"Upsetting the "normal" while creating the beautiful." Annette Kruschek |
Yes, you read that correctly... my friend you see next to me in this picture is dying. Once again God brought another human into my life when I least expected it. Once again God brought another person into my life that I will have to say goodbye to. I've become a good student in God's classroom over the years. His lessons are tough to accept but to ignore his lessons would be to limit my life of friendships like this one.
My friend, who will remain nameless, (yes, I know his face is now plastered over social media) but to know him, fully know him the way I do, you need to get into his circle to learn his name. I only hope after reading this you will see "different" people as an invitation to open your heart, ears and eyes into a relationship that is waiting to happen. Our friendship began last year in our sweet small town. Dan and I decided to do something we had never done in all of our years of parenting... we dropped the kids off at school and invited each other to coffee at a local cafe. With excitement I walked into the cafe and bellied up to the vintage counter for a cozy spot with my main man and a cup of warm brew. Well, I didn't even get the creamer in my coffee before a man started small talk with Dan. I know about small talk so I thought it would be over relatively quick but to know this man I have learned that nothing is small or even short. Their conversation continued through two cups of coffee. Something happened to me though, as we were getting up to leave this perfect stranger said something to me that I'll never forget. "I can see you have a beautiful soul". I could have thought he was just flattering me because he stole my breakfast date but something unexplainable happened and here we are over a year later... cherished friends. My friend has lived a life that many would judge as horrible; whether it's decisions he has made, addictions he has had, relationships that have been damaged, promises that have been broken or a body that no longer wants to cooperate with him. I however want to highlight the friend I know. His story is his to share but what I can share is that he has had to triumph over his own crosses. He has had to come to terms with his past decisions. He has had to make the decision to trust people even when his brain wants to attack him and not trust himself. God put two people in a cafe that day that needed one another more than they realized. My friend is SO wise. He can see inside a heart as if it's wide open. He can read me like an open book. Dan and I both believe that our coffee date wasn't necessarily met for the two of us. God placed this gem of a friend next to us so that one day he would be sitting at our Thanksgiving table. I remember inviting him to Thanksgiving last year after only knowing him for a few short weeks. My kids have learned that there is always an open seat at our table. Traditions are meant to be broken because there is always a gift waiting when you open yourself up to change. My friend got to be around family, he got to see an intense game of spoons being played and he got to see that family doesn't always have to have the same bloodline. God being God has been reminding me that my time with him is limited. The mystery of God's lesson is this... time. How much? Once again, I am in a position of not knowing when the last time will be I have coffee with him in "our special booth". When will be the last time I hear him say, "10-4, 10-4". I find that I save his voicemails because one day his voice will be a memory. We have had hard conversations before. I've realized over this past year that it has taken him a lot of reassurance that I am truly his friend. He has had to put trust into me and our relationship. In turn I have trusted him with my tears, my fears and the loss that I've experienced in my life. What I am trying to tell everyone who is reading this today... we are ALL broken. Don't judge the next person you meet just because they look different, act different, are a different religion, from a different country, have a different past... WE ALL ARE BROKEN PEOPLE. I can tell you something we all do very well... we ALL make mistakes. Mistakes can be a beautiful thing because you can learn from them and move forward in a different way. I was invited to attend an AA meeting this past June. My friend was being presented with a pin for 35 years of sobriety. This friend of mine has lost all of his family and his children no longer speak to him. I was honored to be invited to sit and hear his speech of sobriety. I looked around the room that day and saw "family". It is no accident that God chose me as a mother to three children with medical complexities, labeling them as palliative; just as it was no accident that I met a man at a diner who told me recently that he doesn't have long to live. We've had those hard conversations. No stone is left uncovered. I bought this friend of mine a windchime months ago. We've decided that when his time finally comes, and he leaves this world I will go to his apartment and retrieve that windchime. My backyard is where I feel Evelyn, my parents and my brother. My backyard will now have space for my special friend and his windchime will make music with the rest of my loves. As you belly up to the Thanksgiving table this year look around who will be joining you. Don't just go through the motions. Don't grit and "fake smile" your way through it. A table is meant to be shared. Share it well. Happy Thanksgiving to you and yours.
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For those who do not already know; my son, Charlie is a professional photographer. He has gifted me many pictures that give me a glimpse of what heaven might look like. Some pictures are so beautiful that I envision myself looking at Evelyn standing in the distance running to me with her messy ponytails bouncing and her trademark smile waiting for me to scoop her up and place her on my shoulders. Heaven.
