What Exactly Is This Blog Post About Anyway?

John:)


I haven’t written in a long while. Am I a grief writer? What about this whole cancer thing? Can I just write whatever – do a therapy dump? I guess I’ve been a bit confused lately, and to be honest, I just haven’t had the energy to confront all the thoughts and emotions of the last several months. But, I have some time today – and in all honesty, I think I could use some writing therapy. This post is probably going to be all over the place, but I think that’s okay – because so am I. 

JOHN

I will start with John because in all of this, speaking his name and keeping his memory alive is paramount. I started writing to help others and to help my heart. To help me process what I was feeling, and to reach out to other bereaved parents. I wanted to be as transparent as possible – to speak my truth and share the truth of other bereaved parents so they wouldn’t feel crazy in their grief and so I wouldn’t lose my mind. Over the last 3.8 years, I’ve done my best to stick with that goal, but it isn’t easy. Grief is hard guys.  This is something we don't get over, we live with it every.single.day - and I wish we didn't.  We miss him so much, it's hard to bear.  It's exhausting.  It's forever.  

Every time I write about something that hurts, I generally have at least one person who wants to tell me how to feel. I don't understand that and I never will.  Some things you cannot fix people -  no opinions, words of wisdom, or platitudes will change this.  And here's the thing - it's my loss.  John was our son. . .and we get to feel it however we feel it.  I see it from my perspective, and I share it from my perspective.. I don’t need to be told what someone else may have been thinking when they said something hurtful, or stupid, or rude. I don’t need it explained to me. I need to be transparent and share with others truthfully and honestly how it affected my grief. How it made the mama bear in me rise up and start swinging. Or, how it made me change the way I respond to others and watch my own mouth more carefully. If there is one thing many of us agree on, it’s that we do not need to be told how to feel. We are oozing the feels.  Stop.  Think.  Be Kind.  

So, I’ve backed off a bit. But today, I think I'll share a few updates and what's been on my heart.

 A GRIEVING INTROVERT ON A PLANE FULL OF STRANGERS 


Does anyone remember the post “Introvert On A Plane Full of Strangers”?  (Click for Link). I wrote that after our first trip to Grand Cayman with Becks. They published part of that blog in their customer newsletter.  It was such a great trip for us.  We have made so many friends through those weeks on the island, and God has used those people to speak life into our hearts. 

Well, Bethany called and asked if she could present that blog at the dealer camp meetings. She reads it at each meeting and they play a slide show of pictures I sent her.  I'm looking forward to seeing it when she sends a link.  We were touched that she thought our story would be a good representation of what they were wanting to share. She honored John. She said his name, she shared our story, our faith, and a few thousand people got to see photos of him and maybe gain some insight into substance use disorder, grief, and devasting loss.  The trips with Becks have been so much more than a customer reward.  They are an invitation to a culture of faith and friendship.

Since that trip in 2018, we have met another couple who have lost not one, but two daughters. Brian has made several more lifelong friends, two of whom he converses with daily, and for whom I am eternally grateful. Our initial roomies have become like family to us, and we are so very thankful for each person who has entered our lives and stayed. We really missed that trip last year. Covid kept us home and kept everyone from visiting the island – we are hoping to go this year, but it’s still up in the air, and not looking promising. 

I sure hope we can see our friends and make new ones . . .it’s been such great therapy and a needed respite for our souls. I will forever hold Grand Cayman and the Becks family in my heart. 

 MICHELLE – OUR MAMA BEAR 

Michelle's Josh, Trista's Miranda, Leigh's Mason, Renee's Autumn and my John.


Changing gears again – and this one really hurts. Do you remember when I wrote about the other loss moms?  It was called Let Me Tell You About My New Friends. (Click Here for Link) It was the start of a lifesaving friendship among a few women who had lost children. Renee, Leigh, Trista, Michelle, and me. Renee lives in my hometown and her and her husband Paul came to John’s reviewal and introduced themselves.  We got together several times to talk about our losses, our John knew their daughter Autumn – and all of the others ladies I met online. We formed a group of “mama bears” – Michelle’s name for herself that we adopted. 

We added others, came alongside people when we could, and it honestly, for some of us, saved our lives. Well, Michelle passed away in May. It absolutely broke my heart. I don’t really know what happened, but from what I gathered, it was heart failure. She is with Josh now, in heavenly places, and she is happy . . .but it left such a void. We hadn’t been communicating as often these days, but for a while, it was daily, if not hourly for us all. She was a gift to us. Often messaging back and forth with Trista or Kelly in the wee hours of the morning. She made you feel like your heart had landed in a place where it was completely understood, known, and truly loved. She always called me her “soul friend”. I printed this out and kept it on the fridge, to remember that in this terrible grief, I was never alone. That my writing and friendship had an impact, and that I always had other mama bears that got it. 


I have pages and pages of conversations with her, and I miss her. She was such a wonderful human. I’ll never forget her voice or her laugh. Or our hours-long phone conversation. I sent her a bracelet that said mama bear on it one year, from her son Josh. I’m glad I did that. I’m glad she no longer needs a reminder of his love, she’s getting a big ole bear hug in person.  She was beautiful, inside and out.  Here is a photo she sent me wearing her elephant necklace.  


