Gethsemane

As we enter the Sacred Triduum and celebrate Holy Thursday, the last Supper, the washing of the feet and Jesus' agony in the garden (Gethsemane) ~ I find that it is easy to experience Jesus' full humanity.  I can relate to Jesus in Gethsemane.

"My soul is sorrowful even unto death."

I can relate to the deep pain and sorrow. I can relate knowing there are crosses that we carry unto death. 

"Father, if You are willing, remove this cup from Me; yet not My will, but Yours be done."

I can relate to the questioning God's plan.  I can relate to desperately wanting the 'cup' (my impending cross) to be taken from me. I can relate to the call to claim this cross as mine - renouncing my own will and accepting the will of the Father.

"Keep watch and remain here with me."

I can relate to not wanting to carry this cross alone.  I can relate to feeling disappointed that many people aren't there for me in the way I want or need them to be.  I can relate to utter loneliness in the cross.

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I can relate to that Jesus in Gethsemane. I get him. I know him.  His pain and grief was consuming.  It was bigger than mine - than ours.

During the Holy Thursday liturgy, I cry every time at The Washing of the Feet. It really gets to me.  I am moved that, even knowing what was ahead of him, Jesus looked outside of himself, humbled himself, and served.  What a powerful witness.

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Today Gianna and I finished our special novena to St. Joseph....on Holy Thursday.  On Iain's birthday.

Today, Iain would have been forty-one.  (All of a sudden, that number seems small.) Today he celebrated his first birthday in heaven. Gianna and I imagined what his celebration might have been like.  I asked her what she thought Daddy was doing on his birthday in heaven.  "Praying for you, Mommy."  My sweet, wise child.

I never knew just how many firsts and milestones there would be on this grief journey. Sometimes they wash over me like a gentle rain and sometimes they sweep me up in hurricane of emotion and anxiety.  I try very hard not to let any date or anniversary have any sort of power over me. I refuse to let the calendar dictate my path of grief.  However, there is emotion (both painful and gifting) in the remembrances, the thoughts and prayers.

I, in my typical fashion, overplanned the day in my head.  Quite often, the exhausting element of grief pulls the reigns in on my big plans ~ thankfully!  It was a simiple day.  Gianna and I spent most of it quietly at home.  Later in the afternoon we drove to the cemetery. (I still can't believe that when I talk about visiting my husband - it's at a cemetery.)

I took Gianna to the mall to eat supper.  Chick-fil-A for her.  Sushi for me ~ in honor of Iain. Oh how I miss our sushi dates.  I bought her a double doozy cookie in lieu of the cupcake I'd promised her all day.  I think it sufficed.  We ended the day with Holy Thursday Mass.  Fitting.

Happy Birthday, my Love. Be at peace.

A Widow's Peek

Widow.  Ugh.  And I thought the term 'housewife' bothered me!  Oh how I would love to trade in my widow card for my housewife card.  And then just throw 'single-mother' title into the mix and you have a whole bag of title fun.

I'm 3 1/2 months into this world of widow-hood and it's as brutal as you might expect.  Lately, the waves of grief crash with unrelenting force and there is little time between them. I can feel them coming on, almost like an emotional contraction, and as I take my cleansing breath I wonder how many hours or days the next set of waves will last before I might breathe again.

Gianna says it best when she declares, "I just wish Daddy will stop dying."  That's what it feels like to me too:  he keeps dying - and our hearts keep breaking - over and over and over.  It's exhausting. It's gripping. It's hollowing.  It's isolating.  It's lonely. It's humbling. It's excruciating.  It's the most vulnerable I've ever been.  It's my existence right now....and I won't lie --- I don't like any of it.

I miss him.  My soul aches. I have no words to describe the pain of longing and missing and wanting things to be different.  Sometimes I feel like a spoiled child yelling, "I don't want to do this anymore."  I have fantasies about God coming to me and saying, "Oh Maria, what a trial you've had to endure.  I'm so proud of you and how you have dealt with this, so as I reward I will be making all things as they should be. Go and get ready because I will be sending Iain back to you and Gianna in his happiest and healthiest state."

Oh, don't worry ~ I'm not delusional. Trust me when I tell you that I am very grounded in my reality these days.  I just don't happen to like my reality ~ AT ALL.  I know I'm not the only one.  I often think of Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane, “Father, if you are willing, take this cup away from me; still, not my will but yours be done.” Luke: 22:42 I'm certainly not in the position to assume what Jesus' actual feelings were, but he wasn't just fully divine - he was also fully human, and in believing in his humanity, I would have to guess that he wasn't so excited about his cross either. His faithfulness is what we remember ("not my will but yours be done,") but his faithfulness doesn't erase his humanity ("take this cup away from me").  That's where I am....feeling the reality and depths of my humanity.

