First holiday's

Well, I haven't written anything lately, and I'm not sure I have too much to say tonight. It is nearly Christmas, and as anyone who has lost someone close them can tell you, this time of year is just tough.
Thanksgiving came and went. My dad always loved this holiday in particular. A home cooked meal and good conversation were his two favorite things and Thanksgiving has both. I couldn't help but think of how he couldn't enjoy it this year.

My birthday came and went. That was a tough day. Dad had been on an Internet card kick and usually sent me a dumb one (that made me roll my eyes) along with another card in the mail. This year I obviously got neither- and you know? I really wished I had a silly card that made me roll my eyes.This was the only birthday my entire life that I didn't hear from him. My loss was greatly felt on this day, but my husband did an excellent job at keeping me sidetracked. I'm pretty sure that is my way of dealing with this death... staying busy. Not that I can help but be busy with 4 children.

Now Christmas is almost here. My dad was never for Christmas. As a young girl, my mom used to drive me to his house and I would pull out a small tree from his basement, place it in his living room, and decorate it for him. I always tried to convince him to put up lights outside, but he would have no part of that. I've been recalling Christmas's spent with him, which weren't many until I became an adult and he had grandchildren. If the roads were clear enough, he liked to make the trek down from Idaho to spend it with us. He really fancied my Martha Stewart homemade eggnog. Last year, he gave us a bunch of family games. One is called "Would you rather.?" and is filled with stupid scenarios. For example: Would you rather eat toe jam or your neighbors ear wax? Would you rather let a spider crawl over your face or eat a whole banana peel? Needless to say, it is good old roll your eyes fun!

I haven't allowed my kids to get it out since he died, and I'm not sure the reason. I guess the same reason I am holding onto everything so tight- it's the last I have of him, forever. I can't bear to allow anything to happen to the things I am holding on so tight to! They are the last strand, the last morsel of closeness to my dad that I have. Something tangible. If they are ruined, misplaced or lost, I will never have a chance to get them back, just like I'll never have a chance to get my dad back.

This holiday season, we are working not to ask the "whys", but instead, "Would you rather make a difference in the world around you? Or sit and constantly allow your own sorrow to drown any potential for making someone else's life better.

I failed my dad by not seeing his pain for what it was. This Christmas, I'm taking the eyes off me and looking at those less likely to be seen around me.

Yes indeed, it is good when you truly obey the Lord's command; you must love and care for your neighbor just as much as you love and take care of yourself. James 2:8

Band Aids

With a 4 yr old in the house, band-aids are very important and are everywhere. Every bump bruise, cut and scrape is magically healed once a band-aid is applied. Ice doesn't matter, kisses from mommy don't matter, healing balm doesn't matter, the shrieking wail of an ouchie can be healed instantly only with band-aids.

After 4 kids I have learned the utter importance of these tiny, sticky things. Sure, these things become slightly annoying when they are peeled off 5 minutes after the injury and stuck to the floor... or the wall..... or the chair. But they served their purpose and they served it well- to end the tears and sadness.

Once when my son was little, getting ready to turn 4, my dad called to ask some ideas for a birthday present. I rattled off the standard things my boy liked: cars, dinosaurs, Buzz Lightyear, and ended the list with Band-aids.

The birthday party came and when my son opened his gift from his grandpa- guess what was inside? Yup, several boxes of band-aids! My little guy was thrilled, and had their been a prize for strangest gift ever, my dad would have won that prize.

This memory gets brought up quiet a bit in our home, since band-aids are a normal part of our daily routine still. We all laugh, and it's a good memory.

I also can't help but to relate this to my daily walk now. As an adult, I'm not as daring as a child. I'm not out getting scrapes, bumps or bruises physically (If I can help it!) My soul and spirit however get wounded everyday. A harsh word. Something doesn't happen as I wish it had. Mommy guilt. One of my children making bad choices and disappointing me. An unexpected tragedy. Yes, bumps and bruises, cuts and scrapes happen every single day. Some are much worse than others. Some feel like they slice right through to the heart. Others hurt for a moment, but will be forgotten as quickly as they came.

All of them need something more than a little band-aid. I don't know about you, but I have lots of places to draw out my band-aids for my wounded heart. Starbucks, shopping, a little glass of wine, a hot bath, friends, to name a few. None of these things are bad in themselves. The danger lies in my relying on them to heal my wound. I need to look beyond what makes me feel better in the moment, and trust God and His word to seep in and heal. God's healing is powerful and forever. He's calling out to me, reaching out to me, desiring to do more than place a sticky thing to cover my wound. The first step in the healing power of God? Rejoicing in all circumstances.

1 Peter 4:12-13 says "Don't be surprised at the painful trial you are suffering.. but rejoice."

If we are able to rejoice in all our wounds, we are fully trusting God to heal them. Philippians 4:7 promises " a peace that passes all understanding."

God calls us to his healing power. The Bible is full of God's amazing healing. As I sit hurting today, sad over a death that I had no power over, I am leaning on the healing power of my God- not a silly band-aid.

Lord my God I called to you for help and you healed me. Psalm 30:2

Heal me O Lord and I will be healed, save me and I will be saved, for You are the One I praise- Jeremiah 17:14

New addition

It's now been 4 months since my father's suicide. I wish I could say that life has returned to normal, but instead, his choice of death has marred our daily lives.

We had hoped to cushion our children from the blow, with daily prayer, speaking to them about grandpa Dale, sharing memories, we really thought that they could go on not being scarred. Boy were we wrong! Weekly calls from the principal, dealing with late, and unfinished work everyday, and acting out in ways we didn't think were possible, has littered our lives since school began. Granted, this is all coming from our 12 yr old, and that's a tough age as is, but he was the closest to grandpa Dale- and he is struggling to make sense of it all just like the rest of us left behind.

As a mom, it breaks my heart to see my children hurting, and I toss back and forth between being angry and frustrated that my father didn't think about the damage he left behind for his grandchildren to deal with. Despite our best parenting efforts, there will be scars left behind that will help shape their future lives ahead.

Last week, we decided that perhaps we needed an addition to our family, and I thought it would be great if we could save a life at the same time. We headed out to the local animal control where we picked our new found friend.

We needed to return home and wait for a few more days since she wasn't quite old enough to come home. The days seemed like years as we all anticipated bringing her home!

Finally the day came for us to pick her up. Armed with a bubblegum pink carrier, a purple fuzzy blanket and feathery toy propped inside, we walked through the doors to bring our baby kitty home.

She went nameless for a few days, and after much discussion, we came to an agreement- Simkah a Hebrew word meaning "God's gladness or God's joy". Already she has helped restore some joy into my heart which has been far too often filled with tears and sorrow, she has helped restore laughter and playing to our home ... as one friend called her, "our healing kitty".

