The Truth about the Chair

The Rocking Bear Chair that is pictured in the blog post, When a Chair Becomes a Throne (and also in the Header for the Blog, Adventures in the Ordinary) was a handmade Christmas gift to Molly from her Poppy. 

He made two chairs, identical for Molly and Megan, as Christmas gifts on what would be Molly's 2nd and last Christmas with us. 

After Molly had died, I didn't know if I was ever going to be able to have a "group picture" taken again without it ripping out my heart. I completely rebelled against the idea for the Christmas that came upon us that first year. About the time that the first anniversary came about, I knew I had to get some pictures, no matter how it felt inside. 

My friend, Michelle (who was also my Maid of Honor at my wedding) met me at her studio in L.A. and we went to work. She suggested that since I couldn't bring Molly, to bring something that was special to her and we would try to work it in. The Rocking Bear Chair seemed like the perfect choice, as it was symbolic of the loved that was poured on her while she was here, and it showed her absence. 

Emily is just approaching age 7, and the hand on her hip has pretty much stayed there since about this time (perhaps even sooner). 

Austin is 5 and a half in the photo and Adam is 19 months, the same age as Molly when she died. The Pooh Bear that Adam is holding is Molly's bear. She stole it from Adam at the time of his birth. 

I don't need to explain why I love this particular photograph of the three of them. I only wish I knew what was done to draw out such joy. I'd go there again. And again. 

And then there is this photograph of Emily and Austin and the chair. At a moment, when Adam decided to wander...Michelle caught Emily and Austin in a moment that showed them a little torn. I like this picture, because they were a little torn. They knew that their sister was gone, and they didn't quite get it. 

They went through phases of fear and anger, and as much as I wish that they didn't have to go through that, I am so thankful if it means that they learned to take their disappointments to the Lord. 

Eventually, they outgrew their memories of Molly, and it became up to me to help them. It was when that began to happen that I was so thankful for moments like these, and photographs, and even Rocking Bear Chairs. 

Finally this.  My all time favorite picture of Emily and Austin. Yes, I know that Adam is not in it (again), but it is just such a precious photograph. Eventually, they grew older and worked together at IN-N-OUT and traveled together to Africa. Eventually, she married and moved out.  But, on this day, they were just Em and Austi.

To read what is new with The Rocking Bear Chair...click on the link to When a Chair Becomes a Throne at Adventures in the Ordinary.

The End of a Charming Era

Linking today with:

SIX WORD SATURDAY -- Describe Your Life In Six Words

I had no idea the first time I heard of Harry Potter, the impact a silly little book, about an 11-year-old orphan, would have on my family. I had no idea that these fictional characters would capture my heart. In fact, I was in the opposite camp at first. Yep, I was on the "Anti Harry Potter Bandwagon" in the late 90's.

But, then Emily's teacher began to read the books to her class. Uh-oh! Parent Alert!  Parents, at our church, began to ask David his opinion on the books. Yikes! Youth Pastor Alert! So, we were placed in the position to read them and to *gasp* think for ourselves. 

I fought it at first. There were a lot of rumors about the "darkness" that would be coming in the books as the series progressed. But, eventually, I unlocked the door to the cupboard under the stairs and I gave Harry free reign to the household. I never found a spell in any of the books, and the themes were of friendship and love. In the end, it was fear that kept people in hiding and the only thing that the Dark Lord could not conquer was Love. 

I am so thankful for the series of events that lead our family down the path to Platform 9 and three quarters. It has been a thrilling journey that our family has shared together (with the likes of that wonderful trio and their faithful friends and disparaging foes). This 7 book/8 movie series came about at a time in the lives of my children when they were just grasping with their own definitions of ethics, morals and principals and we were able to engage in some great discussions about slavery, racial prejudices, and good verses evil.

Not to mention, from our time at Hogwarts, we learned that owls are a great way to deliver messages, if your rat lives for 13 years--have it checked for spells, and, finally, when traveling by flue--enunciate. It was just fun. And, is that so scary?

Family Reunion Today

Always my Megan

My niece, Megan, was born just two and a half weeks after my daughter, Molly. Cousins so close in age with names fit for twins. I have always treasured any picture that I have come across of Molly; like a pirate's treasure--they hold me captivated. I like this picture because you can see that while Megan is younger than Molly, she is the stronger baby. She is pulling herself forward on this warm day in August, while Molly is only able to sit up because she has had help. 