I think people assume because I am a woman of faith, that these kind of trials and crosses are somehow easier.  People have said to me, "You'll be fine. You have such strong faith. If anyone can handle this, you can."  I know they mean well, but it's almost offensive to me and it really invalidates my very human, very painful grief.  Oh, I can write a book on what helps and what doesn't in dealing with someone who is grieving - maybe not a book - but a post is in the works, for sure. 

I am not writing this glimpse into my grief to gain sympathy or pity.  (Trust me, I get looks of pity all the time - and it's not so fun.)  I just think people see me (and Gianna) in public fairly often - doing what we do - living our lives with whatever semblance of normalcy we can - and there is an assumption that life isn't so hard. People often tell me that are so impressed that we are doing so well. Sometimes I correct them, "Oh, I'm not okay - but I am managing." I feel like an absolute WRECK 90% of the time.

I'm learning how much energy it takes to do 'normal' things - especially in public.  Going to birthday parties, weddings (brutal), and church (longest hour of my week) are not always miserable - but it takes every bit of energy to survive them.  Even just to grocery shop it takes me isles and isles of Hail Mary's just to make it to the car without losing it.  And just because you don't see me cry or Gianna fall apart - doesn't me we don't.

There are SO many people who are struggling with all sorts of pain and grief which I'm sure is amplified during this holiday season - you know, the happiest time of the year.  I wonder how many people in our lives are begging to be reached out to and are suffering in silence as the rest of us complain about too many party invitations, how we'll manage to get our shopping done and how we don't have anything to wear for Christmas day.  Yeah, it's all small potatoes, folks. Even if you pick an angel off a tree at the mall to buy presents for, even if you donate a Christmas basket at church - this just a reminder to actually  connect to with real people - in person (facebook and texting is a nice 2nd best - but isn't the same as a phonecall or visit). 

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Before I close, I do want to say that there are times of joy and fun and normalcy in my daily life.  I know I seem morose - and I am, I guess - but I am not hopeless or without faith - just walking through the fire of this journey of grief.  The very best thing that people tell me is that they are praying for us - all of us - Iain too. Thank you to all those people who have continued to lift us in prayer.  May you be richly blessed.

All Soul's Day

November 2nd was All Soul's Day, and there was a beautiful candlelight Mass at the cemetery where Iain was buried.  The liturgy, music, homily were spirit-filled and consoling.

 Following the mass, the priests when to each grave of those gathered in prayer and blessed it and their families.  It was a special way to reverence our newly departed husband/daddy.

 Gianna has a lollipop because she was an absolute angel during Mass.

(I was nervous since it was so late.)

I should have waited to be nervous the following Sunday.

Church is challenging these days.

Pray for us.

Shepherd Me, O God

If you read my last post, you’ll know that I spoke at the Scripture Service the night before the funeral.  I felt the need to share my heart, my husband and the circumstances surrounding his death.

Although I’m not sure actually everything I said, I will share the notes from which I spoke:

The night before the funeral events began, I was kept awake all night by a rotten and very painful eye infection.  My eye was so irritated and light sensitive I could hardly keep them open. I looked and felt dreadful.  I finally got some medication the morning of the wake, but I still was still squinting, blinking and tearing which I’m sure made me look even more pathetic than I already was. 

I began by sharing that my close friend suggested I wear an eye patch to help get me through the day.  I couldn’t help but laugh at that thought. Ahhh…the widow with an eye patch.  Epic. I hope you thought that was funny, Iain Lewis! (I later discovered that I was wearing two different shoes that entire day. No wondered people felt so sorry for me!)

 “I am sure that as I stand before you in this packed room, I am the object of much sympathy and pity.  I must tell you, that beyond a shadow of a doubt, I am the luckiest person here right now. One, for the love and support and prayers that are being poured out on me and most importantly, because I have had the privilege of knowing and loving and being loved but this precious man whose life we celebrate.

Eight years ago today, Iain Lewis ask me to be his wife. People who have known me for a long time, know how LONG I waited to find (and be found by) my husband. I waited and waited – sometimes not so patiently – for God’s plan to unfold.  And then along came my dream come true.

