I get up, fix breakfast, hair and all kinds of problems. I plan, organize, clean. I snuggle my kids, answer the phone and do a countdown for when daddy comes home.
I am a mom. For most of you my life probably looks busy and full and loud.
I took my two to Meijer today. We all held hands in the parking lot. I saw many people smile at the cuteness of my kids. I listened to their little chatter.
"Are we buying toys this time, Ava?"
"No, Liam, not this time. Just fruit and other things on the list."
"But, why?"
"That's just what Mommy said."
Trust me, it's not always that easy. Today I promised them popsicles if they were good listeners through the store. Sometimes it's gum. Sometimes it's a lost cause.
And as we entered the store, holding hands, I listened more to Ava's stories of going in the wrong way with Daddy, learning to read and follow directions. I was well aware of the ache in my heart. I had to wonder what it would have been like, what would it look like. Sometimes his absence is a gut wrenching pain. Sometimes it's a quiet tear. Other times it's easy to just smile at the memories.
And then as I put these two to bed....I realized something.
Ava falls asleep by herself now.
We say goodnight and she knows we'll be here. We aren't leaving. You see, when Thao got so sick, we had to leave in the middle of the night. Jeff and I took him to the ER here in town. They almost immediately sent us to OSF in Peoria, 2 hours away. Thao and Jeff rode in the ambulance. Liam and I went by car. We left Ava asleep in her bed, with family watching her.
But we left her.
She woke up to familiar faces, but they weren't ours.
She was told by other people that her Bubby was in the hospital.
Yes, they brought her to us right away. Yes, she stayed in Peoria with us the entire time. She got to see Thao in the hospital. He was her best friend, her big brother, her confidant, her protector. They shared a room and often whispered to each other after we thought they were asleep. They were together. All.The.Time. He answered all her questions and taught her how to dig for worms and save bugs. He rescued her from tornadoes. He played puppies and dinosaurs and bossed her around.
And then he was gone. He was sick. Really sick.
And we talked about when he would come home. They party we would throw.
He asked if we could take Ava and Liam to get ice cream on the way home.
I promised him we would.
And then he stopped asking. He shook his head. He never asked why. He knew we were with him. And he understood we took turns caring for the other children. He asked me to tell Liam "hi'.
We told Ava stories and had her favorite things. We made her a photo album of special memories. She was three.
And then he got worse. She couldn't visit him anymore.
"Thao went to be with Jesus"
What does that even mean to a 3 year old? How do you explain the permanency? How do you show her what hope and life looks like when you don't even know?
He was the bridge between us.
And our once independent, awesome, fearless daughter could no longer go to sleep by herself. She needed us and we needed her.
On the way home we got ice cream. That was one of the only promises I felt I could keep.
Then Ava asked if maybe Jesus would bring Thao to our home.
The first few weeks and months were filled with us telling our 3 year old that her best friend would never ever come home again. And we focused on heaven and Jesus and tried to fill her with hope eternal. We moved Liam into her room she had once shared with Thao. But we still stayed until they had fallen asleep...
..until now.
I am thankful she has healing.
I am thankful for her faith in Jesus.
I am thankful for the little girl she is.
I am thankful for her hope.
I am thankful she remembers.
I believe though, it is now just a memory. She's gotten used to living without him. She is in uncharted territory, though. All of us are. We've been parents for almost 8 years. But she's lived longer than her brother did. She finished kindergarten.
I've been holding onto these fears. Fear of change, fear of forgetting, fear of hurt.
So, I have to make a choice. I can live in my fear, or I can embrace the moments.
And even though to most of you, my life looks busy and full and loud (and maybe somewhat crazy), there are just many days that feel lost and lonely and quiet. My heart holds 8 children, but my hands hold only 2.
I'm going to embrace the moments, pray like crazy and lean on Jesus, everything I need.
I am a mom. For most of you my life probably looks busy and full and loud.
I took my two to Meijer today. We all held hands in the parking lot. I saw many people smile at the cuteness of my kids. I listened to their little chatter.
"Are we buying toys this time, Ava?"
"No, Liam, not this time. Just fruit and other things on the list."
"But, why?"
"That's just what Mommy said."
Trust me, it's not always that easy. Today I promised them popsicles if they were good listeners through the store. Sometimes it's gum. Sometimes it's a lost cause.
And as we entered the store, holding hands, I listened more to Ava's stories of going in the wrong way with Daddy, learning to read and follow directions. I was well aware of the ache in my heart. I had to wonder what it would have been like, what would it look like. Sometimes his absence is a gut wrenching pain. Sometimes it's a quiet tear. Other times it's easy to just smile at the memories.
And then as I put these two to bed....I realized something.
Ava falls asleep by herself now.
We say goodnight and she knows we'll be here. We aren't leaving. You see, when Thao got so sick, we had to leave in the middle of the night. Jeff and I took him to the ER here in town. They almost immediately sent us to OSF in Peoria, 2 hours away. Thao and Jeff rode in the ambulance. Liam and I went by car. We left Ava asleep in her bed, with family watching her.
But we left her.
She woke up to familiar faces, but they weren't ours.
She was told by other people that her Bubby was in the hospital.
Yes, they brought her to us right away. Yes, she stayed in Peoria with us the entire time. She got to see Thao in the hospital. He was her best friend, her big brother, her confidant, her protector. They shared a room and often whispered to each other after we thought they were asleep. They were together. All.The.Time. He answered all her questions and taught her how to dig for worms and save bugs. He rescued her from tornadoes. He played puppies and dinosaurs and bossed her around.
And then he was gone. He was sick. Really sick.
And we talked about when he would come home. They party we would throw.
He asked if we could take Ava and Liam to get ice cream on the way home.
I promised him we would.
And then he stopped asking. He shook his head. He never asked why. He knew we were with him. And he understood we took turns caring for the other children. He asked me to tell Liam "hi'.
We told Ava stories and had her favorite things. We made her a photo album of special memories. She was three.
And then he got worse. She couldn't visit him anymore.
"Thao went to be with Jesus"
What does that even mean to a 3 year old? How do you explain the permanency? How do you show her what hope and life looks like when you don't even know?
He was the bridge between us.
And our once independent, awesome, fearless daughter could no longer go to sleep by herself. She needed us and we needed her.
On the way home we got ice cream. That was one of the only promises I felt I could keep.
Then Ava asked if maybe Jesus would bring Thao to our home.
The first few weeks and months were filled with us telling our 3 year old that her best friend would never ever come home again. And we focused on heaven and Jesus and tried to fill her with hope eternal. We moved Liam into her room she had once shared with Thao. But we still stayed until they had fallen asleep...
..until now.
I am thankful she has healing.
I am thankful for her faith in Jesus.
I am thankful for the little girl she is.
I am thankful for her hope.
I am thankful she remembers.
I believe though, it is now just a memory. She's gotten used to living without him. She is in uncharted territory, though. All of us are. We've been parents for almost 8 years. But she's lived longer than her brother did. She finished kindergarten.
I've been holding onto these fears. Fear of change, fear of forgetting, fear of hurt.
So, I have to make a choice. I can live in my fear, or I can embrace the moments.
And even though to most of you, my life looks busy and full and loud (and maybe somewhat crazy), there are just many days that feel lost and lonely and quiet. My heart holds 8 children, but my hands hold only 2.
I'm going to embrace the moments, pray like crazy and lean on Jesus, everything I need.