The Funeral Dress, Again

I pulled it out of the closet again. The black dress. Well, it is really black and white. I didn’t even have to look for my slip because only three weeks ago, I hung up the dress with the slip. The same tights, wool lined for these cold winter days, were bundled in small ball in my drawer. And I did invest in closed toe shoes since my July funeral wardrobe has needed a seasonal revamp. But, here I was dressing for a funeral again. This makes 5 funerals in 6 months. The way the dress fell on my body when I slipped it over my head made my mind swirl to the last time I wore it helping a friend say goodbye to her adult son.

Like that funeral, this one required a long drive in the car. But, the difference this Sunday was that I was alone driving towards my favorite place, the beach, in my favorite state, NC; the beach and the state that forced me to think of my dad. He would have told me that I looked beautiful in my dress and made a joke about how my mom would probably be making chicken tetrazini, her funeral dish. We are from the south. We are Baptist. Someone dies and we bring food, then hug, tightly.

I was headed to a Baptist church this past Sunday as well. My best friend’s grandmother had taken her last breath days before and was ready to go home. She wanted to see her husband again, meet Princess Diana, and thank God for the wonderful life she had lived. She told my friend and I not to be sad, for she was ready. She and her family were probably ready for it too. The weeks leading up to her death, they knew it was coming but then somehow in that instant, when the last breath is gasped, it just doesn’t matter that they were ready or that we were prepared. She is gone. And, a house of her things remains: memories, pictures, stories, royal English history trinkets, a four poster bed from the Civil War, and a farm that once thrived on the flat eastern north Carolina land.

Mrs. Cora Leigh was loved and I was honored to be there to honor her beautiful life and the amazing family she raised. But, the drive to be with my friend, the funeral songs sung from the Baptist hymnal, and the emptiness reminded me of the dad I miss so much. He didn’t tell me that he was ready and he couldn’t wait to see someone in Heaven. He did have 97 years to fill his home with plates of the royal family or pictures of great grandchildren. No, we had no warning. I had no warning. No expectation. No thought to ever cross my mind that I would lose him so soon.

The drive to Moyock, NC made me relive the drive to Henderson, NC the day my mom told me about my dad. The staring out the window, the streamline of tears down my face, and the nauseating feeling in my stomach all returned. I had to focus though, I was driving, not a mere passenger as I was that July morning. This isn’t about him. This isn’t about me. I kept telling myself. This is about my friend and her dear grandmother she lost. I would tell myself those same things as I went to the other funerals. It wasn’t my child I was burying. It wasn’t my mother I was losing. It wasn’t my brother or my grandmother.

But, no matter what I told myself, this funeral and as I suspect, every funeral from here on out will be about reliving my own grief, my own pain, and my own connection with those who have lost ones that they love. And, I have to remind myself of truth. I don’t know why my dad went to be with the Lord when he did. I don’t know why my friend’s daughter didn’t live to see her 1^st birthday. I don’t know what they Lord has in store. But I do know that He is with me and He will help me.

For I am the Lord your God

    who takes hold of your right hand

and says to you, Do not fear;

    I will help you. – Isaiah 41:13

Someone once told me that if we had a chance to know the future, good or bad, it would probably be best not to know it. For if we did, we may not enjoy what we could know today, that today is a gift and no matter what lies ahead, we have a mighty God that will see us through. So, today as my tears still flow, I picture the beautiful ocean I saw this Sunday with the waves crashing along the shore. I am thankful for every wave of God’s mercy that washes over me when the grief feels too heavy or when the memory of the beach with my father is too much to bear. God is here. He is holding my right hand. I will not fear.

Maybe it's the Cardinals...

Maybe it’s the cardinals. Maybe it’s the thrill of the children’s voices when they are sledding. Maybe it’s the smell of chili on the stove, just as my mom used to do every snow day. Maybe it’s my old snow gloves that I still have from my first ski trip with my parents 15 years ago. Maybe it’s the bright white of the snow itself or the fact that I could hear him saying for the 100^th time, “did you know each snowflake is completely different. Isn’t that amazing?” but when he said it, it was just as amazing to him as the first time he told me. Whatever it is about these snow days, it reminds me of him; my dad that would have loved this. The cardinals, the children, the sledding, the chili, the snowflakes…He would have loved it all. And, my heart aches because I want to be loving it with him, not it reminding me of him.

I took my big boys out in the snow after dinner last night. The full moon peeked through the trees making the snow glimmer. We threw snowballs at each other, laughed, and fell backwards into the white puffy blanket that covered our front yard. I looked up and saw the stars. I’ve lived in the city many years now and always missed being able to see the stars. Although we still live in the city, our new house affords us a better look. But, as I lay on my back in the cold snow with my two big boys on either side, I almost couldn’t look at the night sky. The night sky that would have been instantly explained by my dad. This is this constellation. This star is named this. If you look closely, you can see this planet. I looked harder when I got the courage to take another peek as if I just may see him. In the stars? In the night sky? I don’t know why I thought he would be there. I guess if he can’t be here with us on earth, the Heavens would be his first choice. The glory of night sky always spoke to my dad of the glory of our God. He taught me to love it too. So before my tears froze to my face, I hugged my boys and picked up another snowball and played some more.