Those of you who attended our wedding can witness to the love we had and the remarkable celebration we experienced that day. As I stand here today being enveloped by this powerful choir of voices echoed with equal power and prayer by the voices of the assembly, I am overwhelmed by the beauty and by the remembrance of a similar experience at our wedding.  The similarity of these two events are amazing and interestingly, they are the bookends of our marriage.

Our marriage was beyond blessed, but it was not without it’s challenges.  Some were challenges of circumstance and some were relational and internal. The most powerful, by far, was the challenge that the disease of depression brought. This was not the “I’m feeling a little down” kind of depression, but the paralyzing kind that distorts thought processes, affects physiology, and has the power to convince you that you are not worthy and life might be better without you.

With the exception of his doctor, counselor and myself, almost no one knew of this struggle. Iain was very private and very proud (to a fault – by his own admission.) Even though I struggle with the fact that I (we) did not share this with others and feel a certain amount of responsibility in light of recent events, I viewed it as a sacred trust of our marriage.  He was working his program: receiving counseling, taking medication, seeking spiritual direction, reading Scripture, and even programmed his phone to remind him to pray every hour. He even appeased me by keeping a journal and sharing it with me. The entries are beautiful, authentic, vulnerable and amazingly insightful. I feel his efforts in battling this disease were valiant. These things didn’t come naturally to him and weren’t easy for him, which made me even more proud of him. His spiritual journey was inspiring to me.

The Iain we knew and loved wouldn’t hurt a fly and would never intentionally bring pain to anyone – especially those he loved.  I don’t feel like this was something that was calculated near as much as it was a moment: a moment when the grip of depression took hold and skewed his thoughts so profoundly that this solution made sense to him. 

I know that people are concerned for me and Gianna and our future.  I assure you that we will be okay.  I haven’t lost my faith or my hope. That doesn’t mean we won’t have to walk through the fire.  We will certainly have a cross to carry, but I refuse to let depression have any more casualties in this family.

A couple of months ago, Iain shared with me that a song that was sung at Mass had since become his mantra and greatest prayer.  It was a song based on the 23^rd Psalm written by Marty Haugen called, “Shepherd Me, O God”.  The refrain goes, “Shepherd Me, O God, beyond my wants, beyond my fears, from death into life.”  It reminds me of how he really tried to change the course of this disease that was obviously much bigger than even I could imagine.

Most people knew the story of how our beautiful daughter Gianna came to us. Anyone who has spent more than five minutes with her knows what a radiant beam of joy she is. And, oh – how she lit up the world of her Daddy.  The night we got “The Call” telling us that there was a baby for us was amazing.  We had been through so much already with miscarriage, failed adoptions, empty waiting, etc. it was almost hard to believe that the tide had turned. When I told Iain that they said we had a baby girl who was waiting for her parents to pick her up – we were both beside ourselves.  The adoption worker reminded us that the birthmother couldn’t sign over her rights until the baby was five days old and that she had a legal right to change her mind until then.  She offered for the baby to be placed in a temporary home until the fifth day when it would be a ‘sure thing.’  When I told that to Iain and asked what he thought we should do, his response was immediate:  “Let’s go pick up our baby girl.”  I think I fell in love with him all over again in that moment.

I never heard Iain laugh so much and so hard, until Gianna came into our lives.  Every night before we went to sleep, he’d always quote “Gianna-isms” in her voice and act out the funny things she would do.

I will miss the laughter he brought to my world. He could make me laugh so hard. I remember on a trip to Hot Springs, we convinced ourselves that it would be fun to experience the bathhouses that the quaint city it famous for. We each went in separate doors of the bathhouse for our interesting experiences which might be considered traumatizing for people who are painfully modest.  Several hours later we walked toward each other in front of the bath house with our eyes as wide as saucers. I was so horrified I couldn’t even speak.  He obviously had a similar experience to mine and managed to squeak out the words, “I’ve been violated.”  I doubled over in laughter.  I still laugh remembering that moment.

I’m going to miss his love, his adoration for me and Gianna, his desire to provide for and take care of us, his encouragement and support and counsel.  I’m going to miss praying with him and laughing with him and planning our lives together. Iain Lewis, I am proud to have had you as my husband and I am proud that Gianna that has the best Daddy on the planet.  I will love you all the days of my life – and beyond.”

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Shepherd Me, O God (Psalm 23)

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Shepherd me, O God beyond my wants,

beyond my fears, from death into life.

God is my shepherd, so nothing shall I want,

I rest in the meadows of faithfulness and love,

I walk by the quiet waters of peace.

