Dear Mom,
You know how I am. Not everything I write is flowery or tickled with flecks of sunshine. Sometimes it can be downright hurtful to digest. But that doesn’t make the words any less significant. When it comes to healing, subduing thorns tends to be more constructive than embracing petals.
I needed some time after the last letter. It was packed with confrontation of human frailties that stung to admit. I had to reevaluate the “why". Why am I writing these letters… why am I sharing them publicly if you don’t even need to read them anymore to know how I feel? I didn’t want to be sharing for the wrong reasons.
But writing is the way I process everything going on around and within me. Some people can process emotions by talking them out. Others by simply thinking them over. My thought processes are somehow tethered to the tangible byproduct of written language. To this day, I’m unsure as to whether the clarity of understanding comes more so from the actual process of documentation, or from hindsight analysis of penned introspection. Perhaps a bit of both.
I know you don’t log into social media anymore to read my letters or posts. You can’t. But you also don’t need to. So why share them? It’s not for you… you aren’t in need of anything anymore. You’re being well taken care of by the One who made you … who made us all. No pain. No suffering. No tears. So why? For me? If that were the case, they wouldn’t need to be shared at all—let alone with the world, or at least whoever might stumble upon them from time to time. So why? A cry for attention? I don’t believe so. You know how I squirm and fidget when I know eyes or ears are on me.
While some can speak their emotions to offer a voice to their psyche and others can organize themselves through other outlets, such as art, music, or writing… there are still those who have trouble untangling themselves at all… or even who simply haven’t discovered their how. I think that my hope is that by sharing the deepest struggles and vulnerabilities of my heart and of my mind, it might help others find pieces of themselves along the way, too. No one likes feeling alone. And see… I didn’t even realize the answer to my own questions until I spelled them out for myself with words… what a strange little idiosyncrasy to have. I don’t even understand myself until I read my own scribbles.
This letter won’t be any easier. I noticed I’m still wearing the orange “VISITOR" bracelet from the night of September 24th. The one that had to be renewed every day just to pass through security. I couldn’t tell you how many times it’s been through the shower, washed along with my hands, or gotten inadvertently soapy from the dish sponge. But it’s still there… worn and faded, with “71384” printed on the side like a reg number for an inmate. When it caught my eye earlier, I realized I’m still there too—even though you're not… at the hospital, chained to those moments by your bedside… reliving the loop because I can’t seem to let go even though you already have. Who am I visiting now? Guilt? Hypotheticals? Irreversible outcomes? I need to write it out. All of it… before a different type of sentence tries to consume me. But first, I need to gather my thoughts.
I miss you.
Love always,
“Pookie"
My Mom loves the Carpenters. I always think of us listening to this song whenever it’s rainy… or a Monday… and especially when it’s both.
Dear Mom,
I drank tea from your mug today. Well… my mug. But I still consider it yours.
I woke up a bit early this morning—with just enough time to try to clear my head before it was time to wake the girls and get them ready for the day. I tried to make tea the way you always did. “Nonnie Tea” (coined lovingly as such by Aria around 2017… before that, it was always just “hot tea the way Mom always makes it”)…but I didn’t have any Lipton tea bags, so I tried to improvise with a generic sort. It didn’t taste the same… not even from your mug… well, my mug… but I still consider it yours.
You know the one. The blatantly fraternal replacement for my favorite mug. The teddy bear one that you gave me. It was matte stone-fired and rustic looking with three thick bands of subtle earthy gradient… smooth to the touch—as if worn and weathered, not from glaze. I would have thought that it was made by an ancient tribe had it not been for the circular applique blended into the surface with a plush teddy bear drawn on top. Quaint. Classic. Sturdy. I loved it.
You let me take to school when I was in 6th grade… the first year Jenn was out of the house and I felt like I didn’t have my biggest sister in my life much anymore. In English class, we were allowed to keep a mug in the cabinet for when we would have hot chocolate days.