The day that I was behind the wheel bring her home I was overcome with a clash of emotion: I had just saved this tiny little thing from certain death, I saved a life! That was the joy part. The other side of that was extreme sadness and guilt that I could save this life but I couldn't save my father. I realized in that moment with tears streaming down my face that I need to live everyday as if it is my last. I've been set back the last few months, having a hard time coping or dealing with everything around me, but God promises restoration to me and to my children. He is big enough to do it in one breath, yet he loves to use people and things around us to help touch our lives. Our new little addition is a gentle reminder that God wants to restore and loves to rebuild.... and that He is indeed, still in control.

Jeremiah 33:6 "Nevertheless, I will bring health and healing to it; I will heal my people and let them enjoy abundant peace and security. I will bring Judah and Israel back from captivity, and will rebuild them as they were before. I will cleanse them from all the sin they have committed against me and will cleanse them of all their sins of rebellion against me. Then this city will bring me renown, joy, praise and honor before all nations on Earth that hear of all the good things I do for it; and they will be in awe and tremble at the abundant prosperity and peace I provide for it."

Meat Box

We have had lots of distractions lately. Lots of visitors, and after school activities. I relish in the business, without I think I would go crazy! It's been so healing and great to see friends from long ago, to have family here to visit, and to see my kids enjoying life in the new normal.

I have one child not doing so well these days. I guess we were fools to think that our kids would get through this grief without setbacks. We're praying like mad, and hoping God opens the floodgates and showers goodness down on this blessed kid!

I try to talk to my kids about good memories of grandpa. One such memory came up- I call it the meat box. I'll give a little background: You see, I was living on my own, at age 17, with my boyfriend. I was a strict vegetarian, and by that, I mean that I was the person shouting "Meat is Murder!!" in the hallway at school, the one boycotting Proctor and Gamble for their horrible practice of testing on animals. Passing out fliers to educate anyone who would listen, and working at Pizza Hut, gagging anytime a person ordered pepperoni or sausage.

It was winter, Christmas to be exact, and I was thrilled when the UPS man knocked on my door to deliver a giant brown box. I was baffled as to who would have sent me such an enormous and heavy box. The return label had only a company name I didn't recognize. Of course, I tore into the mystery package as quickly as I could! Cutting through the tape, pulling out the packing paper. The box was very cold, but I didn't think anything of it as it was just as frigid in Northern Utah in the winter. What I saw next mortified me- a headless, featherless turkey peeked out. 2 packages of bacon (which translated into dead pigs for me). A huge sausage roll. Various forms of meat, meat and more meat! I was flabbergasted. Who would have sent such an awful thing to me? I hunted until I found a form. Typed at the bottom of the order, it said "Merry Christmas! I love you-Dad".

I was so speechless and so angry. I wanted to take and throw it all away- dump it in the road and run it over (instead I think we gave it all away to various friends to consume.) When I spoke to him later to thank him, I asked why he sent something that I saw as so offensive, his response? I needed to eat more (and better) and he loved smoked turkey so he thought I would too. (See picture above as evidence for his case against my poor lifestyle- this was taken shortly after my meat box arrived.)

Many times in life we just want people to get us. Misunderstandings cause monumental damage in the relationships of our lives. We want to be known, and to know. We want others to care about us and what we care about. It's the way we were created- for relationship. I regret allowing too many misunderstanding hurt me and in turn hurt my relationship with my dad.

"If God is in the throne of our hearts and in control of our lives, then all our human relationships will be positively affected.... instead of looking at our relationships for what we can take from others, we will begin to see relationships in light of what we can give. Finding our own deepest need met in our relationship with God, we will be free to be used by Him to meet the needs in others." -Eddie Rasnake, Author of the following God series

3 Month mark

It has now been 3 months since my father died. It doesn't seem like a big number, but the reality is that it seems like a lifetime ago. Our family was struck with a 2nd tragedy with the death of my husband's aunt a couple of weeks ago. Talk about a rough summer. She passed away after a year long battle with pancreatic cancer. She left behind a family who loves her, people who's lives she invested heavily in, and some very young grand children. Her funeral was awesome, she loved Jesus and spent her life giving Him glory, and her memorial was no different.
I know God didn't allow both of these deaths by chance, both so different yet the grief has so many similarities.... and both deaths have something to teach my kids. It doesn't make either one of these losses hurt less. I couldn't help by wonder why God has now allowed my husband, to grieve a loss at the same time that I am hurting.

I have noticed that every month, right around the 23rd, I become very emotional. Most times I haven't even mentally known the date, but my heart must know, and with each passing month my loss becomes more and more real. We had family visiting us at the 3 month mark, and boy did it make a difference! It was great for me to be surrounded by people when this hard day came and went. I had other things to laugh and smile about, and was again reminded that God has placed people in our lives who do love us.

A cousin, mourning his dear mama, made the statement "Everything around reminds me of her. I think of her every second of everyday." It's strange how the loss of someone you love brings so many parts of your life that they touched, to the surface. Like abrasive sandpaper, the memories come out and start sanding down, leaving only the dust of dried tears behind. It's also amazing to me how much my mind has attempted to lesson the blow. Just the other day the movie Cannonball Run was on Tv, everyone was enjoying it, I remembered how much my dad liked it (and movies with similar humor), and for a split second, the thought came that I needed to call and talk to him about it. It would be a pleasant conversation! Reality quickly smacked my in the forehead: there would be no phone call, no discussion on the humor of this show, my dad is gone.

My grief is lessened a bit when I can hold on to this truth: If we allow, God can "cut and dress" us, allowing nothing to be wasted that happens in our lives, but using everything for the glory of the God who loves us beyond our comprehension. Do I trust Him?

1Peter 1:6-7 "In this you greatly rejoice, even though now for a little while, you have been distressed by various trials, so that the proof of your faith being more precious than gold which is perishable, even though tested by fire, may be found to result in praise and glory and honor, at the revelation of Jesus Christ."

National Suicide Prevention Day- Sept. 10th

Yesterday was National Suicide Prevention Day. It's a day created to help save lives. The more we dialog about this, the more we expose the "elephant in the room", the less frightening it becomes. As we become less frightened,(no- studies show that talking about it does not increase the risk, or put thoughts of doing it into peoples minds!)the more people who feel like suiciding will be able to seek help before their families and loved ones are left behind to pick up the pieces. The above picture was self taken by my dad on his camera. We found it the other day. Another reminded that he is gone, and that this charming, cheesy grin is something I'll only see in photos.

This day got me thinking: suicide isn't new, it has been happening since the fall of Adam and Eve. Their are 7 people recorded in the Bible as having taken their own lives.

Abimelech- Judges 9:50-54 was a ruler over Israel for 3 yrs. He ordered his armor-bearer to kill him by sword, after he was hit on the head with a milestone by a woman.

Samson- Judges 16:23-31- Samson was given super-human strength by God, but ended up being deceived by a woman who found out his "secret" to his power, and then handed him over to the enemy, the Philistines. They gouged out his eyes and kept him as a prisoner. One day, they brought Samson out for entertainment during a party, and he pushed over the pillars killing many, including himself.

