Jennifer's Writings

Exuberance

Isn’t it an added surprise when two things fall out of a vending machine instead of one? It feels like a bonus, like something right is going on in the universe…a child-like version of winning the lottery.

Maddi and I went to the YMCA this morning and she discovered a lone dollar in my pocket. All smiles she asked if we could buy a treat. I caved. There is something about a little girl in braids and a dashing dimple that makes it difficult to say no.

I tried to convince her to select a granola bar, she wanted the chewy Sweet Tarts. We watched as the item holder started to spiral for the candy to fall out. It seemed to be going ultra slow and I was nervous it would stop before letting the candy drop. Instead, the opposite occurred, rotating twice to allow two bags to fall.

Maddi couldn’t believe her small fortune. Her eyes looked like the pastel candy itself as she told me, “Jordan is going to be really proud of me!  Now I have one for me and one for him!”

We went to the front desk to tell them what happened and the assistant told Maddi, “It’s your lucky day.”

Maddi agreed, nodding while she talked, “It was a very special dollar because it gave us two!”

She could barely wait to tell her brother what happened when he got off the bus. She gave him a big hug and said, “I have a really good surprise for you…it’ a treat!”

I watched her exuberance. The joy in receiving and the joy in sharing. And it was better than getting two things out of a vending machine. It was an uplifting surprise to my day…my own sweet bonus.

Opportunity

I showed up late this morning to work out with my trainer. He had another appointment after me that couldn't be switched and told me, "We have an opportunity." He then suggested the options to work out on my own, reschedule for the next day or try to do an abridged workout to save time.

I was intrigued how he approached my shortcoming of being late with choices and suggested we view the situation as an opportunity. Not many people can do that. Being late is annoying. He could have easily made the decision for me. You're late, you missed it, so sad. Instead, he looked for a solution.

Each day we have opportunities sitting in front of us--in our relationships, marriages, work, free-time. I don't think we can ever be reminded enough to seize the opportunity.

True at Any Age

We were swimming at the YMCA yesterday when a young girl asked Jordan how old he was and told him that she was twelve. Jordan then asked me, “Are you older than twelve, Mom?”

I nodded with amusement and answered, “Yes, I’m older. I’m thirty-six.”

The girl looked at me with question and said, “My mom is thirty-six and you look a lot younger than her. You look like you’re in your twenties!”

The deception of age, I chuckled to myself. I gave my kids a ten minute countdown preparing them to leave.

Maddi bargained, “I want 100 minutes more…one-two-skip-a-few...ninety-nine-one-hundred!”

Jordan splashed his sister with water and said, “She’s hilarious.”

On the way home Maddi told us, “My daddy loved me when I was a baby and I never saw him. Now he knows I’m a four cuz he can hear me saying four.”

I can only hope she is right.

We passed a car crash and Maddi asked, “Where’s daddy’s police car?”

“At the police department,” I told her.

“Did someone have to drive it back for him?” she wanted to know. “Were there other police officers there? Did they have two keys?”

My heart was sinking as my four year old asked questions that no one at any age should ever have to ask. Questions I haven't even considered. Did they have two keys? How did the car get back to the department that chaotic day?

We pulled into the driveway and Maddi gave me a sly grin, the kind that tells me she knows a secret. “Mommy, Daddy’s home,” she started. “He snuck in the house and he’s hiding inside. For real! I’m not kidding, Mom. I’m true. I’m not even lying.”

I’m true, my daughter said. What a beautiful concept for any age…to be true. True to ourselves, true to our beliefs, true to the people around us.

I want to be true. No matter how much the truth hurts. No matter how hard the challenge to be true. That's how I want to be. I hope at thirty-six I can steal her line and say, "I'm true....for real."

Giver's Gain

I had lunch last week with a favorite friend and past co-worker from what now seems like a different lifetime. We started out in Human Resources together before I was married and I miss the chance to see her daily.

Our lunch lasted four hours. The waitress seemed baffled.

One of the things my friend told me is that in her new business the best found advice is to remember giver's gain.

And so it is with grief and loss and relationship and healing. Each time we give a layer of comfort is made. We could never imagine the gain by such a simple gesture. The gain that starts with a generous heart.

If you have some extra time today, check out my friend Ericka's new website. Her continuous giving not only impresses me, but inspires.

www.h-r-now.com

Hammock

Tonight Jordan and I swung in the hammocks under our deck reading a book he had checked out from the school library. It was a simple moment and still the highlight of my day.

Think about it. No money, no huge event, no running, no scheduled practice for sports or something else, no interruptions by the phone, no urgent emails to read, no hurry to make dinner, no tug of war with the never ending to-do list.

Was it fifteen minutes--maybe twenty? It really doesn't matter. What matters is that I noticed. I recognized the time with value.

When we were done reading, Jordan reached his hand over to touch mine and said, "I love you, Mom." And that was my second highlight of swinging in the hammocks together.

Practice

There is so little time in this life to build relationships.

Dancing around the living room like they are in the movie Greece, Jordan stops to tell Maddi, “I don’t want to play Barbie’s and bracelets.”

Maddi agrees to play gymnastics and they both seem satisfied. She tells him, “I’m going to be a fighter-fighter when I grow up.”

Jordan says, “It’s fire-fighter, Maddi. Say fire-fighter.”

For a little girl who doesn’t pronounce the letter “r” this is a challenge.

Jordan skips the lesson and tells her, “Maddi, I’m going to be a fire-fighter, a detective and a police officer.”

I decide to interrupt and ask them their high point of the day to which they unanimously announce "the sandbox at the park." Maddi likes to have the last word and adds the ice-cream sandwich they shared.

Jordan tells her, “That’s not part of the sandbox.”

“Yes, it was,” she says.

“No, it wasn’t,” he says back and then as if on cue to start a new game, “Maddi, when I say, ‘no it wasn’t'…you say 'it was too.’ Now let’s practice.”

The volley begins.

“Yes, it was,” he tells her.

“It was, too!” she replies.

“Yes, it was.”

“It was, too!”

“Good!” Jordan concludes, “Practice that every day.”

Practice. Anything of value takes practice. Our precious relationships should be at the top of that list.

At the end of the day who would I really miss? Who would really miss me? It's never too late to practice. Never too late to spend intentional time with those we love.

Love Big

I have these two stunning little people that live with me. Woke up today to my four year old daughter emptying and loading the dishwasher. Jordan tried to help his sister but dropped a plastic bowl.

“You’re a disaster,” Maddi told him.

Shoulders slouched, Jordan asked, “Maddi, don’t you love me?”

“Yes, I love you,” she said, “But, you’re still a disaster.”

I sat amused, better than watching reality television—probably because its my reality.  I looked over at the counter to see a lunch packed for preschool, even though they only need snacks. Maddi’s smile was eager as she told me, “I made a peanut butter sandwich.” 