That was also the year that I wore your old hand-knit (or at least it appeared as such) gaudy sweater to school every day. I didn’t care about my reputation. That year brought a heavy weight of transition—switching churches, my oldest sister leaving home, you and Dad working all of those extra hours with me ‘stuck’ at home with Tris—who wasn’t exactly the nicest to me at the time (overstatement). [Thankfully, we usually get along much better now.] It was just a lot. When you’re a kid, you don’t really understand the “why” behind the decisions your parents make. I didn’t understand then. I do now, though.
Fast-forward a bunch of years… I heard you in the kitchen washing dishes… presumably dancing around to Van Morrison’s “Whenever God Shines His Light” … or another one of your favorites… when mid-chorus, there was a shatter. And perhaps an uttered expletive… or a sound-alike expletive—it was anyone’s guess, but only you know. To my horror, my favorite mug… the teddy bear one… the one you said looked like “Pookie Bear” from Garfield (and therefore, reminded you of me) … there it lie in a scattered heap of barely-recognizable shards. The mug that got me through the complexities of 6th grade and all subsequent heartbreak up until that point. Unrepairable.
It’s strange how moments that seemed vibrantly pinnacle back then tend to pale over the years… as others that might have seemed trivial step into the foreground. Ages ago, it was about the mug. Now, it’s about the look of remorse on your face after something so special to me was broken. I still remember it.
You offered one of your favorite cups to me as a replacement. That was always your way though… giving the best of yourself to try to heal the brokenness in the lives of those you love.
So, I drank tea from your mug today… and although it didn’t taste the same, I still felt your warmth and the way you always sacrificed the best of yourself to mend the brokenness in us.
I miss you terribly.
Love always,
“Pookie”
My Mom’s favorite song to dance and sing to while she was washing the dishes. This is the song from the memory.
Dear Mom,
This morning started off rough. I was feeling discouraged about trying to get the girls up, dressed, fed, and ready for their classes for the day. You know how Aria isn’t a morning person at all… and Machaela sometimes needs to be reminded repeatedly before remembering the basics… like brushing her hair out of its perpetual Merida-look… and lately I feel like I’ve been forgetting everything…
When Nate went to hug me before leaving for work, he saw the frown I was trying to hide and wanted to cheer me up… so he pouted and lightly pinched my cheeks (the ones on my face, mind you… I already know what you were going to say if I didn’t specify), saying, “Don’t be sad, Pookie Pie… it’ll be okay” and then pulled me in for a hug.
Well, somewhere between “Pookie Pie…” and the hug, I couldn’t hold back the tears anymore. I could hear your voice in my head singing the lullaby you made up for me when I was a baby and have since adapted for each grandchild. “Pookie pie lullaby, little one don’t you cry…"
I know I’m 32 now, but I’d still have given anything in those moments to have been rocked back and forth to your voice singing to me again. And then, as if that wasn’t enough … my mind connected that thought to knowing that you won’t be able to sing our lullaby to Norah… or swaddle her… or rock her to sleep… and even as I’m writing this, the tears are coming back. I can’t even imagine one of my children not getting the chance to know you the way the rest of us do.
Sometimes I’m okay. Today hasn’t really been one of those sometimeses though. I’m keeping it together well enough though. Functioning. Autopilot override when necessary. If it weren’t for the girls mentioning about being hungry (like 527,391 times a day… you know how kids are), I might forget to eat.
Someone asked me today how I feel. I replied, “bland.”
I didn’t even think about it until after I hit send, but it’s about as accurate of a word as any.
Bland…
That’s not to say that I don’t have so many things to be thankful for. That’s not to say that I don’t have anything to look forward to or any joys in life anymore. I do. I have so many wonderful people in my life and so much to look forward to… but for now it all just feels bland without you.
I wanted to call you today… because you’re the one I’d always call when I was sad… but not being able to call you anymore to hear your voice is the reason why I’m sad… I still haven’t listened to that twelve second voicemail you left on August 22nd. I don’t think I’m ready to yet. I feel like I have to ration my thoughts about you, so I don’t fall apart.
