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

Tripping as we go.....

The #1 challenge in blending our family is...................

Disciplining -or- raising our children with a united front.

It has been difficult to the extreme. However, on a scale of one to ten for what my husband and I have been through in this lifetime- it's probably ranked at a 4, and that's only because of the emotional fallout.

Parenting, even in a traditional household, comes with snares and pitfalls.  If you consider the fact that you have two individuals who are from separate homes and backgrounds, who in our culture are typically younger, then you throw in a few children and expect said individuals to raise those children in a healthy and loving environment- all the time....well.....it is possible, but not always perfect.  Now compound that with two individuals, who have been raising children in a relationship, while growing up together, and figuring out said snares and pitfalls and learning to raise children in step with one another; anticipating each other's needs- but then suddenly find themselves grieving, having to adjust to another relationship and new children (who have been raised with the same guiding principles, but with differing personalities)..........................there are bound to be a few:

To be quite frank the biggest mistake I made with my children was giving them everything after Stevie died in hoping that it would fix their broken hearts and assuage the guilt I felt for being the one left here, when Steve was so much more patient with our children and so much more adventurous. He was their joy and suddenly he was gone- so I gave, and gave and gave.  This did far more damage than any other mistake I may have made.  Rules that had always been hard and fast suddenly became negotiable and loose.  Strict adherence to principles that had always been in place became more than I could manage and the result has been 18 months of trying to reign in what was done in 6, following Steve's death.  I wish I could go back and undo what I've done, but as the saying goes, "If wishes were horses, beggars would ride." So we live and learn,  I'm going to go out on a limb here and say that this scenario is probably more prevalent than parents in grieving households like to admit.  It is truly amazing how quickly our children adapt to new rules (or the lack thereof) and how quickly they become children that we don't even know sometimes.

Please don't misunderstand me, most days are a delightful walk down easy-peasy lane.  We allow one another to take the lead with said individual children.  He governs, and guides his, while I govern and guide mine.  It is bliss.  It is easy.  Sometimes it is lonely, but only when I've taken my youngest back into his bedroom for the fourth time in the same day and asked him to please treat others better, calm down, or stop using such thick sarcasm to which he replies, "Oh! Okay," with a massive eye roll.

This is not new to my life.  When parenting with my late husband, mealtime circus acts would occur often and would conclude with my firm and possibly loud plea to, "Please engage!!!" which was then followed by a child being plucked from his dinner chair and speedily taken into the other room. In short, parenting has never been a walk in the park 100% of the time.

In our current home it is complicated further by a house filled with healing hearts, several children at various stages of grief, teenagers working on figuring out their place in the world, parents figuring out their first year of marriage (AGAIN) and everything else that life throws at a typical family. Sometimes my heart yearns for the natural parenting that occurred when it was Steve and I. With a little bit of self-reflection the yearning comes from a place of familiarity, which came from having time to grow and figure it out together.  This is exactly what is happening now with Eric and me.

And so the question remains: how do we get on the same page?  How do we gently guide our children towards choices that will help them be successful adults, who understand their place in the world and appreciate all that they've been through; trials included?  I have to be honest here- there are days where I feel like my head will explode with the lack of responsible actions that are occurring and the selfish desires that are running rampant.  On the flip side there are days where I want to run to the highest mountain and proclaim my joy for the selfless service that I see and the gratitude that has been expressed freely. 

We've been counseled to let each other lead out with our separate broods of kids and it is what our current tactic has been.  What I appreciate more than anything else is that we don't keep secrets from each other.  We have found that life runs much more smoothly when we're fully aware of what's going on with our children- collectively.  We are attempting to become better at counseling together when any of our kids are struggling so that we can figure out the best possible solution- it also helps to keep the eyebrow raising to a minimum when we're fully aware of everything going on. 

So I guess my suggestions for parenting in blended families are these:

1. Recognize that it won't be rainbows and butterflies all the time. (There's nothing wrong with accepting that it will be challenge).

2. Put your marriage first.  This just means 100% honesty and transparency with any household issues/situations.

3. Love and pray for each others' kids until there is no degree of separating in your heart. 

4. Allow each other to lead out with your own children, and be supportive (in front of the kids) no matter what.  It's okay to disagree with parenting styles, but not in front of the family.

5. Take a step back as needed, and realize that everything worthwhile takes time.

Good luck with loving, praying for and guiding your families.  Hopefully someday soon we can look back on these moments with a sense of accomplishment for who our children have become.

Much love,

Kami

Nothing worthwhile......

is ever easy.

I have thought and rethought this post at least a bazillion times.  It never gets any easier. Tonight I'm just going to go for it and hope that it all makes sense.

Please keep in mind that I'm only speaking from my experiences and from what I've observed/heard, etc. 

When Eric and I decided to marry, we discussed at great length that we would have a combined SEVEN children.  His oldest is married and has two beautiful children of her own and a delightful husband.  They live in a surrounding state, but not close at hand- this makes blending a bit difficult, but not impossible.  Add into this a returned missionary turned college freshman, a future missionary who is working diligently to save money for her mission, a high school sophomore and my lot of boys and well......there is never an end to the stories to be told.