Maybe Jordan is more of an outside-chore type of kid. I was reminded of garbage day last week when I asked Jordan to put the trash receptacle at the end of the driveway and wonder how many five year olds are asked to do something like that. Do I ask them to be too big? 

Then I think they are able.  Let them be big because my kids are able.

They are able to learn. They are able to share. They are able to contribute. They are able to help. They are able to love. They are able to add such joy in the middle of such brokenness. They do not view our life as broken. They view our life to be exactly as it is.

It is my job to show them, lead them, teach them that in this lifetime we are able to tackle what is in front of us. We are able to embrace what surrounds us. We are able to appreciate what has been given to us. And we are able to love each other in a big way.

Jordan came home from his first day of Kindergarten and yelled, “Maddi, I’m ho-me!”

She ran to the steps and said, “I’m coming!”

“Did you miss me?” he asked. His sister nodded as Jordan engulfed her in a hug and told her, “I love you!”

These little people love in a big way. I want to love like that.

Bank Deposit

My aunt sent me an email today that is worth the two minutes to read. Hope it helps you view your weekend different...use up all your seconds!

Suppose you have a bank that credits your account each morning with $86,400; but it does not carry that balance over from day to day, does not allow you to keep a cash balance, and every morning cancels the remaining balance of whatever you did not use the following day.  What would you do?  Draw out every cent, of course!

Well, everyone DOES have such a bank.  Its name is TIME.  Every morning, it credits you with 86,400 seconds.  Every night it writes off, as a loss, whatever of this amount you have failed to invest to good purpose.  It carries over no balance and allows no overdrafts.  Each day it opens a new account for you.  Each night it burns the records of the day.  If you fail to use the days deposits, the loss is yours-there is no going back.  There is no drawing against the "Great Tomorrow."  You must live in the present, on today's deposits. The past is irretrievable, treasure your memories. Invest it so as to get from it the utmost in health and happiness. 

The clock is running, make the most of today. 

The Seventh

I read the comment by “Roads” in London from my post a few days back called, Your Heart Matters. The insight is striking, sharing how suffering occurs daily around the world through both natural and political disasters concluding, “What's happened is really that our miraculous cocoon of good fortune has been punctured, and suddenly we've been brought the gift of so much understanding that we completely lacked before.”

Now another miraculous cocoon has been pierced. Early yesterday morning a North St. Paul Police officer was shot and killed. As soon as I received the news I asked, “Does he have a wife? Does he have children?” I can no longer look the other way, because I now understand what I lacked before. I know that their world is unraveling and they have yet to see the darkest part. Because loss and grief do not limit themselves to a day or a week or even a year. It's impossible to measure the devastation.

I was asked what I would say to the family. I am here. That is what I will say over and over until I find a way to help. I am here...along with a community that grieves with you.

The compassion of many is what continues to sustain me in my walk.

We can’t make it better, but we can walk alongside.

I am here.

The Sixth

It’s been four years. How can four years feel like yesterday and forever all at the same time? I guess loss is hard to measure by a time line.

Last night, the Lino Lakes Police Department brought over a Dairy Queen cake. The Chief suggested bringing something the kids would like. They were already asleep when it was delivered, but I promised they would feast on it today. We opened the cake this morning, my kids grabbed bowls and spoons and extra smiles. They couldn’t believe their mom would let them eat ice cream for breakfast. I told them that so many people knew how special their daddy was that they wanted us to celebrate.

We read cards from cousins Ashlyn and Evan about their memories of Uncle Shawn, how he used to balance cups on his eyes and a spoon on his nose. I tried to balance a spoon to show them. “Can you do it, Mom?” Jordan asked.

“No,” I laughed.

“He was tricky,” Maddi said.

“Yes,” I agreed, “He was very tricky. Just like you, Madelynn!”

She grinned, licking Oreo-cookie off her spoon. Then she hid her bowl behind a bag and asked for seconds. When I asked for her bowl, she said it disappeared. “I’m being tricky,” she chuckled with her deep prankster laugh that turns into a hysterical giggle.

“You're just like your dad, Maddi.”

“I’m always going to be tricky,” she said with a sureness that told me she will always be connected to her dad.

We spent yesterday having a picnic with my in-laws at the memorial rock sculpture dedicated to Shawn in Lino Lakes. On the way home we passed the accident site and instead of telling my kids about how their dad died, I described our last lunch together.

Jordan had sat on a bar stool acting older than he was, propped next to his dad at the kitchen table and Maddi was on the other side swinging in her baby swing. We had eaten ravioli and salad. We had waved goodbye extra long in the driveway before Jordan pressed the garage door button, his job whenever daddy left for work. We had sent a card with a fish on it for Shawn to open on his break to tell him he was the best dad in the world. He had read it because it was found sitting open next to his computer.

"What did daddy eat at work?" Jordan asked.

"He had been snacking on tomatoes and peppers and cucumbers," I said.

"I'm glad he didn't have a chili pepper," Jordan told me, "Cuz, chili peppers are spicy."

"I'm glad, too," I said, not mentioning that I wished Shawn would have had his favorite foods on that last day, beef Stroganaugh, BBQ ribs, French Silk pie.

"Did he have carrots?" Maddi asked.

"I think so," I told her, bothered that as much as I try I can't remember every detail.

Back home from our time at the park, I grabbed our mail and started bath time, book time and bed time.

A stranger sent me a pendant made of shattered, imperfect glass with a note that said, “It reminds me of your life story broken and beautiful.”

My sister spent the night and I told her, “I’m very lucky.”

How can I say this on the night my husband was killed? The night I was told I would never see him again, talk to him again, kiss him again, argue with him again, laugh with him again?

The only reason I can say I’m fortunate is by the grace and compassion of a community that chose to embrace me. A community that says it doesn’t matter if it has been four years or fourteen years or forty four years. We aren’t using a time line to measure. We are gauging this loss by how it has touched our lives—we are connected.

It's Cool Chick

For the past day and a half I've been texting a girl somewhere in the south who I believed to be my sister, never realizing I've accidentally been using an old cell phone number. Early this morning I receive a text that says who is this?

I write back as if she's the foolish one, Jennifer your sister.

Minutes later she writes back, This is Sheena. I don't have any sisters.

I immediately apologize and she quickly texts, It's cool chick.

I laugh. Part of me wants to keep texting her. But, a cool chick probably wouldn't do that.

It reminds me of last week when the house was quiet, like being at a funeral. I tried to read, but found it distracting that no one else was around to say anything. The phone rang. I grabbed it as if snatching coins from a winning slot machine. I didn't recognize the out-of-state number and told myself to let it go.  Not willing to miss my chance to talk to another adult I picked up on the fourth ring as if Oprah were calling.