Writing to you helps. I think. I don’t know how I’d be if I didn’t write it out though. You always encouraged me to write my heart no matter what anyone else said or thought about it. So, I will. Sharing helps.
I feel bad for not being ready to really talk about it too much in individual conversation with people though. Everyone has been so encouraging and all I can seem to muster up in response are ‘care’ emojis. I’ve started trying to type out how much the outpouring of love means to me… how my heart warms just to read the comments, advice, and personal stories… but it just sounds so robotic of me to say even though I mean it genuinely. So, I deleted them… my replies. I think that people understand. I don’t know what to say. I just don’t have the words right now. And I think that’s okay. I’ll get there.
I’m fairly certain it was Kathleen Hathaway Mitchel who mentioned something profound in her book, “Treasures in Tragedy” about grief not being linear… I wish I could remember the exact quote… whatever it was, I understand it now.
I think I’ll make spaghetti for dinner. I should write it on a post-it note so I don’t forget.
I miss you, Mom.
Love always,
“Pookie”
My Mom’s favorite song that was featured on her favorite movie, “Somewhere in Time”
Dear Mom,
It’s Sunday. I have a newfound appreciation for the expert way you’d wrangle Jenn, Tris, and I together to help us get ready—and yourself—to leave the house early enough for us to get to church on time… Whenever we’re the first ones ready, I hear you saying, “All your father has to do is get himself ready and he’s STILL the last one out!” I think I might have even said something similar to the girls today too… but about Nate. I thought of you.
I wanted to go to church today, but at the same time, I had a feeling that Pastor Trent or the worship team, or SOMEONE would say something that would just set off the tears I’d been holding back. You know how I hate crying around people. I almost cried during praise and worship when we sang, “We’re gonna’ see a victory! We’re gonna’ see a victory! For the battle belongs to the Lord!...”
The last time we sang that song was two weeks ago, but it meant something different to me then. Two weeks ago, I was praying that song in my heart, sobbing at the altar for your healing. Last Sunday, Dad, Jenn, Tris, and I were at the funeral home making plans for your burial.
On the surface, this Sunday didn’t feel like we’d seen much of a victory—at least not in the way I prayed for. I felt bad for even thinking that. I almost wrote out a prayer request not to be mad at God for not answering my prayers the way I believed He would.
And then, the musicians started playing a song Machaela introduced me to months ago that she heard in youth group that really spoke to me. Do you remember “Way Maker”? I had you listen to it before. And played it for you in the hospital. And again, at your funeral service. I had never heard the worship team play it before during Sunday service, but they did today.
Part of it goes like this:
Way maker, miracle worker, promise keeper Light in the darkness My God, that is who You are Even when I don’t see it, You’re working Even when I don’t feel it, You’re working You never stop, You never stop working You never stop, You never stop working
“Way Maker” – Leeland
I don’t know why God chose not to work a miracle in your healing here on Earth. I know that I’ve felt betrayed—like He broke His promise… and I still struggle with that emotion sometimes and have to remind myself that even though I don’t always see or feel it, He’s working in our lives.
They played the song again at the end of service too… I really needed to hear it again. And this time, as I sang with my eyes closed, trying to hold back tears… I felt such a warm, compassionate hug. I didn’t even have to open my eyes to know which of my church sisters it was. And I’m telling you, Mom, that if nothing else, I needed to be there today for that hug. And that song. And for Pastor Trent to talk about the importance of praise—even when you feel like you’re stuck in a rut, or in a pit… surrounded by darkness. In the midst of it all, sing praise.
I’ve been noticing a lot of things about myself lately that remind me of you. Even some of the things I never used to understand—or even be slightly irritated over as a kid… guess what… I do them too. Like today, after church… after we got home and the girls started audibly getting on each other’s nerves… I heard you doing that thing you’d always do when Tris and I would argue and your patience was running thin… the casual prayer voice… “God, give me patience with these WONDERFUL children You gave me…” except I was the one saying it. And they were the ones looking at me like I had twelve heads.