I chose to share this particular picture with all of you because as I writer my hope is that my words will hit you in a place where you feel as if you aren't alone. I'm smiling because as I type I am looking at my very dirty fingernails. If my fingernails could tell a story they would say that I they have been busy shoveling more poop than they would care to admit, dug holes and weeded a garden that has surprised them with their very first crop of veggies and wildflowers. If I continue to look at my fingernails I also see how very short they have become. That is what I am here to talk about. Fear. To me when I think of forward facing I think of fear. Charlie's picture describes it perfectly... the low and ominous clouds. The darkness in the distance. The layers of clouds stacked upon each other. The tall grass with no path to be seen. The bent wire fence symbolizing a possible dead end or stopping point. The sun... oh the beautiful sun shining brightly giving light even when the stormy clouds want to overtake its beauty. I love this picture because it explains me right now. I am forward facing all while feeling as if I have a layer of stormy clouds swirling in my stomach. I rise each day with my brain telling me to look for the sun, search for the path and cross over that barbed wire fence even if it hurts. Forward facing goes in a direction that has yet to be lived. As a society we love to dwell on the past. We hoard hurts and collect feelings that only keep us pondering situations that have already been lived. Dwelling on broken relationships, misunderstandings and missed opportunities tend to keep our eyes facing the past and our buttocks facing the future. I don't know about you but I can't accomplish much with my behind in charge. I pray that those of you reading never have to bury a child but I know that I am not alone when it comes to the experience of losing of a loved one. Forward facing while dealing with the loss of a loved one is something I am still learning. I have been in therapy since Evelyn passed. I rely on this as much as I rely on keeping my relationship with God intact. I will say, if given the choice I would let my glass of red wine go before I would say goodbye to my therapist. Forward facing can only be managed with the acknowledgement that I cannot do it alone. I need someone who can help me when I need a pulse check into what I am really feeling. I have learned over the past two years that the majority of my fears come from my brain trying to trick me. If I allow myself to listen to my brain before I actually peel back the layers of my fear then I will find myself biting off more of my nails. Recently I have been struggling with the fear of speaking up when I only know it might upset someone. The phrase, "see something, say something" is powerful. Fear. I am afraid of what the future could hold with that relationship. I am afraid of the consequences. I am afraid of being misunderstood and attacked. While these are very real fears they are also forward facing. I have no idea how the message will be received but my brain wants to attack me in the hopes that I do nothing. The same could be true with regards to following a passion in life or taking a leap into a new career. What if I fail? What if I can't balance the demands? What will others think? What will happen if it was a wrong decision. The "what if" game actually keeps you out of the game. Sitting on the sidelines and spectating is fine to a degree but if that is your permanent residence then you will get what you give... a bleacher with other onlookers. I can look at my life and see when God has asked me to get in the game but I chose to sit on the sidelines because of fear, rejection and possible defeat. I can also see when God has placed something so heavily on my heart that even if I wanted to say no I couldn't because the weight of it was too much. I would consider myself an "emotional empath". I've said since I was little that I could walk into a room and find the one person who was feeling "less than". I don't walk into a room searching for the "underdog, the 'not quite' and the lonely". I think God wired me in a way that I pick up on feelings that are heavy. I also think God put me in situations as a little girl to be the "not quite, the outcast, the less than". My experience has allowed me to walk the walk and talk the talk. My experience of caring for aging parents has allowed me to speak up for the elderly. My experience with death and grief has allowed me the opportunity to write and give hope to the hopeless. These experiences could not have been lived if I would have chosen to sit on the bleachers. While these choices have been gut wrenchingly painful they have allowed me to step into the speaking arena and advocate on the behalf of the young and the old. Experiences are only afforded to those who face forward and say yes even when there isn't a visible path. As an empath I struggle daily with the decision to not "fix". I have learned through therapy that swooping in and fixing other people who are hurting is to ignore my own hurts. I can clearly see over the past ten years how often I swooped. When my Dad passed away I swooped in because I was so afraid of seeing my Mom in pain without her best friend. Guess what? I lost my Dad. That pain was raw but I chose to care for my Mom and place my sadness aside because in reality it was too painful to feel the feelings. The death of my Mom, my brother and Evelyn have now given me a birds eye view of witnessing pain and being helpless. Therapy has taught me to stop swooping and fixing and let people sit in their own personal pain. We cannot grow when someone is picking up our pieces. My struggle right now is facing forward and not swooping to fix someone. It goes against the current that has so easily flowed from my veins... see pain or conflict and "fix". In reality fixing can only come from that individual and it has nothing to do with me. We cannot move forward if we don't acknowledge the fear we might have about the future. Sometimes being your own very best friend is all you really ever need in those situations. Have you ever complimented yourself? Have you ever told yourself how proud you are of you? Stop collecting friends and start with yourself. Acknowledge your hangups but don't sit in them as an excuse to not move forward and face the future. Be the friend to yourself that you would want your children or a loved one to attract. I will leave you with your own personal pulse check. Have you let fear keep you from facing the future? Have you been wearing a mask to disguise the real you? If you answered yes or even "maybe" to one of those questions then consider doing this... go to a quiet place and while looking at yourself in the mirror and take off your mask. Without the protection of the mask, without the distractions of the "to do" list give yourself the opportunity to stare at the reflection. Name it, claim it and go for it. Face forward with eyes focused on staying in the game. Throw the mask in the garbage and allow yourself to be uncomfortable with the uncertainty of the future. Love yourself enough to believe in yourself. Years of clicking on a keyboard and unleashing my feelings into cyberspace has led me to this point... "The Invitation". I have been invited to co-write in an upcoming book along with other authors who share their very personal stories ranging from grief, suicide, obesity, mental health issues to working in healthcare during a pandemic. To say that I feel honored would be an understatement.
I've been writing for years. Many of you who are currently reading this have been along for the ride with me. My writings have primarily focused on my family and my faith. I decided to begin writing because I was beginning to see a trend with how God would push me and because of that nudging, beautiful doors would open. I guess you could say that I put on a pair of rose-colored glasses and thought that if I were obedient God would reward BUT that quickly didn't become the situation. I quickly realized that with every "invitation" came an uphill, swim against the current type of effect, (mission trips, moving my parents into our home, adoptions, moving to the country and multiple family deaths) have been invitations that my husband and I accepted not knowing the outcome. Some have viewed these past invitations as risky which is why some of those relationships have been challenging and distant. However, it is through the uphill walk with my husband that we get breaks in the trek to see how God continues to encourage us along the way. I've learned that walking the narrow road with God is scary because he is not satisfied with sideline opinions, he wants you in the game. The moment you say, "yes" to the game he begins his teachable moments to make sure that you are in it for the right reason. Does God reward for doing his will? Yes. Does God promise that everything he does is going to make us happy? No. Does he promise that he will never leave us during those difficult moments? Absolutely. God has woven this upcoming book into an invitation that my husband and I accepted in May of 2019. That invitation came in the form of a phone call asking us if we would be interested in looking at a file of a sick little girl living in China, our daughter Evelyn Li. I never imagined that accepting that particular invitation would be the moment that would have me begging for more time with my daughter. I can see clearly; even through the dark lenses of grief that God knew our "yes" would be the biggest hurt of our lives. It doesn't make sense to many people why I still have my faith. I have had an uphill battle with some relationships since the death of my daughter that should be so easy. I am choosing to stay close to faith and hold on tight to what he continues to teach me through the pain. I have learned to "take cover" when I accept an invitation from God. It seems that the bigger the invitation the larger the risk of hurting. Here is brief summary of "take cover moments"... I said yes to a mission trip and my Mom broke her hip the day before leaving. I said yes to going to China on an advocacy trip and Clara had a seizure two days before. Arriving home from Korea with Norah and finding out at the airport that my Dad was on the phone with an oncologist telling him that he only had three months to live. Moving my aging parents into our home but then losing family relationships. Adopting complex medical children then planning Evelyn's funeral. Last month I accepted the invitation to co-author a book, You Can You Will. Last week I found myself at the hospital for a freak accident resulting in a boot cast. While I was being fitted for the boot I knew that God was reminding me that he has big plans for this book and the future of our family. I have chosen to accept this invitation to share my chapter titled, My Tiny Teacher. Evelyn accepted the biggest invitation of her life... to use herself as a light to bring people to their faith, bring hope to the hopeless and to love as if it is your last day. Evelyn said yes and now I am saying yes to what lies ahead with the opportunities and doors that will open. I am still "taking cover" BUT I am not afraid of saying yes because God is reminding me that he is here and will walk side by side with me, (limping and all). You Can, You Will is God's way of telling me to stay on the path and keep swimming against the current. I'm grateful that God has given me the ability to write and purge. I don't write this in the hopes that you will order a book but rather that you accept God's invitation to be used in a way that shines your light. This book is about people who have been used in spectacular ways and have accepted their own personal invitations to be used. My prayer is that this book is an encouragement to many. I promised Evelyn at her funeral that I would make her proud and that I would not let her death define me. Her life, while it was much too short spoke volumes to SO many people. May we all live like Evelyn and be used in the biggest of ways! I write to purge myself of the thoughts running through my head. I write to allow a space for those thoughts to have a resting place. I write to keep a diary of my relationship with God and the journey he continues to send me on throughout my time here on earth and finally I write because God has called me to the keyboard to document his unwavering faithfulness even in the midst of despair.