At first everyone was on their best behavior- even my lot whose ages range in the more immature realm.  We then slowly transitioned into summer chaos that was filled with fun family visits and adventures.  I'm not sure we ever got to a "normal" sense of our nuclear family, but I'm learning that normal is relative.

When the "kids" are all together it is fun for the most part of they all tend to divide out into their separate groupings when left for a lengths of time.  It happens naturally, as life events have been shared by some and not by all.  The immaturity that happens in youth tends to be a bit much for those with a bit more life experience and so drifting is the result.  I'm sure there are several psychological books that could be read as to how to force this- but that's just it....I don't want to force the kids to have a relationship with each other.  I would rather they choose that for themselves.  I have faith this will happen and with time it just may: I've seen glimpses of this and it brings me joy.

This brings me to my biggest fault- patience.  Agreeing to God's time in all things is easy when the road is simple ahead.  Taking a deep breath and allowing things to unfold is hard when you desperately love all parties involved and yearn for that connection.  I feel like I'm always tapping my toe in anticipation.

So we go through our days; trying.  Trying to get along.  Trying to let one another in.  Perhaps even trying to keep each other out.  It can be hard to know.

What I do know is this: everyone is trying to do and be the best they can in this situation for which no rules are written.  I can honestly say that I love each of the kids and adore the grand-kids that I get to call mine.  Time will tell how they chose to love each other, and for now that has to be enough. Unconditional love, prayer and patience is the key to all things worthwhile.

Always-
Kami

Finding Comfort

On March 21st, I remarried.  The man that I married had recently lost his wife to a terrible, degenerative disease called muscular sclerosis.  Their story is theirs to tell and so I will leave it be.  I will say that I married into a remarkable family with a strong legacy of love.

For the most part, our marriage has been met with great optimism and acceptance. There has been some lingering feelings that I feel are part of this journey that I feel are necessary to talk about.  I'll do my best to keep the tone of the this entry from becoming too heavy.

When Eric and I met I had no intention of marrying anyone.  In fact, during our first dinner together he looked so nervous and uncomfortable (more out of place) that I merely said to him, "Relax, it's not a job interview."  I was a bit wrong because that night turned out to be so much more.....

I had not forgotten Steve.  There were warring feelings of betrayal and guilt that kept circulating, but throughout it all came the feeling of correctness and comfort.  I chose to follow the more positive route, as I had already had 14 months of the darker one.  As the dates progressed and he came to see us more, as I went to where he lived- I realized one over-arching truth: when we were together it all felt so much better than when we were apart and he made me laugh.  Away from Eric the world was filled with teaching, masters programs, scouts, baseball, schedules, homework, dinner, cleaning, kiddos and very little joy.  I was lacking an intricate part of the whole scheme that made it work for me.

Not everyone is like me.  There are those people out there who function just fine and do so with grace, and strength- needing never to rely on another.  I applaud those who can do so with a smile.  What I found out about myself was that on the outside I was independent and perfectly capable, and on the inside I missed someone to share my life with.  Just because I could do it alone, didn't mean that this is what I had wanted.

And yet.......

Alone seemed to be the only answer if I was going to be true to my heart's desire to only yearn for Steve.  The human existence is such a tricky one.  I think Heavenly Father gave us two hands so that we could always be weighing at least two options.  On one hand: I would yearn forever for my Stevie and chose to never love again, and on the other hand I found myself entertaining the idea of loving someone else and seeing the world in living color once more.  How blessed to be given two choices.

I chose to open my heart.  This has caused some grief for others.

One thing that I wish people would remember when talking to, attempting to relate, or even wanting to engage in conversation with widows/widowers/survivors is: they are one person and the world is filled with people meaning well- who want to tell said person everything they are feeling, thinking or have thought about said persons current situation.  This can be so overwhelming to try to grief counsel, accept, listen to, entertain, or relate to what is coming from another person (times 100).  It is overwhelming and yet part of the process of grieving and also part of our journey here on earth: to mourn with those that mourn, and comfort those who stand in need of comfort - whether or not it is your own grief they need comfort for.

Since Steve's passing I've become quite thick-skinned and have even stopped crying when others are crying over my situation, mostly because I am used to the feelings that overwhelm others and have taken many nights in the quiet to let out what most only deal with when they see me or Steve's family out and about.  Life without Steve has been my 24/7, while others are able to push it aside until they are reminded.

This brings me full circle to the title of this post: we must find comfort where we can in this life.  It has always been my prayer that comfort be found in the close relationship I have with my Heavenly Father, and with those who love me best.  Comfort has also been found in Eric and his sweet family. Our paths of grief are similar in the loss that we've felt, but so different and parallel in the path that has brought us to that loss.  The choice I made to love again, marry again, rebuild my shattered world, and find solace for our boys, was made with the full understanding that others might not understand.  It was a choice I stand firmly behind- and have not regretted for a moment.

With that being said: we are not all on the same path of healing over the loss of such a remarkable man.  It has been challenging at best for those who didn't live close and see the transformation of my family as our new life was beginning.  This is not to say that we don't still have moments of bittersweet memories and sorrow- that will never end.  There are still times when tears fall silently down faces for a time that is over- for now.  We can all only do the very best that we are doing to make this life as full as the one that was....before- this goes for everyone in our situation.