I get it now. It wasn’t easy raising three girls whose personalities tended to clash at the most inconvenient times. If you prayed for me to be able to understand those struggles ‘one day’… I guess God answered that one because that’s about to be me too… Well played, Mom… well played.
I miss you.
Love always,
“Pookie”
This is the actual version of the song… not my half-singing between tears version.
I'm sorry for any confusion; there really hasn't been an appropriate time to make a special announcement with everything going on the past few months... so we were going to wait a while longer.
But my Mom's writeup in the "Morning Call" sort of made the announcement for us.
My Mom would have wanted it written that way, though. She believed that each life is precious right from the start... even before birth [and so do I]. She was already excited to meet her newest grandbaby in 2021... we talked about different name suggestions and their meanings; she was never bashful about telling me which combinations sounded weird or if the potential initials/monogram would spell out an uncouth acronym.
While I stood next to my Mom's bedside early Thursday morning, I leaned over to whisper the name we chose for our little girl. So, yes... "Norah Jane" is ours... and she is named after the most remarkable woman I've ever known... Patty Jane Terry. ♡
Before I start, I just wanted to mention a few disclaimers:
I’m not a public speaker. I’m also probably going to cry at some point although I’m hoping to get through saying all of this without that happening. We’ll see how it goes.
First of all, thank you for your presence. For listening. For caring. For your patience. For understanding… or at least trying to. This all still feels so surreal. I’ve never lost my Mom before; I don’t really know how I’m meant to behave and since she’s not here to scold me, thank you all for withholding judgment and for bearing with me… well, for bearing with all of us as we process such a gravitational loss.
You know, you don’t really realize how grammatically strange it is to speak about someone in the present who has passed… until it becomes relevant. The tenses get all tangled up… the “was”s and “is”s get mixed together and it’s really difficult to navigate which one to use while still making sense. But then again, not too much makes sense right now.
I know that’s supposed to be her over there. My Mom. I know the doctors said that she ‘passed away’ … and I know that I was there. I saw it. Parts of me even died with her… in the literal sense, too. But it hasn’t really clicked yet.
It’s only been 5 days… Already, I’ve cycled through a spectrum of emotion I hadn’t even realized existed. I honestly don’t know that I’ve ever been so resentful in my life. I prayed, and I prayed, and I prayed for her healing. So many of us did. All over the world. For months. For years, even…
But when the answer didn’t come the way I expected, I felt lied to. I felt betrayed. I felt abandoned. Did you? In a span of mere minutes, my thoughts went from, “God, I know You’re here and You’ve got this under control.” to “God, where were You? Did You blink and miss it? What happened back there? Why did You let her go?”
But what I’m starting to realize is that He didn’t let her go… Instead, He held onto her and pulled her closer… to Him—even if that means that she’s farther away from us for a while. Our prayers were answered. She’s not in pain anymore. And the only reason we are is because we were so abundantly blessed to have her presence in our lives that her physical absence leaves such a heart wrenching ache. She is still alive in so many other remarkable ways.
When I look in the casket, I don’t see my Mom. That’s not her likeness at all. My Mom was much louder. [Ask anyone who has ever overheard a phone conversation between her and any one of her siblings… fourteen or so “Okie-dokie”s later…]
When I close my eyes, I see her the way I remember… understated beauty, sometimes with the 90’s poodle-perm hairstyle, sometimes without, but always full of expression—even if more-than-occasionally that expression was the ‘mom glare’ … you all probably know the one…she’d most-likely be giving it to me right now for talking about her like this.
My Mom wasn’t much of a spotlight chaser, but it’s kind of hard to have a funeral without the day being centered around who she was, who she is, and who she has in some way helped shaped each of us to be. Sorry, Mom… but you’re the reason we’re all here, so…*shrug* like it or not, you’re getting some extra attention today. “Deal with it. Cope. Adjust.” (that’s something she’d always say to us… I promise I’m not being rude).