"Hi, is Diana there?" the male voice asked with a thick Latin accent.

"No, you must have the wrong number," I said. But, I'll talk to you anyway, I wanted to add before hanging up.

I met another single parent recently who agreed that one of the most challenging parts of being alone is the silence. He bought a Cockatiel to whistle to when he comes home at night.

I don't want a bird or a dog or a cat. We have a fish which I don't think counts.

Maybe I should text Sheena, the girl without any sisters, and see what she would do.

Identification

We were at the YMCA the other day and Maddi ran into the boys bathroom. "I just wanted to try it," she told Jordan and I when she came out. I held my breath, thankful she was the only one in there. I have always felt bad that Jordan has to come in the women's bathroom with us when we are in public places. I didn't realize that Maddi is just as curious about the men's room. Curious about what it would be like if Daddy were here.

Jordan woke up this same morning telling me, "I dreamt about a kid four wheeler-transformer. Would you want one of those, Mom?"

"Sounds very cool, of course I'd want one," I said.

"I bet dad would want one,too," he told me.

I immediately agreed.

"I don't want just a mommy," he said, burying his head in my lap.

Our play therapist told me this week that my kids, at their ages of four and five, are entering the developmental stage of identifying with the same-sex parent. They want to relate. They want to follow a model. They want to feel a connection and in the absense of their father, they will work even harder to figure out how to identify.

We had homemade sausage pizza for supper tonight. I told them this was their dad's favorite. They beemed.

Your Heart Matters

The most profound part about blogging is when readers email me or post a comment sharing how they relate my words to their own personal life stories. I often print these notes late at night to read before I go to bed. It is crazy to me how comfort comes in many forms often from many people I don't even know.

This story particularly moves me because as my writing helps her, her writing helps me:

I find that I am questioning everything in my life.  My biggest question for God has been this... does my heart matter? Does it matter to HIM that my heart has endured such a beating? Was any of it VALUABLE to HIM? Any of it? Did any of it make a difference? 

Yes, my friend. Your heart matters. You indeed make a difference. I know the pain runs deep. And I know it doesn't instantly go away the way it instantly was inflicted. But, I trust with everything inside of me that your heart matters greatly to God. He made you because he loves you. And that enough tells me you matter.

I don't just say this flippantly. I am writing this to you because I need to hear it myself. I, too, have been asking, does my heart matter? When will the loneliness be filled? How can I keep running on empty?

For anyone tonight who feels severely disappointed by life I wish I could make it better. All I can promise is that I will be real with you--hoping that in some strange way you will find comfort in my honesty.

It Leads Us to a Place

Trying to multi-task tonight, I read bedtime stories to my kids in the bathroom. Maddi’s swimmer itch has turned into infected little bumps and she is now on a regiment of oatmeal baths six times a day. Not wanting to miss out on the story, Jordan tells me to “hang on for one second” as he runs to grab a bar stool.

“Jo-dan is so funny,” Maddi tells me as she swishes the oatmeal in the water.

“No I’m not!” Jordan yells from the kitchen.

“Mom, is Jo-dan funny?” Maddi asks.

I love how I get to be judge, referee, mediator. Wonder if this is because of skill or default.  “Yes,” I answer her question.

“Jo----dan! Mommy said yo funny!” Maddi loves to inform, instruct, report. Her voice echoes as she stands up in the tub acting like this will make her louder.

“I’m not!” Jordan enters with the bar stool and plops on it ready to listen. Maddi nods without saying a word. Hers eyes wide, she looks like a little bobble-head with an expression that says I told you so.

“Ahh! A alligator in the tub,” Maddi hops and water splashes. I remind her to sit down and soak. We go from one game to the next.

Jordan grabs the book we are reading about dragons. He stares at the treasure map and says, “I like the map. It leads us to a place, doesn’t it?”

I nod. He doesn’t notice my grin, but I’m thinking it is good to have a place to go.

He thumbs through the pages, looking pleased like he’s just had a cup of chocolate milk and then hands the book back to me.

I start to read again, though the words blur. It leads us to a place, I think. Each step, each day, each interaction, each hug, each expression, each time we share, each embrace leads us to a place.

Where are going today? What place are you headed to? What stopped you today and made you think? What leads you? What motivates and inspires you to a place of hope?

I would love to hear from you this weekend. Sometimes I print your comments to read late at night when I go to bed. Your sharing leads me to a place of comfort. Hope you are in a good place tonight.

Harvest the Legacy

Each year the 5K Memorial Run gets bigger and better. Bigger isn’t necessarily a measurement of better. But, it does show the event is growing and the better part is that lives are connecting and differences are being made.

I picked up a guide to coping with loss this week. It sounds funny to me that there are guides for grief as if it is the same as purchasing a handbook for traveling to Brazil or a booklet on how to pair wine with steak. None the less, I read that “we live our lives as stories.” And a major loss disrupts the plot. We have to rewrite the novel to make sense again, move the characters in a new way.

We ask, “What does this mean?” and search for something meaningful to fill the blank pages. The revised version creates a path for the central character to persevere. Meaning provides strength for the hero. Making a mark grants highlights to the story that can be shared again and again.

This past Saturday, over 300 people gathered to run the memorial race. Family, friends and strangers joined to create a new story. Raising not only money but awareness, two strong organizations--MN COPS (Concerns of Police Survivors) and Feed My Starving Children--benefited from the generosity of the many who participated. 

The plot never started out this way. I never ran more than ten feet in my previous life. In fact, my dear friend Andrea can assure that when we shared an apartment after college and went for long walks after work, other young professionals would jog by us and I’d say, “I can’t run. And I don’t know how anyone else can or why they would want to.”

Now running is my perseverance. And the charities that we support each year are the heroes. And the people who run with us are making a mark--a highlight to the story that I will recount again and again as I teach my children how to find meaning in this life, the value of working hard, the gift of believing in something greater than yourself.

“Mom, I won the Daisy Dash!” Maddi told me after running the 50 yard dash with 75 other children. She showed off her medal like she had just competed in the Olympics.

At home Jordan rummaged through his kid’s runner bag asking, “Where’s my coloring book from the Shawn Silvera 5K?” speaking the name of the run with ease, a household expression.

The guide book instructs to “Harvest the Legacy.” Listed as item number nine on a list of ten practical things to do to adapt to loss, this suggestion details the need to find new opportunities to apply what loss has taught you and possibly reach out to others in need.  I laugh out loud when I read this because my type A personality wants to cross this off my list and my new character honed by grief reminds me that loss is never about crossing something off.

It is nearly September. The month he died. It is time to reap where tears have been sown.

The run collected an amazing harvest filled with living legacies by a group of dedicated people who gathered to say, I will run. I will volunteer. I will walk. I will cheer. I will hold out water. I will clean up. I will face-paint a smile. I will participate. I will be there. I will help make a difference. I will help rewrite the hurt. I will be a part of your new story.

