged me along the way. My friends who listened to me as I processed the part of the story I was working on. Who gave me sympathy again and again as I sat with my grief. I really couldn't have gotten through to the end without people cheering me on and reminding me of why I was putting myself through this again. In a way, we all finished this big first step!

As I was bringing the story to a close in December, reliving the last joy-filled moments our family of four shared together in Disney World, God was working in the present. We've been praying about and working to secure a fourth branch of Warrior Wagons ever since COVID. But we kept hitting road blocks. The hospital we thought was our next one, fell through this fall. It was disappointing and left Josh and I frustrated. 

I started praying--if not that hospital, then where? If not that family to coordinate, then who? We kept ourselves open to other opportunities, while I kept writing. And then in November, someone approached us about getting Warrior Wagons in their hospital. She had heard about Warrior Wagons from someone at a nurse's conference and wanted to find out what it would take to bring them to her patients. 

We set up a meeting with the child life department, and details were worked out quickly. When it's meant to be, it's amazing how fast things can come together! I sent the first round of supplies to our new coordinator, and the first Warrior Wagons were given out at the hospital the week of Christmas. God answered our prayer of a new branch to Warrior Wagons in 2022, with just a couple weeks to spare!

So, on the same week I wrote the last line of the book, another chapter of the story was unfolding around me. The timing wasn't lost on me. I sat in awe of how God knows just what to give us when we need it most. On that week, as my son died again in my writing and I sat looking out my window totally broken a second time, God provided a reason for hope. For joy, once again. I was shown the good still coming from my Drew's life. Seeing some of the purpose in His plan as I read the first application that came through.

Drew's Glory Day is coming up. Next Thursday, January 19th, will be six years. Six years since the journey I just chronicled came to an end. Remembering the time just before his death, when we went on his Make-A-Wish Disney trip is just as painful as the week Drew died. The weeks were so close together, and in such contrast. The best week of our life followed by what I hope will be our hardest. 

Disney week was such a gift. It was the climax of our journey to real joy on this Earth. The happiness and love we shared was larger than life, went beyond our circumstances. Drew's sparkle seemed to fill the whole park. 

But its incredibly bittersweet to know that his sparkle would go dim just over a week later. He'd be gone, our little boy would leave us for Heaven, and we'd begin our own journey--with grief. 

And it has been another epic journey, our journey with grief. Transitions, stages, realizations, and acceptance. Sharing the path we found forward after such a tragedy could be the subject of another whole book. When I look back to where we began, those early weeks after Drew was set free, I can see how far we've come along that path. I'm sure you can see it too, as you've followed along. 

Another Warrior joined Drew in Heaven a few weeks ago. As I exchange messages with his mom, and with our own death anniversary approaching, I'm reminded just how tragic this ending to the cancer journey is. How unfair, how awful it is that any mother has to give her child back to God. My heart goes out to her, because I'll never forget what it feels like. It tears your heart out, it really does. A part of you dies with your baby, you're a different person after you leave the hospital for the final time without your child. 

Over the last six years, though, I've come to really like the person I've become. Which doesn't mean I have to like how I got here, of course not. But that I recognize and appreciate what God has done through our devastating loss. How much he's grown us, the places He's led us, and the work He's given us to do. 

On break from the book, as we mark another year without our son, God is showing me the big picture. Reminding me that He really does work all things together, revealing to me the ways He is still using our pain for something bigger. And that really is a comfort, exactly right now.

Because boy, I still miss my Drew. The phrases he used, the way he teased and joked around... 

Drew was SO full of life, up until his very last day. He pushed through, kept going, even when it got hard. He had grit, a buzz word as of late. But if anyone had grit, it was our Drewy. 

How poised and wise he was, at just two. He had a joy that cheered everyone up around him. 

Gosh, I just wish I could jump back into these photos. Kiss his sweet face, feel his weight in my arms again. Breath in and smell him again...oh I hate that I've lost that smell. I will spend the rest of my life longing for my baby boy, my precious son. 

He was in my dreams recently. I don't dream about him often, but just last week we were together. I was trying to give him a bath, but he kept standing up. I told him to sit down over and over. He was smiling and being ornery. Baths were always a part of our days, especially in the hospital. A special time that was always the same, no matter where we were. 

In my dream I carried him on my hip and we walked out of the bathroom after we were done with the bath. And then...then I woke up. And before I opened my eyes, I felt a wave of sadness that the dream was over, that he was gone again. It's always hard to get up on mornings when I've dreamt about my Drew.

But you know? I'm far enough along in my journey of grief to recognize his energy, his joy, in the present. There's been enough time, I've grown enough to allow the memories I recorded in the book and the dreams I have of him to not just make me sad but brighten my day. I can bring his sparkle into my life again, share it with the world, which brings me great joy.

I don't know what will happen with the book once I really am done with all I can do. I have a couple of people who have offered to edit for me. Which I'm thankful for! But from there, I am praying God will keep leading me into the next step. Go ahead of me and set up my path. Put up signposts and markers, arrange connections with people to guide me into publishing.

I've now spent over a year writing about how He did just that in 2016. The truths, promises, and lessons I learned as we went through cancer with our son are fresh in my mind as I move forward with this project that is very daunting in its own way.  But I won't let the enemy discourage me. No, I can't make anything happen on my own. The book will never be good enough if it's all up to me. But with the Lord's help and His hand of favor, nothing is impossible. 

We prove that, by where we are today. Six years from when we sat beside our son as he took his last breaths, and we looked up to God because we knew we couldn't move forward on our own without Him. Since then, He kept His promise of never leaving us. Of helping us through. And then He continues to add to the story we thought had ended on January 19th of 2016.

On this Glory Day especially, I'm thankful you're done with your earthly journey, my Drew. It was hard, and sad. I just spent 16 months crying about all that happened to you, all the times you hurt and I couldn't make you feel better. A lot was asked of you, there was a lot you had to endure without understanding why.  

I will try to keep moving along on my own journey, even if I don't understand each step. Let God use me as He did you. Trust His timing that is always perfect. Not too early, never too late.

I will bring you with me Drewy, watch for your presence in this world. Always looking forward to the day I hold you in my arms again sweet boy, give you a baths, kiss your face, and smell your smell 💖