I am sorry for the hurt that continues.  My heart aches for those that don't understand.  I am sorry for the pain that has been caused.  However, when I look into the eyes of my boys at night as I ask them how they are and I see the joy that has so long been missing re-emerging: all is well.  This brings me great comfort in knowing that we all must be true to ourselves and to the legacy that has been left in our stewardship.  Such is mine, such is yours, and hopefully such is that we may all find comfort in the choices we have been given to make.

All my love- Kami

Combining Lives.......

On the day that my world shattered into obscurity, I found myself sitting on the floor of my closet feeling as though it would be impossible to ever love anyone else again.  In honor of true transparency, I must admit that it took me a good 10 years to love Stevie the way that he should have been loved all along- totally and completely.  I had a hard time believing that someone this good could really love someone like me.  We all have that view of ourselves- don't we? The one where we struggle to accept that, knowing all that we do about ourselves, it must be impossible to love someone so broken.
This was not the case for Steve and I remember clearly one night, after treatments, when I vowed to learn how to love him as unconditionally as he had always loved me.  6 short months later and he was gone.

In March, I married another special someone.  Having known love like I have with Steve- it made it easy to recognize that goodness and unselfish nature in another.  I still cannot fathom how lightening has struck twice in my life, but am thankful every day that it has.  It truly is a gift.

When we combine both of our families we have a total of 7 children, I am officially a grandmother, and I delight in the aspect of fully embracing completion again.

None of this is without small (relatively step-overable) hurdles.  One of which being- I want to talk about our late spouses quite a lot.  I want to ask questions about his sweet wife and I want to tell stories about Stevie and am never quite sure what's okay and what's not.  Do you want to know something equally nuts? I could just ask- but I don't.  Not yet.  By the time I actually publish this I will have had that conversation, but in this moment.....I don't know how to even begin.

So I wait for someone else to bring up stories, or to talk about it and then I feel comfortable listening.  I feel like I am not only the witness of Steve's life in our short 14 years together, but I'm also the keeper of her legacy as I am blessed to be able to see her children grow and discover their lives as adults.  It is an honor and one that I hold dear.

Meanwhile, I step around small landmines of what to say, what to do, how to make a whole life out of two full halves and how to help the hearts of those around me to heal.  Prayer and time...those are the only answers that I keep getting: prayer and time.  With that being said, I'm off to pack another box, tape it shut and somehow move this menagerie north to begin again in this whirlwind that is life.

All my love - Kami

Beginning Again......

In less than 48 hours I will be once again be a wife in this life.  I will no longer have to check the box that decides whether I am merely "single" or actually "widowed."  I will no longer be merely....me, again.

This all comes with beautifully mixed emotions.  That really is the point of this life, isn't it?  The experience of great pain and the rise of such joys.  I've felt quite a few of those in the past 5 years.  I've embraced them and am stronger for them.

The boys and I went to see the new Disney movie "Cinderella" yesterday.  A common quote throughout the movie was, "Have courage and be kind."  That resonated so deeply with me.  It's a whisper that I hear as I navigate through my own grief, my children's grief, my family's grief and even the joyous occasions.  Sometimes the hardest decisions are the ones that bring about the most joy and are the ones that require the most courage to make.

In less than 48 hours I believe I will once again wrap my arms around joy.  I've noticed that little by little the color that was drained from my existence at Steve's passing has slowly been swirling back in.  It hasn't been a rush all at once, but rather a gradual, quiet, oftentimes hard to discern movement much like ink being dropped into a glass of water or smoke swirling up from a lit flame.  Anything loud or sudden would have scared me back into the refuge of my sadness, Heavenly Father knew this and has sent the perfect antidote to my grief- he is patient, kind, silly, wise- he is strong, and most of all he is quiet in the way that he cares for me.  His kindness runs so parallel to the way that I've been loved before that it is comforting and peaceful.  I love him differently than I loved before and this is also comforting, as he reminds me constantly that neither of us is replacing- we are adding to and thus differences are necessary.

In less than 48 hours new beginnings will happen.  The boys are thrilled to be uncles and I am delighted to be a grandmother.  I don't imagine for a moment that it will always be smooth sailing, but then again- why not?  We both have champions on each side of heaven and Earth.  We both have walked through a refiners fire that books are written about.  We both have struggled and prayed, remained faithful and endured.

In the words of Cinderella's beautiful mother on the eve of our new beginning, my prayer as we all walk the path laid out for us by our loving Creator is that we will all "have courage and be kind," for that is the true mark of love and hope.

All my love,
Kami

Children and Closets.....

working through it all......

I'm getting married in less than a month to a wonderful man.  We both share the heartache of love and loss, and we both have remarkable families and friends that have supported us through it all.  We are counted among the lucky in this regard.

As the day get closer and closer to becoming a wife again, there are things that must be worked through.  One thing in particular was working through the process of letting go....again.