I invite you to be a part of the race harvest next year.
Save the Date: Saturday, August 28th, 2010.





Jordan, Maddi and Little Buddy after the most popular Daisy Dash!




Jennifer and new friend, Martika!

4th Annual Shawn Silvera Memorial Run

Please join us for the 4th annual Shawn Silvera 5K Memorial Run at Sucker Lake Park in Vadnais Heights, MN at 8am, Saturday morning!  All proceeds go to MN COPS and Feed My Starving Children. We would love to have you walk or run with us. See www.shawnsilvera.org for more details.

I Miss the Music

I miss how he played guitar.

Today of all days, the middle of August, nearly four years since he left and it's the music that I ache to hear. I can see his tan forearms, strong from years of hanging sheet rock, wrapped around his prized acoustic guitar, the color of wheat.

So, I'm playing his favorite music today. Marc Cohn, Dave Matthews, Habib Koite, Third Day. I hear the steel in the guitar, a rough vibrating sound. I imagine him strumming a new rift--practicing over and over until he's satisfied. His eyes are blue-green from concentration. His lips pressed with a guitar pick in-between tells me he's in his element. This is how I remember him.

I met a woman last week who lost her first husband 45 years ago. Left with three young children, she remarried a year after he died. Her eyes were red as she spoke to me, wet like a sponge. "Even after all this time, I still get choked up," she told me. "You'll never forget, Jennifer. And it'll never make sense."

I miss the music. It doesn't make sense. And I can't even end this entry with a positive lift.  I can't tell you that I will learn how to make music again. I can't tell you that new music makes it better. I can't tell you four years out erases a life-time of love.

There's a photo of us on the wall above my desk. I'm hugging him from behind. His right hand holds my left hand over his heart. My other hand is on his shoulder. His arms are crossed over his chest, the sign-language gesture for "I love you."

His fingers are spread flat the way he probably instructed people when taking fingerprints, making an imprint on mine. He's wearing two wedding bands. Pewter gray. One from the day we were married. The other one he wore when we were stationed with the Peace Corps for two years in Honduras.

We look like we match. Not just his light gray t-shirt pressing against my dark gray fleece. It's more. Our eyes are parallel, holding a message that says he knows me.

I miss his music.

The Alive-end Route

My kids spent this past week at YMCA day camp, cute little campers with sunscreen plastered noses, dusty knees, dirty shirts and ketchup rimmed smiles.

Their counselor's names--Bubbles, Shasta and Twister. Jordan has a crush on the game leader, Kimgee and tells me how she helped him with canoeing and archery. He shot a bull’s eye on the first day. Maddi's love--swimming and singing campfire songs. They carry home-made crafts, kites and beaded necklaces.

Driving home from camp, Maddi says to her brother in the back seat of the truck, "I wish daddy could pick us up." Her tone is nonchalant as if she's just asked him for some water.

"Me, too,"

Jordan replies knowing exactly what she means.  "Then he'd never be late cuz he'd have his police car..."

"And he could drive fast." Maddi finishes her brother's sentence.

I drive, peering in the rear view mirror wondering if I am really that late. Self-conscious I assume this is a reflection of me, until I notice how many other dads are coming straight from work to pick up their kids.

Maddi hands Jordan a bag of left over pretzels from lunch, taking one for herself she tells him, "We wish our daddy could get us, right Jordan? But, he can't cuz he's not in real life."

"Nope, he can't." Jordan says.

It's then that I feel like I'm swimming in an Olympic-sized pool. The water blocks out the other noises of kids splashing, yelling, laughing loudly. All I can hear is the vast, echoing swish of the water covering my ears.

It reminds me of the rain stick we bought in Costa Rica, the one Shawn warned me was too big to carry home. The one he said he'd end up carrying on the plane. But, I loved the hand painted design and the soothing sound it made. I had to have it and he rarely said no to me even when he was right--the rain stick journeyed back to Minnesota strapped to the outside of his backpack. Mildly annoyed he never said a thing, secretly I think he liked the stick as much as me. My thoughts filter like falling pebbles. One time I think. Why couldn't he pick up our kids just one time?

"Mom," Jordan says as I drive around a cul-de-sac, "What does that sign say?"

"Dead-end," I tell him. "Oops...I took a wrong turn."

"Well...we should find an alive-end then," he says.

His humor always brings me back, he doesn't even know he's funny.

"What's a rain stick good for?" I ask, hoping this directs me.

“Making rain?” Maddi asks.

"Making a band!” Jordan says with limbs in motion up and down as if he's marching.

Maddi thinks a bit before sharing, "It’s a magic wand."

The game works for the moment. And so we drive accompanied by marching bands and magic wishes--rain sticks and life-filled conversations...taking the alive-end route back home.

The Power of Sharing

The most remarkable connection I made at the She Speaks Conference in North Carolina was with a widow who had lost her husband two years ago. Raising three young children and walking through immense grief, she also finds solace in writing.  Unlike other friendships, widows tend to meet and immediately go deep. Our second sentence to one another was, "How did he die?" My response like a line from a script feels rehearsed, "line of duty death." Her memorized answer, "a plane crash." The absurdity of this closeness and vulnerability of our honesty quickly bonds us.

During the weekend she shared with me that although her children know their daddy died and is in heaven, they don't' know many specifics surrounding how he died. They were very young at the time of the accident and my new friend has been waiting for God to lead her in the right timing for this difficult conversation.

On the final evening of our conference with tears streaming her cheeks, the kind that not even a Kleenex will remedy, she reached out to hug me.  Holding both of my hands in hers as if grasping unto a rope she said, "Your book parallels my life. And I now know with confidence that I can return home ready to tell my children...and when I do I'll be holding your book in my hands."

A shiver went down my back like snow that gets caught in between the collar of a jacket. Tears pierced my eyes as I listened, a sting that comes from being stunned. It was in that moment that I realized my book is no longer my personal therapy. God has made it bigger.  What started as a tool for my healing, has become a gift for others to hold unto.

She continued, "I'll tell them that there are two other little kids just like them who have a daddy in heaven, too. And then they'll know they're not alone."

Her words beat inside me, steady and even like the rhythm of hearing a baby's pulse for the first time through an ultra sound. Something new is being born.

Walk in Faith

"Unless someone like you cares a whole awful lot, nothing is going to get better. It's not.” —Dr. Seuss (1904-1991), Writer, cartoonist 

I have this fear that God is doing something bigger in my life than I can see or imagine. And because it is bigger than my imagination, which often is gigantic, I know whatever the  plan may be--I can not possibly achieve it in my own power. As someone who considers herself a self-starter, self-motivated, self--reliant individual, it is hard to relinquish control. Fear takes over.