The picture you see above is my image of unwavering faithfulness. My intentions for writing this are not to bring hurt upon those who have suffered or are suffering but rather give me the space to share my honesty and ache for freedom of sorrow and pain. With that being said, I am glad you are here to allow me a moment to share my story of sorrow and love. "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all." I am sure you all have heard that phrase. I know I have used this phrase when talking to my kids, but what I never imagined is that I would use this as my own advice when it came to my marriage. Some background for those who don't know, Dan and I both met when we were 18. We had, (I won't say celebrated) our 25th wedding anniversary this past summer and have eight beautiful children. One would think we have walked through seasons of difficulties with our marriage and our relationship but that truly was seldom the issue. We agreed on many things. We were a great team in situations that tested not only our stamina of raising such a large family but also our commitment to caring for my ailing parents. I guess you could say the more life threw at us the more we would find a way to run with it and not look back. Then February 25, 2021 arrived and the hands of time stopped just as the image of my marriage came to a halt. Grief is a very ugly giant. It comes in and literally tramples over your entire "safe place" and leaves destruction in every direction you turn. For those of my readers who believe in the enemy I can fully testify to the fact that Satan is real and would love nothing more than to destroy what God has joined together for his good and his purpose. I will be honest though, for over a year I had a difficult time understanding God's purpose for our trials and complete despair. Our marriage was like looking at a home that had been hit by an earthquake... crushed at rattled at the foundation. It's hard to throw lifelines to others in the family when you don't have a preserver for you or your spouse. The best way to describe helping others in sorrow while living in sorrow is this... imagine my kids as buckets of water. The moment Evelyn passed away those buckets began to leak. In the beginning, multiple holes were draining and the buckets were pouring out faster than we could refill them. Having seven children who were all mourning in their own unique way made managing the leaking buckets similar to someone who balances spinning plates. I began to see how my marriage was crashing similar to plates dropping on the ground. How did we get here? Why were we being "punished", what did I do to deserve this life sentence? Sadness eventually turns to anger if not fully repaired. Anger in and of itself is really fear. Fear sets in rather quickly after a loved one passes. For me the fear was wondering if I could physically handle the heartache. Fear of learning how to live differently and in terms of my marriage, fear of losing my husband. I didn't know how we would find each other again. Our past experiences of jumping in headfirst and tackling problems together didn't even come close to helping us with the death of Evelyn. Everything in life changes when a child dies. The relationships you have with friends, your extended family, your life goals and yes, even a strong marriage of 25 years. Our marriage was hit to its core and our foundation needed repair from the ground up. "Faith, Hope and Love", "Blessed" "This family is built on love"... all these phrases and plaques that stared back at me after Evie passed only made me cynical, distrustful and hardened. I found myself hating Hobby Lobby and all the shops that boasted a "happily ever after". That wasn't my reality nor did it feel fair to be on this path of sorrow and marital loneliness. Dan and I needed our time and space to grieve in our own manner. The only problem with that is time is a thief and can rob you of your best friend if you allow too much time to pass that you forget one another. Our marriage needed an examination in the most vulnerable of ways. We needed to empty ourselves onto one another in order to find our way back to each other. Vulnerability in a way we never knew before. Being 18 years old and standing by the side of your soulmate one would think that everything has been discussed, but we realized that wasn't the case. During those months of despair and often silence I learned something. I didn't have a "lightbulb moment", "quick fix" or magic pill. I literally lifted my hands and found myself praying throughout the day. I'm fully transparent with my relationship with God. My prayers were not rote nor were they saved for bedtime or those designated for church. My prayers were conversations with God throughout the days, weeks and months ahead that would shake the foundation of my marriage. I remember walking out in the woods one day after feeling misunderstood and almost laughing saying to God, "Why?, I'm here and I'm asking for help but you continue to push me... why?" By the time I was finished with my walk I felt as if my one-way conversation with God suddenly had a faint voice talking back to me. It was a glimmer of clarity that I can't claim I came up with but rather a seed God placed in my hand. Since that day months ago I named that as my "seed of sorrow". The voice I felt as if I heard was God telling whispering the word "expectant". I took that word as my glimmer of hope and tucked it within my heart. "Expectant"... I was expecting God to answer my prayers. I was expecting my marriage to rebuild itself onto a new foundation after the monster of grief came rushing in. The beautiful thing about expectations is that there is a sense of hope that takes place. My prayers and conversations with God never ceased. I prayed with anticipation and expectation that he would move mountains just as he had done in the past. Evelyn's passing is not an indication that my prayers weren't answered. I saw firsthand how God moved mountains for her and through her. I saw God bring people to their faith, I felt God in every aspect of her life. That is hard to explain to those who struggle with their faith but as a Mother to Evelyn and a child of God it is not for me to judge God's ways, it is only important that I remain steadfast with who God is and will be forever. In terms of my marriage, God knew that Dan and I that would struggle but through the fires of grief we are finding our way back to each other. The fires of grief have only burned off that which was not intended for our marriage. I have learned that being completely vulnerable with my husband is something beautiful. We are rebuilding the foundation with vulnerability, commitment and of course trust. I gave my marriage to God for him to manage and repair. I needed to be more silent to really hear what God's plans were for us. I take zero credit. I will always give the credit to prayer and patience when God is control. Evelyn death didn't define our marriage nor the legacy of our family. Her life here on earth gave us the strength to make sure we shine her light brightly that it draws people to her spirit in heaven. I thank God every day for allowing me another day to live side by side with my best friend. That small little seed God placed in my hand during that walk in the woods has been gently planted. The seed of sorrow is emerging into a bud of stedfast love. I am also fully expecting God to answer my next prayer of celebrating my delayed 25th anniversary. :) It has been a long time since I have written. The words that would so easily flow have been bottled up. I spent the summer being authentic with my kids, our animals and my own need for space from the world and all of its busyness. The weeks of summer were loud and messy; but oddly it was just what I needed. Keeping my kids close this summer meant staying up late, waking up late, catching lightening bugs in jelly jars, watching our mama barn cats deliver kittens, building houses out of cardboard boxes, watching the kids learn how to cartwheel on a balance beam outside, berry picking, egg picking, walking with our donkeys and goats through the woods, showers with a hose, sprinkler parties on the trampoline and finally eating ice cream and ice pops anytime we wanted.