In the days, weeks and months that followed Steve's passing I found myself standing in the doorway of our walk-in closet, looking at the clothes that Steve used to give life to.  Two shirts in particular stood out under such scrutiny.  One is a blue and white button down that he wore the first time he took me out.  The second one is a red plaid button down that he wore in some of our fun engagement pictures and quite possibly every week since then until he passed away.  They spoke of memories, of happiness, of quiet moments tucked safely within his arms as tears soaked through to the skin.  Those clothes helped in being the keeper of Steve's memories for our family.

After a conversation with our Bishop today I realized that I was standing & moving.  That I had gone beyond just surviving.  I am living.  I am loving.  I am back.  When I said a heartfelt "Yes!" nearly two weeks ago, I chose life and love and happiness and new memories that are flavored by past joys. With this epiphany came the realization that I could not hold onto what was in hopes that it could once again be what is.  What is can have joy.  It can.  It does.  It is joyous.

At dinner I asked the boys what they thought about going through Dad's closet.  My oldest answered, "I'm ready."   My youngest said, "Me too!"  My second child merely looked back at me with wide eyes and slowly nodded.  I explained to them that they could have whatever they desired: ties, t-shirts, shoes, sweaters, anything- but to remember that these were merely things.  Their dad's love went beyond ties, t-shirts, shoes, sweaters and anything that was to be found in that closet.  We began with a prayer.  In it was the key to the peace that was found.

We knelt/sat down on the cream carpeting and began with the ties.  One by one their new owners claimed them.  Each tie brought about a new story of origin or use.  Each tie brought about a smile, or teary eyes.  We then moved onto the t-shirts.  Each boy collected 7 to 9 shirts to be used later in his own, unique quilt.  They then chose a couple of extra shirts to wear to bed if they wanted.  Then my oldest said, "The rest should go to dad's brothers if they want."  I gulped down the lump in my throat as each son nodded solemnly.  A text was sent out regarding such and we continued on through pajama pants, shorts, jeans, slacks, button downs, hoodies, shoes, belts. and all the items that make-up the wardrobe of a well loved man.

My favorite moments were when a shirt was pulled from the rack and stories tumbled out over the top of each other.  Each child remembering something different, or stories that overlapped in general idea but separate in details.  It was beautiful and healing.  It was exactly the right thing for this night.

Sitting in the corner of my room now are 5 large, black lawn bags.  Gazing back into the closet I realized something very profound.  In this life, Steve's things took up very little physical space. However, his life continues to consume vast eternities in my heart and the hearts of his children, family and friends.  It is remarkable how content he was to let me sprawl throughout the house of our dreams while he quietly rejoiced in the laughter of his children & the love of the Gospel; taking up very little space but leaving the largest of impacts.

It is because of his goodness and our shared life that I can love again.  It is because of the joy that I find in remembering the way he looked in each shirt in that closet and the twinkle in his eyes when they met mine that I am fearless in giving my newly healed heart to another.  What we have is eternal and I am secure in that knowledge.  I am also grateful for the patience and love of another who sees the need to work it through and understands the value of the process.

Children and closets- typically incomparable, but tonight both very good for this soul.

All my love,
Kami

There is no timeline.....

not in life and not on grief.
I've found myself over the past few months running towards happiness with wild abandon. Occasionally I trip myself up with over-thinking and concern for what the community, who loves our family, might think.  When I find myself so completely lost in what I think other's might be thinking- I have found that taking a moment to pause and reflect saves me from myself.
When Steve and I met in July, 1999; it was easy.  The conversations were quick, hilarious, and we were drawn towards one another by a desire to know more about life and love.  He and I quickly became an 'us' and 5 short months later, we were married.  The next chapter of our life was spent learning about each other.  Likes, dislikes, pathways to happiness and histories of sadness.  We learned so very much about what it takes to care for someone else, and to put another's joy above our own.
We also moved.....and moved........and moved.......had children......and moved.
Our last move together brought us to where I am now.
The boys and I are nestled in a lovely community, where we've been loved, and protected and prayed for time and again.  We have grown stronger, and with that strength the longing for what might have been becomes less sharp.  Instead, I've found myself longing for joy-memories-happiness, again.
There are those who would say that finding someone, falling love, and risking hurt is too great a price to pay.  That a year must pass before healing has taken place.  There are still others who think that to love again means that you love less the one before.  I emphatically disagree.
When I made the choice to move forward, I did it in a way that I believe Steve would be proud: head back, arms wide, completely.
I recall a conversation that he and I had shortly after cancer treatments had begun. In this conversation we talked about what he should do- if I didn't survive the treatment or the cancer.  It was decided that our boys needed a mother and as such he should find someone (preferably a nice someone) to marry.  This someone would need to shine, to have joy, and to fill our children's days with laughter.  He reassured me that he would never need to find another because I would be fine.  He was correct in this. However, he then told me quite clearly that should something ever happen to him that I was to find someone to serve as an example to our boys.  A righteous priesthood holder who loved to laugh, could find it in them to love the boys (even when they were grumpy trolls) and who loved the Lord.  The thought took my breath away and at first I denied the need for this conversation.  However, in his wisdom- he made me promise him that this would be the goal; and I agreed.
Such wisdom is a comfort now to me.  I feel that I have been given the gift of acceptance by my eternal companion to find another to love and share my life with.  In this gift is an assurance that my heart is safely bound to his and that in the view of everlasting light- there is the promise of forever with him.  There is also the agreement that I would not have to navigate the rest of this existence without someone physically by my side to lift me, strengthen me, and help me to raise our boys.  The timeline of searching, finding, and progressing towards that lifetime belongs to no one but myself.
The timeline of grief and desire to live beyond that- belongs to no one but those who walk that path.
Please recognize that grief is different for every person.  That the loss of a spouse comes in all forms and all stories.  My grief will not align perfectly with yours, and that's okay.  It is this remarkable ability to be separate in the process, but united in hope for better days to come, that makes this experience so rich and full of growth.
I choose life.  I choose to live and to find happiness in this life again; secure in the knowledge that this is okay; because I've been told so.  May you find the happiness that you're seeking as well and that you're a bit kinder with applying timelines to others rather than seeking to enjoy yours.
All my love,
Kami