Gently you raise me and heal my weary soul,

You lead me by pathways of righteousness and truth,

my spirit shall sing the music of your Name.

You have set me a banquet of love

in the face of hatred,

crowning me with love beyond my pow’r to hold.

Surely your kindness and mercy follow me

all the days of my life;

I will dwell in the house of my God forevermore.

I am...

I am still here.

I am surviving.

I am overwhelmed.

I am lonesome.

I am broken.

I am blessed. 

There are a million thoughts and feelings and memories and longings I have floating around in my head and heart and I have no idea how to channel them into blog posts.  I have about seven different ones started, but I don't manage to be able to weave my words well enough.

What I thought I might do is just write about things from the funeral week that I want to remember and Gianna to know one day. Maybe doing so will help jump start my thought process.

I guess if I'm describing that first week, I should mention a few things of importance. 

First off, in case you didn't know:  Iain's death was a suicide. It was as shocking as you would imagine it to be. (I apologize if you're learning about this for the first time here on my blog.)  I feel it is important to be honest about his cause of death for a number of reasons....one being that he suffered from depression (as MANY of us do - or have in the past) and I don't want that stigma of depression or suicide to keep people from getting proper help. I promise to address this issue at another time.

Secondly, I was the one who found him. I was alone (G was at my parent's house) returning from a wedding that he was supposed to meet me at.  I'm not going to go into details, but suffice it to say that it was the darkest hour of my life.  I called to of my long-time friends/brothers who are priests and they came immediately and stayed with me all day. They were my strength that day as I had to tell my daughter, our families and our friends of the tragic news.  I can't really describe what I felt -- maybe because most of it was numbness and nausea.  For almost two days I couldn't cry.    I have always relied on my emotions to work my way through various situations - but I was completely unplugged. Apparently, that's not uncommon at all with those who've experienced such traumatic events.  My pastor told me that it could be as long as a couple of weeks before I was able to feel.  My tears returns after a couple of days, but the real grief didn't really hit until several weeks after.

I'm certain that it was God's protective grace that allowed that numbness to fall upon me.  It enabled me to care for our daughter, to make challenging phone calls, take care of unpleasant business, make difficult decisions and to plan a funeral.  Thank God for my family, my friends and especially my brother who came from Florida to help me take care of the things I needed to.

As I mentioned before, Gianna was an ol' pro at funeral home visits, so I wasn't super concerned about  her being there the whole time during the wake.  She was a delight and spent some amazing and tender moments with her daddy.  I let her do whatever she needed to in order for the experience to be meaningful and special. She blessed her daddy, caressed him, laid on him (with me holding her) and whispered precious things to him.  I am so glad she had that special time and that so many people engaged her and entertained her throughout the LONG day.

I decided I wasn't going to approach any of the funeral week with dread.  That only seems to manifest useless anxiety. I looked at each difficult task as something that was one step closer to healing and an opportunity for grace. 

We got to the funeral home at 10am for the family viewing and visitation was from 11:00am til 9:00pm.  L - O - N - G !!!  Msgr. Danny Torres and Bishop Provost met us there and prayed with us.  That was a nice way to begin the day.  Being there with Iain in a casket wasn't as horrible as you might imagine. It was strangely comforting, actually.  Being able to be physically close to him before our finally goodbye was a gift...and also a reminder that really - that was no longer him. He was out of pain and in a good place.

Then came the people. Holy cannoli.  It was truly unbelievable. The people who came just absolutely touched my heart.  Iain's co-workers from both plants he worked at came broken-hearted speaking nothing but beautiful, glowing, touching things about my special husband.  It broke my heart to see their hearts broken. Friends from years past - from different chapters of Iain's life (and my life too.)There were family and family friends who flew (and drove) from FAR away to be with us.  I was overwhelmed.  There were people who came that only knew us from seeing us at church. There were acquaintances who came because they shared a similar loss and wanted to offer support.  There were my former youth minister kids (spanning a decade or so) who just completely surprised me by taking the time to come - some from hours away just to hug me. One of my precious girls drove from Shreveport with her beautiful two week old baby girl. I could hardly speak.

One of my dear friends who is also no stranger to loss and grief had called me a day or so after Iain died and told me that I would become a receptor for other people's pain and that their stories would envelope me like tentacles.  (She's quite poetic!)  That became evident after several hours of visiting.  It was astounding to hear people's experience of depression, suicide, loss and the like.  I feel honored that people shared so candidly with me.

