A Simple Lesson in Acceptance

I was sitting in my front room this afternoon, looking out the window over our unlandscaped backyard just reflecting on the changes that have come throughout these past two years.

We have moved into a beautiful new home, the boys have found amazing friends, the siblings are all blending in a way that I never thought possible, hearts have been open, acceptance has occurred and life is moving along at the speed of light.

As I was making dinner tonight, our youngest came into the kitchen and sat down on the stools near the counter.  He had the biggest grin on his face. 

"What's up?" I asked as I shaped dough for rolls.

"T and I have been playing upstairs like real brothers," his excitement was infectious.

"Really?" I responded, setting down the dough ball and looking him full in the face.

"Yep! We played swords, and he pinned me, but I pulled out my dagger, then he grabbed it, so I pulled out my other dagger, he grabbed that one too, so I pulled out my third weapon and he asked me how many weapons I had.  Then he tickled me!" The light in those blue eyes was brilliant.  

"I think we're finally real brothers."

"You've been real brothers for a while buddy."

"Yeah, but you know your real brothers when you can laugh and joke and tickle and pretend fight.  That's what makes you real brothers," He then hopped off the stool and ran back upstairs.

T was gone when Eric and I married.  He had been serving a mission for our church for two years.  He was serving when his mother died.  He was serving when his Dad and I met.  He was serving when we got married.  The home he came back to was completely different than the one he left.  I was very nervous when we all showed up that airport to welcome him home.

Would he like us?

Was it all too much?

How was this going to work?

When T came down the escalator, he had a big smile on his face.  He hugged his Dad, his sister and his younger brother.  Then Parker walked over and T hugged him too. He also hugged the two younger ones.  I was completely choked up by this display of acceptance that was so unexpected.  He also hugged me.  He didn't have to.

He could have been bitter.

He could have been angry.

He could have taken all the time he needed to slowly ease into this new blended world, but he didn't. 

I've never asked him why, although some day I would like to. Of all of our children, the one who was out serving for most of the large transitions walked into the middle of it all and never missed a step. He's loved, served, worked, and tried from the first moment to accept our family just as it is.  He has taught me quite a lot about how easy it is to allow things to be.  

In the end, they all work out- just as they were meant to. 

Much love,

Kami

The Art of Missing

I was asked last year if I "missed Steve anymore?" And it's taken me a while to come up with an insightful response that didn't seem trite, defensive, or quick.  In fact, it's taken me a year.

I would like to tell you that this was the first time the question had ever come up, but it seems to be on the tip of a lot of people's tongues and so I've learned that it is a perfectly reasonable inquiry.  If you've never experienced loss of this magnitude it would make you wonder just how much a person misses someone, once they've moved forward with their life.
I've probably wondered it a time or two myself....before.
I can honestly say without a moment's hesitation that I miss him every day.
Unequivocably.
The pain is not as sharp and joy comes more and more easily.  I don't find myself holding my breath quickly after I've laughed, feeling like I've betrayed him in any way.  I used to do that.  I did it a lot.
I have also found that I don't wake up worrying about if he's okay where he is- like I used to.
I have also found new confidence in my ability to parent the boys in a way that I feel like Steve would be proud, although there are days.  Man! Oh! Man! There are days.  Mostly because they are boys, not for any other reason.
So- yes, I miss him.  If I let myself, I miss what our lives might have been together at this point.  I miss celebrating his victories and witnessing his life.  I miss the way that he loved our boys and the gospel with ease.  Because that was him.  Everything that brought him joy- was done with such patience and ease.
I have found a new joy and a new life that is parallel to the one I might have had.  I have someone who loves our boys and the gospel.  He spent three days up at Scout camp with one of them and they both came back with big smiles on their faces.
I miss him- not because I'm not happy, but because of who he is.  This is the same reason why I love another: because of who he is.  There are times the feelings I have for both men get all tangled up in my heart and mind and I have to take a pause and reflect on the fact that this is not a competition.  There is no need to justify loyalty to one or the other.  We all are doing our best to be our best, love our best, and help others to the best of our ability.
So, yes- I do miss Stevie.  I still catch my breath when one of the boys' looks, does or says something so unique to their Dad that it makes time stand still for a bit.  There is an ache in my heart and a place that can't be filled.
There is also a new joy.  A new love.  A new lifetime to be had.  Rather than focus on what is not- I chose to focus on what is confident that the what is not will be taken care of with time.
It is amazing our capable our hearts are of love and how that love we have grows exponentially throughout our lifetimes.
Much love,
Kami