Moving Forward......

By Taking Baby Steps.

I recently went on a date.  It seems a bit silly to even use the word "date," but that's what happened. To add to the silliness- I really liked it.  We met at a public location, ate dinner, and then walked around the Gilbert Temple grounds here in Arizona.  It was awkward, and nice, and lovely, and made me smile quite a bit.  I liked the whole evening very much.

I realized a couple of things as I've had time to reflect on this process:
1. I'm not moving on, I'm moving forward and
2. I'm still here.

For the longest time I would find myself coming home each day to love my children, and rejoice in their joy while struggling to find joy in the life I was living.  What a waste I was making of the life I'd been asked to live.  What a gift it was to wake up in the morning, to breathe in and out, to have a job where I work with people I enjoy and youth who kept me thinking! What a gift I have been given to know love the way I do- and to be able to recognize it when I see its beginnings and feel it begin again.

The small snapshots of time when I feel guilty for laughing with someone else, or wanting to share my day's stories with another person have started drifting into oblivion.  I realize each day that Steve loved this life, loved the opportunities given and even rejoiced in the trials that had to be overcome. Why should I do anything less?  There have been moments when I have worried about what others would think.  I've come to realize that there is no timeline on grief, or even on life.  We are each asked to do our very best and one day I woke up no longer satisfied with being alone, and missing having someone to share this life with.  It was then that the last remnants of the fog lifted and have not come back.

So, I'm not moving on.  To move on makes it sound like I'm leaving this life that I've built.  That I've packed it away never to be looked at again- but that's not it.  I am part of this life that we've built together.  All that I am and will be has been touched, shaped and created by the experiences that have brought me to this point.  You don't just leave that behind.  Instead it is lovingly placed in the quiet of your heart to be taken out and reflected upon when new joys come and new trials appear.  So I have it tucked away in a special place and am moving forward with it securely placed forever in my heart.

                                                                                                                           www.realfeelproductions.com

Last of all- I'm still here.  On October 8th, 2013, you could have placed me alongside my sweet husband and I would have been perfectly content to be done with the next sunrise.  It was as though my spirit had lost the will to fight for the life's experience still yet to come.  In the past 6 months that spirit has stretched, yawned and zipped back into existence and I've realized what everyone around me has known all along- I didn't die.  Instead I took a step back, reevaluated my purpose and place in this life and have now recognized the job at hand.  I have to live so that my sons will understand the legacy they are; and know that they are never alone in this life.  Neither am I, and neither are you.

The next few posts will probably bring some growing pains and tentative movements beyond baby steps, to toddler steps to possibly even running towards embracing this life again.  As that happens, I'll share with you the 'hows' and possibly even the 'whys' though the 'whens' are still hard to determine as each soul much work through finding their purposes at different moments in time.

All my love,
Kami

It Can't be the Same.....And So It Isn't.