Ahithophel-2 Samuel 17:23- was David's council who turned against him and joined with Absalom to try to kill David. When Absalom decided not to follow Ahithophel's plan, he "put his house in order and hanged himself."

Zimri-1 Kings 16:15-20- was a ruler only 7 days. He set fire to his home (the palace) and himself once he realized he was to be overpowered.

King Saul-1 Sam.31:2-5- was in battle with the Philistines when he realized that he wasn't going to win this war. He asked his armor-bearer to kill him before the Philistines could capture him, but his side-kick couldn't do it, so Saul fell onto his own sword.

King Saul's Armor-bearer- after he saw his King suicide in front of him, he followed suit and fell onto his own sword, killing himself right next to his master.

Judas Iscariot-Matt.27:3-5- After selling Jesus for 30 pieces of silver, Judas could not live with himself and was filled with remorse. Her returned the money paid to him, then hanged himself.

7 deaths in the Bible caused by one's own hand. I have to wonder why God allowed these parts of the story into His book. Could it be that we have lessons to learn from these men's lives... and deaths?

These stories tell us that several of these men felt backed into a wall. They were afraid of being over-powered by the enemy. Afraid of what would happen once their lives were in the hands of those they most hated. Samson killed himself perhaps because he wanted to also kill his captors, the people who had taken his life and his sight... or perhaps he didn't think he could take anymore prison, anymore torture. Judas sinned, big time... I mean, big time. He sold the Savior! He was partly to blame for the brutal death of his mentor and friend! Saul's armor-bearer had witnessed his master, his King, and no doubt his friend, kill himself right before his eyes. Seeing Saul's last breath and lifeless body, he knew he could not go on either. I wonder if Saul's fear had gripped this boy as well. All too often, fear can be contagious, so much so, that one sees no other option but death.

I have found myself in the place of all of these people at one time or another in my lifetime. I've been paralyzed with fear, I've been afraid of being overtaken by the evil one. I've been placed into the hands of my enemy, and I have sinned... big time. Now I also have seen my father take his own life and leave behind only shattered pieces. I have been broken. I have been hopeless. I have been lost. I have felt like I could not go on. Moses, Elijah, Job, and Jonah all had the desire to take their own lives at one point. As a human, I'm not immune, and as a Christ-follower, lover of God, I'm not immune.

When life seems like too much to bear. When the pain is so great, I cling to one thing, I have hope. I can rest assure that no matter what lays in my path, God has a reason. He has my best interest in mind, even if I can not see it in my circumstances. I know without a shadow of a doubt that God is faithful in all circumstances. I know that He shows himself and His power in my weakness, and I know that He is love.

My point is this: through speaking the truth of suicide, by no longer making it the "unmentionable" death, we let others know that they are not alone. They are loved, and regardless of their pain, they have someone, somewhere, who loves them. The more we speak about the pain left behind by a suicide death, the more we let others know that their life is indeed worth it. Now that's something to talk about!

This is the kind of life you've been invited into, the kind of life Christ lived. He suffered everything that came his way so that you would know that it could be done, and also know how to do it, step-by-step.He never did one thing wrong, not once said anything amiss. They called him every name in the book and he never said anything back. He suffered in silence content to let God set things right. He used his servant body to carry our sins so that we could be rid of sins, free to live the right way. His wounds became your healing. You were lost sheep with no idea of who you were or where you were going. Now you are named and kept for good, by the Shepard of your souls. 1 Peter 2:18-25

Grief goes in stages, and as it ebbs and flows like an ocean wave, there are many emotions that surface. Anger is one of those. Grief over a suicide is unique as the family left behind grieves a murder, but the murderer is the very person that you loved and lost.

It is interesting to be in a place of such deep sorrow, along with strong anger. Often suicide is thought of as being selfish, and indeed it is. However, we as a society also need to see that suicide is done because the person feels like they are back against a wall with no way out. I am often very upset that my dad left, that he didn't want to see his grandchildren grow up. By leaving, he left the impression that it wasn't worth it to hang around. I get angry that he didn't want to be a part of my life, or at least not enough to want to stay on Earth.

Lately, I've also had something that takes me by surprise, compassion toward him. People who choose to end their lives so violently can not be in a good place. Depression strikes and in the case of a suicide, something happens called "tunnel vision"- the suicidal person literally can not see anything else but their own sorrow, their own overwhelming problems and pain. My dad lived in a different state, so our contact was limited to phone conversations and e-mail, yet looking back, I can now see how he was totally disabled by his tunnel vision. Truthfully, it became exhausting trying to encourage him to see life from a different perspective, to focus on the many things he did have instead of what he could no longer do. My attempts only made him angry and he pushed himself further away from me.

If only I had seen the depths of his sorrow, if only I had taken more drastic measures, if only he had made that mental health appointment for 1 week earlier, he may still be alive. The truth of this seems a fine line to me. He was selfish and not thinking about what he would put his family through if he left. However, I think because of tunnel vision, he was convinced that no one would care, that no one loved him, and that he would not be missed. He simply could not see living with his emotional and physical pain one more day. He simply could not see anyone but himself.

None of us are islands, although I am convinced that at the end of my father's life, he sincerely believed he was. He was however a part of a community. His life touched others, and his death will affect many. I recently read a quote by Henri Nouwen that spoke volumes, "We are not alone; beyond the differences that separate us, we share one common humanity and thus belong to each other."

What my dad suffered from was treatable. His life had been rocked by disabling MS, but his soul and spirit were wounded from deep depression. If nothing else good comes from his death, I will be forever cautious of living my life looking outside myself, caring about others beyond myself, and making sure that I remember that I am not an island whose life doesn't matter to others. Every life God has created here has a purpose, and thus every single loss is felt.

Experience is not what happens to you, it is what you do with what happens to you. Don't waste your pain. Use it to help others- Author Rick Warren

Kids and grief

It's back to school time here in our house and that means lots of new experiences for our kids.

As we prepare and buy new school supplies, try to plan first day new outfits, learn our new teacher's names, it is a happy (and chaotic) time, but there is still an air of sadness that seems like it will never leave.

Also new are the comments which are becoming a part of our everyday lives. I'm not quite sure how to deal with these unusual circumstances, and, truth be told, I get downright angry at my father for leaving us (me) in this place, where I have to struggle with this.
For instance, the other day as we went through the checkout with our loads of notebooks, crayons, markers, scissors, rulers and binders, the cashier began a friendly conversation with the kids about school. You know, the standard "Are you excited for school?" and "What school will you be going to?". Well, as the kids sat chatting away to this very nice and talkative stranger, my bright 4 yr. old climbed up on the bag area to say "My grandpa died. He shot himself. We are kind of sad," as I quickly attempted to cover her mouth with my hand and give a weak smile of apology.
You see, kids don't feel the same shame as adults do when talking about suicide. If you are uncomfortable speaking about it, the root of that is usually shame. What will people think about me if they knew? What does it say about the kind of daughter that I was? I don't want anyone's pity, but why do I have to deal with this? Why did he chose to go this way?