So what makes things better?

Walk in faith. This resonates deep inside me. Fear may be present. Fear may dominate. Fear may sway me back and forth like a pendulum working to convince me that I can not do what I dream. You can not lose ten pounds. You can not publish another book. You can not balance a a life vocation with young kids. You will never really clean your office. You won't find new love again. You can not figure this all out.

The power of fear is gripping.

Maybe I'm feeling extra vulnerable because it's Monday morning. The week looks daunting. I need coffee. I haven't slept much since Friday night when Maddi caught swimmer's itch (aka: chiggers or my personal favorite--duck lice). And nothing on my to-do list looks extra glamorous (pay an old bill, call the company before I pay the bill, find the phone number and locate a person who will talk to me about the bill and ask why I'm suddenly being charged monthly when I pay annually, sort through post-it notes of more random things to do, clean out the front closet, meet a book proposal deadline, try not to eat sugar or anything else that resembles food in effort to stop gaining weight...I think I am allowed to eat tree bark.)

Fear has a way of leaving me defenseless.

My only viable option? Walk in faith. Faith is stronger.

Faith conquers fear. Faith tells me to walk in my dreams as if it they have already happened. Faith influences. Faith changes the can-nots into cans; the defeats into feats.

Faith tells me I'm not alone.

If you are reading, I need to hear from you today, dear friend.  What do you fear? What holds you back?

Take a faith walk with me. I"m not sure what else to do. Place your fear in front of you and then step over it. Faith tells me this is a good place to start.

Just Returned

I just returned from an amazing weekend in North Carolina where I had the opportunity to meet with publishers regarding a second book idea. The feedback was positive. Now the waiting process begins. It will be at least a month if not two or three before I have more information.

The She Speaks Conference that I attended is hosted by Proverbs 31 Ministries. It is an impressive event. I'd love to see comments from any new readers that I met for the first time this weekend! It was a highlight of my weekend to meet you and learn about your tremendous stories. God is working in the lives of many and it was evident to me by personally meeting each one of you

Siblings

Maddi was sad that Jordan was racing her during their bike ride. "I wish he would stay home with dad!" she told me with defiance, her face burning and streaked with tears.

I wish that was an option, I thought.

"Is there another solution?" I said.

Jordan volunteered to play in the sandbox while Maddi rode around the track by herself. Within minutes, though she discovered going alone was not as fun and invited Jordan to ride with her again. This time giving clear instructions that he was to ride right next to her and wait. He obliged.

Soon they were biking with giggles accompanying. Hot and cold. They get along. They don't get along. They compete with each other. They work as a team. They love each other. They get annoyed with each other. They learn together. They laugh together.

On the way home I told them, "It's so great to have best friends. That's one of our best blessings in this world."

Believe

We went biking yesterday. Jordan spotted a trail of logs lined up on the ground and took a detour. Off the bike, he hopped from one trunk to the next. Teetering on the edge of one, he said, "It's too far, I don't know if I can make it."

"I think you can," I said, as a way of permission.

He grinned. "Because you believe in me? That's why I can do it?"

"Yes," I said, "Because I believe in you!"

He took in a determined breath and made the jump exclaiming, "I did it!"

I marveled at the power of believing in someone. What strength that provides. What confidence. What a difference it can make.

Playing House

It's a lazy day. I have a week before I'm on a plane again. The next trip a writing conference in North Carolina. I'm happy to be home, though tired. I ask my kids what we should do today.

"Play house," Maddi says. She is my instant idea girl. "You can be the mom and I will be the sister and Jordan can be the cook."

Ah, a cook...now that's a grand thing to pretend. I would love to have a live-in chef!

Jordan is over by the kitchen sink holding a small green net in one hand and Blue Nemo in the other.

"Jordan, put him back!"

"Because Betas don't like to be out of the water?" he asks.

"Because no fish likes to be out of water," I say. I'm a little out of water myself. Writer. Author. Speaker. Mom. Mom playing make believe to be a mom. Pack for the summer cabin. Rush home. Hop on a plane. Unpack. Pack again for a trip next week. My sympathy for this little fish grows.

"Well, I'm the principal." Jordan tells Maddi feigning an English accent and I wonder where he learned to do that. "My name is Mr. Carole."

"Okay, sister and Mr. Carole, you go to school. I'm off to work at my office," I say giving them each big kisses and then realize I probably shouldn't be kissing the school principal. I set up my laptop at the kitchen table. I really just want to write.

"My name is Ally Silvera Grace." I hear Maddi tell her brother. It's a small school. He's also the teacher.

When I look over they are playing sleeping puppies under the piano bench. I can barely keep up. Jordan is the owner and Maddi's name has changed to Molly. Good thing I'm still the mom at work. I guess deep down I know who I am.

"Let's go outside," Maddi says. "It's more funner."

They grab flip-flops and head for the backyard. I send them out with water bottles and chocolate chip cookies knowing today is a good day. The perfect kind of day to play.

Conference

I attended the Soaring Spirits Foundation of Loss Conference for widows this weekend in San Diego, CA as a contributing author with my book, Believe.

It was an inspirational experience to meet over 200 women...strong women with strong stories of love and loss from across the country representing 28 states and 6 countries. The commonality woven throughout us is a bond that forms instantly as soon as we hear the answer to "how did your husband die?" Immediately we agree that our spouses died far too soon, that our hearts will always miss them and that we desire to find good in life again.

Joy is Contagious

Consider it pure joy my brothers and sisters, whenever you face trials of many kinds because you know that the testing of your faith produces perseverance. - James 1:2

Nobody wants to admit to this, but bad things will keep on happening. Maybe that’s because it’s all a chain, and a long time ago someone did the first bad thing, and that led someone else to do another bad thing, and so on. You know, like that game where you whisper a sentence into someone’s ear, and that person whispers it to someone else, and it all comes out wrong in the end. But, then again, maybe bad things happen because it’s the only way we can keep remembering what good is supposed to look like. –Jodi Picoult, novelist “Nineteen Minutes”

Pure, uninhibited joy is undeniably contagious.

We arrived at the cabin mid-afternoon. I brought my kids here to persevere joy. This is where their dad came with his family as a boy. This is where we should be.

My children wasted no time throwing on swimsuits and becoming married to the water. They jumped amongst activities striving to keep up with themselves! Wading in the lake, going down the old- metal slide at the shallow end, steering the paddle boat, fishing from the dock, building sandcastles, splish-splashing with Uncle John, playing royalty on the floating dock, tickled by a boat ride.

Showering off for supper Maddi was giddy from the day. “I want to stay for 100 days,” she told me.

Jordan serenaded us after supper with a song he made up about pickles. Each verse summing a pickle with the previous one. "I have one pickle...Hey! Hey! Today! Today!” Then two pickles, three, five  and soon ten. It didn’t take long until Aunt Kathy and the rest of us were singing along.