There is so much more to be said, but I don’t want to monopolize the podium. I know that Jenn has something prepared and hopefully we can convince Tris to come up here and share the one about Montgomery Moose…. Plus, I have a feeling that if you’re here—or watching from afar… you have at least a few fond memories of your own. I’d love to hear them.
But first, a quote from a book she would always read to me:
“I’ll love you forever, I’ll like you for always
As long as I’m living, my Mommy you’ll be.”
Love always,
“Pookie”
“Turn your eyes upon Jesus
Look full in His wonderful face
And the things of Earth will grow strangely dim
In the light of His glory and grace.”
Four of your favorites on the way to see you, Mom (and to see Dad too, of course). We love you so much and are doing our best to cast our cares just like you always say. ♡
On Saturday, August 22, 2020, shortly before 4:30 PM, I stopped having a boyfriend. It wasn’t how I expected the day to turn out at all.
We made plans to meet a couple of our friends at the beach for the afternoon and then stop by their house later that night for a BBQ. The girls were excited about it all week… but then, Nathan informed us he had to work a half-day that day. I understood, but I was also a bit disappointed because I know how sometimes half days can turn into three-quarter days and I didn’t want the girls to miss out on going on the beach trip they’d been anticipating for so long.
In the morning, Nate reminded me that it was the ‘anniversary’ of the day we truly reconnected again… the random “go to bed” message I sent him that somehow led to the chain reaction of our shared life together. I was pretty darn impressed that he remembered… or even that he took the time to make a note of it. It’s not typically a ‘guyish’ thing to do, but he’s a “full of surprises” kind of guy.
The clouds outside were downcast. It even started drizzling as he left for work. Bummer. I prayed the rain would hold off a while so we could spend the day relaxing in the sand together. It was long overdue—especially after the summer it’d been. I caught myself in a daydream.
Aaaaand then I went into squirrel-mode trying to make sure everything was ready. I couldn’t forget the badminton net or the frisbee. There wasn’t a bag big enough for everything, so I just used the zippy bag from Aria’s bedding set… it worked well enough. Towels, check. Sunscreen, check. More sunscreen, check. Water bottles? Check. Ziplocs for collecting shells, check. I even sewed strings onto the girls’ sunhats so they wouldn’t fly away at the first strong breeze.
Am I forgetting anything? Oh yeah! A swimsuit coverup! I reached into the closet and grabbed the biggest, longest, frumpiest button-up shirt I could find, and threw it on. After all, it’s not like I had to impress anyone… it was just a casual day at the beach, not a beauty pageant, right?
Nathan pulled into the driveway as the girls and I were chomping at the bit all ready to leave. We were supposed to meet Heidi and Zac at the beach around 2, or so I thought. It turned out that they were meeting us at our house and THEN we were heading to the beach. That made sense too. Then, Nate told me that a few of our other friends would be there as well… I told him we should probably extend the invitation to Hannah, Kevin, Shasta, and Kimchi too and make it a group thing (I went off to find my volleyball… I’d been itching for a beach game anyway; there’s just usually never enough people) … but he said the others were busy. Maybe next time. I left the volleyball at home but remembered to quickly grab one of the books I’d been reading, “The Best Yes”. You can’t go to the beach without at least one book. It’s probably a rule somewhere.
Denise, Nick, and their crew (Tristan and Ella) showed up—followed shortly thereafter by Heidi and Zac. Everyone was in such a chipper mood for it being a gloomy-looking day. I chalked it up to coffee. Denise even took a few group selfies (which turned out great). It took us a little while to consolidate which beach we were going to and where we’d park since the island-parking-dictator-people recently limited beach parking in some areas… but we figured it out!
Windows down, our favorite Spotify playlist blaring, and smiles on, we were finally headed to the beach! As usual, I tried getting a few video snippets of our Jeep-karaoke session… Nathan really gets into Elton John’s “Tiny Dancer” when the beat drops… I wanted to capture it, but he’s onto me now and as soon as my phone points in his direction, he puts on a stone face or pulls his hat down. *rolls eyes* No fun. I took a video anyway. He’d have to get over it… or I’ll have to be more subtle next time.