You can also see Molly's shunt, or as Emily and Austin referred to it, "Molly's bump". I don't hate Molly's shunt, I am so thankful that we had that technology so that we could have her for the time that we did. Had our sweet angel been born 50 to 70 years earlier, she and I probably both would have died in childbirth. So, rather than focus on how certain things went wrong, I am thankful for all the things that went well. 

It's obvious why this next photograph is one of my favorites of the two cousins. The smile on Megan's face is a little mischievous, and Molly seems to be looking at Megan with a little uncertainty. I wish I knew what they were communicating to one and other in this photo. It is obvious that they have some signals flaring.

Another reason I love this picture is because Molly is holding a black olive, and to be quite honest, if not for this photo, I would have no recollection of Molly liking olives. It makes the olive more precious for me. It gives me another small connection to her. 

I do not know who they are smiling at, perhaps it is one of their fathers, either my brother or my husband. Maybe they are giggling at Emily or Austin. But, someone obviously got their attention and got them to laugh. Little baby cousins. Smiling on a Christmas morning.  Early on, when Molly first passed away, people thought that I was going to have a difficult time being around my niece and watching her grow. It was said to me that Megan would be a reminder of what I had lost. I always thought that was silly, because as close as Megan and Molly might have been in age, they were so different in personality and aptitude. Plus, Molly has a sister, Emily, and if I was going to have a hard time watching anyone grow up, surly it would be the one with whom she would have shared a room.  And, so for me, it was never an issue that Megan grew up, and Molly stayed young.

My beautiful niece will turn 18 years old this week and I am filled with pride and joy about the woman she is becoming. Since her parent's divorce and subsequent remarriages, she is the only girl among 7 brothers. She has been active in cheer and has excelled academically (@ my HS Alma mater!). She loves reading (and actually reads my blogs!). She walked the isle this summer as the Maid of Honor for Emily's wedding, which was the one moment in the 16 years that Molly has been gone that I felt a twinge of pain with the Megan/Molly connection. But, on such a special day, wouldn't I have missed my Molly anyway? Megan never needed to fill in a gap for me to love her. She is my Megan. Never my Molly, always my Megan. 

my youngest and myself

The month of June will mean a lot of different things to my family, especially this year. With Emily's wedding happening just two weeks ago and all the preparations that were required to make it an unforgettable evening, our minds were immersed in ivory lace, purple hydrangeas and tuxedo rentals. Within days of the knot being tied, David and Austin climbed aboard an airplane headed for Zimbabwe, Africa. My nest, which was the bustling hub of wedding preparations, boxes for moving, garage sale items for fundraising and suitcases for travel seemed to be transformed overnight into a peaceful and spacious domicile for the two birds who remained.

Adam and I have done this before, so we are much more adept at it this second time through. Last summer, David traveled with Emily and Austin to the same continent to minister to the people in the same villages. It was at that time that I learned what Adam and I would have to overcome if we were to be left to our own accord. 

The good news is we both love fish sticks and watermelon. Shopping for Adam and I can be tricky. Adam likes to eat processed food...and so do I. But, he also likes to eat watermelon, grapes and apples. When I hit the stores, I could easily fill the basket with foods that he and I would both enjoy and I wouldn't have to hear from the health conscious people who live in our home--because they aren't around. But, I know that since I am "the mother", I have to choose instead to add to our bounty some wonderful fruit. I have to opt for better food choices for the two of us. 

The bad news is that we are both completely comfortable being alone. We can ride in the car and not talk. We can go for long stretches of time without too much conversation. Like Anne Lamott says in her book bird by bird, "Left to its own devices, my mind spends much of its time having conversations with people who aren't there", I can spend an entire day without talking to anyone and have plenty of conversations. Adam is like his mother. And so the challenge becomes to talk. To share. Open up and grow closer. This year we are doing better than last year. Perhaps that is because he isn't as dependent on me for simple things, like transportation. His ability to control a tiny portion of his world seems to be drawing him back around to me when he is stuck with me for later part of the day.  Perhaps it is because I have made efforts to be interested in what he is interested in. I know all about Game of Thrones...(my favorite character being Daenerys Targaryen, {aka-Khaleesi} she's so strong and reminds me of myself when I was 17 and ruled the land with my 3 pet dragons!) and I even sat through Green Lantern.