Cousin Tyler asked Jordan, "Did you like building sandcastles this afternoon?"

"Let me ask my brain," Jordan responded with a pause. The day had been so full, he needed time to let it all catch up. "My brain says yes. So, I must like it."

Here is my joy. A quiet night. The kind I can’t wait to write about. Sun setting outside my canopy-screen window. I come alive. The early evening rays meet the top of the water as if the two have just been introduced. It’s the glisten that tells me they’ve known each other for a very long time.

I wish I could describe the hues swirled with deep pinks and plums. Soon they will change to midnight blue. But, aren’t the best pictures the ones that words can’t wholly capture?

Is happiness relative? If I had no other skies to compare with the lake shore blue would I really be able to say this particular night is exquisite? So delicate and appealing is it safe to define this as joy?

Each day we encounter reality. Do we expect to find joy in our day? If joy seems to elude us, can we change our expectations? Can happiness be a part of our passing moments regardless of circumstance?

Tonight Jordan told me that his highlight from the entire day, one filled with four-wheeler rides and zip line swinging, campfire songs and marshmallow roasting, was the three minute “paddle boat ride I took with you.”

For me it had been really just a time filler, a reaction on a whim, something to do before Maddi woke up from her nap.  My son’s reality? Time together, regardless of length, is what made his day.

Cabin

We are at a cabin this week with Shawn's side of the family. I will write more when we return. Packing is replacing my writing time! Madeynn packed soda crackers in four different lunch coolers to make sure we had a snack. She loves to help me get ready. I didn't have the heart to tell her we need to live off of more than just soda crackers for the week! Jordan wanted to pack sticks to roast marshmallows. I assured him the north woods would have plenty of sticks.

I wish Shawn could be going with us. I showed my kids photos of the last time we were there with daddy. The emptiness carves a cave in me. I'm excited to go with my children. And their excitement is radiant. Still all the hard work of packing, cooking, cleaning, loading the car, getting ready, planning, checking everything off the list loses a bit of luster when it feels lop-sided. Sharing life with my spouse filled me even when the work was long and tiring.

My kids fill me in a different way, one which I can't ignore. It may still be lots of work to prepare for our excursion, but the exuberance I gleam from them keeps me going. I love experiencing new things with them because at the ages of four and five everything is still so new. There is so much to explore.

So, I promise to let myself explore this week. To see old things in a new way.

Vision

Vision without action is a dream. Action without vision is aimless. Vision with action will achieve. - The Running Log by April Powers, Head Coach for Northern California's Team in Training

So much of life is running. Running to this event, that birthday party, soccer practice, music lessons, back home for a make-shift dinner. Schedules are full even when we wish they weren't. And when we try to cut back it inevitably seems we've just made space to put something else in its spot.

I hear comments like, "Time flies." "Life never slows down." "Summer is half done already." "Before we know it Christmas will be here again." "Where has the year gone?"

Business should not be confused with action.

Goal for today--even if you don't have time--stop for sixty seconds and ask yourself: What is important to me to achieve this week?

If you have an additional minute ask a second question: What do I need to do to make what is important to me happen?

Write it down. Post it on the refrigerator. Throw away the note once the vision is achieved.

Aim your action to be more than just a dream.

New Hours for BE HERE NOW

I have made an executive decision.

There is no "Be Here Now" after 8:00 pm. This is the magic hour when the Silvera children should be fast asleep. From now on going forward this magical sleepy-time will be referred to the "Be in Bed...Now!" hour because Mommy loses much patience when her little munchkins are still chattering and asking for multiple drinks of water long after they have been tucked in.

In fact, non-sleeping children past the hours of eight o'clock make it impossible for Mommy Silvera to practice her "Be Here Now" philosophy. She finds herself wanting to be anywhere (sipping drinks by a pool, vacationing in Venice, even reading a book on the couch would be a bonus)...anything other than responding repeatly to little voices that have "just one more question."

Yes, the Silvera household has a new declaration.

Be Quiet Now. Be Still Now. Be Sleeping Now!!

God Bless and Goodnight.

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.

Sushi

“You have been my friend. That in itself is a tremendous thing...By helping you, perhaps I was trying to lift up my life a trifle. Heaven knows anyone's life can stand a little of that. -Charlotte, "Charlotte's Web"”

A couple weeks ago our good friends from Lino Lakes invited us over for sushi--homemade. I felt like I was in a restaurant, using chopsticks and sipping warm sake (before this invitation I had no idea what that was! A great word to Google when in doubt.)

The delight for me that evening was watching Jordan try piece after piece, thoroughly enjoying the delicacy. I never knew a five year old would be so open to trying raw fish!  Maddi wasn't as convinced to join in on the taste test.  She did try one bite with a wrinkled nose and lots of water. Luckily she feasted on yogurt and granola as a backup menu item.

I don't know if there is any way my friends could ever know what that night meant to me sharing the new experience with my kids. What a blessing it is to be cared for and included and accepted. What a blessing it is to try new things or even old things in a new way.

Angel Food Cake

I was talking to my cousin from California this week about traditions after loss. My Aunt died suddenly last February due to a blockage in her arteries. Reaching the first year mark of grief and loss really is only the beginning.

My cousin told me that growing up her mom made everyone an angel food cake for their birthdays. At first they were just for her, her brother and my uncle, but then the list grew to include best friends, boyfriends, college friends and eventually a son-in-law, a daughter-in-law and grandchildren. Frosted with sprinkles was the specialty.

The smell of the cake baking, the fun of seeing it on the table after coming home from school, the light and fluffy taste were all details my cousin described to me with vivid recall.

I immediately felt a connection to my aunt, because I remember as a young child always requesting an angel food cake for my birthday. Must run in the family!

This year my cousin's sister-in-law made her an angel food cake, partly for celebration and partly in memory. And the tradition won't stop here. My cousin plans to make these cakes for her kids as well.

On Saturday night, I was interviewed by Esme Murphy on WCCO radio.  During the program a caller phoned in to ask how he can resolve some of the anger he has over the death of his father. He admitted that he doesn't share much about his loss.

I encouraged him to start talking about it. Talk about it until he can't talk about it anymore. And find ways to honor the role his dad played in his life.

Small traditions like lighting a candle, writing a letter to the person who has died or baking a cake can provide not only comfort but healing. Allowing ourselves to express our grief takes some of the hurt and anger and gives it a place to go. The tradition of remembering those we love opens us up to appreciate what they added to our lives...what can never be erased or forgotten.

I know for me every time I enjoy a piece of angel food cake I will feel a connection to my aunt and I will probably even have to call my cousin to talk about it.