For kids, it is vitally important that you speak of the death, and how it happened- the experts all say that the worst thing you can do is hide it from them, as one day they will find out and they will have to grieve all over again, their trust in you will be called to question. Kids process death differently, and with suicide, they don't understand the stigma surrounding it. Kids need to talk, talk and talk about their loved one, and their death. Grandpa Dale is a regular part of our conversations here, and many days I have to stop myself from stopping them- it is all a part of their healing process.

One day last week it got really cool during the night. Our windows were all open so we woke up with a chill in our bones. During breakfast, my 6 yr. said, "Mom, at least grandpa wasn't cold, since he is inside that warm little box. It must be super warm for him in there!" (Grandpa was cremated and for now sits in my room.) I chuckled at the logic of a 6 yr old, but I also realized something else in that moment.... my kids are always thinking of their grandpa and their loss. This is something we will all have to live with, learn how to navigate through. Any moment could bring on sadness and tears, or memories that leave us smiling, but Grandpa Dale left a void in our lives that will never be filled.

The only thing I have to battle the sadness, to deal with the unanswered questions and the burning anger that my kids even have to deal with this in their young lives is God. Without Him, I would be too weak to smile in these moments or cry without being completly overtaken in grief. He promises to heal the wounds left by my dad.

He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. PS. 147:3

Fear not

"Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in the casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket, safe, dark, motionless, airless, it will change. It will not be broken, it will become unbreakable,impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable." -CS Lewis

God has been really working on my heart the last week. And when I mean working, I want you to understand that I am not picturing a man sitting at a desk, punching buttons on a computer and having the occasional phone call with a co-worker. I'm talking the really hard labor kind of work. The type of work that calls out the bulldozer, the backhoe, the dump truck, the crane and the ditch-digger.

All of the above mentioned machines are good for demolition and rebuilding. So many things in my heart were brought to the surface by my dad's suicide. The guilt, the anger, the sadness, but most of all the abandonment. My heart was shattered by this event... and worse than that, my dad wanted my heart to be shattered.

The way I saw it, I only had two choices. I could allow my emotions to overwhelm and consume me (some days they most certainly do) or, I can let God have all my pain, my hurt, my disappointment and my guilt. It's not easy to hand this stuff over, it is more like a complete demolition.

I tell Him I don't want any of it anymore, He serves as the contractor boss-man, and calls in the bulldozer to knock down the walls built up in my heart. He calls on the backhoe to make sure the soil has been dug deep and the roots of any hurts are pulled completely up. After carefully inspecting (the way any good boss-man would) to make sure that the demolition is complete, he orders all of the torn down, worn out, angry, old pieces of twisted metal, heavy brick, and old cement, into the back of a dump truck. This truck is headed on a one way trip. It will leave all of the broken pieces of my life, at the dump where they belong.

Next, the Boss-man calls in the re-building team. The steamroller is called in to level and flatten the ground, He needs to make certain it is done properly so that the foundation can be firm. Next, the cement truck, to lay the foundation. After that ,the crane, to set into place all the walls- properly. They must be straight and solid. The old walls were brick, built to protect and hide the hurt inside, but these new walls are made of shiny, clear, unblemished glass- there is no hiding anything behind these new walls. the roof, the paint and the final touches- voila! A brand-new solid building standing on the same old ground.

Just like a building cannot be built in one day, this work God is doing in my heart will be a long process. It has begun, and as long as I step back and allow the Boss-man to call the shots, I will make it through this a new and different person.. much better than before.

This week, I have had to battle fear. Will I become like my dad was? Is it in my genes? Will I battle the same demons that my dad battled, and in the end believed? Will I be sad forever? Can I deal with this much pain without going completely crazy? Can I ever just have a "normal" life? Will "it" hit me when I get older? Will I become hard and calloused? Will I hate my children too?

God tells us to "fear not" over and over again in the Bible. Even if I take this at only face value it is clear that God doesn't call us to fear- anything- at all.

"For I am the Lord, your God, who takes hold of your right hand and says to you, Do not fear; I will help you." Is. 41:13

You came near me when I called you, and you said "Do not fear." Lam. 3:57

For me, it is clear, I must allow God to demolish first the fear and to listen to His truths about my fears. "Fear not, you are mine, and while you can't change the circumstances, you can allow me to change YOU."

Hope Again

It's a sunny day here, and I am sitting outside watching my kids play on the trampoline,with water. The normal pounce is amplified when wet, and it has the added bonus of becoming like a slip and slide. Their squeals delight me, their laughter brings a smile to my face, their joy heals my heart.

" A cheerful heart is good medicine, but a crushed spirit dries up bones" Proverbs 17:22

The weeks have gone by somewhat quickly, and although it seems like just yesterday since I got word of my father's death, it also seems like a lifetime ago. I have been on an emotional roller coaster- not knowing what is around the next turn, how it will turn my stomach, make me cry, or terrify, or anger me.

God has really worked in me this last week. I came to the place where my grief threatened to eat me up alive. I was angry, broken, full of sorrow. It was here in this place, that I decided that I could allow my father and his actions to rule my life: to bring heartbreak to my family, disrupt my children's lives, bring fear to my heart.... or I could hand it ALL over to the Lord to heal, and not allow it to rule over me. It was his decision after all. I'm still living!

This is much easier said than done. One runs the risk of "stuffing it", casting out all the memories, emotions associated with the lost person. It is a fine and sometimes blurry line that I walk between allowing God to have it, and pretending it isn't happening to me.

But, I can tell you, God is the Great Physician. He does heal. Handing it over to Him has been a daily thing on my part, sometimes hourly, sometimes every minute, but He is all about healing!

I've found reasons to be glad! My step-dad and his family came to stay with us. How healing for my heart to get a hug from the man I called my dad my whole life. To know that God hasn't abandoned me and neither has this man, who really has no "blood" tie at all.

I've found myself feeling glad that I get the blessing of having children. That God has entrusted me to raise them, and as such, I get to see life through their sweet eyes.

I've looked at the flowers, newly planted in my yard, and seen the beauty of their color, in hues of pinks, oranges, and yellows.Enjoyed the excitement of the butterflies that dance around them on a clear day.

All of these feelings seemed lost just a month ago. Swallowed up by the word "suicide". But hope has come, and I am beginning to return to normal. God has given me joy and happiness in aspects of my life apart from my grief. Life can, will and does go on... and it is not empty.

"Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a longing fulfilled is the tree of life." Proverbs 13:12

No one else understands?