So, we are over half way through our 16 days home alone, and it appears that we will come away closer than before everyone left us here in our little nest to tend to the cats and the dog and summer school. And, having had two summers in a row where June was my time with Adam, I am so thankful for the timing and the ways of the Lord. He had given us what we could handle and allowed us to not only survive--but to thrive.

What he meant to me.

This is true, every word. Which is why it is so difficult to write and why I've avoided my inner promptings to open up and say it. This is, in its own way, a love note about my friend's husband. My friend Dan, who has passed on to Heaven.

My friend is Renee and I've known her, admired her, and mimicked her for two decades. Two strong decades filled with many births and too many deaths. She has embodied the type of friend, wife and mother that I hope to become. I believe that I only bought walking shoes in 1997 so that I could invade her world, and spend more time with her. She is not perfect, no way. She makes her mistakes, just like us all. But, she is constantly striving and yearning to be all the God desires her to be. She really is a Godly woman, because her heart belongs to God.

Her heart also belongs to her husband. Dan. Dan the Man, that was his name for so many years, to so many people. Hands shaking as I write this, because just knowing that I am writing about this man begins to rip at my soul. I love this man, too. Not like she, not ever, not at all. But like me. I loved my friend, my neighbor.

I wanted to write about how much he meant to our family for quite some time, but I would begin and then delete. Begin and then delete. I would become apprehensive about what his son--a fine man, or his daughter--his love... about what they would think. This is their Dad. This is their Dad that they lost much too soon. Death took what they loved. What happened in their family is their story to tell. But this is what happened in mine.

One July morning, while out on a lake, we were enjoying the pleasures of boating and food and fellowship with a group of college people that we were working with in ministry. I remember sitting in the front room of a rented houseboat and looking around at all the laughing young adults. They were so filled with joy. They were teasing my children who were still in their youth, ages 14, 12 and 9. (This is one of the joys of youth & young adult ministry--your kids can usually tag along.)
I looked around the room and I noticed that David, my husband who thrives on moments like these, was absent. Almost immediately after I noticed, the door on the other side of the cabin slid open and he made his way in. His face was all wrong. He was not the man that I knew. I spied his eyes and I could see tears. He nodded his head and I knew he wanted to share. I maneuvered my way through the room and we closed the door behind us.
We stood in the bedroom of this tiny houseboat, when he said

"There was a car accident. Dan is dead."

Head spinning. Familiar blackness. No, not again. Death, how I hate you. Death, how you sting.

Then tears. Then calm. Then a knock.

At the door stood my daughter. Intuition flaring, inherited from her Mother. "What's wrong?"
Close the door. Say the words.

Then Emily let out what felt like a scream, but not. A cry, but deep. Weakness seemed to overtake her and my Mother-strength held her and asked her to breathe. This child has seen so much death already. Are you really coming, again?

Then the decision. "We have to leave." We had to get to Renee. We knew we were going to have to tell the boys why. These two rascal boys who adored this Dan. This Dan the Man. We called them into the room and we said it as gently as we could.
Severe pain. Reeling them in, with its hook.
It didn't matter how gentle we tried to be, it was useless. We might have just as well slapped them when we told them, for the pain of hearing the words hurt just as much.

And, now, years later, the pain is still here. I don't miss him like his family does. I would never try to make that claim. He was my husband's best friend and what he meant to me was most precious in that. If there was ever a man that I could tell genuinely loved my husband, it was Dan. If there was ever a man that wanted what was best for my husband, it was Dan.

Believe it or not, I didn't learn to be submissive to my husband by going through a bible study on being a better wife. I didn't learn to think before speaking and not taking things too far from a mentor in a Women's group. I learn those things from Dan. I remember a day, early in our friendship, at a church picnic, when Dan pulled me aside. In love, he told me that when I teased my husband in public, when I mocked him with my words, I was destroying my husband's self esteem. He told me that as ashamed as I was to be told this in private, that it was 100 times worse for my husband when I embarrassed him in public. The strange thing is, looking back at that day, I am not embarrassed now. Because Dan never treated me badly, in spite of what he witnessed.

