Jennifer's Writings

Lots on My Mind

I received an email this morning from my sister:

I was actually thinking hard this weekend that I'm soon 32, the age Shawn died and wondered, what have I done that I'm proud of?  What have I accomplished?  What kind of person am I?  We always think... we have our ENTIRE life to create, do, explore, be.  But what if your ENTIRE life is 32 short years....lots on my mind.

Insightful. Intuitive. Important.

Her same questions have commanded my attention since Shawn died. People will comment to me, "How do you accomplish everything you do?" or "How do you write a book while raising young children?" or "Where do you find the energy?"

My answer? How can I not work hard? How can I not follow after my dreams and passions...the things that most interest me? How can I not be true to myself? How can I not use up every ounce of energy?

This is my one and precious life. This is my one and only chance. I have no idea if my days are short or long. I want to live proud with what I have contributed to my children, myself, my world.

I'm Just a Little Girl

Maddi and I like to sing songs together at bedtime. I sing her one that my grandma taught me:

I'm just a little girlie, I'm only four years old.

My mommy never scolds me, I do as I am told.

I play all day with dollies, till supper time grows near.

Then quickly down the street I run, to meet my daddy dear.

There might be dads as nice as him but I don't think there are.

For I have hugged him lots of times when he gets home from work.

I often wonder if I should keep singing this song to her as it talks about a dad coming home and that is something that never occurs in our day to day living. But, I love the song and I have sung it to my kids since they were born. I love that my grandma used to sing it to me and I love that it is one of Madelynn's favorites.

Jordan created his own version--adapting they lyrics he sings, "I'm just a little boy, I'm only five years old..." In his rendition he plays all day with trucks and skateboards and hot-wheels (doesn't fit the song rhythmically all that well, but it works.)

Tonight Maddi asked me, "How old are you, Mom?"

"I'm thirty-six."

She giggled and sang, "I'm just a little girlie, I'm only thirty-six years old..."

Then she asked me to sing the whole song and I changed the words to fit. Instead of playing with dollies I wash dishes and write on my laptop. I replaced the word dad with husband.

"Who was your husband?" Maddi asked.

"Your dad." I told her.

"No, way!" She exclaimed.

"Yes, way." I said, her humor always engaging.

"So, when you were little grandma was your mommy and Shawn was your husband?" she replies, connecting the dots.

"Well, it was awhile ago," I said. "But, I wasn't too little." I wasn't sure quite how to explain.

"Shawn is daddy?" she asked.

"Yes," I said. "And he liked to sing just like you!"

"Sing the big girl song again," she told me. Her dimples exaggerated by the deep grin on her face.

We sang extra long tonight. I know the song may not fit perfectly, but I do know that's alright.

What Day

“Tell me the story about my dad, Mom,” Jordan asked while I was fixing lunch.

“What story?” I asked, thinking he wanted me to tell him about hiking on Father’s Day or changing his diaper in the backseat of the car or going to Menards.

“The story about how he died,” my son replied.

My lips tightened.

“Did my dad see the car?” Jordan asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Why didn’t he try to run away?”

“He did,” I told him. “He ran very fast.”

“How do you know?” he asked me.

“Because I knew your dad very well, and I know he could run very fast…like Spiderman.”

Jordan smiled, like he already knew that. “What day did my daddy die?”

“Tuesday, September 6th” I replied, thinking that little boys shouldn’t have to ask such big questions.

I wondered if what he was really asking me was what day did life so drastically change. 

High/Low

My kids and I like to play the High/Low Game. I ask them several times a week to tell me their high point and low point from the day. They like to ask me the same.

Backing out of the driveway on our way to the grocery store, I pulled up to the mailbox.

Maddi quickly asked, "Can I please get the mail, Mom?"

I had to bite my tongue. Letting Maddi get the mail would be, at a minimum, a two-minute process. She would first need to unbuckle from her car seat, next physically get out of the truck to actually reach the mail box, then she would hand me the mail through my window piece by piece before climbing back into her seat and buckling .If she needed help to buckle again, it would add another good twenty seconds.

I let her get the mail.

Tonight when I asked my children their highs and lows from the day, Maddi volunteered to go first.

"My low was falling down at the park."

"And your high?" I asked.

"My high was getting the mail," she told me.

Suddenly the extra 120 seconds were worth it. Something completely routine for me was a highlight for her. She felt big. She felt helpful. She felt important.

My high? Contributing to helping her feel that way.

The Man with One Leg

The other day in the parking lot at the library, my children and I saw a man with only one leg. We had just read a book the day before about manners and how it is impolite to stare.

They could not quit staring. The man was hobbling to his trunk to assemble a scooter that looked very similar to the manual scooters my kids have in the garage.

I kept telling the man to have a good day while trying to usher my kids inside. On my third attempt he smiled at me and said, “It is okay for them to watch me.”

Maddi was impressed, “We have scooters, too! And Jordan can go faster than me. But, I tell him ‘it’s not a race!’”

“Why do you only have one foot?” Jordan asked.

“Because many years ago I had bone cancer,” the man replied.

“Do you have a knee?” Jordan wanted to know.

“No, I don’t have a knee,” the man wiggled his pant leg for us to see that his leg had been amputated at the hip.

“Why don’t you use crutches?” Jordan continued.

“Because after awhile they start to hurt my arms,” the man said.

We followed him into the library. He waited for us by the door and held it open for us, balancing on the seat of the scooter using his other leg to maneuver. The man’s spirit was light and welcoming.

I thought about my own loss. About how I have often told people, “If I could have my life with Shawn back I wouldn’t waste our time on things that do not matter.”

I wondered what this man would say about his leg. If I could have my leg back, I would never again complain about having to walk too far when the parking lot is full. I would never miss my chance for morning exercise where I don’t even have to think twice if my legs can handle it. I would never take for granted getting in and out of my car with ease without ever having to assemble an apparatus each and every time I wanted to go somewhere.