My pastor in Moss Bluff (who is quite a hoot) had told me the day after Iain died that I better get ready to forgive people because some folks were going to say some foolish things.  He was right.  I thought there would be many more than there were - but there were some well-meaning folks who probably need to say less.  Oh, and not that I've never said anything that I wish I hadn't or that I later discovered may have been insensitive.  It's not a judgement as much as an observation.

Monsignor Dubois (our current pastor) prayed a beautiful rosary at 3pm.  He prayed over Iain's parents and over me. One of the things that he said was, "You have fulfilled your vows ('til death do us part')...."  I still crumble when I hear those words.  I still can't believe I am no longer married. Even though my 'vows are fulfilled' my love for him hasn't changed. Honestly, I think I love him ever more now....if that's even possible.  It seems bizarre to be a mom of a three year old and have the title of widow. *sigh*

That evening was the vigil/scripture service.  Father Whitney Miller, who has been a longtime friend and a special part of Iain's faith journey, was the presider.  The music was just magnificent. Sister Camille Martinez, another longtime friend, allowed me to help choose the readings and plan the music and graciously included SO MANY people to lift their voices in prayer.  It was awe-inspiring.

Father Whitney's description of his experience of Iain was just beautiful....and accurate.  He spoke of how whenever he was in conversation with Iain - even after Mass when there was a church-full of visiting people, that he felt that he and Iain were the only ones alone in the room.  He talked about the gift Iain had of being acutely 'present' to the people he came in contact with.  That was the same sentiment echoed from all those who knew Iain both professionally or personally.  He also talked about the gift of his sense of humor....which I have been been missing so much lately.

It was important for me to speak on Iain's behalf that night. I had a front-row seat in Iain's life and I had an even better view of his heart.  There was no way I could let the opportunity pass without sharing my perspective.  In my next post, I will include what I shared that night. (To be continued...)

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For those who were asking if I have a Facebook Page for the blog - I do.  It's HERE. I haven't done much with it except add my blog post links.

Ecclesiastes 3:4

"...there is a time to mourn and a time to dance...."

Ecclesiastes 3:4

And sometimes those times overlap.

 Just a couple of weeks after her daddy died...

 ...Gianna began her Ballet Classes! 

I have no words to express how absolutely ADORABLE these little 3 and 4 year olds are in their pink leotards and tights and teeny tiny ballet shoes. 

 She began classes at the Lake Charles Dance Academy which is a brand new studio open by a precious friend of mine.  We feel so grateful for this wonderful experience and welcomed diversion from our grief!

The studio is right by the cemetery where Iain is buried, so we go afterwards to show Daddy his little ballerina, have a chat with him and say some prayers.

It's becoming a nice little ritual for us.

I can say with great certainty that her Daddy is full of love and pride for his little dancer.

(I know her Mommy is.)

Big Grief for a Little Girl

As a I child I was sort of sheltered from death ~ and I grew up with huge fears about death because of it.  I vowed to introduce the concept early to my children and make sure they knew it was a natural part of life.  Gianna was three weeks old when I took her to the funeral home for the first time.  She's probably been at least 25 times since then. It became a little ministry for her. She loves to pray for the deceased and her favorite thing is to give them blessings (making the sign of the cross on their forehead.)  She has always been a little light for the grieving family members - giving hugs, turning on her charm and even performing. She often spoke of heaven and the people we knew who were there.

When I walked in my parents home to tell them and Gianna of Iain's tragic death, I didn't beat around the bush.  There is no sugar-coating death. (Well, maybe there is - but I don't see what good it does.)  I told her Daddy got very sick and died. She knew about heaven, about the funeral home, about caskets - it was all part of her vernacular. I told her that we were going to be very sad for a very long time...and that would be okay.  I told her that God would help us, but we couldn't see Daddy anymore here and he couldn't live with us anymore since he'd be in heaven. Oh, how I hated telling her that.

 Daily conversations help clarify this reality - for both of us.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * *

Most days have a 'normal' feel to them.  I'm not sure how that's even possible.  At least once a day, I make sure something special is planned just for Gianna. It helps to have something to look forward to.

It might be as simple as playing outside in this amazing weather.

Or finally enjoying the parks as the weather cools a bit...

Or picking satsumas from our tree... 

Or enjoying a play date...

Sometimes there are activities for her all day long.

But there's always at least one thing that's fun and special.

