I Miss Him

I miss my partner. I miss my best friend. I don't want to do this alone.

The last week or so has been hard. The excitement of new things in the future has been undermined by the nuts and bolts of making those things happen. Sorting through things here is a monumental task. Besides the sheer enormity of the project, there is also the emotional tugs of it.

We poured ten years of blood, sweat, and tears into this place. Everywhere I look there are things we worked on together. There are dreams that won't ever come true. Things we finished, I am tearing apart. There are Tim's things I am not quite sure what to do with. The tasks are large and overwhelming at times, and I know little by little it will get done, but I wish we could just snap our fingers and it would be finished.

There is also Aunt Hazel's house in Akron. I am helping my mom sort through things there, and set it up for a sale. She and her husband lived there their entire marriage. He owned the house before they married. It is crammed full of things and three hours away.

There are parenting challenges. This is the hardest job. Four kids all going through different things while mourning their father. Some more demanding of attention, but all needing attention. Some outwardly challenging and others withdrawn. One of me. Parenting is so hard, and it was not meant to be done alone.

These things, added to the normal daily responsibilities, feel crushing some days. The simple task of putting together a meal and getting the kitchen cleaned up often feels like the straw that broke the camel's back. The kids really are great about helping, but they rarely see what needs done without being asked. Often, they are just as tired as I am by the end of the day. Sometimes their help is more work for me than help, and ultimately, I am responsible for all the daily stuff. I miss having someone to share that with.

I miss my cheerleader, my encourager. He knew how to make me feel appreciated. He always saw the bright side. This might be a rabbit trail, but after Tim died, a friend that he went to graduate school with sent me a note telling me a story she remembered from those days. Basically the story was about how much Tim loved and appreciated me, about how he bragged about my domestic skills and the like. The thing is I considered that the absolute worst year of our marriage. It was a very stressful year, and Tim saw the good things.

I hesitate to post this. I am not looking for answers or for a pity party, though I do allow myself to throw brief ones occasionally. I know I tend to have a martyr complex when under stress. I know the truth is I do have a lot of help and support, but none of it replaces my partner and my best friend. I miss him.

I Couldn't Resist

We are moving this summer. I should be sorting, packing, or cleaning, but the weather has been truly spring like. With spring, comes the itch. The itch to dig in the dirt. The itch to put tiny little seeds in the ground and wait. Wait for them to grow into beautiful and healthy food for my family. It is just a tad early according to my handy extension garden calendar, but I just couldn't resist.

Yes, this summer is going to be busy. There is a new house to paint, organize, and make our own. There is an old house and property to pack, clean, and get ready for sale. There is child to get settled in a (likely) far off dorm, and three others to prepare for new schooling options. No, a summer garden isn't likely, but a spring garden? Oh yes! There is time for a spring garden.

The raised beds are perfect for the little bit of therapeutic gardening I want to do. My favorite garden tool, lovingly referred to as the claw, is the only tool I need. The claw and I went to work fluffing up the beds and putting in some seeds.

Some of the spinach survived the winter.

We planted snow peas, a variety of lettuces and herbs, Chinese cabbage, and kale. I also got some potatoes ready to plant. The spot I thought I'd plant them isn't going to work, so I'm still deciding on that. I was trying to avoid any tilling, but it might have to happen.

I got a little gardening fix. I guess I better get back to that sorting, packing, and cleaning.

A Beautiful Morning

It feels like spring here in the 100 Acre Wood. The people are enjoying it, and the animals are too. This morning is a bit chilly, but the day promises comfortable temperatures and sunshine.

It is a beautiful morning to just sit, to be still. The birds are singing. The cats are playing outside my window. The dogs are chasing some unseen thing in the woods, and the chickens are scratching for goodies in a pile of weeds I pulled from the herb garden yesterday.

I sit. I read a little. I watch, and I listen. It is a morning made for this. A morning where being still and feeling at peace comes easily. 

The day has just begun. The boys are off to school. The girls are just beginning to stir, and part of me thinks I should get moving with my day. Maybe start a load of a laundry at the very least. But I think I am just going to sit here a little while longer and relish this quiet stillness while enjoying this beautiful morning. 

The Baby is Ten

None of my babies are babies anymore. They haven't been for sometime, I guess, but it is official today. My baby is ten, double digits, a decade old. How can it be? Weren't these pictures just from yesterday?