Mother's Day Reflections

As I was showering this morning, I happened to take the time to stare off into space and reflect on the upcoming Mother's Day. I time traveled as the hot water steamed up the glass and suddenly I was back in Arizona.
It was the morning of my very first Mother's Day as a mother.  Anyone who knows me knows that I tend to be a bit of an anxiety case over working through any firsts.  I had paid careful attention in the past to how other mothers behaved on this blessed day of remembrance but had little faith in my ability to carry it off with grace and gratitude.  Parker was only 10 months old.  What did I know about being a mother? Okay- yes I had kept him alive that long and he seemed relatively well adjusted to the world on the outside of my belly.  He was strong and delightful, he was very smart and receptive.  He was a masterpiece that I had had a hand in creating, but I still felt inadequate, and small compared to the other magnificent women who had come before me and claimed the title of 'mother.'

There I was 13 years ago in a shower much like the one I was currently standing in- feeling much like I did this moment as the same day approaches yet again- inadequate and humbled. Caught between knowing who I am and wishing I was more.  That dreadful feeling of never measuring up to anyone else or running a race that you will never be able to win.
I recalled Steve coming into the bathroom as I was finishing up my make-up and checking my hair for the last time before I wrestled Parker into his church clothes.  Steve was all smiles and sunshine, which left me further distraught! Of course, he was chipper- he wasn't buckling under the stress of centuries of perfect Mother's Days and their perfect examples of mothers.  Our eyes met in the mirror as he stood behind me and whispered softly into my ear, "Happy Mother's Day to the most beautiful mom I've ever seen. Thank you for our son."  I did what any good woman would do- I burst into tears and began to blubber about the pressure and the stress.  I lost myself in the downward spiral of my own personal 'feel-bads' and when I finally came up for air he scooped me up into his arms and sat him on his lap on our bed.
He quietly told me that nothing I had said was what he saw in me.  "In you," he said "I see strength and determination.  I see a lady trying very hard to help her husband and keep our son happy.  I see someone who may not have all the answers, but will try very hard to find them.  I see a fighter, and a lover, a warrior and a saint.  I see you, Kami, and I am in awe of who you are."  I remember every word even now, 13 years later.  He saw in me someone that I wasn't acquainted with, but desperately wanted to know.
We walked together down the hall and got our sweet son dressed, then stopped for a moment in the kitchen where Steve took out a yellow rose corsage that he had a lady in our church make for me.

His eyes lit up as he pinned it on me and he said on our way out the door, "Thank you for being my wife and the mother of our children."  I looked wryly up at him and replied, "Children? We only have one- child- and I'm already this crazy.  How on Earth will I handle more?"  He answered back, "It's not about the job here on Earth, Kami, it's about our legacy in the eternities.  That's how we'll handle them as they all come."
It really is about the eternities.  Eternal families, forever sealed to one another through a true and everlasting covenant.  It's about more that just me, more than just Steve, it's about all of us working towards the goal of forever.
I wore the corsage that day, quite humbled by it as though it were a badge of honor.  I let all the sweet children that wanted to smell it- do so.  Parker played with it as he quietly fell asleep on my lap, and I felt proud to be counted among those who knew their job and would do it to the best of their ability.  I've been made stronger through that simple conversation on a bright, shiny, Mother's Day morning and am thankful for the opportunity to remember it all these years later though the giver of this perfect wisdom is no longer by my side.

Make no mistake- I still fall short and slip into my own brand of crazy on a regular basis.  I also maintain a better understanding of the purpose of this life through sweet memories such as that one. The struggle is real.  The struggle to remember whose we are and what we are meant to do.  I am blessed this sweet Mother's Day to have four wonderful women to look up to as examples of womanhood and all that is good in this world.  Though the process of finding all of them has been long, difficult and grief-ridden, I am forever grateful that I've been allowed to be a part of their lives as they have made everlasting impacts in mine.