* * * * * * *

Two weeks after Iain's death, we stayed in town with my parents to make life a little easier for us. We've been back home in the Bluff for three weeks now and settling back into some semblance of normalcy.  It's actually been good to be home. Gianna is happy to be in her space.  It's good to have lots of reminders of Daddy around.....and sometimes really sad.

* * * * * * *

Overall, Gianna has been a gem these last five weeks.  She is affected by grief much of the same way I am. 

*  She's so tired, but dreads going to sleep. (Being alone with thoughts is a frightening thing while grieving.) 
*  She fell out of bed a half dozen times the first ten days. (Probably because her sleep was so fitful.)

* Her appetite is only now starting to return.  Food is not terribly interesting to her these days.

*  She melts down for the smallest things - and then falls apart into heartbreaking sobs.  Every single disappointment, frustration, sadness or irritation is exacerbated by Iain's death. (For both of us.)

*  She refuses to take a nap at my mom's house. The day Iain died she had just woken from her nap when I came to share the horrible news.  She's made that association and even asked, "Did Daddy die because I was at MeMaw's house?"  God bless my very smart, broken-hearted child.

*  She was very angry at me the first few weeks and went nuts every time I showed signs of sadness.  She really acted out (or tried to) the first few weeks.  There was just no other safe place to direct her anger - than toward me.  That's part of the toughest part of this ordeal.

If you've been reading my blog for a while, you know I keep a Jelly Book where I record many of the great things Gianna says and does.  I suppose this could be considered the grief edition:

Gianna talks about him a lot.  A few days after he died while she was giving us one of her 'live concerts' with her guitar in tow - I mentioned that I bet Daddy was in heaven telling all the people,

"Would you just look at my baby girl!  She is amazing! Yep, that's my Monkey-Doo!"

She was intrigued by that comment and it began an interesting occurrence...

Regularly (most often when we're in the car) she asks me,
"What do you think Daddy is saying to me right now?"

Early on she said, "You be Daddy."

So, I lower my voice and tell her what I think Iain might be saying.

G: Oh Daddy, I miss you so much.

Me as Daddy:  Oh, sweetheart, I'm really really close to you.  I miss you too, but I'm watching over you from heaven.

G:  Daddy I laid on you and kissed you and talked to you (at the funeral home.)

Me as Daddy:  I know, sweet girl, I remember everything. I hear you every time you talk to me.

G:  Daddy, I whispered to you to wake up.

Me as Daddy: Oh I know.  I wish I could have woken up for you - but now I have to love you from heaven.

G:  Can you give me hugs and kisses.

Me as Daddy: Oh yes. I do all the time.  We call them heaven hugs and heaven kisses.

G: Daddy, can you please love Mommy big big.  She is really really sad.

Me as Daddy:  (Almost not able to speak)  Oh yes, I promise I will always love your Mommy in a very special way.

G:  You live in my heart, Daddy.

Me as Daddy: You live in my heart too, Gianna  I love you so much.

G: I love you big much too Daddy.

Sometimes the conversations go on for 20 minutes.
Sometimes she tells him what she's been doing. Sometimes she asks him big questions.  Sometimes she shares her love and longing. Sometimes she even shares her sadness and anger.

And sometimes, I am choking back tears and can hardly answer her.
Thank God this precious child is still communicating with and loving her Daddy.

I am sure he is beyond proud.

I know I am.

* * * * * * *

She comes to be fairly often with tears spilling from her eyes saying,

"Mommy, my heart is brokeeen."

:(

* * * * * * * *

G:  Oh Mommy, my drips keep coming out. (tears)

Me:  I know, my love, but that's how God helps to heal our broken hearts.  Our tears help release some of the sad from our hearts.

G:  But my sad won't stop leaking out.
(Neither will mine, sweet girl.)

* * * * * * *

Gianna asked the other night if she could have some medicine before bed.

I asked her why she needed medicine.

"To take my sad away." she replied.

* * * * * * *

Tonight during prayer she asked me if I loved her.

"Oh yes! My heart is so FULL of love for you it feels like it will burst!"

"Oh," she said, "My heart is full of sad."

* * * * * * *

Be assured that, overall, this precious child is doing remarkably well....all things considered.

She is my sunshine and my amazing grace.

We laugh a lot and have a lot of 'normal' moments sprinkled throughout our grief.

We continue to ride on the prayers of SO MANY people.

I'm certain those prayers are the reason I'm able to get out of bed every morning and function with some sort of regularity.....even with grace and peace. There is no explanation, but prayer!

Thank you to all you prayer warriors who continue to lift us up.

I am so very grateful.