 So much has changed in these ten years, but Vivian stays true to her name. She is full of life, and full of love. She keeps us all on our toes. Happy birthday my sweet girl.

With her friends Hannah and Aleeya. 

A Little Something for the Family

The stretch of I-77 from Ripley to Akron and I are well acquainted. The kids (sometimes all, sometimes not) and I have driven that route more times than I can remember in the last few months.  I was looking for a little something for the family. I found it.

I know. I know. I posted a mere three weeks ago that I was trying to control my impulsiveness. I just shared publicly, a little more than a month ago that I was thinking of leaving the 100 Acre Wood. But the idea had been stirring inside of me since October, and truly my heart was settled on the move before I began to share the thought.  I was making myself a little crazy looking at listings online, visiting houses, and weighing options. It came to the point that I either needed to move forward with the process, or walk away for a little while.

This was the very first house I saw when I began looking in Wadsworth, Ohio. It had just gone on the market. At the time, mom and I were considering sharing a house. My niece, Ashley, would be there too. This house has a finished basement with a kitchenette. We decided it would be too small for all of us, and later mom and I decided a shared house probably wouldn't work well for either of us. I had kind of taken this place off my radar.

Later, I came back to it and realized that while it might not work for mom and I, it really was great for the kids and I, and would work well for the transition that I soon will be facing, kids leaving home. The house sits on two acres. There are large trees for privacy from the road and neighbors. It literally is five minutes to shopping (including a brand new Aldi, I am thrilled!) It is only a few minutes from families who we know that live in the area.

I guess it is never a done deal until closing, but we are well into the process. We won't take possession until May, and probably will gradually transition there over the summer between getting the 100 Acre Wood ready for market and getting Kellen off to college.

I know there is a lot to do, and it will be kind of a crazy time.  It has motivated me to start taking care of somethings that I'd been avoiding. I need a deadline to get me moving. It has given us something to be excited for. The work ahead doesn't feel like a burden. It feels like a new adventure. We need a new adventure. So, impulsive or not, Wadsworth, Ohio here we come!

Persevere

The storm was dark. All around it seemed as if the world had come to an end. She was scared. She was broken hearted, and could not see her way through. Then a little flicker, a tiny light was visible. The light brought hope, comfort, and peace. There was life in and beyond this storm.

The Lord asks us for a humble heart to allow the Spirit to work with in us. He asks us to be still and listen for His voice. No one wants to be in the storm. No one would choose to have their whole world wrecked, but when you are there, being humble and still comes easily. And that place brings a reality to those truths we, as Christians, all claim to know.

Blessed are those who mourn, for they shall be comforted. -Matthew 5:4

Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. "The Lord is my portion, " says my soul, "Therefore I hope in Him!" The Lord is good to those who wait for Him to the soul who seeks Him." -Lamentations 3:20-25

 I can say the hope, comfort, and peace of the Lord have been more real to me in the last six months than they have ever been. It has truly been a shelter in the storm.

My dad's favorite verses, ones he would quote often, were

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 1:2-3.

Like any good hard headed Miller, I thought I knew what this meant. When times are hard, you put your head down, give a bigger push, and just keep moving forward. That may be needed sometimes in this life, but there is more to it. Verse 4 continues

Let perseverance finish its work so that you may be mature and complete, not lacking anything.

As I start to come out of the storm, the light of the Lord is still there with His truth of hope, comfort, peace, and promise of a completed work, but I find it harder to be still and quiet my heart. I find myself plowing through the day entirely on my own strength. There are exciting things happening, and they can be a distraction. Perhaps the perseverance James is referring to is not just the pushing through the hard times of this life, but the perseverance of nurturing the work of the Lord in us. The continual quieting of our hearts before Him, regardless of our circumstances,

Of course I do not want to stay in the storm, but I do want to remember what I've learned  about quieting my heart, and finding life in Him. I want to have a humble and still heart before Him.  I want to persevere to nurture what He began in the midst of the darkness.

Impulsive

Photo credit: Fredericksburg, Ohio  Facebook

In what seems like another life, I remember sitting in the pastor's office, in this building which no longer stands, talking about the future. We were there, a rule following high school senior and a slightly rebellious recent college graduate. We were there to talk to the soft spoken Pastor Ken about getting married.