How easy it is to never think about a blessing in our lives until it is forever gone.

Thank you, God for my two legs, two arms, two hands, two eyes, two ears, two children and numerous chances within each day to be thankful.

How To

My sister called today and told me about a new book she is reading on how to lose weight naturally. The new chairs I bought for my deck came with a how to assemble instruction sheet. Yesterday I picked up a free brochure at the library displaying a bold heading on how to create a reading environment for your kids. My eyes gravitated to the words how to as I read them again and again.

It’s funny that I live in a “how to” world and I’m having one of those “how to” sort of days. It seems like I should be able to figure it out or at least buy a book that has it all figured out.

I want to know how to be a single mom, how to be single period, how to live life when the void never seems to go away. Add to the list how to stay motivated, how to find energy to keep up with my preschoolers, how to see the positive side when I have a litany of negatives to tackle.

Jordan broke a picture last night by accident. He started to cry, “I’m so sorry I broke your picture, Mom. I’m so sad that I broke it.”

I immediately told him we could fix it. Although that may have been a stretch and I think he knew it because he pressed for my how-to-repair-large-broken-ceramic-pieces solution.

“We’ll find the biggest bottle of super glue ever made and we will put it back together,” I said making myself sound confident that this could work or at least make him laugh.

This didn’t stop the tears as Jordan said, “I’m still sad, Mom. I’m sad that daddy died.”

I went to bed wondering how to help him heal. How to make this better. How to keep going. How to live inside the peaks and valleys of life instead of pretending life is a strait plain. How to balance broken plates with broken hearts. How to find new ideas when I feel like I’ve tried most of the ones out there.

But, then again, it would be kind of arrogant to say I have it all under control. To boast that I know how to do all of this. In truth, I don’t know how to do any of this very well.

How to live with loss. Is that even a probable "how to" question? It seems more like a set up. How can it be possible to write out directions for something that’s very nature is a trial and error process?

How to do this? Try. Try Again. And then try some more.

Experiencing God's Greater Yes

My sister Deanna called last Thursday to check in on me. I was downstairs in my office reviewing notes for my book signing talk called "Experiencing God's Greater Yes" at Epiphany Catholic church that evening. I heard my daughter pick up the phone from the kitchen.

When Maddi discovered who was on the line she exclaimed, "Auntie, I'm making a mess!"

I bolted upstairs to find Maddi on the floor with numerous paper towels diligently working to wipe up a large splat of glittery, non-water soluble, marker-tube paints--a gift from a very kind babysitter. Her efforts, however, were smearing the accurate description of the word "mess" into an even bigger issue.

I glanced over at Jordan who was nailing a picture he had designed into our living room wall. Quickly assessing the damage, I counted approximately ten nails.

"Jordan," Not even knowing where to begin, I said, "You need to ask permission before you use things such a tools in our house."

"I did," he replied, "I asked God and he said YES!"

How is a mom supposed to answer that?

My eyes glanced over at all the additional dents that had been made with each hammer stroke. I looked at my son and he looked at me almost like he was reading my mind and told me, "Oh, Mom, the dents aren't that bad are they? Just remember, God is in control!"

"Yes," I had to agree with my son. Digging deep for some mommy wisdom I added, "God also wants us to take care of and respect our property."

"Okay," Jordan nodded, "Can I have a second chance? Because God is the God of second chances."

He was making this harder and harder for me to discipline. Who knew Sunday school could work so well for rebuttals.

"Yes, Jordan," I said, "And, Mommy is the Mommy of second chances...not third or fourth or fifth ones!"

I looked over at his sister who had decided to use the very same alibi as her brother and without hesitation blurted in one breath, "I-painted-a-picture-for-Grandma-Bonnie-and-God-made-me-do-it!"

I thought about the talk I had yet to give that night.  Wouldn't it be great if we could all experience God like children...in such vivid and real ways?  Completely trusting and relying even in (especially in) the midst of a mess? Taking hold of our second chances for the greater yes God has in mind for us.

 

Book Signing

It has been a big and busy week with book signings and the book launch. I have met many extraordinary people. One woman told me she had read about my book in the Star Tribune and knew she needed to come see me. She bent down by the book signing table and began our conversation stating, "I don't believe in chances, there is a reason I am here."

Her eyes welled with tears as she asked me to write an inscription in her book from a letter I wrote to Shawn the morning after he died. The sentence read, "If I could talk to you today, I would not waste a single breath on things that do not matter."

I know no details about her story. I only know she was hurting. And that the vision I had of my book two years ago, before it ever existed, was a vision of comfort. That if someone picked up my book they would feel a connection and know that someone else has been through pain. And sometimes the best thing when we are hurting is to know we aren't alone.

This week I have seen many friends, family and strangers. And I believe stronger than ever this book was meant to be. It wasn't by chance. There is a reason the book is here.

 

Photo Courtesy of Tara Owen with Tara Lee Photography

The Boring Stuff

"It might sound boring, but sometimes it's the boring stuff I remember most." -Boyscout to 78 year old Carl in the new Disney Pixar Movie Up.

I took my kids to this movie yesterday and found myself using concession stand napkins to wipe away tears at the end of the show. The overall message points to the truer meaning of life and relationships--one that we easily miss when we are so wrapped up in the daily issues and responsibilities of living.

Sometimes we wait our whole life long to have an adventure. We say that we will be happy when we get the next promotion. We think we will be content when we buy that brand new boat. We believe we will finally relax when we go on vacation.

We live so far into the future that we often forget to be present to the moment in front of us. Somehow we don't realize that today is part of our adventure. And that many times the most ordinary things are the things that are most missed when gone.