The summer brought a warmth to my heart when I needed it most. It made me look at my kids individually. I needed to reclaim my purpose in life of being a mother and make lasting memories all while holding on tightly to the cherished memories of Evelyn. To me that is one of the most difficult and heart wrenching battles I face on a daily basis... creating lasting memories when someone will always be missing from that memory. I tear up inside just typing that. The knot in my stomach tells me that this grief of mine is constantly there but I'm trying to manage it in a way that allows me to live a life that Evelyn would be proud of. The picture above is what I would like to title "The Evie Effect". Evelyn didn't waste time on this earth; she cut to the chase and immediately began reeling people into her spirit, her love for life and her ability to bring strangers together for the good. Pay attention to this story, don't skim because I believe Evelyn wanted me to share this with you all. She obviously could see that my book and my writings were beginning to collect dust so she sent me a stranger to revive my heart... My stranger showed up in the most unique place... a sub shop. While I was ordering a sub I noticed a man standing next to me waiting to order. I have been told by my kids that I am a horrible when glancing at people, rather than quickly glancing I stop and stare. I do it, I admit to it BUT when I see someone or something that makes me smile or laugh I will soak it in. Getting back to my sub story, I couldn't help but notice he was dressed in all blue. Blue t-shirt, blue pants, black shoes and a walkie talkie hanging out of his pocket. Upon further looking, (yes staring) I realized his shirt said volunteer fire department on the back. That quick little glance made me act on something that was out of my control. I looked over to my stranger friend and told him that I noticed his shirt and wanted to buy him his meal. He immediately said, "no that's not necessary, pay it forward to the person next in line." As we both looked it was obvious that we were the only two people in line. It was at that point when the young employee so humorously said, "Dude, you better just let her buy it because she doesn't look like she's going to take no for an answer." As we walked out of the sub shop together I explained to him how important first responders are to our family. I showed him a picture of Evelyn which was hanging off of my backpack and I told him that it not only took the EMTs to help save Evelyn but also firefighters. I explained how a firetruck was dispatched to the scene which allowed the driver of the ambulance to go in the back of the ambulance to give additional support to the crew. Without hesitation a firefighter hopped in the driver's seat and skillfully but quickly drove to the hospital. I explained how our family has two other kids with complex heart conditions and I am grateful to those who sacrifice their time and talent. I told him that while our story ended tragically it doesn't unnoticed that there are many stories that have happy endings. He thanked me and we went on our way to our separate vehicles, OR SO I THOUGHT... Within moments of getting in my van I felt a tap on my window and I found my new sub friend motioning to me to roll down my window. He asked me if our family had an AED machine (Automated External Defibrillator). I said no and he handed me a ripped piece of paper with his email address telling me to email him because "he was going to see what he could do." He went on to say that while he didn't know the exact specifics with Evelyn's emergency he wanted to see if he could do something to prevent future tragedies in our family. I closed up my window and felt goosebumps traveling down my legs. Tears started flowing before I could even back out of the stall. I looked at the ripped piece of paper in disbelief that this actually just happened. Just as Evelyn was taken away in a split second I felt her spirit SO profoundly in that moment. The "Evie Effect" is what I like to call the ripple effect of kindness and love. She embodied love and happiness. Evelyn was small but many of you know her love of life and her love of her family. The idea of having an AED machine in our home from a perfect stranger didn't make sense but knowing Evelyn was behind this only seemed logical that this was her way of keeping her family safe... She essentially was and is "reviving our hearts" that feel as if they have been stopped since February 25,2021. Last week while my heart was trying to embrace the summer and memories coming to an end I received a call, a very special call letting me know that a package was on its way to be personally delivered to our house. Moments later Dan and I found ourselves standing across from our new friend; a stranger in a sub shop to a friend standing on my front porch holding a new AED machine for our family. The "Evie Effect" is real. Her ability to bring people together is no joke. Even in heaven Evelyn is taking care of our family. I look at the silly grin on Evie's face in the picture above and I can almost hear what she would be saying... "I did it! I so brave and so are you!" Reviving the hearts of our family, my marriage and my state of mind, the AED machine is symbolic of that and so much more. I cannot step back into time, nor can I live as if time hasn't continued to move. Carrying Evelyn with me while our family continues to revive our hearts is where I am today. I have never cried more than I have in the past 1.5 years. I have never missed someone so much in all my life. I have never been as angry with God as I have since February 25th but I have never felt more in touch with me, I look at this as Evelyn living inside of me. While her physical body is no longer here I am fortunate to feel her presence so strongly at times. I am slowing down, opening my eyes wider and listening to that voice inside of me when it says "go" because that is when Evelyn is on the move. My tiny teacher Evelyn continues to show me the path in life... love as if it's your last day, give as if you have a million dollars in your pocket, be true to yourself. Being unique is special so throw out the cookie cutters and stop living for others. Be you, unapologetically YOU and finally forgive others. God and I have come a long way in the past 1.5 years. He has remained steadfast and true even when I wanted to walk away. Revival of my heart... it's the hardest thing I have ever done in my life. What do you need to revive in your life? Don't let another day get wasted thinking about it. Be brave. Be bold. Be like Evelyn and create your own ripple effect. I've taught my kids to never send a text, email or post on social media when you are mad because in the moment of haste it's possible to say things you don't mean and it can't be undone once it lands in the hands of others. Have you ever sat on an email or text and then once your emotions settled down you later realized how grateful you were for not sending it?