I am not sure what Ken thought about this seemingly odd couple sitting in front of him. Perhaps he, like my parents who were Tim's youth pastors, were worried about Tim. Ken spoke to us about a Biblical marriage, about expectations of a husband and a wife, and he had us take some sort of personality assessment. Perhaps I imagined it, but I am fairly certain that Ken was slightly surprised at the results of that assessment.

Tim and I knew we wanted to be together. We thought we were a good match, but we couldn't have put it in words at that time the way the assessment did. It showed where we were well matched. It pointed out some differences, which Ken explained and we would figure out years later, were assets to our marriage when we learned to appreciate them in one another. It also showed one area  Ken cautioned us could be a problem. We both were impulsive.

Looking back at our marriage I can see how that tendency was ever present in little and big decisions that we made. It made for some grand adventures, but it also created some messes that took us years to recover from.  In our early years of marriage, our finances were a classic case of impulsive spending. Thankfully, we did learn that painful lesson, eventually.

I find it interesting (and a bit scary) to look back and see how many of our big decisions were made on a whim and an impulse. The decisions often came with other life changing events. There was not a pregnancy or birth of a child that didn't involve some other sort of major change in our life. Those changes were not well laid out or planned. It was almost like we said, "Hey life is about to really change. Let's just throw it all up in the air, and see what happens." There were some good and happy memories that came from those decisions, but there were also some hard painful learning moments.

There was the time Tim graduated from college, we quit our jobs and moved with a two week old baby back to our hometown where Tim would drive two hours to attend graduate school while I attempted to complete my student teaching for the college that we just left, and work part time so we would have some income.  Oh yes. A well thought out plan.

But I think the winner (or loser) of impulsive decisions would have to be the six months where we had a baby, bought a duplex in a questionable part of the city, and then both quit our jobs before we had new ones in place. That was the year where we truly learned frugality and the control of our impulse spending.

Of course I am only giving you a part of the stories. Behind both of those crazy impulsive decisions, and many of the others we made  through our marriage, were difficult circumstances that we wanted to leave. We saw an opportunity to leave and jumped at it without fully weighing the options, considering the consequences, or dealing with what we were leaving behind.

That is exactly where I find myself now. This is the most difficult life changing event. All around I see overwhelming messes that need dealt with. I see broken dreams, and bittersweet memories. I just want to leave. I just want to move away and move on. I want to throw it all up in the air, and see what happens. This is the impulse I am fighting against. This is what I was referring to in my post, From Adventures to Burdens.

Though I know we can not move until summer, I feel this urgency to pick a house, and to start down a new road. I look at houses daily online. I have a realtor. We've visited several houses. I am feeding the beast.

Sunday was a beautiful day, sunny and warm. It felt like spring. Vivian and I walked to the end of our ridge. We walked away from all the messes to the place that Tim and I once dreamed of building our earth bermed home. It is a beautiful spot overlooking hollows on three sides. Sitting there brought tears for the dreams that will never be. I also realized that those dreams were our dreams, but they are not my dreams, and there is a difference between what we dreamed together, and what I dream alone.

So I find myself in that place knowing I want to leave, looking for that opportunity, but hoping I am truly weighing the options, considering the consequences, and dealing with what we are leaving behind.

Fourteen

Happy 14th birthday to Lydia. She is beautiful inside and out. I am so proud to call her my daughter, and of the young lady she is becoming.

But she is growing up way too fast. I remember these days as if they were yesterday.

From Adventures to Burdens

The 100 Acre Wood has been my home for more years than any other. Tim and I spent half of our married life here. Moving here was a bit spontaneous. It was a little, maybe a lot, crazy. I look back on those early years now, and can't quite believe we did it.

The first five years involved a lot of hard work, frustrations, and learning.We really didn't have a clue what we were getting into, and even what we thought we knew was highly romanticized, but it also was a grand adventure. It made me happy to have my kids roaming the woods. We were proud of our meals that came entirely from our farm. I loved our variety of animals, and sharing our farm with friends and family. It wasn't easy, but it was highly rewarding.

Then my dad died, and we had to reconsider how life in the 100 Acre Woods would change. I find it ironic that I am sitting here almost exactly five years later writing the same kind of post as I did then. That post was written just a few months before Tim would receive his initial melanoma diagnosis.  It was here that our adventures started to feel more like burdens.

We did away with our variety of animals, and focused on pigs and chickens. We worked, but constantly seem to take one step forward and two steps back. We struggled to keep up what had already been established. Tackling the many started or dreamed of projects was out of the question. The excitement, rewards, and enjoyment began to dwindle.

