Monday, August 29, 2011


Slowly, I am learning to be enough, to be okay with me.

Slowly, I am able to smile as I watch my boys alternately fight and play, scream and laugh.

Slowly, I am find myself being okay with just watching them, knowing I am here for them if they need or want to run to me, instead of filling myself with anxiety at how much they fight and how bad of a Mom I am.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for drowning in postpartum depression after Jonnie was born.

Slowly, I am forgiving myself for not being able to give Braelin the one on one attention he neeeded as he had to learn to adjust to the new baby that took his place.

I am recognizing that they already have forgiven me. They still run to me and hug me, smiling, after I come home from a day at work.

They still want to sit on my lap and read stories in the rocking chair, still want to walk with me to the park.

Slowly, I am able to see the love my older kids still have for me. They have traded in that tiny child relationship for a pre-adult relationship, and while they may not run to hug me when I come home from work... they still smile when I make them dinner.

Slowly, I am able to see that even though my relationship with them is not the picture I had painted in my head... it is a good relationship still. 

I am recognizing that my daughter will still ask for help with homework when she needs it, and still hugs me tightly each morning and night... even if I was a little hard on her that day.

My son still, occasionally, talks for 20 minutes straight about one subject, even though I can only get one or two word answers from him any other time.

He'll still connects, albeit on his own terms, and I am slowly becoming okay with that.

Slowly, I am allowing me to see myself as something besides a horrible mom.

Slowly, I am able to see that the things I see myself lacking in have actually broadened their abilities and independence.

Slowly, I am seeing that the important thing isn't for me to have already done it right -- but for me to keep doing my best.

Slowly, I am finding an acceptance for me.

I like it. I am enough.

Be Enough Me

Sunday, August 28, 2011



Retreat from it all
You're not throwing in the towel
Or leavin before

You're strong and courageous
You've weathered the storm
You're trying to hang on but
You've been here before


Give yourself room
You can't hold it inside
Those tears need to flow

You're more than the feelings
You've got locked inside
Look up and you'll make it
Give yourself room to cry


Take time to assess
A moment to breathe
A moment to rest

You're strong and courageous
You've weathered the storm
You're trying to hold on but
You've been here before


You don't have to be strong
It's okay to ask
For a moment alone

You're stronger for taking
A step back, to the side
Recharge and recover
Reflect and decide


Monday, August 22, 2011


It changes your
View of the heartbreaks
The mirrors and pieces
And fragments, rearranges
The clouds in the sky
Filled with grey
So strange when you
Open your eyes and
The rain soaks the ground
And the crowds
Pass you by
'Cause your heart
Isn't weighed anymore
'Cause the rain
Washed the tears
From your face
When you 
Looked up
And saw the clouds
Race with the wind
And the storms
Out of place
When the trees never bend and
Perspective it changes
Your view
Of the tempest
The waves crashing 'round
Don't seem loud when the water
And the ocean of life
Catches you unawares with its
Beauty and grace
When the sun finds its place
With the waves
And the ocean, the breeze
And the trees
Turning gold as the
Sun starts to sink
And your pieces and
Fragments and heartbreak and storms
Turn to blue
Your perspective is fresh
And its clean and its new
And your eyes fill with tears
Of contentment and years
Seem to fade and to wash
With the love that was given
It changes within.

Thursday, August 11, 2011

Things I Can't Say...

Tears fall and I can't help it. My heart aches and it hurts to remember, to feel, and yet 
I can't stop feeling. 
I've tried over the years to not let this part of my heart hurt, or remember... 
but how could I ever expect it to forget?

And so, when it is three days after my own daughter's birthday...
five days after Ryan's...
the 20th of July, October 6th, each January, every August...
always when it is the week of Thanksgiving... 
and with every Cowboy Christmas Tree I see...
and again tonight, and so many nights, when I have just looked through pictures of her boys with their grins and girlfriends and new fiancee, and her daughters with their beautiful faces, beautiful hair and beautiful eyes...
I cry. 