After a bunch of circling around the Isle of Palms, we all parked and trekked to the beach. For not exactly being a sunny day, it was still pretty crowded. Ick. People. Hahaha… just kidding. We DID try to find a more isolated spot though. And of course, the girls wanted to go right into the water. Which meant that I had to, too. I thought Nate would want to go in with us, but he stayed back a bit… and then left again. And was on his phone when we got there. That’s not like him. I was concerned that maybe something happened with work. Oh, please don’t make him have to go back in today… he seemed distracted.
Aria didn’t want me to put her down. Machaela wanted to go deeper into the ocean than where Aria was comfortable… I was torn. So I stayed back a little bit but made sure if there was an emergency, I’d be in lunging range… she wasn’t even that deep anyway, but my brain operates on perpetual Mom-mode whenever the girls are around. Nathan joined us for a few minutes and then left to go back up to where everyone was. Not gonna lie, I was a bit disgruntled because I really could’ve used the help. I wasn’t about to leave the girls down there alone and there’s no way they’d want to go back up to the towels so soon anyway. I don’t know how I hadn’t factored this dilemma into my expectations for the day hahaha.
After a while longer, I was able to convince them that drying off for a bit and getting a drink from the cooler was a good idea. As we walked up to where everyone else was, Denise said we should all go off and look for shells down the shore. Okay… my book can wait. You see, I just had a tiny bit of it left to read… and if you’re an avid reader, you’re probably familiar with that all-consuming feeling of being sooooooo close to finishing a book you’d been chipping away at for ages… I just wanted to get to the last page already so I could get it out of my mind and move on; the beach is usually the perfect spot for finishing novels.
I thought Nate was behind us, but when I turned around to talk to him, he was already headed back towards the other group of our friends… Okay? I guess he’s not looking for shells with us either. Denise said something about him going to set up the badminton net so we could play later. Okay. That made sense. The girls and I were really looking forward to it. I felt a bit guilty for being kind of upset about how distracted he seemed.
We strolled along for a while… seemingly farther and farther away from where we initially set up the umbrella. And I thought that I was big on walking the shore for shells, but the way Denise was going on about it was a whole different level. She seemed dead set on finding sand dollars to show the girls. It was sweet. Every time I mentioned about maybe heading back so we could all hang out together, she said that she needed to keep her promise to the girls. I couldn’t really argue with that…
Finally, she got a call and said that they finished setting up the net and were ready for a game of badminton… or frisbee… or whatever everyone wanted to play. Yes! It was perfect badminton weather. The sun was tucked behind the clouds instead of in our faces and the rain was holding off. Aria was covered in sand. I’m fairly certain she was even more sand than she was swimsuit. She ran off ahead of us. The closer we approached, the more confused I became… I didn’t see the badminton net anywhere… where in tarnation did they put it? Then, I remembered that I accidentally left the actual poles for the net part back at the house and felt really bad… of course they couldn’t have set it up… they didn’t have all of the pieces! *facepalm* … I felt bad that they must’ve spent all that time looking in vain while I was off gallivanting with the girls collecting shells. They didn’t seem phased though. Nate called me over to where he was and I saw a bouquet of red and white roses in the sand near the cooler.
I thought, “Oh wow… he’s really taking our “Reconnectiversary” to a whole nother level… and I didn’t even get anything to surprise him with… drat!” I was so confused. Our friends were standing around angled in our direction… even the girls stayed back a little bit. He reached down for the flowers and something else… an empty Corona bottle? I felt under-prepared and made a mental note to think of a way to try to make it up to him for going above and beyond for the anniversary of us reconnecting again… maybe a nice dinner? I honestly didn’t realize he’d make such a big to-do about it.