I still held on to this place, to those dreams, perhaps out of stubbornness, perhaps out of a sense of needing to complete what we started. Tim and I planned to live here forever. We planned to build our earth bermed off grid house a bit farther back on the ridge.  When he died, people asked if I planned to stay here. At the time I couldn't even process that question, and I also resolved that I wouldn't make any major decisions for a year.

Truthfully, then, I thought the question was more about could I, was able to. In my mind the answer was yes, of course I could. Staying here would be a lot of work. It would require some muscle and skill that I don't have, but it is possible. It didn't occur to me, that the question really wasn't am I able, but do I want to.

In the past month or so, the answer to that question feels more like no. The adventure feels gone. The burden remains, and I don't think I want to work that hard anymore. Everything here feels unfinished and overwhelming. I don't think I want to pursue the dreams we had for the 100 Acre Wood without Tim.

I know I have a impulsive side. I know that emotionally I am still a little unstable. I am trying to stick to the wise advice of no major decisions for a year. Yet, in my heart, I feel like the decision has already been made. This doesn't feel like home anymore. This is no longer an adventure. It is a burden.

Firsts

We did it. Check those off the list. We got through Christmas. We passed our anniversary date. We remembered Tim. We missed him, but we enjoyed our holidays with friends and family. I didn't end up a sobbing mess at any point.

Then it happened. A first I wasn't prepared for. Notice that theme? It is always the unexpected things that wreck me.

I went to the shop that processes our hogs. I've been there several times since Tim has been gone. I don't know if others in the shop know, but this particular employee didn't. He asked me how Tim was doing.

I don't even know what I said to him. Poor guy didn't know what to say to me. I just couldn't get to my vehicle fast enough. The door closed, and I was an instant blubbering snotty mess. This happened Monday. Typing this on Wednesday, I am much the same. In fact, this whole week I've felt a bit like I was under a cloud. It probably has to do with the post holiday blahs, but it also feels like that one innocent little question has knocked me back onto the emotional roller coaster.

When I posted about our anniversary on Facebook, friends commented, "It's not fair." It isn't. The grief process isn't fair either. We've lost Tim. I want to remember him with warm fuzzies. I want to miss him, but get on with life without the scab on this big gaping wound getting ripped off with a tiny, innocent question.

I am impatient with the process.

Merry Christmas

We wish you a Merry Christmas. And we are having a merry Christmas. No, really I mean it.

This holiday season has been hard. We are emotional. We've had frustrations and challenges which all seem so much larger while we are mourning. My head isn't all in the game, and I've forgotten things. We have had tears of sadness and of anger. Sometimes it has been ugly.

But we are working through it together. Mom losing her cool one particularly ugly evening unexpectedly seemed to make a breakthrough with one particular child. Nolan and I were having a hard time. There was a lot of attitude. There was a lot of tough guy covering up a wounded heart. Maybe seeing mom break is what it took to break through his shell. I don't know, but I do know since then he has been a much kinder Nolan, the big teddy bear that I knew was still there.

I am excited for presents. If you know me well, you might be surprised to hear that. We normally keep that part of Christmas to a minimum. I did still stick to our four gift strategy, technically. I just went a little bigger with it. I know any therapist would tell you I am totally trying to compensate heart hurts with things, but I don't care. I found some things I think the kids are going to love, and I'm excited to see them open them! 

I love having all the kids home this week. It has been a relatively low key week. I've spent a lot of time in the kitchen. We've baked, and I've cooked real meals. Well, dinners anyway. Frozen pizza for lunch while mom is baking cookies does happen here. We had a Star Wars movie marathon. It is nice to have the boys around. With the school schedule, we barely see them during the week. When they are home, I spend most of the time nagging Nolan to get things done. I am enjoying this more relaxed time.

I find comfort in keeping our traditions. Our traditions are pretty low key. I know for some who are grieving, traditions bring sadness, for me they bring comfort. I guess in knowing life does go on. We cut our tree from our property. This one is pretty scraggly, but it serves the purpose. It is even decorated, which is better than we did last year. I baked some of our favorite cookies. I baked a cheesecake, Tim's favorite. We will go to Christmas Eve services. We will stay home for a quiet (or as quiet as it gets around here,) Christmas morning, and travel the next day.

I am in awe of the continuing support we receive from our community of friends and family. People continue to support us with their time, money, words, and prayers. It is awesome to be loved and remembered.