We had a nice weekend. We traveled to a cousin's wedding 4 hrs away, which was lovely. It was great to see family, but for me these happy moments are tainted. I can somewhat enjoy things, but not with free abandonment.
I have learned that I can go on living... I just need to put on a mask. I smile, joke, laugh, have conversations. My mask says "I'm fine, nothing can bring me down!" but my heart speaks a different story. At the wedding there was a traditional father/daughter dance. I left the room during this as I thought of my dad, and how he should have danced with me and cherished me as a daughter. My thoughts turned then to how incredibly blessed my daughters are with their daddy. Not a day goes by that he doesn't speak words of love to them. He makes sure they understand that they are valuable and cherished in his eyes.... what a gift God has given them! I stand totally thankful- the chain of my father, and his father before him, is broken with this man.



While I was escaping the father/daughter dance, I started thinking "Is this my life now? Will I have to wear this mask everywhere I go so people don't ask questions, so they don't see the pain? Will I spend the rest of my life running away at the things that bring sorrow to my heart? Will everything in sight remind me of myhuge, huge loss? Will I ever be normal?"

Of course, this wasn't the first time I have had to deal with questions like these. But the isolation that comes from having no one else understand can be devastating. I'm trapped, in my own mind, with my own memories, my own sorrows. I want to allow others to help me carry them, but they can't understand. I've found that since people don't know what to say they will simply avoid the topic, and not even acknowledge the huge tragedy that has just occurred in our family.
I have also had numerous sweet, wonderful friends and kind people reach out with words of empathy, encouragement, and kindness... but I still feel alone.

I've learned that feeling alone is something very normal to survivors of suicide. I feel alone most days, but I know I'm not alone. I was reading a new book the other day and the author brought up a point which left me breathless. His point was this: the God I serve is a God of emotion. Not only did he send his son to the cross, he did that so that he could identify with man. Theologian John Cavadini says that through Jesus "God actually experiences something new and knows first hand- as one of us mortals-suffering and anguish within a fallen world....In Christ, God truly enters into radical historical solidarity with human suffering."
God doesn't just know about my loss, he knows first hand. The Bible says we are created in the image of God, and the God of the Bible weeps, mourns, grieves and hurts. My emotions aren't just created in man, but instead a mirror image of my Creator!
I protect myself from fully feeling my loss, because my grief is simply overwhelming... but God can feel my grief in full force, He can handle it.

Ps 116:5 says "Our God is full of compassion", compassion means "to suffer with". God is not distant and aloof, He is present and sharing my grief. What an amazing thought that carries with it a comfort indescribable.

These thoughts gave all new meaning to my feeling of isolation. No doubt God is not only with me, but He loved my dad even more than I did, He not only knows my pain, but he feels it with me. Someone else DOES indeed understand.

The gift

It's amazing to me how intricately woven together our lives are with those we love. When they are alive, you notice the memories, but when they are gone, and those memories become like the sting of a bee, constantly chasing, hurting, it becomes hard to do anything in life without them attacking.

The why's have been consuming me lately, and although I know the truth, my heart can't help but ask the questions that have become like a revolving door.

I recently read one survivor say,

"I don't know why.

I'll never know why.

I don't have to know why.

I don't like it.

What I have to do is make a choice about me living."

Huh. This really gave me a lot to think about. It's been so hard to go on living when all I want to do is lay around and sulk. I'm not to the place where I have stopped asking, "Why did you do it??" but I know I will need to go there in order to heal, and to live fully.

I know I am not forgotten by the Lord, and it hasn't been hard to see Him all around me, but it has been hard for me talk to him. I've decided that I will just copy His word for a while, and pray it back to him. God gave me Psalm 46:1-3 "God is our refuge and our strength, an ever present help in trouble. Therefor we will not fear, though the earth give away and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea, though it's waters roar and foam and the mountains quake with their surging.- Selah

Life as I have known it is gone. The mountains have fallen, the water has roared and threatened to consume. But I can trust that God is strong for me when I have no strength within myself. It doesn't even matter if I "feel" it. God has given me His assurance, His gift to me.

As I pondered this verse, I started thinking about my dad and the gifts he used to give. He loved to be a smarty pants, loved to give the kids things that were bizarre, off-beat and left us all wondering. He LOVED shock factor.

I could tell many stories of his gifts, but just one stands out today.

Last year, Sabian got a package from grandpa for his birthday. We knew it would be good, at least for a laugh. As Sab tore into the box, then the wrapping paper hiding another box inside, his face became SO excited.. this box was for a throwing hatchet. A stunned silence washed over us all, Sabian's from sheer joy and Aaron and I from pure fear. My dad wouldn't have given his 11 yr old grandson, with 3 younger sisters, who has a knack for getting into trouble, a throwing hatchet... right? Surely this is just a box and the contents are more appropriate? We told Sabian to stop, while we snapped a picture of him. He continued to open the box, pull away at the bubble wrap.... we took a huge sigh of relief. Inside all that wrapping, the bubble wrap, the boxes, was a wooden flute and harmonica. Sabian LOVES playing musical instruments so his excitement was still there- but it wasn't a sharp hatchet, and we had a huge laugh.

As I thought about this memory, I began to see that life can be just like this story- unexpected things come our way all the time. God allows them. But, if we take the time to fully unwrap them, we will see something glorious and exciting, something for us to use, that brings us (and Him) joy. As I sit alone and cry, I'll be remembering that while this seems so scary and unfathomable, I need to unwrap it, and see just what gift it houses inside.

God said to me, My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness. Therefor I will boast all the more gladly about my weakness so that Christ's power may rest upon me. 2 Cor 12:9

Truth in Forgivness

Famous author C.S. Lewis once said " If you look for truth, you may find comfort in the end. If you look for comfort, you will not get either comfort or truth, only soft soap and wishful thinking to begin, and in the end, despair."

Last night I had another huge breakdown.

Somedays the tears just flow. Somedays they flow on and off silently. On nights like last, the floodgates open like a dam broken, and the tears rush violently out with no mercy.

Nothing really set it off, it just happened. Unable to stop even long enough to take a breath I cried and cried.

Aaron was gone, but when he came home, he tried to comfort me with words of truth. My dad didn't know what he was doing, he didn't understand the devastation he would leave behind for me to deal with. He was blinded by his anger and bitterness. Aaron reminded me that as Jesus hung on the cross he prayed for those very people who were inflicting the worst pain imaginable on him- "Forgive them Father, they know not what they do." Luke 23:34

He told me that I could pray that same thing for my dad - he didn't know what he was doing to me.

Aaron reminded me that at some point I need to let go and forgive. If I continue in this cycle of being bitter, being so angry and hurt, I am doing no one any favors, and am instead passing along the very same thing which is eating me up inside- the hatred of my father.

As Aaron wrapped his big arms around me in comfort, I knew he was right. I do need to forgive. We hold on to anger hoping to "make them pay" for hurting us, but in reality, we aren't hurting anyone but ourselves. My dad is already gone, and me being angry at him won't do harm, but it will keep me isolated from others, it will eat me alive as I strive to hurt the one who hurt me, it will affect my children and their lives. It will ooze out of every pore in my body like a deadly acid, ready to consume anyone who comes near. I saw just that happen to my dad.

