Celebrating Life

Sometimes the best of intentions get lost. Like when I went from updating my blog daily to every other day. Then once a week. Then twice a month. And finally not at all.

I won't offer excuses. Life happens to everyone. So does death.

I have come to the conclusion that life should be celebrated even if it's only for a short period of time. That was why when I found out I was expecting our second child, I didn't wait very long to tell people. I was excited, and I wanted to share our wonderful news.

(As a side note, I am a huge procrastinator when it comes to online announcements and it didn't get announce online until I was around 12 weeks.)

I miscarried at 13 weeks.

That was one of the hardest weeks of my life.

I will never get to hold that baby. I never quite understood missing someone you never knew until now. It had never happened to me before. I knew both of my parents, all of my grandparents, and most of my great-grandparents.

I've experienced loss before, but I've never known what it was to grieve a loss that is just potential.

We named the baby Nadia. Personally, I would encourage anyone that has a miscarriage to name the baby. It's hard enough not having the usual funeral and grave.

I'm learning all over again how sweet the people in my life can be. Each offers comfort in their own way, and somehow it translates in a way that my heart understands--from the friend praying earnestly for me because she's been there, to the one that bluntly stated that she did not understand because she's never been there. They both care, and it shows.

I said that life should be celebrated, and for a few short weeks, Nadia's life was celebrated before it was cut off. Before any of us got the chance to meet her. I'm glad that I didn't wait to tell about her. We got that much longer to celebrate a little life.

I appreciate every one that has prayed, called, texted, messaged... God has worked even through this heartbreaking time, and I believe that He is not through using this to work His purpose.

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My Socks Don't Match!

How much time do you spend on laundry? Probably more than you would like. How much time do you spend matching socks? If all of your socks are the same, maybe not much. But if you have many different patterned socks the task can become time consuming.

I've recently decided to stop wasting so much time worrying about things like matching socks. Sure, it may be a little awkward, but life is too short to waste time worrying about something making you feel uncomfortable.

Sometimes three little words can make you uncomfortable: "I love you."

Do you remember the first time you said it to a boyfriend or girlfriend? Do you remember how terrified you were? It's because the words hold a lot more meaning than their mere eight letters would suggest.

Some families say it more often than others. Just like some families are more touchy-feely, or "huggy" than others. The thing is, life is too short to pass up the opportunity to say "I love you," to someone you really care about, whether by word or deed. Even if it's awkward.

Several years ago I felt impressed to go and visit my Aunt Wanda in the hospital. I was living in Little Rock at the time, and Oklahoma City was a simple weekend trip. While I did stay with my grandparents, the purpose of the visit really was my aunt. I enjoyed spending that time with her, even though it was a bit odd to go for the express purpose of seeing her. I was so glad later that I did it. It was the last time I saw her before she died.

The last time I saw my grandfather he was outside talking with some of the family. I felt too awkward to interrupt and say goodbye, so I just waved. We left on our trip back home, and I never saw him again. I wish now that I had overridden my feelings of discomfort and given him one last hug and said "I love you." But I can't change it now.

It makes me so glad that the night that Daddy passed that I got to say "I love you," one last time. I'm glad for the opportunities that I had and didn't pass up during his illness--to sing for him, sit with him, pray for him. I don't have regrets for anything I did, even if it made me uncomfortable at the time.

I try to be more mindful now to say "I love you." I never know when my last opportunity will be, and I don't want to neglect it. Feeling awkward over it is such a waste, and the regret really isn't worth it.

So if you catch me wearing mismatching socks, no, I haven't reached a new level of harried housewife. I'm just choosing to focus my energies on things of slightly more significance in the big scheme of things. Which would you regret more? Missing your last opportunity to say "I love you," or wearing mismatching socks?

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What Is Normal?

Occasionally life is really topsy-turvy and I find myself wanting it to get back to normal. Then I have to stop and think, "What is normal?"

Daddy died about two weeks ago. People ask me how I'm doing, and I can honestly say I'm OK right now. I cry sometimes, and that's normal. I'm still able to take care of my daily duties. That's normal, too. Grief is a weird thing even when it's being completely normal.

Life for me has had so many drastic changes that I've almost given up trying to have a "normal" life because apparently it's just not going to happen. But I don't know everyone else's circumstances. Maybe "normal"  lives don't exist at all except in the confines of our most idealistic daydreams.

It's normal for normal to not be normal. At least that's how I've come to see it.

So now I have to learn to deal with a new normal. My parents have been such a big part of my life that I can hardly imagine what life will be like without Daddy. Because he always traveled for work, half the time it just seems like he's gone on a trip. Then I remember that he isn't coming back...

I tear up a bit when I remember that. That's OK. It's normal.

I'm still Looking Up. God has always been and always will be a constant. Maybe that is the true definition of normal.

***

I have wanted to continue blogging for the past two weeks, but have not known what on earth to write since Daddy died. There has been such an outpouring of love from everyone around me that I don't even know quite how to take it in. I appreciate each one that has been there for us and prayed for us.

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Walking and Talking

This post is dedicated to my first best friend, Zachery.

I remember sandy blonde hair.

I remember your smile. 

I think your eyes were blue,

But maybe they were gray.

What does a five-year-old notice?

I remember just walking around the playground. 

Talking. 

We must have done that a lot.

What did we talk about?

I wish I could remember that. 

We must have been a strange pair. 

I don't remember playing with the other children. 

Just the two of us walking. 

And talking.

You were my first best friend. 

I still think about you sometimes.

It's been twenty years.

I wonder how things might have been different.

I don't remember how I reacted to the news. 

I remember going to the visitation.

I remember your mother.

I remember driving by the cross at the intersection. 

Every day on the way to school.

It's still there.

It still looks nice. 

Sometimes there's a teddy bear. 

Sometimes there's flowers.

I wonder how you would react to me now.

I got to grow up.

I have a little boy of my own. 

I heard you had a little brother.

He'd be older than you now.

Does that make you feel weird?

No. You're probably just laughing about it.

I look forward to seeing you again. 

I'm sure you've already found the best places to just walk.

We have a lot to talk about.

Remembering

"There's things that I've forgotten that I loved about the man." (Daddy's Hands)

I first heard this song at my grandfather's funeral. He died a year ago today. In some ways it seems like been longer than a year, and in other ways it seems shorter. 

I can still hear his voice calling, "It's the girls!" when my sister and I came in the door. Or "It's the guys!" when it was my cousins. He was Daddio to us. While he was not an overly demonstrative man, we all knew he loved us.

I still can't play "Last Date" on the piano and not think of him. Especially because the piano I have now is the one they had at his house. He never said much about it, but I know he enjoyed hearing my sister and me play the piano.

I was expecting my baby when he died, and my son's middle name is Daddio's first name. I know he's up there shaking his finger at me for doing it…in between fishing trips. You can't tell me there is no fishing in Heaven.

Daddio loved to fish and hunt. Quite a few of my memories with him are of fishing trips. Floating the Black Warrior River. Trout fishing at the dam. Watching him and Dad fly fishing. 

Baby even has a few mannerisms that are pure Daddio. The way he will hold his head when he's tired especially reminds us of him. 

Something that I explored while writing for NaNo was that those that have passed on are still with us in our memories. This feels especially true with Daddio's passing. Maybe it's because I'm no longer living in Alabama, and not constantly around things that remind me that he's gone, but a lot of times it feels like he's still here.

I still have a wreath that Daddio made, a model car he have me once, and a little baseball bat he whittled. Mementos to remind me, because I do not want to forget. The memories are bittersweet, because I know I can no longer make more of them with Daddio, but that's ok. That's life. And it's ok.