I am learning to quiet my heart, and turn toward the Lord. That is what He has been teaching me through this whole process. When the emotions, the daily tasks, and the frustrations seem overwhelming there still is peace and joy. And isn't this the season of peace and joy? 

Merry Christmas!

Hope

I came across this picture yesterday. We were sitting in Huntington airport waiting for our plane to Florida. I wish we were taking a Florida vacation again, all together, all six of us. I wish I was sitting anywhere, doing anything with that man at my side.

It has been almost four months, and in many ways we have found a new daily routine. Occasionally, in the middle of this routine, disbelief will work its way through to the surface. I still can't believe he is actually gone. He was far too young. Besides melanoma, he was the picture of health. I think I could count on my hands the number of days he missed work before cancer. It isn't fair to the kids. It isn't fair to me.

Other times in the midst of our daily activities the smallest things will set the tears flowing. Yesterday, it was this picture. I don't even remember why I was looking through pictures. There were tons of pictures with Tim, but this one made me cry. A few weeks ago, it was grilled cheese that started the crying.

It was one of the first really cold days of fall. Grilled cheese and tomato soup is one of our favorite cold weather meals, and it was on the dinner menu. Tim loved grilled cheese. He loved to pick the little crispy bits of cheese that would fall onto the griddle. That evening there was no one picking while I cooked. That started the emotions, but when I realized I'd made too many sandwiches, the tears began to flow.

Our griddle makes six at time. I loaded that griddle up twice, just like I've done a hundred times before. But we aren't six anymore. We are five. There is always an empty space at the table, and I don't need to fill the griddle twice when I make grilled cheese.

I convinced myself that the holidays wouldn't be too bad. We never made a huge deal about things like that. Our traditions were loose and somewhat fluid. Yet, several days before Thanksgiving heaviness and sensitivity began to settle. It is still here. I imagine it will stay through the holidays. I imagine it will be with us in varying degrees at varying times forever, but it is ok. It is part of the process. We suffered a great loss. He was a great man. He is gone, but will always be part of us. We still have joy. We still have peace. We still have hope.

This I recall to my mind, therefore I have hope. Through the Lord's mercies we are not consumed, because His compassions fail not. They are new every morning; Great is Your faithfulness. "The Lord is my portion," says my soul, "therefore I hope in Him!" The Lord is good to those who wait for Him, to the soul who seeks Him. It is good that one should hope and wait quietly for the salvation of the Lord. ~ Lamentaions 3:21-26

One Step then Another

I remember going rappelling with my dad. He would always say, "The first step is the hardest." Whether you considered yourself adventurous or precautious, that first step was a big one. It was easier to stay on the top of the ledge where it was safe. Where you didn't have to put in any efforts. Where it was comfortable, if not fulfilling.

Isn't all of life like that though. The first step is the hardest. I am not just talking about big life changing events. Sometimes the first step is just getting yourself out of bed to face the day.

I had been warned that at the two month mark grief often hits hard. It is at this point that reality sinks in. That you realize this is life. This is life without the person I love. There is no fix for this.

This is where I find myself. The grief is heavy again. I want to lay in bed all day and binge watch Netflix. My patience is thin, and I feel easily defeated. Taking that first step to face the day is a struggle, and even once taken my pace is lethargic.

People say I need to give myself time. I know they are right. I know the waves of grief will become less frequent, less devastating. I also know that I must push through them when they come. There is no relief in laying in bed, watching TV, or scrolling Facebook. When I can make myself take that first step, and then the second, third, fourth, there is some comfort.

I don't feel like working in the garden. I don't feel like making dinner. I don't feel like taking a walk on a gorgeous fall day. I don't feel like caring for animals. Nevertheless, when I push myself to take that first step and the steps that follow I am always glad that I did. Keeping my hands busy clears my mind and spirit in a way that I can never do when trying to sit in the quiet or numbing my brain with some sort of entertainment.

Tasks that require my brain and emotions are different though. Dealing with a difficult child, talking to a lawyer, completing paperwork for colleges or to settle accounts are things that I don't want to do, and I find no comfort in. They drain me. I find myself completely exhausted after these activities. Still, they must be done, one step after another.

Most days, I don't want to take that first step. Sometimes, I don't want to take the second or third step either. I have to though. There are tasks that must be completed and will simply become an even more overwhelming pile if I don't chip away at them. There are tasks that bring some enjoyment. I need to overcome my inertia, and participate even if it is one slow step after another.