There is one thought that I need to discuss with you and others out there.  It is the ongoing need to compare the death of a spouse to divorce.  I have to emphatically say that in most ways- it is not the same.  First I'd like to share with you the parallels that I see in hopes that you know that I am sympathetic about the plight of lost love.  I truly am.
When Steve first passed away there were those that struggled to find anything to say to me.  Through the fog I could sense their need to reach out, to connect, to find a common ground to pull me back from the abyss of grief.  So they would search their own lives and pluck small bits that we could communicate about.  More often than not this came through comparing the life that I had lost suddenly to the loss of their marriage.  I can now see the comparison of the hopes and dreams that we all set out with as we embark on marriage or a commitment to another.  I remember the nights spent whispering of the things that we would do, sharing the deepest secrets and desires that we shared for ourselves and in turn for each other.  I still hold those quiet moments quite dear to me.
In having children we all then turn our focus less upon the hopes and dreams of each other, though those are still in the ether around us, rather we fine tune our perspective upon our children and how to work together to accomplish their dreams; to create a better world for them that is without limits.  We scrimp for little league, and spend countless hours in doctor's offices, we become unified and strengthened through this common goal of lifting our children towards the stars and celebrating their milestones along the way.
This commonality makes it possible to smile, nod and take a deep breath when I am told how lucky I am that my husband died while we were still in love. What?! Come again... That at least I don't have to endure having to see him every day with someone else.  Knowing that he was faithful to me and that I will never have to deal with sharing my children with another household. Wow.
Let me be clear.  If you approach me on the street tomorrow and are gulping back tears because you find yourself being spread too thin because of the circumstances that life has thrown you into- I will wrap my arms around you and find you a clean Kleenex, because that is what sharing the human experience is about.  But please...PLEASE...remember in your own pain, that I am still wrapped in mine and wear it like a sweater, so please remember to tread lightly upon the life experience that I am still working through with no finish line in sight.
We are similar in the grief that we share for a life that can no longer be; for a love that is beyond our reach though still in our hearts and minds.  In all of that we are similar.  We are human and so we are the same.
That, however, is where the similarity ends.  While you may wish your spouse were no longer breathing, I ache each day and night and long for the time that mine still was.  While you tell me how hard it is for you to share your children, I can only think about the fact that they will have another parent to bounce ideas off of.  And while you think being single and able to make ALL of the decisions about my life on my own- I can only focus on your children playing with your ex-spouse and finding some sort of solace in the proximity.  I would not wish this on you, or on your life for anything in the world- so why do you wish it upon yourself?
There is a great chance that at some point in both of our lives we will find another someone to share our life with.  While we both shift focus between what is and what was, there is one distinct difference: I watched as the only man I have ever loved in this life's spirit drained from his eyes and left his mortal shell.  I sat helpless to save him, to breathe life back into his body, and to will him to live once more.  There will never be another word in this lifetime pass between us.  All the while I was throwing everything I was into willing him to live, begging him not to leave me (possibly in the same way you worked to save your world)- I could not get past my lips the "I love you," that was always said each night before bed but went unsaid that last night.  Instead, the words lay frozen in my heart, on my tongue and forever etched into every beat of my heart that his does not.
We both will have to work through our grief in our own way.  We both will figure out a way to move through the dark moments and stand tall in the face of great sorrow.  I will make you this simple promise: I will never tell you how lucky you are that your spouse is still alive, if you never tell me again how lucky I am to not have to go through what you're going through. Our perceptions are our own reality and as such these circumstances cannot be the same- and so they aren't.
Much love for the life that you are living and the person you want to be - Kami

The Year Mark, The High Points, The Struggles, and the Onward March.....

I was traveling from California to Arizona in a 15 passenger van with my sister, her four girls, my three boys and my mother-in-law.  It was a wonderful escape from the every day realities that are mine.  While we were in transit, my other sister sent pictures of the memorial tributes that were paid to Steve at his graveside.  There was such joy in remembering such a remarkable man.

Inside I had struggled more and more as the day loomed closer.  There was this fantastic build-up to the apex of emotion that I didn't have any idea what to do with it all. It seemed that all the nice, calm, level-headedness that comes with having to walk with grace through such a nightmare was about to tear free.  And then it did.  My ability to filter my thoughts and feelings fell away and I couldn't be trusted to be kind anymore.  It was as though the one year mark freed all the crazy that had been boiling inside for so long.

I wasn't focused on finding people to berate or be mean to, but my patience for the trivial issues in life was worn completely thin.  People venting over arguments their children had gotten into, ladies in the check-out line complaining at the length of their wait- all of the mundane, somewhat idiotic reasons to get bent out of shape over received an eye roll and a folding of my arms.  Didn't all of these people realize what a wonderful gift they had in being able to stand and complain?  They had been given the gift of one more day and this was how they were spending it.  I was appalled and completely over it all.

So I did what any widow would do- I shut down.  I'm still in the process of sliding.  I feel as though I've become such a burden on those closest to me.  I can't reciprocate in the way I would like to,  It's hard to go through your days feeling like you're either a service project or an exhibit in the freak-show.  Neither of which are good for your soul.

Would you like the know the secret that I learned on the year anniversary?

It came and it went; all by itself.  Say What?! Time didn't stop on this day any more than it did the day a year prior.  People still smiled, and cars still moved and the axis continued to rotate without my say-so.

So up by my bootstraps I've come.  I'm choosing to laugh more, complain less and am searching for purpose beyond myself.  Focusing outward instead of inward.

The year mark can be scary- but not half as scary of living a life less-extraordinary.  For choosing to live like that is no life at all. And the monster we create in our mind, based upon dates and the survival mentality, are just as easily slayed in our minds as well.

THE conversation......