We’ve played a lot during these snow days. The days where normal rhythm is suspended and fun must be had. For we all know the snow will not last long here. I’ve moved slower allowing my body to ease into the day, linger in pajamas, and stay on the floor playing one more game of Connect 4. I wish I could suspend so many of my days with my dad. Go back to them and make them move slower, last longer. Go out and get one more cup of ice cream at the beach. Take a walk along the shore. Drive to his office and be welcomed into his exams rooms and meet his patients. Hear the explanation of the night sky one more time. One more hug. One more kiss. One more snow day. One more of any kind of day with him.

But, I can’t have that. The cardinals, the children, the snowflakes and the night sky will have to do. They will have to remind me of each story I have with him, each wonderful moment that I shared with my dad.

Best Laid Plans of Parenting

Here I sit. Thinking back over my day. The day where life took over and turned in lots of ways I didn’t mean for them to turn. Like that moment when my middle son peed on his box spring in front of his friends. Yes, peed, people. Peed. Or, when my toddler and middle son pulled all the toilet paper out of the bathroom and tore it into little pieces all over the floor. When asked what they were doing, my middle son replied, “making a mess.” Of course, that makes complete sense.

Or, when my daughter who is obsessed with getting water and ice from the frig makes a huge pool on the hardwood floors.  Although I have told her no, made her sit in time out, and taken away her cup she still insist that “I do it, mama” like she’s 22 already and doesn’t need me anymore. Great. Not that I really want to help which is why instead of disciplining her I am sitting at the kitchen table wishing discipline would magically happen and that I didn’t actually have to move my tired body out of my chair, away from my morning coffee that I’m still trying to drink even though its 3:30pm, and reprimand her so this habit doesn’t stay a habit. Fail. It’s a habit.

I’m stuck. I’m stuck with inaction. I cannot move. I cannot discipline. I keep wanting to discipline, be the “strict” mama I was when my oldest son was little. He would turn his head, stop whatever he was doing, and look at me in the eyes when I would clap my hands. When I write that he sounds like a puppy in training which in actuality, toddlers and puppies are not all that different. Reward for good behavior, punish for bad. Teach them to potty on their own, sleep in their own beds, and obey. Yes, pretty much the same. But, I’m not that person anymore.

I keep thinking it will get better at the new house. New rhythm, new routine, new boundaries. No more stress of trying to sale our house, no more moving boxes, but finally a steady routine in a home that is not going to change. But, the changing that has happened is within me. My circumstances have dictated what kind of mother I have become. For some reason, I see that as a failure. I had a set of ideals that I thoughts regardless of how many children we have, where we live or what goes on in our life, I can stick to them. They will obey most of the time, respect me as their mother, respect the things and people around them, listen to what I say, be kind, think smartly and show love to those around them.

But, as I watched my children today, I didn’t see that behavior flowing from their hearts. They were unkind to the neighbor kids, acting out to get my attention, not obeying or listening, and taking advantage of freedoms. I have created a crazy army in my own home that climbs on the table, squirts toothpaste on the carpet, fights with any object that can be used as a toy gun, throws temper tantrums and whines and complains. All the while, I’m sitting, stuck in my own world drowning from exhaustion.

My twins will be two on Friday. My friend whose kids my kids were being unkind to, said, “you’ve made it two years with twins!” It’s been a hard two years. I had and have a lot of support but having children, small children, is just hard. But, as I re-read the list of things my children did today, I’m struck by the fact that those are things children do. They are learning to be productive, kind, smart adults who care about others and make a difference in this world. They are only 2, 2, 4 and 6.

Here’s me preaching to myself: I’m a mama to littles and things aren’t going to look perfect. They are a work in progress and so am I. God knew exactly all that would happen over the last two years and how that would affect me as a mama and specifically a mama to the four under my roof. I need to remind myself of that. Give them grace. Give myself grace. The time will come when I am not as exhausted as I am now. Moving will be over, our new house will be unpacked, and a new routine will ensue. But, I don’t want to wait for that to accept the grace offer by Christ and hear him say,

“its OK, you are not alone in parenting your children. I have a plan and purpose for your children. I knew exactly what they needed in a mama and I chose you to care for them. You have everything you need in me.”

Please let this wash over me tonight. Let me know its going to be ok and that I am not failing as a parent. My best laid plans of mothering one child is not the same mother I have become to four children 6 years later. And, really, I hope in 6 years, I am not the same mama to them then as I am now. May I be wiser, kinder, and more gracious to myself and those around me and especially to my sweet children under my roof who will be 8, 8, 10, and 12. There, mamas, breathe with me. It’s going to be OK.