In my sorrow last night, I told Aaron this was the 2 F's- Final and F***** up (yes I just swore). He followed by telling me it was actually the 3 F's, the two stated above,with Forgiveness added.

Deep in my heart I know he is right. I have to let this go. It might mean that every hour, probably every minute sometimes, I will need to remind myself that God forgives me everyday, and I need to walk in that same way towards my dad. He didn't understand the impact that his death would have on those of us left behind.

"The Lord our God is merciful and forgiving, even though we have rebelled against Him"

Daniel 9:9

Why dad?

Why Dad,
Why did you chose to die?
You left no note and me with why?
You thought you were doing what was best and right.
Why, oh why, did you have to end the fight?
Your pain is something I will never understand.
You must have been so afraid to take this stand.
You left me with a title I am sad to attain.
Suicide Survivor, but who should I blame?
I know your decision was painful to make.
The thoughts in your head
Must have been unbearable to take.
Now that you're gone, I think of you a lot.
You couldn't have known the suffering this has brought.
I pray you are at peace my Angel, and I am in pain.
I count the minutes to Heaven and seeing you again.

Turmoil and Confusion

"Suicide carries in it's aftermath a level of confusion and devastation that is, for the most part, beyond description." -Psychologist Kay Jamison in the book Night Falls Fast

Turmoil is a word which stirs up intense feelings in everyone. Everyone has faced turmoil in their lives at one point or another. Every one's story is different, yet the turmoil that is aroused deep within us is a somewhat universal feeling.

Up to this point in my life, I have had much turmoil. A terribly dysfunctional family growing up, horrible teenage years, 2 treatment centers before I was 17 yrs old, and numerous suicide attempts myself. But this turmoil which I find myself feeling, is different. It is final. There is no remedy for the fact that my father is gone. How do I walk through and face this? This is too much! Perhaps this turmoil is also different as it effects my children... and there is nothing I can do as a parent to protect them. They must face this harsh reality themselves... and I know they too will carry this with them for the rest of their lives.

In an attempt to help my kids, I purchased several books which were delivered last week. One of them is a workbook for kids to work through their grief as suicide survivors. 2 of them are storybooks dealing with losing grandparents and heaven. As I struggled to get through reading them without a breakdown, the turmoil in my soul sought to swallow me up. I shouldn't have to be reading these books to my kids. Dad- how could you have not thought about them? I could carry this with me- but my kids? The anger and confusion have been following me everywhere this week.

Our ritual for bedtime used to be relaxing, a story, a prayer, a goodnight kiss. This routine has now changed too.
Every night when I tuck the kids into bed, I now must answer their questions: "What does it feel like to die? Will we ever get to talk to Grandpa again? Did it hurt when he shot himself? Why did he want to die? Why didn't he tell us good-bye? Will I die?

The questions are all the more heartbreaking as I struggle within myself- these very same questions keep me awake at night, and keep me from concentrating during the day. I answer them all as truthfully as I am able, and explain that God will answer our questions when we get to heaven. Questions and guilt are two of the hardest things to get past as a survivor.

Today these words from Luke 6:21 help comfort me and give me the strength I need to comfort my children; " You're blessed when you've lost it all, God's kingdom is there for the finding. You're blessed when you are ravenously hungry, then you're ready for the Messianic meal. You're blessed when the tears flow freely, joy comes with the morning." -The Message Bible

Love Song

Today was a rough day. After several days in a row of looking up and forward, feeling like I can and will get through this as a whole person, I fell back into despair.

Tomorrow marks 1 month since my father's death. The days have been long, nights even longer. The tears seem ready to flow at any moment.

A neighbor set off a large firework next door tonight while I was outside. I jumped out of my skin and then started crying. It reminded me of the sound of my father's gun going off. Will the tears haunt me the rest of my life, I wondered?

Another reason I had a bad day- I had to make a phone call for an unresolved issue. I also needed to issue an apology to someone I blamed in the first days of my dad's death. The issue at hand is still unresolved, and lack of family support has made this much worse.

I've been dealing a great deal with abandonment. I already had issues. My dad and mom were divorced, and although my dad saw me when he could, I always felt abandoned by him. I always felt like I wasn't good enough. This decision to die has sent a catastrophic shockwave in my life that will be felt deep in my spirit for years to come. An earthquake of epic proportions- some of the structures hit by this were stable and could withstand, while others were already weakened by years of stormy weather and smaller shakes.

The day has left me wondering why I can't just write off my dad as he did to me? Why can't I throw all the photos away, stop talking, stop remembering..... and it dawns on me- because I loved him. I loved him with a love he didn't have to earn by being world's best daddy (he wasn't!), he didn't have to earn it with gifts or even with words of love returned. He had my love without condition- because God made him my dad.

Nicholas Wolterstorff wrote it best when he said, "Love in our world is suffering love. Some do not suffer much, though, for they do not love much. Suffering is for the loving. If I hadn't loved him, there wouldn't be the agony." He goes on to say, "I lament all that might have been, and now will never be."

Tonight I lament on all that my dad won't be. He won't be that loving father I've always dreamed of. He won't be that grandpa to sing "Puff the magic Dragon" on his guitar, tell them silly stories of long ago times, or teach them to love the world from the back of a bike seat, yet I know that my love for him will help carry me through this grief.

" I will lead the blind by ways they have not known, along unfamiliar paths I will guide them; I will turn the darkness into light before them and make the rough places smooth. These are the things I will do, I will not forsake them." Isaiah 42:16

Forever Changed

It has been almost a month since my dad took his life.
Life doesn't stop just because he isn't living- and that is where I am, stuck between the world of grief and the world of the living.

I have to make the choice to live-everyday. When my eyes open to the light pouring into my room each morning, I need to decide to get out of bed. Most days I feel so exhausted, so full of sorrow, I would rather stay beneath my blankets. But there are children who need me, food to be fed, clothes to be washed, laughter to be had, so I get up.

Tears still catch me by surprise everyday when they are least expected: washing the dishes, watering the lawn, or merely driving down the road.

I can hear my dad's voice talking to me about the newest vitamin, the new cure... and I cry, knowing those conversations will never happen again. Then I see the kids, and know life has to return to "normal" for their sake, I choke back my weeping.

I thought I had been doing a good job, until tonight, when once again my 6 yr cried herself to sleep. As I tried to sweeten her heart and dry up her tears she kept saying "Things aren't the same as they were before Grandpa died. Why did he die?"

My heart broke.... for my children, so young and unable to process, yet asking the same question of why? For the kids and their innocent lives now being forever marred by the cruel reality. For me as a mom, as I struggle to keep things moving, to keep joy present in my home, and to help my children make sense of this senseless death.

Memories- Laughs and Tears

Today was another better day. Life seems to roll along, and I can roll with it.

I managed to smile, to laugh, without thinking of the sorrow of my dad and his final choice.