He told me to read the letter that was rolled up inside of the bottle… aweeee a message in a bottle! I didn’t realize that he wrote it on a scrap piece of paper, so I started to read the visible portion of text that was printed out on it… “Flex Login Enter Username???” He raised an eyebrow before realizing that I was reading the wrong side of the paper… “No, not THAT side… the other side!” We laughed. I felt silly. I was nervous and didn’t even quite understand why. I’m not much of a spotlight person, but I felt the heat of everyone looking at us as if knowing details that had yet to be revealed to me.
I started to read his remarkably legible handwriting… “Hello My Love, You’re most likely wondering why there is this message in a bottle for you…” Yes, yes I was wondering exactly that. [I’m not going to divulge everything that was written in the letter or even most of it, but I’ll share a few snippets. It was the sweetest thing I’d ever read from the sweetest man I’ve ever known.] As I read… “You and the girls mean everything to me.” … “You know better than anyone that sometimes a letter can explain things that we can’t in the moment…” He guided me closer and closer to the driftwood bench in the sand. [In the midst of it all, Machaela caught my attention to show me one of the shells she found, and Aria proudly showed off how covered in sand she was. I love them. Okay, back to the letter] … “We spend our whole lives looking for love. It took a while to look back at the 10-year-old me that told my mother ‘I’m going to marry that girl one day.’… … … I was right.” … … … “P.S. Will You?”
Is this…? Is he…?
As I lifted my eyes from the page, trying to keep my tears reined in, he got down on one knee in front of me and a heart that was drawn in the sand with “Will you marry me?” spelled out in seashells, God, the girls, our friends, and everybody else at the beach, reached into his pocket, and pulled out a little black velvet box—which he opened up to show the prettiest ring I’d ever seen, told me he wants to spend the rest of his life with us, and asked if I would marry him.
It took a moment to process what was happening… I was so overwhelmed with emotion I could barely speak, so I nodded—not wanting to keep him waiting… and said “Yes” while leaning in for a kiss. Then, I noticed a few of our other friends… the ones who were “busy” and “couldn’t join us” standing in the background holding cameras… it turns out that they had been there for hours before we arrived—hiding in the bushes with the bouquet of roses and their cameras (even to the point where they explained to the people nearby that they weren’t spying on them but were staying out of sight to be able to document their friends’ engagement) just so they could capture our special moment.
I couldn’t believe that everyone was in on it—even the girls! He had asked for their ‘blessing’ to propose to me… Machaela was even the one who hid the ring the whole time! My heart was overflowing… Hannah and Shasta spent hours crouched in the sand, Denise and Nick spent their own anniversary (yep, it was their anniversary that day!) helping out with our engagement, Heidi and Zac were gathering shells and keeping a lookout to make sure that the surprise didn’t get spoiled, Denise took a ton of pictures and a video from our perspective while distracting me long enough for everyone else to help stage the scene… and the girls kept the secret the whole time… how am I so lucky to be surrounded by this much love?
When I said “Yes,” I wasn’t just saying yes to being his fiancée. I said yes to our future… yes to our family… yes to the ups and downs and everything else that comes along with building and sharing a life together. While I didn’t get to finish reading the last chapter of my book during our time there, we started writing an even better one of our own. Ironically, its title couldn’t have been more appropriate: “The Best Yes”.
I threw an online surprise birthday/transplant party on Facebook while my stem cells were transplanted into my Mom's body...and invited the whole family to it so we could all 'be there' for her. ♡
[Nathan made a guest appearance via my phone during the video chat to say hi to everyone too... as did Spence (pictured above)]
Keep the prayers coming (and thank you for them)!
The doctors/nurses are heavily monitoring her for at least the next 2 hours and then tomorrow she gets the part of her treatment where they encourage/coax the healthy cells to replicate more/faster...(health professional friends, as always, please feel free to correct/elaborate on my explanations)... and they have to suppress her immune system for a bit to make sure her body doesn't naturally try to reject the new cells... then, a week or so later, she goes through another treatment to rebuild her immune system with lots of monitoring and fluid level correction in between/during.
Kaleidoscopic Grace 