A week or so ago I decided to sit down with the boys and see what they thought about, perhaps, their mother dating.  I wanted to have the conversation and get their thoughts prior to doing anything about it.  It's not that I was 100% ready at the time, and I'm not sure I'm 100% ready now- but then is anyone ever 100% ready? When I met Steve I would say I was about 85% ready and we ended up talking marriage on the second date.
When I spoke with the boys I just asked simply, "What are your thoughts about me going on a date?"
I wish I could clearly convey the looks on their faces.  Parker looked very thoughtful.  Klarke looked calm and Grant....well he looked ticked off.
Parker spoke first and said, "If it will make you happy Mom, then I think you should do it.  I support you." This warmed my heart.
Klarke chimed in, "Yep! We could have someone to watch football games with again."  This made me feel two things: sadness for the boy who is missing his dad so much, and nervous that he would expect that right away from any sort of dating situation.
Grant simply said, "No way! You can't.  I don't want anyone but Dad in our house."  This was expected.  Steve was his best friend.
I just let them all know that nothing was in the works.  My first priority is to my boys- always.  They come first.  This doesn't mean that I won't go, should the opportunity arise, but it does mean that I will be very, very careful about who meets the boys and when.
I guess what I'm saying with all of this is that the thought of moving forward is appealing to me.  I've stagnated for too long.  My heart aches and the desire to find a friend is there.  Anything more than that right now seems to overwhelming, but I would like a friend to at least laugh with.  No pressure.
That's where we are tonight. Much love, Kami

Learning to Live Again....

When I was in Utah this summer I ran into a wonderful woman who began the walk I'm currently walking nearly a year before I did.  She said something that really struck me.  She said that music spoke more to her now than it had ever before.  I couldn't agree more.
Just after Coach had passed away, I was brought to my knees with the gut wrenching grief of missing him.  I just wanted to know that he missed me, still loved me, still thought of me.  As I was kneeling upon my tile floor Jon Legend's song "All of Me" came on.  If you've never heard it before, it details the love between Jon and his wife and the love they have for each other; all their idiosyncrasies, joys and all that goes into the middle of a love that deep that it inspires music to be written.
It was an answer to prayers.
Lately the music has been quiet.  Songs come and go on the radio.  I hear music in church and it doesn't reach me.  I feel as though I may be dying inside.  The numbness has worn off and I typically feel everything so raw- not lately though.  I'm not sure why.
I am lonely.
I'm sure this will pass as well. I hope this will pass as well.
There is such joy, safety, happiness, peace in sharing your life and being half of a whole.
This feeling won't last forever.  I know that it won't, and I can recognize that it is real in this moment.
I opened my arms wide open, chose life, and now I get to live with that choice.  I took his ring off from around my neck- it was choking me, not literally.  I've worn it since it was handed to me by the medical examiner in the emergency room.  It was the first symbol that meant he wasn't coming home ever again and the weight of it all was making it increasingly harder to stand, to choose life, to live.  I tried taking my wedding ring off, because now when I fill out forms it requires that I check the 'widow' or 'single' box, because I can no longer claim that I am married in this life, though I know I am in the life to come.

I put the ring back on.  It is a symbol of a promise that I have made and will continue to keep.  It is a strength to me, and so I waiver between needing the strength from a small symbol of eternity, and wanting so desperately to be strong enough to stand without it.
In the words of Garth Brooks from his song "Learning to Live Again" - "This learning to live again, is killing me." Again, not literally, but man this process is slow, arduous, painful, and with small moments of joy.  Thank you for coming along on this journey with me.
All my love,
Kami

The Wheel We Run On

I shared this on Facebook last week, and thought I should post it here as well-
The house is quiet. Well it would be quiet if Normandy the Hamster would quit running on his hamster wheel. I swear, just when it's time to lay my head down and get some sleep, that little guy thinks it's time to run a marathon and off he goes! He probably covers the equivalent of 26.2 miles every night on his run....well to nowhere. How often do we do this? Climb onto our wheels and then just go....without a destination in mind, without a purpose, except to be moving? I did that. In the months following Steve's death, I got on my hamster wheel and just ran. I was trying to outrun the pain, the loss, the missing, the life that I had built together with my best friend. Guess what...it didn't work. It was only when I stopped running, opened my arms wide and fell into all that I'd been outrunning that the healing finally began. It sounds so cliche' and perhaps it is-just a bit. But for all of those who have ever been faced with seemingly insurmountable odds- be brave. Perhaps it won't be today, or even tomorrow, but at some point you will need to get off the wheel, take a deep breath, and decide to live by embracing what is necessary to live: LIFE. Happy Tuesday my friends.

The Football Season

It's here.

The time of year that I wait for all year long, but this year it's coming with a bit of anxiety and slight dread.  My coach won't be on the sideline.  He'll be watching, I'm sure of that- but there won't be any kisses after the game: win or lose.  There won't be moments where he'll turn and look for me in the stands.  There won't be the excitement of watching game film and talking about his thoughts on what the guys are doing, and who will stand out.  There just won't be.......

The annual fundraiser for his team happened on Saturday night.  It was amazing.  There aren't words to tell you how great it was to see my boys running around, laughing, getting wet, enjoying themselves and being able to hug all the guys from the team again.  There was such a great feeling among the family and community that came out to support the Gophers, as well as recognize all the hard work put in by the Booster Club.  It really is a class act in Florence.

I asked my mother-in-law if she would walk out onto the football field with me.  I hadn't set foot on the field since the homecoming game last year, where our team won against all odds- for Steve.  The lights had come on, and the sun was sinking behind the mountains.  The air had cooled and the stars slowly beginning to twinkle when my feet hit the grass once more.  I had dragged my feet slightly, making my way across the track, and then took a deep breath and placed my feet on the turf once ruled by my love.

It's different. I hate it.

