From Riches to Rags, and the Glory I Found There

  If you look around my house this Christmas season you will definitely see the effects of motherhood here. You'll see school books strewn about all throughout the place. Constant reminders of frustration and fights that feel completely unnecessary to a mom and completely life-changing to a kid. I never wanted to homeschool my teenage daughter. I simply didn't want this kind of hard. But I saw her struggles and her self-esteem start to crack as she fell more and more behind her peers in school. A scar from her years of home-hopping which led to inconsistent schooling. A kid who got overlooked and pushed along anyway. So I pulled her out and we started from the ground up. And she's bright, let me tell you. She's catching up one day at a time, and I get a front row seat to see her shine. I push her more than she wants, and she hates when I do it. But I didn't become her mother because of what she could do for me...I became her mother because I knew what I could do for...

I looked at the front of my house today, devoid of the Christmas lights that have adorned every home I've occupied for the past 13 years. And I thought "it's different this year". How different this season looks as widow. How different this season seems to a sibling who has lost a brother. How different this season feels for the ones who no longer have their uncle. How different this season appears to parents whose son is gone. I look at this Christmas season and I can see all the differences. All the lost moments. All the broken traditions. All the memories. All the grief. This year is different. So incredibly different. And we have had to face those differences at every turn this season. With every box of decorations that we unpacked. With every tradition that we've faced. With every string of lights that went unhung. With every problem that went unsolved.  We are all different this year. We are all changed. We all feel strange about this new season we are facin...

Look at this lovely box full of children's goodies. This box seems to be full of hopes and dreams...and we are giving them away.  See that advent calendar? I bought it 6 years ago. I dreamed about setting it up with little ones running around acting crazy, hopped up on candy canes and egg nog. I dreamed about telling them the Christmas story and marking off days and celebrating Christ's birth with them. And now, we are giving it away. See that manger scene? I bought it 5 years ago. I dreamed of children growing up knowing abut their big brother, Kimber, and decorating his memorial garden. I dreamed of stories about Heaven and uncomfortable questions about death that both hurt and heal.  And now, we are giving it away. See that puzzle? I bought it 4 years ago. I dreamed of new traditions, of babies draped across bouncing knees, and of silly fights over missing pieces.  And now, we are giving it away. See those socks? I bought them 3 ...

There is an absence that never ceases. You feel it at every gathering, every time the “whole family” is together.  There is a fierce desire to have your baby remembered. And to have your struggle acknowledged.  I’m going to preface this by saying that it is no ones responsibility to remember my child, nor acknowledge my struggles. But you must understand that regardless of that, things still hurt, even if it’s no one’s fault.  People have all sorts of different ways of remembering Kimber. Some people remember him the way I do. Some people remember him less. And some people don’t remember him at all.  Today, I’m in the stage of letting go of the strong desire to remind people to remember Kimber.   I was in a protective state for a long time.  I brought him up when people forgot him. I brought his picture when I thought there was going to be pictures of the whole family. I included him in the number of grandchildren in our family. I did...

Well it seems that we survived the first round of many holidays without Kimber here. And it was quite an experience,  It started with my 25th birthday on November 23...I hated it. Turning 25 without my son here was terrible. I waited three years to finally have our child and suddenly he was taken from us. The acknowledgement of the year passing by yet again just felt like a slap in the face.  I have wonderful friends and family and amazing husband who planned some wonderful events for me. And they truly helped me through a hard birthday. But, unfortunately, no amount of love and support could take away the hurt of being 25 without my baby in my arms.  But I survived, we got through it.  And then, 5 days later, we experienced our first Thanksgiving without Kimber. Our entire family was in town for the event and everyone seemed to have a wonderful holiday.  I watched my nieces and nephews run around and play together as Grammy and Grumpsy and all th...