Great Aunt Hazel 10/31/1916- 9/24/2015

1917 Grandpa (Walter) & Aunt Hazel

On Sunday we had a memorial service for my Great Aunt Hazel (Franks) Fisher. It is amazing to me to think of the history and changes that Aunt Hazel saw in her lifetime. She told stories of her childhood, of the family's first car, of how WWII rationing really didn't affect them because they lived on a farm, of the changes that she saw. 

Her father died when she and my grandfather were young. Her mom never remarried. The three of them ran the farm. I remember her telling me that farming was more of my grandpa's love. Aunt Hazel really didn't care for it that much. 

1953 Aunt Hazel, Grandpa (Walter,) Great Grandma Bessie,
Grandma (Erma,) Uncle Vern, Mom (Linda,) Aunt Nancy

A family member helped Aunt Hazel pay for secretarial school and she was off to the big city of Cleveland for her education. She married Uncle George and they settled in Akron. They never had any children, but they kept close to her family in Fredericksburg. 

1978? My brothers and I with Aunt Hazel on the farm she grew up on.

I remember Aunt Hazel and Uncle George visiting regularly, often out for a country drive. They always brought gifts. They would pick up snack foods and toiletries on sale and bring them along for the family. They were preppers of their generation. I remember their basement with shelves along every wall full of canned goods, shampoo, and other non perishables. 

As I got older, Aunt Hazel would bring me costume jewelry, and later she would slip me cash, especially if I had a trip on the calendar. Even later, when she knew Tim and I were paying on student loans and money was tight, she would help us often. We never asked, she would just slip a wad of cash in my hand. 

Aunt Hazel, the farm girl who told me she hadn't left Wayne County until she was almost an adult, went on to travel the world. She travelled to every continent, except Antarctica, and she got as close to that as she could, travelling to the tip of South America. She was always off on a trip. Her husband didn't enjoy world travelling. He stayed home, and she went with tour groups. The things she saw. 

After her husband died, she met Terry. Terry became her companion and caretaker. They moved a camper to West Virginia. At first it was their weekend place, but eventually they spent most of their time here. Aunt Hazel remained witty and sharp up until the last couple of years, and physically she was in remarkable shape for her age. 

2008 at her home in Akron with Terry

Goodbye Aunt Hazel. You and your spunk and wit will be missed. Your stories and memories will remain.

Beyond the Fog

We left our hotel room shortly after dawn headed toward Virginia and the funeral of my brother-in-law. The air was crisp. The fog was heavy.

The drive  was stressful. I didn't know the roads. I could barely see the road in front of me. I was not looking forward to arriving at our destination. Yet, we pressed on.

At times the fog hovered 10 feet or so above the ground. We could see the road a little more clearly, along with peeks of the surrounding landscape. Sporadically, the fog would lift completely, and we would see what had been there all along. The mountains were on every side. Trees, in the beginning of their autumn glory, brushed with color. Cows grazed contentedly on lush valley pastures. Quaint little towns were nestled between babbling rivers and mountain slopes. And occasionally, the warm sun would break through the cloud cover and bask the land in light.

Beyond the fog there was peace. There was beauty. There was life.

In those early morning hours, the breaks in fog were brief. We had only a moment to appreciate what we had seen, and then we were once again enveloped in the fog.

This morning reminded me of life the last five years. Well, maybe life in general, but especially the last five years. I am so often unable to look beyond the tasks that are in front of me. My focus is on the road, and it isn't pretty. It isn't enjoyable, but it must be done. The beauty, the peace, the life is all around me, and I am stuck in the fog.

Sometimes I catch a glimpse of what is beyond the fog. It is splendid, but momentary. I want to see more of the beauty, the peace, life around me. I want the fog to lift, and the light to shine.

Unsure

This summer I realized that we hadn't had a family picture taken in a long time. The last professional picture taken was when Nolan was a baby. Over the years we took plenty of pictures of the four kids together. There are even quite of few of Tim and I together, but the last picture I could find of all six of us was when Vivian was a baby. That picture was hurriedly taken after church, but before lunch, which is why Tim doesn't look happy.

I called a local photographer we know, and scheduled an appointment. Tim was in the hospital the day of our appointment, and then it was too late.

I decided I still wanted a professional photo of the kids. I made another appointment. Lavender Photography did an excellent job. The kids weren't entirely co-operative, and quite frankly were getting on my nerves. Toril just rolled with it.