In adding to my 1000 Gifts, I'm counting the blessings I collected from Dan:

25:: Laughter and sarcasm. Oh my. Memories around that table.

26:: my husband's Superbowl buddy. Who needs a house full of guests

27:: watching him with Mandy gave me hope for all fathers

28:: about that table...how do we not LOVE those benches? "Don't sit on the end!"

29:: a pool for my children. they thought it was theirs.

30:: practical jokes are permitted encouraged at camp.

31:: make a list. (ahead of his time)

32:: treat every person as if they are your closest friend. (I don't think he planned this...but there was certainly a multitude of men who thought he was their best friend.)

33:: love God and read your bible. His bible sat at the end of the table. Show up unannounced and there it would be--wide open.

34:: the memory of the BEST toast I have yet to hear, as he stood as Best Man at the wedding of his son.

35:: love other people's children, as if they were your own. My kids grieved this man for quite a while. They loved him, because he loved them, and they could tell.

36:: he gave me permission to kill myself. I know that sounds weird. But, he was the first person to tell me that if I did, I wouldn't go to hell. Then he explained to me why I shouldn't. The choice gave me freedom to choose wisely.

37:: always he kept clear boundaries with the wife of his best friend. I never felt weird around Dan. He was wise and respected me and my husband. He loved his wife with his life.

He taught me to love my husband. In a lot of ways I just followed his example. That's what he meant, and what he still means to me.

small fingers, precious and fleeting

There was a time when my kids held my hands; fighting for the privilege, for Mommy owned only two. With each child that she bears, a mother should be given an extra appendage. Each child could name the hand and hold it whenever they need. For, the days pass so quickly, and hands need to be held while the holding time is ripe.
There was a day in a parking lot, when Austin sat down and cried, because I couldn't hold his hand. Papers and books in one arm and a bundle of Molly in the other, there was not much I could physically do for my 3-year-old son. I still remember kneeling down to his level and promising him, that if he would just help me count the steps and stay as close to me as he could, until we got into the car, then I would sit on the couch with him at home and hold his hand while we watched every moment, every song, every minute of Aladdin.
I think of my Molly's sweet touch, I only have one memory of her walking without holding a hand. On that December evening, so close to the last Christmas we would share with her, we were filled with hope and joy as she walked the journey that most take much sooner than she, from Mommy to Da-doe. That's what we wanted for her more than anything else, or at least at the time that's what we thought we wanted. To see her walking, independent and strong. To see her overcome immeasurable odds. Looking back now, I know that it wasn't important. She never needed to do things that others did. She was already loved and valuable, she never needed to walk without holding on.
Introspective today, beginning to gather the 1000 gifts I've received, I would want to count each of their little fingers, but then I am sad that I don't have a memory of holding the hands of Emily or Adam. It's not that I didn't touch, guide, and caress their sweet chubby hands, but it's that I didn't know I would crave the memory of it later.  Their small hands hold on for only second, a mere breath. I can't help but sigh; they aren't holding on, they aren't reaching for me. I barely know their fingers, at all.
Today, as I begin my journey to 1000, I am remembering and thankful for:
1:: Emily, holding my first born with both hands, on the morning after she was born, watching the Illinois sun rise across the farmland. I remember thinking, "I will never mind losing sleep for this child." While, I may have spoke too soon, I am so thankful that when I met her, that's how she was welcomed. She was always wanted, from the first moment the pregnancy test came back blue.
2:: Austin, with his one crooked finger, he could never slow down. Sitting and watching Aladdin went way too fast. How lovely it would be, to turn back time, to rewind the video and sit with that 3-year-old child for just another afternoon.
 3:: Molly, sometimes I wonder if she was sent to help me see God. His wonder was already here, it didn't appear after her birth. His grace didn't show up merely because she died, it was always here--but she makes me look at Him, so I can breathe when I think of her small chubby hands.
4:: Adam, a surprise, a prize. Lost are my memories for the first year of his life; snapshots of moments with his siblings around. This child born to me, to help me get through. His hands grew too quickly, his thoughts in a world of his own.  What will these once little fingers, these now grown hands do?

I am linking with A Holy Experience to keep track of the 1000 gifts that God has given me, and continues to give, everyday.