Today I've chosen not to follow my own advice. I've sat in silence long enough. I'm mad, in fact I feel betrayed. Betrayed by God. I am sending this out into cyber land because I promised Evelyn that I wouldn't stop putting my pen to the paper to document her life. Even in her death I feel even more committed to fulfilling my promise to her. Today I'm sharing my relationship with God and the disappointment I feel. As a little girl I learned about "the golden rule"; do unto others as you would have them do unto you. Basically, treating others as one wants to be treated. As I look back on the months without living without Evelyn I am so confused. My relationship with God has been one of respect. Years ago when welcoming my parents into my house I took a hit from people; people who I never imagined would walk away. Years pressed on and the demands continued all while never understanding God's purpose with the pain of these broken relationships. I stayed focused on my relationship with God and with his purpose. I did my best to take disappointments and hurts as God's way of teaching me that there is always something to be learned. With each "yes" to God came some pushback from society. I chalked it up to "swimming against the current" or "coloring outside of the lines". Even in the death of my parents, broken relationships, and complex heart surgeries I was still able to open my heart to God and trust him and his purpose for my life. Well, my heart these days with God is something I wasn't going to share but I wouldn't be keeping my promise with Evelyn if I didn't let it out. Angry and invisible... that's how I feel with God. I think some of you might be mistaken about who I am. Correct me if I am wrong but I'm afraid some of you might think that my relationship with God is so close that my hurts are more protected and I face each day with peace in my heart. This isn't the case. Ever since February 25th I have been trying so hard to find God's purpose in this tragedy of living without Evelyn. Yes, I have had undeniable "signs" from Evelyn. I don't take that for granted, in fact I soak in the moment, write about it and give God all the credit. Lately though I am just mad and here is why... On the day of Evelyn's funeral God asked more of me than I thought I could bare. Dan and I made the difficult decision to have Evelyn's casket open. We decided that for the sake of our kids and those who loved her it was best to have this closure and allow people to see her one final time. I will say it was a strange feeling driving to church on the day of her funeral and feeling anxious to see my brave girl. It was the longest I had ever gone without seeing her and while my heart knew that she had passed away my brain needed to see her curly piggy tails. That was my only request to the funeral director... "messy piggy tails". I shared pictures of her crazy hair days before to make sure we would see our Evelyn. As our immediate family walked into church to say our final goodbyes to Evelyn two of my kids ran ahead. Moments later they returned only to say that Evelyn didn't look like herself. Heartbroken. Why God? Her messy curls where ironed straight. If I wasn't sad enough I looked around at my core family and saw the disappointment. In that moment I swallowed the pain and became Evelyn's advocate just as if we were in the hospital together. I walked over to the funeral director and asked for a cup of water. I proceeded to dip my fingertips into the cup water and do what any Mother would do for their child... I redid her hair. I remember the funeral director saying, "I'm afraid you might not achieve the result you are looking for." but I wouldn't be stopped. The curls came to life. Her messy piggy tails were achieved and for a brief second I was content. Fast forward to Mother's day this year and another crushing blow from God. I received a phone call days before saying that Evelyn's bench had been placed at the cemetery. The cemetery has been a place that I have stayed away from. All I could picture was her little casket under the ground so staying away was necessary. I used our backyard as my place to feel Evelyn's spirit. My entire family embraced Evelyn's plot at the cemetery. Charlie would eat vanilla ice cream cones while visiting Evelyn. The kids would join Dan when visiting Grandma and Grandpa's house. I told myself that once Evelyn's bench was placed I would visit her. I would finally get to "see my girl". Mother's Day arrived and our entire core convoyed to the cemetery to see Evelyn and her bench. Once again I felt disappointment similar to the day of her funeral. As I walked to her plot all I could see was dirt and a faint tire mark going across her small little plot. As I stood there with my kids and husband all I could think of was, "why God, why are you punishing me and ripping my heart wide open for everyone in my family to see?" My faith at that moment was filled with anger and betrayal similar to seeing Evelyn's straight pig tails. Filled with anger and armed with grass seed and a bucket of water I visited Evelyn's plot days later. This time rather than dipping my fingertips into a cup of water I was hitting the dirt with a garden trowel. I placed my speaker on the top of her bench and played her favorite songs. I haven't felt anger like that in a very long time. My worship songs all didn't make sense at that moment. God's promises of never leaving my side and "working all things out for the good" all felt like a lie. All I could do at that moment was fix the dirt. I dropped a bag of grass seed over her plot, I covered it with straw and promised Evelyn that I would be back to make sure that her plot is as beautiful as her bench. God feels like he has gone silent with me. To be perfectly honest I feel like God is pushing me to my limit and hitting me where I hurt the most. When my relationships suffer my grief of losing Evelyn feels like it's ripped wide open. Some of you reading this might be thinking, "Annette is losing it. She needs to stop dwelling on her daughter's death. It's time to move on and appreciate the life that she has been given." Respectfully, I want to disagree with you because since February 25th 2021 I have been giving God all the accolades. Right now I am in a space where my relationship with God is under attack. I want him to show up, embrace me and give me a break from complete unfairness of it all. ME. ME. ME. I know it sounds selfish but I want God to see me. See the pain. See all the prayers I have said. See the determination I have invested into making sure our family stays afloat. See ME God. Treat others the way you want to be treated. I didn't ask for this treatment. I don't think our family has done anything to deserve this treatment. The golden rule is confusing to me right now. I have taught my kids to always respect your elders, be grateful to God for the life we have been given and never stop believing in eternity. Today I am going to let someone else teach me. I'm waiting for my divine teacher to explain his lesson in these past 467 days. I thought I have been a good student but with any life lesson there is always more to be learned. I'm here God. Lay it on me. Stop being silent and remind me that I am not invisible in your eyes. I am already apologizing in advance for writing on social media about my anger. I couldn't keep quiet. With any relationship we have our moments of frustration and that is where I am with the "gift giver" known as God. While this is a very personal post it's also a very transparent post about my relationship with God. If there is anything I want you to remember it's this... I have no doubt that God does exists and heaven is real. My battle right now is my tattered relationship with him. Silence is hard and I want answers. We will be okay because God is worth the fight and I won't be taken down without it. "The Anniversary"... rather the day one year ago that I began dreaming and never woke up. It still doesn't seem real that I will live the rest of my life without my youngest child. I will save you all from hearing me complain and shout at the unfairness of it all.