 When I made the appointment, I really thought I just wanted photos of the kids. The idea of being in the picture felt weird. A family photo without Tim? I just wasn't sure, but the kids (especially Vivian) encouraged me to join them. So, I went to the appointment dressed to be in a photo, but still not sure I wanted to be. In the end, I did.

I am glad I did. I wish we had gotten this done with the six of us. Like it or not, we are now five, and entering yet another transition with children becoming adults. I am glad we captured this moment in time, even if I wish this moment was different.

Not as Expected

Two years ago Tim and I made a huge change to our family's life. We were homeschoolers. None of the kids had ever been in school, but we also knew better than to Never Say Never. When we made that change, we had lots of ideas about the benefits the change would bring. Benefits to our family time and finances were expected. Never, at that time, did we imagine the needs we would face in the following years, or the provision that would come when we said yes to teaching at Cross Lanes Christian School.

From the beginning, the staff and parents were friendly and welcoming. That first year was hard for us all, adjusting to a new schedule, new curriculum, and style of education. We had lots of support, encouragement, and understanding from the CLCS family.

At the end of that school year Round Two of Tim's melanoma occurred. That is when we saw the generosity of the CLCS family. Oh we'd seen it some before. The mother's prayer group puts on a fantastic show of appreciation for teacher appreciation week. Families are kind and generous to the teachers at Christmas, and overall are very giving of their time and resources for the school. But we had to make a trip to Duke for Tim's surgery, and to our surprise gas cards, gift cards and cash began to show up in our school mailboxes.

Our second year at CLCS, Tim took a leave of absence in early October. The outpouring of support for our family this year was astounding. I am afraid to make a list for fear of forgetting something, but there was help with the practical things like cash for medical bills, meals, gas cards, grocery store gift cards, and transportation. There were gifts to make life easier and more enjoyable. There were gifts that made my jaw drop at their generosity.

The support was not only shown in the tangible things. There were prayers, words of encouragement, and love. There was mentorship. I am not just talking about professionally. Another teacher in my building had lost her husband when her children were young. We had playground duty together which gave us the opportunity to talk. She was (and is) an incredible support through this difficult year.

Just last week we were blessed again by the generosity of this school family. A tree was planted in remembrance of Tim. We were again showered with gift cards and cash. Each of the children were given something special to remember their dad.

Kellen's class spruced up Tim's guitar, and gave it to Kellen. Nolan's class named a star after Tim, and gave Nolan a telescope to find it with. The girls' classes (or former classes) gave them a locket with Tim's picture, and a personalized journal.

Tim and I took jobs at CLCS, we completely uprooted the way our family did things, without a clue of the great challenges we would face, or the provision that would come. Our view was so limited. I am so thankful that His view is not.

New Normal

In the midsts of our pain and all the changes that come without having Tim here, I've held on to the hope that we'd get through this and find our new normal. And I suppose, in some ways we will, but I am also coming to understand that a new normal may be a long time in coming, and it will not remain.

It is a long time coming because the waves of grief catch me off guard. Just when I think I'm starting to come to some balance, a wave pushes me over and leaves me stumbling for a few days.

That new normal is a long way off because this is a season of change, and change is inevitable. Trying to hold onto my normal is like trying to hold an ocean in my hands. It can not be done. I am better off letting it go, and simply riding the waves.

Just in the past year, we've had major life adjustments from Tim's illness. In the past weeks, we've attempted to adjust after losing Tim while adjusting to me being home again, the girls homeschooling, and the boys headed off to school by themselves. Not to mention the farm transition we were in the middle of when this all happened. The changes aren't going to stop any time soon.

Graduation plans and order forms are here. Kellen is practically buried in the college recruitment mailings. He is neck deep in college scholarship and early decision applications.  In less than a year, he will likely be sitting in some classroom in some prestigious university on the East Coast.  And we will be here, and Nolan will likely be coming back home for school, and if we've found a new normal by then, it will all have slipped through our fingers and we will start again.

Looking ahead, I can only see more and more of those changes coming as the kids grow up (too quickly) and I set aside the plans Tim and I had for those years, to make new ones. This life is fleeting and ever changing. I can't change that. I'm better off not trying to fight that, or to trying to hold on tightly to things that will not last. Instead I look to the only unchangeable thing, "Jesus Christ is the same yesterday, today, and forever" Hebrews 13:8.