Then something happened. Sabian (12) went up to his room while I was busy cleaning up the kitchen from dinner..... he came back down and proudly showed his arm full of loot: "Mom, I found all the stuff Grandpa Dale gave me!" In his arms he held little model cars and trucks, a baseball mitt, ball. and mini harmonica.

Instantly, I fell into tears. trying to hide my pain from the boy standing beside me in the kitchen. This little man just lost his grandpa, I thought. He has watched his mom fall apart everyday since it happened, and I have to be strong now. I quickly looked away and tried to sound happy, while I told him how great those little treasures were. He told me he was going to put them up far away on a shelf, "They are worth so much now mom!" His voice was a voice crossed with both hope and deep sadness....How can he make sense of this? I wondered, just for a minute, how my dear child would fare carrying this weight on his shoulders for the rest of his life...his grandpa decided to die. He choose to leave us all. We weren't worth living for. How will this affect him? What about the rest of my children? The questions swirling through my mind could have driven me mad... but in this moment I chose to remember the truth of God's Word, that He tells us not to worry in Matt 6:27 "Who of you by worrying can add a single hour to his life?"
I choke back the tears, and have a conversation with my son about the precious gifts he holds in his hands.

Remembering the Lord has been good

Last night I had a weird dream. I went into my dad's house after he was found, and he had laid out pictures all over his bed. They were in little packets as if he wanted us to find them. One one packet was his scribbled handwriting which read, "To my daughter Ivy, who I love."

Of course, this was just a dream. In actual life, we found photos, and notes, but none of them professed the love of a father for his daughter. When we first started looking through dad's house I was sure I would find something, somewhere. I went through every pad of paper looking for a piece of love-anything. Nothing.

As a parent myself I cannot fathom not wanting to leave your children with your deep love. I guess my dreams show my subconcious desire to have that last assurance that I was loved.

Needless to say, my day started off on the sad side. My hubby left his One Year Bible on the floor, so as I sat down I began to read- and guess what? God had something just for me.
Psalm13:1-6
How long oh Lord? Will you forget me forever?
How long will hide your face from me?
How long must I wrestle with my thoughts
and everyday have sorrow in my heart?
How long will my enemy triumph over me?

Look on me and answer, O Lord my God.
Give light to my eyes, or I will sleep in death;
My enemy will say, "I have overcome him",
and my foes will rejoice when I fall.

But I trust in your unfailing love;
my heart rejoices in your salvation.
I will sing to the Lord,
for he has been good to me.

The truth of my day that I am rememebering- The Lord has been good to me!

What goes up.. must come down

Sacred memories- by Lyndie Sorenson

Memories are so sacred
also bittersweet
for with those sacred memories..
was your life left incomplete.

Some smiles and some heartbreak
a double-edged sword.
When you only have your memories
tears can never be ignored.

Memories are a blessing
also painful to one's heart,
for with those sacred memories
comes knowledge we're apart.

Living life without you
forever, will be hard.
To wake each day to memories..
leaves me feeling very scarred.

Most people are just clueless
that I travel down this road...
where memories are so sacred
to this tragic life bestowed.

In a moment grief can grab you
as your memories appear
a special smile or occasion,
an anniversary of a year.

I'm grateful for the memories
for the life that we did share,
although with those sacred memories...
in sorrow I must bear.

The poem above came through from a new group I am a part of- a survivor group.It's a group of people from all different walks of life, and backgrounds who have one painful thing in common.

Every time I say that word... "suicide" I want to cringe- to run away. But the more I say it, the more my heart is understanding exactly what has happened and what will be our struggle from now on.

The last 2 days were pretty good. Of course, tears fall everyday, but they seemed to fall less frequently the last couple of days. Just when I felt like there may be hope on the horizon, I was filled once again with sorrow, and not just sorrow but also anger. Unfortunately it seems to come out at those stuck living with me now.

I can't say why I have been so upset, only that there is a deep-seeded, deep rooted anger- at my dad for causing all this pain, at my extended family for not being supportive, at God- why me Lord?

What went wrong?

I have spent the last few days going though all dad's old e-mails to me. Searching for the moment that sent him over the edge. You see, my dad's note left to me wasn't one of "I love you daughter", or "Take care of those grandkids who I love so much", but one of anger, rage and hate.
Growing up, I knew my dad loved me. I was his only child, and he was proud of me. Every time we rode on his Harley to meet his friends at the shop, go out to eat.... anywhere we went, people knew me already because my dad never stop talking about me.
He burned with anger when my mother got re-married and I had another dad in my home. I was his- and that's all their was to it.

When I had children, my dad was just as proud of his grandkids. As I wrapped up issues in his town, all I heard was how often he spoke of us, how much he loved us. I had to stop myself on several occasions from screaming back, "Really he loved me?! This isn't love! He did this to hurt me!!"

Our relationship had become strained over the last 6 months. All this time I thought it was me, I had done something wrong. I'm starting to see that simply isn't the case. My dad had become so hard to talk to. You couldn't say anything without him getting angry and going on a rant.

Looking back through my email I could see his disposition had fallen slowly over the last couple of years. I found my last email to him, which told him how much I loved him and desired to help him, yet had to walk on eggshells around him. I begged and pleaded with him to see life through different eyes. To enjoy what God had given him, instead of always looking at his broken dreams. His response was hard, calloused and out of character for him. I know know that was his deep sorrow speaking. He was standing in a pit looking up at me, and although I tried many times to throw him a lifeline, he just couldn't hang on- his hands were too slippery, perhaps caused by his self-induced sweat caused by his own fears that were trapped in his mind. If only he had wiped his hands off on his sides and grabbed hold of that rope!

I closed my inbox feeling a little better- in this moment- right now- I understand that nothing I could have said or done would have changed his mind. He chose to abandon me- but it wasn't because of anything I had done. He was trapped. He couldn't see the light just beyond the top of the pit. He couldn't see the love that swelled up in me as I looked over the edge at him.

A wonderful sister in Christ wrote me encouragement today that although my dad had self-inflicted injuries born of his anger and sorrow- directed at me, Jesus has scarred hands, proof of His dying love for me. That thought will get me through today.
Jer.31:3-4 "I have loved you with an everlasting love, I have drawn you with lovingkindness. I will build you up again and you will be rebuilt."

Broken

When someone you love chooses to die, you are left broken into a million pieces. You want to pick up all the pieces and glue them back together again as quickly as possible. You yearn for normal. To feel normal, to see the joy in things again. To not have your mind consumed with the thought that this person is gone, and you didn't help them when they needed it most.

Last night I slept a little better although I was awakened after a strange dream that left my heart pounding. In it, I was walking through a cemetery with my family. I have no idea why we were there. All of the sudden laying on the ground was a baby- a dead baby. Everyone else wanted to walk past and leave it it be, it was none of our business, after all, but I couldn't. I stopped to touch it and felt a faint heartbeat- I started screaming that the baby was alive and tried to get others to help me.... I woke up startled.