I cry, I cry, and I cry.

You see...
many years ago I had a friend, a beautiful friend. She was good, and strong. She was determined, and worked hard to do what she felt was right. She was a good mommy and fiercely protective of her babies. She put up with me because I married her husband's best friend... and then as time went on, there came a time when she actually loved me for me, and was a friend as friends should be. 

And then, 
her heart broke.
How could it not? Her babies went to heaven and part of her heart went with them. 
But what she didn't know was that my heart was broken too. 
I loved her babies, I loved her children. I loved her, and didn't know how to help her, didn't know how to take away her pain. How could I? How could anyone? 
Nobody can understand the pain a mother feels who has lost a child until one of their own returns home to heaven's arms. And nobody could understand my friend's pain, for she lost three. 

And so, as much as I tried, I didn't help her. I couldn't help her. And the more I tried, the more I hurt her. The more I reminded her that her babies were gone, and mine were still here. The more I reminded her that she was hurt, and that there was no way I could know, could understand, or could ever be enough of a friend.

She had been there for me through some of my own tough times, and now she needed a friend and 
I wasn't enough. I couldn't be.
In fact by trying, I pushed her farther and farther away. 

Her memories are different than mine. She remembers I put my baby down in front of her, hurting her more, twisting the knife that was already slicing through her heart, searing her with pain. 

I remember I left my baby home, even arguing with my husband because I refused to bring the baby with us. He didn't think it would matter, but I knew it would. 
I didn't want to hurt her, and so I wouldn't bring the baby. 
But in her memory, my baby was there anyway. 

She remembers that I left dishes in the sink, laundry on the floor, and folded the towels wrong. 
I remember that I cleaned the kitchen counters, folded the baskets of clothes, and cleaned up after 
her baby was born.

She remembers that I upset her kids, ruined her mop, and was tempted to leave my marriage, my love.
I remember that I babysat so she could have a break. I held her little boy while he whimpered in pain with a tube in his belly, praying for Jesus to help him know how much he was loved and to ease the pain. I remember that I worked hard to mop the floors and have her house clean when she came home, so that she could rest some more before their family came over to barbecue.
I remember that I didn't leave, that I learned to love more, and that 
I never once gave her reason to be ashamed.

I can't change her mind. She never thought to ask what I remembered, why, or what I was thinking. 
It doesn't matter.
But it does hurt. Still. 

How can I change her memory?
How can I take away that pain?
How can I take heal those hurts? They are bigger than me.

I tried. Believe me I tried. I tried everything from talking to her, to not talking to her, to reaching out to her, to staying out of her way, and everything I could think of in between. 

And that seemed to work the best. To stay away. To just stop coming around. To say hi from a distance, if we happened to meet. To stay away from her memories, away from her pain. To leave her to her hurts, her healing, and her new friends. 

And she has healed. She is still healing. 
She still loves, she still aches, but she is happy.
She enjoys life. 
She enjoys her kids.
She is still a good mommy.
And still fiercely protective. 
She is healthy, and beautiful, and loved.

Jesus brought her peace. He rocks her babies, and holds her heart in His hands when it feels like shattering. At least, that's what I believe.

She still doesn't understand me, and still doesn't believe that I didn't bring my baby to the viewing. 
In her memory, I still taunt. 
I still represent pain. 

I would suppose seeing me brings back waves of emotion, but I know better. 
She is past me. Past my friendship, however weak and meager it may have been. 

But there is one thing I cherish. A card she gave me with a floral wreath 
made into the shape of a heart, before her babies went to live in Heaven. 
Before I caused her so much pain.

Inside, it simply says, "Just because I love you. Thanks for being my best friend."

And if there is one thing I could say to her still, it would be this...

"I love you too. 
Thanks for teaching me so much.
I am glad you are happy. I am glad you found peace, and smiles, and joy. 
 I miss you."

With love,
Your Friend

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