Train Ride

My kids are talking and asking about dad faster than I can keep up. I feel like I'm on a train leaving the station with one foot ready to board and the other still on the platform. If I don't leap forward it's bound to leave without me.

Like tonight when we say our bedtime prayers. Now I lay me down to sleep. Maddi folds her hands and says, "I want to say a prayer to Daddy."

"Okay," I tell her.

Eyes closed she starts, "Dear Daddy, Go to bed, get up to eat. Sleep some more and eat some more so you are awake in heaven. Put us in your heart. And when you are done eating and sleeping we will come to heaven, too. Amen."

I smile, then notice her eyes tear up, "I didn't want my daddy to die."

I catch myself ready to tell her I know. But, I don't know. Here I am on that accelerating train not able to pretend I know where we are going or where we will end up. I don't know the heart of my children's loss--losing a parent. I don't know what it is like to be four years old and have your security shattered. I don't know how to best help them. I don't know how to respond to their hurt. I'm boarding with caution.

"Tell me more about that, Madelynn."

Rubbing her red eyes she says, "I never want my daddy to die. Never-ever. I don't want him to put down the bricks."

Now I'm on board.  She believes the stop-sticks were bricks that daddy built up to stop the bad guy.

"Mommy, how did he die?" she asks, clearly wanting more.

"Well..." I stumble, losing my footing.

I need something to hold onto like the train's mounting handle designed for those having trouble hoisting themselves up.

"A car hit him, Maddi. A bad guy made a very bad choice and hit your dad and then he died."

"No, Mommy," she tells me, "Daddy built the bricks and the bad guy hit the bricks and daddy went up. Daddy went up to heaven."

Her hand soars upward mimicking an airplane. Maybe it's a train that has left its tracks.

Jordan listens to every detail from the bunk above and adds, "Wouldn't it be cool, Mom, if I could get 100 balloons and float up to heaven?"

"Yes," I tell him.

"When do we get to go to heaven, Mama?" Maddi asks, curious.

"When God says it's time. He knows. And we have to trust."

Restless, she has a hard time falling asleep and interlocks both of her hands with mine. I hum made-up melodies to her until she is sleeping, willing to do anything to give her a sense of security...a message that I am here.

We are on the train. Sometimes it slows down, but not often. Usually it keeps to a tight schedule determined to make it to the next stop. Even if my footing is a little shaky I trust we will get to where we need to go.

Memorial Day Weekend

Pioneer Press had a beautiful article in the paper on Monday and WCCO interviewed me about the book on Sunday morning.

In-between these events my kids and I enjoyed bike riding with my family, a picnic with my in-laws and lighting a candle at Daddy's grave. Maddi left a little handwritten note as well and Jordan started climbing the tree near by. Life remains active and full!

I'd love to see you at the book signings coming up in June. For more information visit the Event Page of www.believenow.com.

Life's Adventure

“We are all functioning at a small fraction of our capacity to live life fully in its total meaning of loving, caring, creating, and adventuring. Consequently, the actualizing of our potential can become the most exciting adventure of our lifetime.” —Herbert A. Otto; author

KARE 11 aired a story about our book last night.  The actual interview earlier in the day with reporter, Karla Hult, lasted over an hour; while only about four minutes were used for the actual newscast. One of the comments I made about dealing with grief and loss in my children is recognizing that the book is a part of their history, their heritage, their life story.

Each one of us is given a message in life, a talent to use and cultivate. My children have a powerful story to share. And I realize that I write on the behalf of all three of us.

I hope if you are joining us in our story for the first time, it will in some way bless you. And I hope if you have been traveling our way for awhile you will be blessed again and again!

Click here to view the news clip.

Constant

Do you ever feel that parenting is such a constant challenge that you would rather give in than work so hard to stay constant?

I’m having this dilemma with bedtime.

“Mom, just one more thing…” trails the wee little voice.

And I can only sigh because just one more thing is what she said five things ago.

Like tonight, my kids went to bed listening to music on my IPod. The rule with this treat is they need to stay in bed and not tamper with the alluring music apparatus.

“Mommy! Come he-ah!” I heard from down the hallway. Do I go or do I not go…that was my question. Who is training who?

Successful at swaying me to come to her bedroom door, Maddi was sitting on the edge of her bed, feet dangling off the mattress. 

“What’s the problem?” I asked.

“I don’t like this song and I want to change it,” she explained sincerely worried about her conundrum. “I can’t even get out of bed or Santa will put me on his naughty list!”

And now instead of annoyed, I’m amused. What child concerns herself with Santa’s list when it’s almost June! What a dear, conscientious little girl. Maybe I should let her get out of bed just this once to switch the music. I wouldn’t want her to have a phobia over being naughty or nice. No! That’s where these little ankle-biters get you. They have constant energy, constant ideas, constant cleverness. I must stay one step ahead.

I switch the music to the next song. Maddi lies back down with approval. I’m not sure who won. Maybe we both did. This is what I know--every ounce of effort, trial or error is worth the constant connection I find tucked in the middle of life lived with my kids.

Here We Come

Kindergarten...Here we come! Here we come!
Kindergarten...Here we come! Here we come!

Maddi has been singing this song over and over all week long. She's been learning it for her preschool program next week. Even though she has another year of preschool left, I think all of the kids are learning the song for those students who are "graduating". Maddi doesn't understand why she can't do a solo. At least at home she can and she sings the refrain with gusto.

I was on the phone with my bank yesterday and she was singing in the background.

The bank clerk laughed, "American Idol here we come!"

He added with a new burst of energy, "That's the cutest thing I've heard in a long time. After the day I've had, that totally makes my day."

Maddi kept singing, "Kindergarten here we come...here we come!"

I love how she announces herself to the world. No shame, no fear, no excuses, no apologies. Here I am. This is what I have to offer. Hope you like it. This is me!

It really is a great way to approach the day...hello world, here we come!

Building a Dream

“Do not wait; the time will never be 'just right'. Start where you stand, and work with whatever tools you may have at your command, and better tools will be found as you go along.” —Napoleon Hill (1883–1970); author

I have this dream of building a new house. There are no current plans for this ambition, but dreams are good.

Shawn and I never expected to stay in our first home for more than five years. Our idea was to finish the basement, sell the house for hopefully more than we paid and move somewhere with a little more land.

This is my fifth year in my home and I now know that plans change. I have no real desire to move; still I know that I won’t be in this house forever.

Today in the car my kids and I played with our imagination. I asked them if we moved what they would like the new house to look like.

“Let’s build our same house in a new place,” Jordan said. “Can we have our own bedrooms like Little Critter and his sister?”

“So, you don’t want to share a room,” I replied.

“No, we want a girl room and a boy room right next to each other,” he decided.

“Where will my room be?” I asked.

“Right next to ours,” Jordan said, “And I’ll be in the middle.”