To all women everywhere- thank you.  Thank you for your patience, and longsuffering.  Thank you for your gentle words of encouragement and strength.  Thank you for rising above what the world wants you to think is acceptable and maintaining the ability to nurture and find joy in common everyday moments.  Thank you for your example of what true warriors look like and what fierce loyalty can do.  Thank you for changing my life and allowing me to remember just what this life is all about in your every day acts of service.  Thank you for being enough- now just remember that you are.

Much love,
Kami

Gratitude.....

Sometimes in all the chaos of daily life, it's hard to remember to be grateful. Life gets heavy and hard and tiresome and too much- and it is also always beautiful.

Beautiful in a way that friends who haven't seen each other for years can pull together because a classmate has been in an accident. Beautiful that as a mother asks for the community to pray for her child, not a moment can pass before the prayers begin. Beautiful that it in my darkest hours Heavenly Father sent one angel after another to offer comfort, grace, and mercy, understanding and hope. Life is truly beautiful.

This doesn't mean that you or I have a set quota of hardships to be endured. Absolutely not. The harder you fight, the harder life gets.  The more you strive for greatness the further you may find yourself from gratitude, because we need to always remember. Remember that on our best days, someone may be experiencing their worse. Remember that just as angels came for me- I know they will come for you.  Remember to be grateful for the trials and when the joy comes, as it always comes, be quick to be grateful for that as well.  Remember that the very fact your heart beats and you have the opportunity to be someone's angel is reason enough to be grateful.

So I'm off to climb into bed. To lay next to another sweet fella that snores and be grateful for that. The first night I heard his heart beating in the quiet, I wept with gratitude for a sound I thought I would never hear again in my lifetime. Sure it's a different beat but it is in the act of motion- it is life and for that I am grateful.

All my love,

Kami

Sometimes Life is Messy......

Three years ago I never thought I'd find myself here.  In fact, never in my wildest dreams did I ever envision that I would be a widow at 35, remarried by 37 and attempting to figure out how life is supposed to work from this angle.
It is T-O-U-G-H.
It is a good tough at times.  You know, the kind that causes you to stretch, grow, become something....more.  Anytime you are attempting to change, it's going to be hard.  It has to be hard. Otherwise, everyone could do it.  I'm not everyone and neither are you.
I don't think that Eric or I had any idea just how difficult this would be.  The bottom line is that love cannot be forced and acceptance doesn't come easy.  Both of which I thought I had some control over- I'm learning more and more that I can only control myself and for a control freak that is hard to swallow.  Each day is it my prayer that I can be who all of our children need me to be, and love each of them as they need to be loved.  Each day I fall short.  Each day that is OK.
This causes my noggin' to drift back three years to when it all was so much smoother.  When you marry and have children with someone and have a good, somewhat healthy relationship; everything seems to find its rhythm.  When you walk side by side with someone for so long you learn to anticipate their reaction, their needs, their way of handling the outlandish.  In our home, now, we're all still learning the steps to this dance.
I think we've all figured out how to love each other, we just haven't figured out how to freely express it and that hesitancy tends to cause gaps.  Please don't misunderstand- I wake up each day happy to have the life I have, happy at a second chance at this life, happy that my kids are happy and at peace with the decisions I've made that have lead me here.
I wish I was better at embracing the moment.  One of the many regrets I had after losing Stevie was that I hadn't lived in the moment better.  I watched from the window, instead of dancing in the rain. Gaps, gaps, gaps.  Endless gaps.  If I allow myself, I think back to those moments and where there are gaps, I insert myself and the whole memory is cast in a golden hue.  It becomes whole.  When I find myself watching as gaps form in my life now, I can't for the life of me figure out why I'm still allowing this to happen.  I thought I had learned my lesson.
SO- this will be my goal for a while.  To stop the gaps from happening.  To embrace the now, and jump with my eyes closed into emotions, moments, love, myself.  I haven't been true to myself consistently since Stevie died and by neglecting this truth I haven't allowed others to know me as I truly am.  The fear of losing again, the fear of not being accepted fully as Stevie accepted me, has kept me from experiencing life in true color over the course of these years.
I will definitely keep you posted as to how this all turns out, because change is scary.  It's even scarier to embrace who you are and allow others to embrace you as well, but I'll try and hopefully it will help you to try as well.
Here's to a gapless life!
Kami