I decided months ago that I wouldn't let Evelyn's death define my life. I promised myself that in order to be Evelyn's Mom I needed to live a life that she would be proud of. That all sounds admirable but actually doing it is something completely different. How would I describe these past twelve months? Heavy. It's like wearing a weighted blanket on you ALL. DAY. LONG. It's like having something sitting on your chest ALL. DAY. LONG. It's like someone throwing bags of concrete at you and expecting you to carry them while living your life. Being strapped to pounds of concrete, wearing a weighted blanket and having an elephant sit on your chest ALL. DAY. LONG is something that our family is trying to get used to doing but to be perfectly honest no matter how many weeks or months that pass the weight is just as heavy as it was a year ago. I have so much I want to share about this year. The bad. The sad. The miserable. The lonely. BUT instead of telling you the obvious I thought I would share with you the moment heaven interceded. I am not here to persuade you to believe in God. I am not going to ask you what religion you are. I don't care if you have attended mass in the last month and I don't really want to hear your confession. My reason for telling you this very personal story is to let you all know that Evelyn is in heaven. I say that because God gave us a child not so that we "could save her" but rather that she could save us. Evelyn's death has absolutely turned our family upside down all while pointing us in the direction of him. God. I am going to share a story that's personal but one that needs to be shared. It's my story to share and one that I hope you all will respect. The final moments of Evelyn's life were so short. Without going into too much detail we found ourselves calling an ambulance in the early hours of morning. When the ambulance arrived Dan knew that something was quickly changing for the worse. Moments. That's all we had. As Dan got in the ambulance I followed behind in our vehicle and only moments later the ambulance pulled over. It didn't take long for me to realize that Evelyn was in her final moments. That is when God took over. Without detail I want you to visualize the scene... From my vantage point I could see Dan with a male paramedic at Evelyn's feet, next to Evelyn was another male paramedic and I was by her head. Another male driver was in the front and was calling for backup. While the seconds were ticking away I looked up at Dan and we locked eyes like never before; we shared words only with our eyes but our hearts knew what was happening. Within seconds we were asked to leave the ambulance to make room for more help. As I was leaving the ambulance I turned to the individual next to me and said, "please don't stop", the response was a very assertive, "I promise we won't." The paramedics, the ER team as well as Evelyn's beloved ICU team worked very hard to bring her back but the moment when Dan and I locked eyes at 4:44:47am I somehow knew God was taking her. What made me look up at the digital clock in the ambulance? What made my husband and I lock eyes during a very critical moment? Here are my thoughts... Fast forward to May. Months had passed but one thing didn't escape my mind... the EMS team. I wanted closure. Actually, I wanted to see their faces again. I wanted to hear anything that they might have to say. I called to see if they would be willing to meet us at our home. What I wasn't prepared for was what the result would end up being. Weeks later the team who was on the call drove to our home. Sitting on the porch together all while sharing the same story of sadness was oddly healing. I believe it was therapeutic for them as well since they told us that many times that don't ever know the outcome unless they call the hospital. They told us that they had called the hospital the following day only to hear the news of Evelyn's passing. While sitting and talking I couldn't help but wonder who the female was who joined the team on our porch, (If you remember, I said there two male paramedics in the back of the ambulance with Dan and I). Finally, curiosity got the best of me and I asked her if she was the dispatcher. This is when heaven interceded... her response was, "no, I was right next to your head as you were talking to your daughter." She continued to explain that she was the person I said, "please don't stop". She went on to explain that she has never made a promise to anyone before while on a call. This mystery person who I didn't remember seeing, hearing or even talking to was now on my front porch and was telling me about our final moments together. I missed hearing her name earlier and when asked her to tell me her name again she laughingly said... Elizabeth. ELIZABETH, the name of my beloved Mother. God did it again. Heaven interceded. Proof that Evelyn was with my Mom in her final moments. My Mom passed away only months before Evelyn came home from China. Why God chose to take my child is one I will never know on this side but something I do know is that my Mom is caring for her until I have the chance again. One year later and I am choosing hope. One year later and I am choosing to live a life that isn't immersed in darkness. Evelyn brought me to Arizona this week. Her and I have climbed mountains, I have painted, written and sat in silence. It's in the silence that I see more clearly. I want to say that the weighted blanket feels a bit less heavy but that just not the case. I'm willing to be uncomfortable with the grief. Grief doesn't stop me from living. Evelyn climbed mountain after mountain without complaints. She did hard things. Her family will do hard things as well. Here we are one year later... still intact. Bruised but not beaten down. For all of those who has been watching our journey unfold after all these years I am here to tell you that heaven does exist. One could say seeing your parents and your daughter pass in front of you is traumatic but I prefer to think of it as God's way of trusting me. Trust. Faith over fear...ALWAYS. From the moment Evelyn entered our lives she demanded time. Our time. The doctors time. God's time.