I feel like Steve and I worked so hard to finally find the place where he belonged, where we could raise our kids; where we belonged.  Florence had become that place for us.  It was not the same Saturday night.  It's not terrible, but so much has changed.  It's not completely my team anymore.  While the boys are Steve's boys and will be forever, what tied us together has changed.  They are still the wonderful players that I have grown to know and love and pray for nightly, but it's almost like the color has been sucked from the grass, and the lights and the noises that once thrilled me- have left me feeling low.

I want my life back.  All of it.

It is selfish and slightly crazy to desire that which can never be and yet I do.  Oftentimes it is late at night when I struggle against what is; and I know that there will be peace some day.  Just not today- and that's okay.

I'm not sure of my place in this world right now.  There is no Steve on the couch, with his laptop on his lap multi-tasking as he worked up schemes and watched Sunday night football.  His hands in constant motion drawing plays, and laughing at the boys.  What am I supposed to do with this?  How am I supposed to let go of 14 years of football, life, love?  Perhaps that's the point.

I can't. Not yet.

This is my game.  It was before I met Steve and before those countless nights as he patiently walked me through the positions of the defense and the offense, then explained to me quietly what an 'I' formation or a 4-3 defense looked like.  I know where the B gap is located, and depending upon the play, who needs to shoot it.  I have a weakness for the defensive line and the offensive line and the thankless job those linemen have.  I am a coach's wife without a coach.  I am half of a whole, and I'm struggling with that.
So- when you see those Friday night lights, and hear the crack of helmets and the whistles blowing, please take a second to pray for my family as we come upon the anniversary of a moment forever marked by the space it has created in an otherwise full life.  Hug your kids, love your spouse and know that there will be a time for overcoming- it's just not yet.

Much love,
Kami

Tricky

This is my new catch-phrase.  It is an encompassing for those emotions that I am conflicted about and not really sure how to express the complexity that I'm feeling inside.

A few nights ago, I posted on Facebook about my youngest son crying himself to sleep over the ache that he feels for his dad.  There are not enough words in the human dictionary to describe the feeling of helplessness, and sorrow and general lack of control.  It was very tricky.  The emotional toll of it left me flashing back to the morning that Steve passed away.  The utter sense of betrayal felt when all that I had ever wanted in my life was not fulfilled- Steve was taken and there was not a thing I could do to stop it.  There is such a profound guilt at being the one here, that I can't even begin to unravel.  These same feelings came flooding back as I wiped tear after tear off of Grant's face and promised him the moon just to help him rest.

This is a window into the world we live.  It is not all drama and sorrow- there are actually moments of joy and triumph.  Parker is standing a bit taller these days as he won an election that he was hesitant to finish earlier last month.  The lack of confidence when the process started to where we are today- it boggles the mind.  He is facing this new found happiness with all the humility a 12 year old can muster and I am thrilled to see the change in his demeanor as he readily sees that nearly all things are possible with a believing heart.

Klarke is now signed up for baseball and has a desire to practice his catching with me.  I find myself bubbling with excitement over the fact that he asked me to practice with him: not his friends, not his brothers....me.  Wow.  Now if I could only cram 2 more hours in the day and eradicate all the mosquitoes we'd be looking great!!

Grant told me the other day that he "wants to be more kind so that he can be loved like dad was."  What 6 year old talks like this?  He is becoming more gentle and compassionate as the days go by and his heart has grown 5 times larger in the past year.  He is acutely aware of my feelings and like his older brothers seeks to protect me from the reality that is ours.  He has wiped my tears from time to time.

On any given night you can find me curled up in my closet, gazing at the clothes that are still on the hangers, touching softly the shoes that once made tread sounds across our tile floors- wishing for something that will never be again in this lifetime.  I'm not sure that it's possible to love as deeply as I do Steve- ever again.  I'm not trying to be dramatic.  It is what my heart has determined to be true as I think about sharing my life with anyone else but him and our boys.  This leads me to my last thought:

I would like to someday meet someone who has the answer to the ache that I feel.  But this is tricky.  How many princesses do you know that met two princes in one lifetime?  When I was younger it was easier to risk my heart, because it wasn't wrapped around three wonderful boys who are my everything, and there was no ache for a best friend that will not come home again in this lifetime.  How do we cross those hurdles, when I can't even bear to walk up to them?  My sources tell me that this means I am not ready to put myself out there, but when I have a son that asks, "Mom, do you think we should find a Stepdad?" I know that it's not just me that feels the missing and has no idea what to do with it.

For now, I suppose we shall let it be tricky.  With time in the day spent being a mother, a teacher, a student, and a crazy lady in the words of Sugar Brown, "Ain't nobody got time for dat!" anyhow.  I want to end this on a positive note: I am one of the luckiest ladies alive.  I have three fellas who wrap their arms around me each day, give me a big kiss on the cheek and whisper that they believe in me- as I believe in them.  I have known and still know the unconditional love of a good man.  I am embraced by family and friendships that uplift and sustain- and I know in whom I trust.  Believe me- things have been worse and the day is beginning to dawn where the happiness outweighs the sadness.  We are well and hope that this finds you searching for the good in your life- so that you may be a strength to others.

All my love,
Kami