From an article originally posted December 12, 2013…
Yesterday was a good day. It was a great, good day. Since the start of my story with cancer it was the first call that didn’t have my sad oncologist on the other end of the line. I cried yesterday. I laughed, I danced, and I explained this good news in excruciating detail to my kids. It was my first good news to share.
My mom died on the day of Kara’s passing, just 1 year later. I woke up the morning of March 22nd and knew that day would be the day Mom went to be with Jesus. For 4 days my dad, brother, sister, and I had sat vigil. She was alert and talking. In pain, but able to know which one of us was with her. She spoke to angels and she spoke to people on the other side of the veil. If I had heavenly eyes, I’m sure I would have seen the room filled with people we all loved, people who meant a lot to her. I lose my breath when I think of the way she rubbed my hand right up til the end, like she had always done.
From an article originally posted December 10, 2013…
I find myself in the midst of another day for my grace dress. This dress is tired, this dress is worn. I hold it to the light and see the hard year it has lived. Every chemo, most radiations, surgeries, hard appointments, sad days and many sad nights, this dress has seen better days.
The first time I went to a counselor for my depression was sixth grade. At a loss for how to address my issues, my parents sent me to see Mr. Mac, the counselor at my elementary school. As if I weren’t already misfit enough as a new kid that year with my bowties and Madonna socks and gloves (in addition to calling Mr. Ibbotson, our teacher, “Mama” in front of the entire class), I was taken out of the classroom once a week to talk with Mr. Mac. And everyone knew it—one wall of his second-floor office was all windows, overlooking the school’s common area.
I hated sitting on his orange sofa surrounded by motivational posters, as if I would feel better simply by smiling more often or “hanging in there.” Hanging in there until what? What would change how I felt? And was anyone going to help that kitten hanging off the tree branch?
From an article originally posted December 9, 2013…
Recently someone kindly wrote me and encouraged me to write letters for my children for their futures. My heart thought, I am. Every blog post is a letter for my people. This voice of mine, it’s what I have. I write, and write, and write, and truly at the heart of my prolific writing is that my kids will one day journey here and hear my heart. My guy, my kids, my community, it feels like a legacy. I want to be here to walk through their hard days and offer them grace, but knowing my story, I feel compelled to come to this place, and my own journal, so they can know me, hear me, be pointed to Jesus, and find grace to see their way through hard days.