Time... what a gift that created memories, laughter, healing and hope for a future. Time... a sudden thief that barged in the middle of the night and stole our light and left us breathless. The hands of the clock stood still just as Evelyn's body stood still leaving her entire family to beg for more time with her in it. If I could possess any superpower it would be to hoard time with Evelyn and never let it go. We're approaching two "milestones". Evelyn's birthday and the year anniversary of her passing. I made a promise to Evelyn and God on Mother's Day this past year that I would make Evelyn proud. I told her that I would continue to fight for our family just as Dan and I did for her. I promised her that I wouldn't let my grief consume me so much that I lost the desire to live life to its fullest. I also promised God on that same day that I wouldn't turn bitter towards him. I told him that I fully expect him to answer my prayers and to ignite a small flicker of light in our family again. Death extinguished our main light. Evelyn's loud voice is now just a recording that is heard over and over through our home. Faith is when you believe in something that can't be seen or touched. I can't see my spicy and brave little girl anymore just as I can't hold her tiny little hand; maybe that is why my faith is so big. I can't imagine never seeing her again. Our family is on this side of time while our little Evie is on the other side of eternal time. We're separated. I'm homesick every moment of every day without her. I haven't spoken much about what the loss feels like. I've been quiet about what led to the abrupt departure of Evelyn. The picture above is one that I never thought I would share with anyone outside of our core but then something happened to me the week before Christmas Eve. I hit a plateau with my prayers and my grief journey. "Hopelessness" surrounded me. The word that I have been running from since February 25th finally caught up to me and threw me to the ground. It surrounded me and for the first time in these past 10 months I felt more wounded than ever. What I now realize is that God and Evelyn knew that this day would come. They knew that I needed to reach the end of myself to find my way back. I realize now that I have been so focused on holding the pieces together because I was so afraid of seeing all of my loved ones hurt. There aren't enough Evelyn band aids to ever stop that pain. All of my sleepless nights won't make my kids miss their sister less. No amount of stickie notes to my husband will change his sadness. What I now see is how the simple acts from others lightened the load of grief on my back. We're not meant to carry so much on our own. I'll be the first to admit that I did it to myself because I thought I could do as I did in the past and push through the pain. I'm grateful to my son for driving me to my in-laws house one night. I couldn't tell you if we even carried a conversation and I'll never know how he felt seeing his mom in her pajamas completely transparent with her grief. My kids have all seen me cry but when you let the tears come without any warning of when they'll stop is not easy. Humanness is the ability to admit when you are weak. My promise on Mother's Day to Evelyn was to make her proud. I thought making her proud meant striving, reaching and aspiring to be more but at this chapter in my life I am going to make her proud by saying, "savor this time". I'm speaking from a place of grief to all of my friends who have never walked this path. I pray you never have to attend your child's funeral. I pray you do not have to rethink how to plan celebrations or holidays that no longer have them physically here. Evelyn's life taught our family to live in the moment. We literally laid our life down for her. She demanded it from us and in return we gave her all of us. Today I am here to tell you to give your life away for those you love. Spend the time. Dance in the kitchen. Get dirty. Break schedules. Chase dreams. Create a future and look for kindness in people. I have been beeped at more in the past couple of months than I ever have before. I have gotten dirty looks because I spend just a bit longer in the drive thru at McDonalds thanking "Natalie" for always being so nice. STOP BEING SO RUSHED. I was rushed for years. Evelyn slowed us down even though we had a million things that begged for our attention. I'm here to speak in a place of complete honesty... being rushed steals memories with those you love. The simple memories that are just waiting to be made are so quickly swallowed up by overpacked schedules. Making Evelyn proud right for me means letting you in on our lives. As February approaches and we get closer to a year without her I want you all to know that time doesn't heal the wound. Time was a thief that stole future memories from happening. My only advice is to appreciate the time you have. Thankfully our entire family realized what a gift Evelyn was so we handled her with care and because of that I think we all would agree we have zero regrets with our time with her. I will never expect any of my friends and family to ever understand this grief. It's impossible. All I can do is ask that you see grief as something that doesn't come with a timeline. Continue to be patient and love us where we are. Evelyn's life has purpose. Maybe it is to slow people down and to live in the moment with their kids. Maybe it's to never stop giving up. Maybe it's simply to be a bright light in someone's life. Whatever her purpose I will continue to show up, no matter how tattered our family may be and remind you all that God heals. I'm expecting him to. Evelyn and Norah will forever share their birthdays together. Next Wednesday is their day. Last year when Evelyn blew out her candles I watched with complete happiness because I saw her make eye contact with each and every person who surrounded her. It was as if she was taking a mental photograph of her family realizing that soon she would be leaving to her forever home. Whatever her thoughts were at that magical moment I'm grateful for the gift of time at that moment. I soaked up her smile, her four little candles flickering so bright and was making a wish of my own as she blew out her candles. My wish is to be continued... As for time... hoard it. savor it. appreciate it. May 2022 be a year of learning and yearning for more. As I sit and peck at my keyboard I am for once at a loss for words. Thoughts consume me every second of the day but consolidating them into one complete thought isn't as easy as it once was. Writing which once came easily for me is now a bit debilitating. I get weak at the thought of sharing my feelings because they aren't filled with my usual uplifting words; words reminding everyone to find your passion in life and run for it. I've been walking side by side for years with this family of mine. We've hit hills, mountains, valleys BUT through it all we've seen miracles and victories.