 CANCER 

Yes, it sucks. But, I think I can see the light at the end of this step in the journey. I had surgery back in May. Bilateral mastectomy with expanders. Expanders feel like a big, uncomfortable rubber sports bra under your skin that you can't take off.  I have no feeling on the skin of my chest or in one armpit, which makes shaving interesting! My hair is growing back fast now – it took a while, but it’s really filling in and it’s as soft as a bunny! I love to touch it.  I've been using Monat Black shampoo and eating my Hair, Skin, and Nails Gummies.  I’m not sure exactly what color it is, or if it will be as thick and wavy – but I’ll take it. 

I have another surgery in October to replace the expanders with implants, to suction out some fat (which I have added plenty of through chemo) to go around the implants and to remove my ovaries and fallopian tubes. I’m BRCA 1, so my chances of ovarian cancer are greater. They offered to take the whole uterus, and I was very inclined to give it to them, but they wouldn’t be able to do it all in one surgery then, so I guess I’ll just keep it. It’s full of fibroids and cysts, so I’d gladly give it up, but these surgeries aren’t a whole lot of fun either, so I’ll stick to having just one more. 

I’m still going to the cancer center every three weeks for immunotherapy – Perjeta and Herceptin – and will be until January or so. They are for the HER2 part of the type of cancer I had. I had cancer in both breasts – and two different kinds, so that was the plan. Hopefully, that will be the end of my port and my cancer journey . . .but I’ll have to be closely monitored in the future. Cancer is a humbling journey that I wish on no one. I have felt like I have taken the chemo well, with no nausea or intense sickness, and I feel lucky for that. I have definitely had bad days, fatigue, and some side effects, but all in all, as I’ve compared it with losing John, it was doable. 

I’d like to think I won’t have to deal with it again . . .but I’ve learned a lot, met some amazing people, and am thankful to have had the care I have been given. The nurses and staff at the cancer center have been so awesome. Every time I go in, they talk about my Dad. They all love him. He asks them about their families and hobbies – he even made a list of fishing boats for sale for one of the nurses. He has an "acts of service heart", and I’m sure it thrilled him to be able to give some suggestions. I’m glad he enjoys them and sees his four years of chemo as a kind of social activity. He’s the best. I just take naps when go. I’m glad he’s the one representing the family. 

Mayo has also been a gift. The doctors and nurses have been absolutely amazing. I’m thankful that the Mayo Clinic is in Minnesota and I could benefit from all those years of wisdom!  I recently read an article on skin/nipple saving mastectomy that my surgeon wrote!

FAITH

Well, that’s the scoop. I hope and pray you are all hanging in there. I read a post today that a girl had written in response to an article on Still Standing. She thought maybe God had allowed her to lose a couple babies to learn how to love fiercely when she delivered a healthy baby. She was mad at God until she ordered her thoughts in this way. 

I get the anger.  You'd like to understand why this happened to YOU.  We don't often wonder that until it is us, do we?  I can honestly say I've never blamed God.  He gave us free will and much of what happens in life is because of the choices we make, or because our world is broken.  So very broken. 

I've noticed that the world loves a happy reaction to the worst life throws at you, but that isn't always the truth, is it?  Can we just be honest with each other?  Can we admit that sometimes life sucks.  That sometimes the smiling photo doesn't really represent the truth?  That we hold grudges, blame others, have rotten thoughts, and that we struggle every day?  And can we admit that sometimes people need to know that they aren't alone in that struggle?  Can we get off our high horses and show them that we have bad days too?  Can we stop telling them how to feel/act/live and just sit alongside them for a minute?  Can we tell them that we feel anxious, depressed, sad, angry, or disillusioned too?  That we have doubts sometimes.  That life isn't always as black and white as we hoped. But that despite our circumstances, we still have hope.  We still believe in what is to come - in our future and who holds it.  That the most beautiful photo in the world will not compare in the slightest to an eternity with God in Heaven.  That Jesus will welcome us with open arms, if we believe, and then, and only then will life be "picture perfect".  

I hope you have that hope dear ones – this world is not our home, but just a stepping stone to the next. 

TO THE EMAIL SUBSCRIBERS

P.S. My "subscribe to email" company has changed to Mail Chimp. The service I was using has been discontinued, so hopefully, those of you who follow me by email will be seamlessly updated, if not, you can always find me and get notifications on my Facebook Page or Instagram.  I've also had a request to do an audio reading of my blogs.  I might.  I don't know how.  I'll look into it:)

Comments

Nancy said…

It always takes me a while to read your blog posts, because your writing is so compelling. I find myself reading sentences or paragraphs multiple times. They sink in better that way. I don't remember reading any one of your blogs where I haven't shed tears, usually more than once. I think about what you've written; I can hear your voice in my head; I marvel at the way you minister to people, and I pray.

I pray for you daily, as you know. I am so sorry for your pain. I'm so glad you are willing to share it with people who love you, and know your family...

Always,
Nance


You are so kind Nancy, thank you for your love and support - it means so much. ❤️