This Boy

This kid.

This boy.

This middle school, pre-teen boy.

He looks like his dad. His personality is more Appleton than Miller.

Some days he is simply adorable. So funny. So tender hearted. So considerate. A big teddy bear. When we made the transition from homeschool to private school, he was the one I worried about the most. My worries were unnecessary. His teachers love him.

Other days I wonder if both of us will be able to survive his pre-teen years. He is very "middle school boy" in all the ways that can be annoying and slightly obnoxious. He is highly distracted, and you'd think every little task I ask of him is hard labor.

With he and Kellen at school, and the girls and I homeschooling, I often feel like I don't get enough time with him. He doesn't get my best time. I am past my prime when they get home, and I feel like I spend the entire evening nagging him to get off the screens, do homework, do chores, and pack his lunch.

At these times, I miss spending our days together at school. I was in my classroom. He was in his, but I'd see him through the day, check in with his teachers, and there was always the long car ride back and forth to school. The car ride where the kids fought most of the way. . . .maybe I don't miss those days so much.

And as I am writing this, I remember a post I wrote a long time ago, Dealing with the Strong Willed Child.  Nolan was three when I wrote that. The advice I gave myself then, I needed to read again. One thing that has always worked well with Nolan is #9, One on One Time.

It is something I have been trying to do in the last week or so. It is harder now than when he was three, I must say. So many distractions. Like Saturday, we went to the farmers' market together. The weather was miserable. It was unseasonably cold and alternated between mist and rain the  entire morning. Nolan spent the majority of the time on the tablet, playing a game, looking like this because he could get wifi in that spot.

Another thing he and I have been doing is reading Shiloh together. He cracks me up with his West Virginia twang while he reads the main characters dialogue. He has a very tender heart for animals. So, this has been a great book to read together.

For those of you who did not believe me when I said I basically taught Nolan to read while he was on his head, this is how he read tonight. Not on his head, but, and this was the most still he was the whole time we were reading.

This kid.

This boy.

This funny, loving, sweet boy.

I love him to pieces.

Crazy Thoughts

Two friends recently posted on Facebook how their grief just makes them want to run away. It is a feeling I share. I have a great urge to just take off. It doesn't matter where. I just want to go, but what would I be running from or to? The emptiness would still be there. The grief would follow me.

It isn't Tim's things, our home, or the things we shared here that make me sad. It is the lack of intimacy. I think of myself as a fairly independent person, but I now have begun to realize how greatly I depended on Tim. He was there when I didn't even realize I needed him. He understood how I ticked. Our personalities were vastly different, but he balanced me.Without him there is a huge gaping hole.

I also am beginning to see the wisdom behind the advice of not making any major decisions for the first year after a life changing event. That advice was first given to me in regard to a birth of child. Considering hormonal changes and sleep deprivation, that surely is wise advice. Yet, I think it is so much more important now.  With a new child there was always joy about the situation at some level. Never with a birth of a child, have I had such crazy thoughts or roller coaster emotions.

 I think about trivial things like cutting all my hair off.  I think about taking long vacations. I think about moving, somewhere, anywhere. Taking a job in a remote Scottish village is actually pretty appealing. I have found my thoughts return to unhealthy behaviors and patterns that haven't been a part of my life for decades. I find myself glad for having all the kids at home. They keep me grounded. And I realize that all these crazy ideas running through my head, all these up and down crazy emotions I feel daily, are all just an attempt to fill the emptiness. None of them will satisfy the ache within.

And I try to remember to turn my heart to the Lord and to rest in Him, and ask that my heart would see what my head knows is true.

Psalms 16:11 You will show me the path of life: In Your presence is fullness of joy; At Your right hand are pleasures forevermore.

Isaiah 40:5-8 The glory of the LORD shall be revealed, And all flesh shall see it together; For the mouth of the LORD has spoken." The voice said, "Cry out!" And he said, "What shall I cry?" "All flesh is grass, And all its loveliness is like the flower of the field. The grass withers, the flower fades, Because the breath of the LORD blows upon it; Surely the people are grass. The grass withers, the flower fade, But the word of our God stands forever."

Romans 15:13 Now may the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace in believing, that you may abound in hope by the power of the Holy Spirit.

I don't think this ache will ever go away completely, but I pray that I would be obedient to turn to Him, and that my foolish thoughts would be replaced with His light and peace.