I've sat down for weeks and have just stared at my keyboard because what I really want to share doesn't seem fair for those who are looking for the "silver lining", the "miracle", the "powerful moment" that has allowed our family to move through this grief. Instead I want to bang the keyboard with intense anger and sadness at the complete unfairness of it all. Today I have decided to channel that energy and do what Evelyn has always asked of me... put my toes to the ledge and jump. God gifted her the ability to make others believe in themselves and in God's powerful love. While I am hurt by God's decision to take away my shadow I am honoring Evelyn today by believing in myself. I have always said that God put a pen in my hand to document Evelyn's life. His purpose for her life was far beyond what I ever imagined. He used my daughter for greatness; not just her own greatness but EVERYONE who he allowed to enter her circle. If you are reading this and have been touched by Evelyn personally then consider yourself fortunate and truly blessed. I have a fire in my heart. The fire consists of two feelings; extreme grief and extreme love. I'm running head first through the fires beginning today; Evelyn is getting what she has always expected from me today... toes to the ledge and jumping in faith. The book that I have been privately writing for years now has been temporarily shelved to make time for my new book. As Evelyn's Mom I need to walk through the fires while documenting my intense grief yet undying love for a child who I KNOW was put on this earth for a purpose. I am going to make you so proud Evelyn. Faith over fear. Hold my hand and protect my heart as the pages come together. Your life was meant to be shared. I promise I will honor that everyday of my life. "I so brave." Evelyn Kruschek It's that time of year... shiny shoes, the smell of a new box of crayons, sharpened pencils, colorful folders and the beloved backpack. We've all walked this road; whether it be personally as a child or watching our own children prepare for the "first day of school". The fear, excitement and anticipation that comes with the first day is similar to a scientist mixing chemicals together in hopes of creating something extraordinary. The air is crisp, the mornings suddenly have a different feel and the long summer nights are now a thing of the past.
The "first day of school". For 22 years I have had the privilege of watching my kids fill their backpacks, tie their new shoes and head out the door with the anticipation yet nervousness about their first steps into a new school year. This year however there is one backpack that remains empty, Evelyn's backpack. Evelyn would have entered 4k this year. Before we moved to the country we made sure that our new district would be a good fit for our entire family. We felt confident, actually we felt like this was "home" even before we stepped foot into the different schools. Evelyn's team was ready for her. Dan and I were anxious about all the opportunities that awaited Evelyn. Unfortunately those plans all changed on February 25th 2021. Evelyn's backpack along with her big girl chair at the table are both empty. The reality of that is overwhelming. The permanency of her absence is unimaginable; and the depth of our emptiness is like a hole that never hits bottom. Everywhere our family turns is a constant reminder that Evelyn is missing. Her spot at the table is empty which makes family dinners much more casual with some eating at the kitchen counter while others venture to the table. We are all avoiding the "traditional" family meals that we once had. We hop in the van and realize the car seat that once was a permanent fixture is now a vacant seat for another child to occupy. Seating arrangements, family meals, family photos, traditions are all symbolic of her backpack... empty. For 22 years I have always had a child/children in tow when sending off my older kids to school. Whether it be a baby in diapers or a toddler preparing for preschool; my daily schedule was dictated by the little body that shadowed me during the hours while the others were in school. This week has been hard. The day arrived that I dropped off five kids at three different schools and found myself in a van by myself with no shadow except my own. Some people might look at this and think, "it's a gift and appreciate this time." While I appreciate the sentiment I know one thing for sure... I would give anything to have the loudness, the chaotic, the busyness and the miracle of Evelyn. I am left with her empty backpack that once was filled with SO many hopes and dreams. The day before Evelyn passed she was fitted with a Cochlear Baha band. I got to see her reaction to my voice when they turned it on. Magical! Another step towards healing. Her heart was finally strong enough for us to work on her speech and hearing. Little did I know that less than 15 hours later she would be leaving our arms. I continue to say that I do not want her death to be seen as a fight that was lost but rather a life that brought SO much hope to the hopeless. I have to remind myself multiple times a day to take the best parts of Evelyn and let her live through me. I also have to make the conscious choice to not allow the best parts of me to die with Evelyn. Evelyn's spirit is here and is strong but I have to make a conscious effort to honor her life while also mourning her absence. The two realms of life and heaven are so confusing and hard to understand. The only thing that I know for a fact is that one day we will all die. I also know that my home is not here on this earth. This home here is difficult, challenging and comes with mystery but I know that Evelyn's smile and beautiful voice awaits me in heaven. Heaven is a mystery, God is a mystery, our lives are a mystery but one thing that I concretely know is that we have one life here on earth to make a difference. Evelyn did that very well. She endured a desolate orphanage long enough to bring HOPE, JOY and LOVE to our family. She didn't waste one single day asking for a different body or purpose. She had an assignment and that was to live large and be brave. While Evelyn's backpack may be empty I am realizing that her assignment in God's school began several years earlier. Her school was one not in a classroom but in life here on earth. She ended up being the teacher to US and not the student. She taught us all how to live a life of meaning. Today I need to use Evelyn as my teaching platform. I am here to offer advice and insight as to what it feels to be the Mother who has lost a child. Months ago I would have had no idea how to approach this subject. Unfortunately, our family has been thrust into a life of grief. My Dad taught me a valuable lesson when I was a little girl. He always said, "Annette if you only learn one thing in a day that's okay but you need to at least learn one new thing each day." In honor of my Dad I want to teach you something for those who have never lost a child. You can never hurt my feelings or make me more sad than I already am if you ask me how I am doing. If you see me smiling please don't think it might be a bad time to "bring it up". Not a moment goes by that I do not think about Evelyn. You not asking actually hurts me more than you asking. I will no longer walk without a limp. You may not see me limping on the outside but on the inside I will never be the same person. Please say her name. Honor her life by talking to me about her. Losing a child is unimaginable and that is why I am here to help you understand that the grief never leaves or temporarily is forgotten. Evelyn loved really well and I believe that is why she allowed so many people to fall in love with her. Evelyn would want you all to continue to love those who mourn and hurt. Say her name, embrace the hurting and listen with the grieving. I promise you don't need to say anything powerful; I probably have heard it all. Just sit. Listen. Be. I am sitting in a place of transition right now. I am surrounded by an empty seat at the table, and now an empty backpack. I know Evelyn and God have big plans for our family; what that is right now is left to be seen. For now I will just sit in the mystery of it all and pray for the sunrises and sunsets to give me hope in the promise of seeing my small but mighty warrior one day. I pray that Evelyn is wearing her favorite shoes and filling her backpack with all her hopes and dreams. I pray that she is running fully healed with other children. I pray that my parents are witnessing their only grandchild in heaven and are in awe of her beauty. The heavens have a beautiful soul, Evelyn Li. I can only imagine the lessons she is teaching in her new home. Hug your children. Appreciate the chaos. Embrace the sadness and never forget the beautiful gift of life. |
AuthorI am a proud Mother to eight children and a wife to my very best friend. I work hard, play hard and love until it hurts. Archives
January 2023
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