“No, I have an idea,” Maddi shared, she had been listening intently to the whole discussion. “Jordan’s room is upstairs and I’m in the middle floor and Mommy is in the basement.”

Her idea grew.

“And, Mommy, let’s have a house with all bricks…like the Three Little Pigs. Then we’ll be safe. And if a monster comes to get you bring your bed upstairs to my room because I won’t have any windows just a nightlight and no monsters can get us then,” she said.

Jordan laughed, “Mommy can’t carry a bed.”

“Yes she can!” Maddi came to my defense. “And mommy in our new house we won’t even fight. We really won’t! I’m serious.”

There is incentive to start building tomorrow!

I’ve heard that thoughts become things. Who knows which ideas will become a reality. I just hope I’m not stuck in the basement! But if so, my daughter thinks I’m strong enough to carry a bed…so that keeps my options open.

My Shallow Side

I think I admitted once before to watching Idol. Well, here is my second confession.

Last Friday night I sang at a Benefit Concert for the Michelle Brown Memorial Preschool Scholarship Fund. Michelle was a mom at my daughter's preschool that died last year of cancer, leaving behind a husband and two sons and twin daughters.

After the concert I introduced my parents to one of the preschool directors who had originally invited me to be a part of the event. We were commenting on the musical evening and the talent of the other artists. Thrilled with the success of raising over $3500 in one evening, we agreed that many of the musicians had American Idol type caliber (I'm not putting myself in that category! I don't even meet the age requirement!)

Laughing, the preschool teacher asked me, "Do you watch American Idol?"

Admitting yes was an immediate conenction and we started spewing questions back and forth, "What do you think about Danny?"

"He's so sweet."

"And Kris is also very nice."

"I know!"

We didn't even talk about the wild one, Adam.

"After a day with all the little kids, I just need something mindless to relax my mind," she said. "It's my shallow side."

Mine, too.  Maybe instead of a shallow side I could call it a little bit of one-dimensional life. Something simple, straightforward, stress-free. Because allowing ourselves time to rest and regroup and recharge promotes the energy we need for more significant events.

The concert was profound and I hope that it profoundly helps the students that need it most next year.  And even though I never met Michelle Brown, I think she'd be delighted that we shared her story and we sang and we chatted about American Idol and we laughed together and we honored her and her life continues to bring good to others. I'm so glad I got to be a part of that.

Happy Mother's Day

The first words out of Jordan’s mouth Sunday morning were, “Happy Mother’s Day, Mom.”

The fact that a five year old boy can remember my special day before asking me to make him breakfast was a tremendously good start.

Madelynn gave me a wrapped present that she had made in preschool. Priding herself as a secret keeper, it was fun to open the surprise--a cookbook with her photo on the cover.  She is dressed in a red-checkered apron, holding a spatula and wearing a satisfied grin.

Months ago, as part of a “cooking unit,” I submitted the secret Mrs. Field’s Chocolate Chip Cookie recipe (the one that was printed in the paper years back by a disgruntled employee.)  Who knows if that rumor is true, according to my Google search there are many versions to the story.

None the less, I probably shouldn’t be sharing the secret (blended-to-a-fine-powder-oatmeal....so good!) Shh…don’t tell.

I first tried these cookies freshman year at college when my roommate’s mom sent us the homemade baked goods in a shoebox lined with tinfoil and plastic wrap. I never knew shoeboxes could be used for things that come out of an oven! What an education.

Maddi’s recipe book included her version of these cookies:

Make them with butter, eggs, put milk in, make them. I cook them, we make them with, I don’t know. Put them in the oven for 40 minutes.

Our day included church with my family, a potluck version of a picnic at my brother’s house due to the weather being chilly and ice-cream at Sebastian Joes before driving home.

When I pulled in the driveway, I noticed Madelynn had tattooed herself with red magic-marker. This seems to be a new hobby of hers, hands and face covered. Crawling into the front seat after I had parked the truck in the garage she asked, “Can I write on your head, Mama?”

I could see mischief and artistic inspiration in her eyes.

Surprising both my daughter and myself I said yes. She decorated my forehead and then told me, “It says ‘I love Daddy.’”

We went inside to start the bedtime routine, baths being first on the agenda (along with scrubbing my own face!)

My last thought before finding my own bed--Happy Mother’s Day.

Street Day

“The very least you can do in your life is to figure out what you hope for. And the most you can do is live inside that hope. Not admire it from a distance but live right in it, under its roof.”
—Barbara Kingsolver (b. 1955); author, writer

A friend of mine told me today, "It must feel like a compliment every time someone wants to buy your book."

I think that was the most perfect way to describe the feeling that my book has hit the streets and is now available at Northwestern Book Stores, Barnes and Noble, Borders, on Amazon.com and my new book website www.believenow.com.

It is by far the greatest compliment I have ever received.

Fuzzy Photo

I worked on this post for an hour today. I have to admit I'm a bit proud of myself. I learned how to upload the photo from my cell phone without email services on my phone. This is a whole new world for me (sending photos to websites and then to my blog!)

But, where there is a will there is a way and my will is strong and I'm determined to find which way it leads. I hope you will celebrate the fuzzy photo below with me. I'm completely and totally in love with ordinary-turned-extraordinary glimpses of time spent with my kids.

I will back up and tell you the story.

Last night we were leaving the YMCA a bit later than planned to go home, eat, get ready for bed.

Driving by the memorial site that Lino Lakes dedicated to Shawn a couple years ago, I pointed out the sculpture to my kids and said, "Look what the city put up for your dad!"

Jordan didn't hesitate, "Can we stop and get out and think about him?"

How does a mom answer that? I knew by stopping bedtime would be pushed back even further. I knew by stopping we'd have to skip bath time.  I knew by stopping supper would be rushed. I knew by stopping I'd have to re-help my kids back into car seats and seat belts (a process alone that can exhaust me more than anything else listed above.)

Somewhere deeper though I knew if I didn't stop I would pass up a greater exchange. Somehow I knew there are things in life more important than bedtimes and bath times and the energy of getting in and out of a car with two little ones.

And because I said yes to the moment in front of me, I walked into a precious time with my kids that I can't replace. They climbed and played and smiled and hugged me. We traced the words engraved on the stones with our fingers, "Don't wait for tomorrow...Be Here Now." They kissed a small rock and threw it into the crevice of the large boulder that was purposely divided to symbolize the loss of their dad's life.

I remember the day the memorial was dedicated, the artist said, "The stone that is split reminds us of the loss, but it also shows the beauty."

 

Look at them. Aren't they beautiful? I got to see beauty last night because I answered the inconvenient request of my son to stop and think. And in turn I was blessed with an opportune splash of time that was worth all forty-five minutes on the phone with tech support to figure out how to upload this photo, worth the sluggish morning we had from getting to bed too late and still as I write this entry fills me.