Jaws and Christmas Carols

Right now I am thinking about how deeply sad I am. My heart just aches. Like, actually aches. I can feel it. I felt it tonight when my husband turned on the Christmas station and the song came on that the carolers sing in the Jaws movie. Both, Christmas and the Jaws movie make me think of my dad. I had to walk out of the room. My escape? The laundry room. Because we know no one else in my family is going to willingly go in there. I cried. A. Lot. I wiped my face with a baby wipe and returned to the rest of dinner clean up while the kids rough housed with Jeremiah.

Grief doesn’t give you a warning or wait until you are prepared to be sad, until you have taken off your non-water proof mascara. But, luckily, I haven’t worn make up except to church in months. The summer tan is no longer saving me. Henry said tonight, mom, why is your face so red? Jeremiah said, honey, you looked tired. Sadness, four children, moving in 3 days, and general aging is taking its toll.

Maybe I need to at least put the waterproof mascara on and some pressed powder. You would think that really wouldn’t be that hard. Two minutes tops right? Then, why isn’t it happening? I remember a few years ago, pre-twins, I even put those two items, along with some lip-gloss in my car hoping that could encourage the habit. Once the kids are buckled, I will certainly do it. Bert’s Bees is about it. Fail. But, my dad always thought I was beautiful. He told me every.single.time. he saw me. In gym clothes, 9 months pregnant with twins, my wedding day, his face looked the same. I was adored. He really was my first love. There is no one I felt better around. I enjoyed myself the most with him.

He showed me what it meant to be comfortable in my skin, to take a compliment, and that kindness mattered. I wanted many more years with him to learn that even more; to see him walk out his days in such kindness, such beauty, such friendship. I wanted my children to see it. I wanted my husband to see it. There was just not enough time.

He would have loved this weekend coming up. I’m literally going crazy with stress but I can picture him walking up my huge front steps with his blue Duke sweatshirt on and khaki pants, saying “its all going to be ok.” He would hug Henry and Callaway, and kiss Lindley and Mills wishing them a happy second birthday. He would have loved to hold them, see them blow out their candles, and open their presents. He would have loved our new house, seeing our life unfold at my “big girl house” as my mom called it. He would have played with the kids in the back yard while mom and I arranged pictures and moved furniture so many different places. He would have been so happy because we were happy.

I don’t know why he isn’t still here with us. I don’t know why he left us so early. God’s timing is perfect even when it is not the perfect time for me. I am trying to remember that and not cry through every Christmas song that plays from now until the New Year.

1 Down, Many to Go

“Can Daddoc come to my birthday party?” Callaway asked.

“Well, no,” I explained. “Once you get to Heaven, you stay there.”

“Maybe God will give him a piece of cake, then.”

“I bet so”

Just last year at Callaway’s third birthday party, my dad was the first one here. He wore a superman shirt for the Super Hero birthday party and was happy as could be for Callaway’s big day. As November 2^nd approached this year, I knew it was going to be hard. It was our first real family celebration since dad died. Did I just say that? Dad died. It just still feels like I am writing someone else’s story. But, I’m not. This is my story. Our story. I still don’t want it to be my story but it is nonetheless. So, here we are. Celebrating Callaway the best way we can without all losing it that my dad is not here with us.

My mom arrives and the second we hug, we cry. We know it isn’t right. He would have given anything to be there to sing to Callaway and share in his hyper newly 4 year old energy. We let go of our hug, wipe away our tears and sigh. We can do this. We can make it through this day. And we just might have some joy. For joy is exactly what dad would have wanted for Callaway.

Mom and I took a special treat to Callaway’s preschool. My parents have come up for many holidays at the preschool watching Henry perform as a pilgrim and the boys march together in a Halloween parade. The place is not neutral to my mom even in Richmond. We sing, take pictures, we are trying to be normal.

Later, friends join us, we eat pizza and cut into a rainbow cake filled with m&m’s and skittles. Callaway is ecstatic and probably overdosed on sugar. And, maybe the sugar helped us too. We were filled with joy, we did enjoy the day, and we were excited for Callaway. It was almost normal. But, the normal is just sad. So sad for us who remain and want to spend another birthday with my dad. Remaining here on Earth is so beautiful and yet so tragic at the same time. The love that makes my heart cringe in sadness over how much I miss my dad is the same love that makes me kiss my boys 50x a day.

1 holiday down, many to go. I was almost relieved when the day was over. Whew. November 2^nd, done. But, I don’t want to rush through the special holidays and merely survive without my dad but thrive, love deeply and enjoy each moment being together. He would have certainly done that and as he is eating his rainbow cake with m&m’s and skittles in Heaven, I’m sure he’s encouraging us to do that same.