Strange dreams like this have been haunting me at night since my dad died. But this one seemed too real, to close to home. Why couldn't I have seen through my dad's anger, to see that he was barley clinging to life? If only the clock would turn back and I could know the despair he felt, and I could have traveled there for a visit, or convinced him to come and live with us? Maybe then he could have seen that life was worth hanging around for.

My dad chose to leave, and he accomplished what he wanted to accomplish in those final minutes of insanity- shattering my life as a mirror shatters when dropped from a 2nd story window to the pavement below.

Am I beyond repair? Most certainly not. It feels that way today, but God promises me in Genesis 50:20 "You intended to harm me, but God intended it all for good. He brought me to this position so that I could save the lives of many people." (NLT)

Proverbs 3:25 spoke to my heart today as I listened online to a Beth Moore study, "Have no fear of sudden disaster, or of the ruin that overtakes the wicked, for the Lord will be by your side,and will keep your foot from being snared."

Anger and sadness

It's after dinner now, and I decided I needed to write some more. It has been a rough day. I decided that I needed to find some Christian books on the subject of survival- I already know that I need to draw near to God, but I also need to know how other's who have gone before me, made it through!

After a long morning (all days seem long now) I packed up all the kids, plugged in an address of a Christian book store to the GPS and went on my way. I had looked up a couple of titles that I was interested in.
On my way, driving down the road, for no reason at all, I was overcome with sadness and started crying. Then, I saw it: a blue Ford Falcon- 1968. My dad had one IDENTICAL to the one sitting at the side of the road. My weeping turned into anger- how could he have left me with all this pain? Why wasn't I enough to live for?

The bookstore turned out to be a trip indeed. I couldn't find anything on the specific subject of suicide, and I knew I wasn't strong enough (not on this day) to go up and ask for help. My anger still burned and now I wondered why the Christian community didn't have help for me when I felt like I was drowning?

The grocery store came next, and the kids seemed unruly. My husband came home very late from work, leaving me alone for longer in my silent grief then I wanted on this day.

After dinner, I put the kids in the bath and opened up the Word hoping to find a snippet of something to help me feel better- there it was: Ecclesiastes 3:1-3 "There is a time for everything and a season for every activity under heaven: a time to be born and a time to die, a time to plant and a time to uproot, a time to kill and a time to heal, a time to tear down and a time to build."

For nearly 3 weeks I have thought this must be a bad joke, a mistake, a dream. But God has assured me tonight, it isn't. It didn't sneak up on Him like it did me, and He is giving me permission to grieve my loss, to be angry, and to heal. I didn't ask for this, but I can be assured that Jesus is with me every step of the way wiping my tears, calming my anger and soothing my soul.

I'm a Survivor

Survivor.... it's a term that elicits a TV show about people who "survive" in the jungle, tough situations. It also brings to mind people who have been through something awful- like war, and survived. For me now however, it has a whole different meaning. The day my dad decided he would no longer live, he propelled me into a world I would have never chosen- that of a survivor. We are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters, grandparents.... people who are experiencing, against our will, the aftermath of someone else's terrible decision.

I'm told that survivors most of the time have post traumatic stress disorder- the same thing our military suffer from once they return from war. I'm also told that because someone close to me has died this way, my family is 5X's as likely to have another person do this.

My goal as survivor, is to pick up the shattered pieces of my life, allow the Lord to heal and put them back together. To have as little trauma as possible passed on to my kids, and to not get swallowed into the deep dark pit of depression that seems now like it lurkes just beneath the surface of my skin ready to envelop me in the blink of an eye.

As a survivor, I have been unable to sleep. Instead I lay awake at night, trying to shut my mind off- the questions swirling around nearly drive me mad. "Why did he do it out on the porch? Why didn't he call to say good-bye, at least to his grandchildren who he loved so much? Why did he not leave a note of love, but instead of shear anger? Why wasn't I enough to live for?"
Once I fall asleep the dreams are no better. So far, I have dreamt that I am trying to push through a door- my dad on the other side of it pushing it closed. He yells at me and won't let me through. I wake up, and remember that this isn't a bad dream- it's my life now.

As a survivor, I am trying to live my own life, I'm not dead! It has however, been crossed with the ugly reality of being changed. I've been walking through the motions of living, but in my head- all the time- is the thought that my dad is no longer here, and he chose it! At the grocery store the cashier asks the common question, "How are you today?" and although I respond normally, although I want to yell out "I've never had a worst time in my life- my dad died by suicide- I don't know why he wanted to leave me!"

I'm also learning that suicide is something that makes people really uncomfortable. People don't know what to say or do and therefor they avoid talking to those left behind. I was pulled over while in UT dealing with my dad's death. My rental car was from one state, my license from another, and my address in still another. When the police questioned why I was in UT and I responded the reason- an awkward silence followed.

As a survivor, I need to talk about not only my dad's life but also his death. It helps my brain understand as I already know it has cushioned this blow by denial- it all seems not real. Talking about it helps my brain understand that this is real. My dad is really gone.

As a survivor, I will make it through this just as I have the other hard times in my life... relying on Jesus to give me peace. His word to me is a comfort, his hand always on me, his arms holding me tight.

My dad decided to die

It has been a little over 2 weeks since my nightmare began- my dad chose death over life.
He leaves me, his only child, and my children struggling for answers, trying to understand and make sense of it all.

As I have been attempting to understand and pick up some of the pieces, I decided it would be good to document my journey, in hopes that through writing, I can heal or perhaps help others going through the same thing, or help someone who is hopeless and in the same place as my dad.

I'm going to begin by telling my dad's story. My dad was born in 1952. He was a cute kid with eyes that smiled all the time and a grin that was irresistible. When he got older, he fell in love with a few things, drinking, ladies, and motorcycles. He met my mom and they married- then I was born. Their love affair was short lived, and they divorced when I was still very young.
My dad found relief from drinking when I was only 5 years old. He had over 25 yrs clean and was very active in AA and an inspiration to those who also struggled.
He worked for the Union Pacific Railroad, for over 21 yrs.
My dad was a hard man and rough on the outside, but had a big heart along with those rows of tattoos on his arms. He just had a hard time expressing his feelings.
In recent years, dad had become ill with MS and his legs weren't working like they used to. Instead of moving to where my family lived so I could help, he chose to stay states away.

When dad had to sell his motorcycle, he was crushed. They were his life. He would buy them, and eventually get a new one.. but this time there was no new bike. This is where I think the beginning of his end was.

Dad's mood changed, and he was very irritable. It didn't matter what I said when I called, everything was always wrong and he always complained about everyone and everything. In the last 6 months the kids even had a hard time talking to him... if only we had known that he was so close to the end, I would had forced him to move with me.

On June 23,2010 my dad took one of his guns (he had many) went out on his porch, and shot himself through his mouth. He seated himself in a recliner, and sat there for 1/2 a day before his caretaker found him.

I received the news of his passing from my uncle. The police had called him as they found several things around the house listing him as a contact. I thought he had died of a heart attack and was shocked to find he had died of his own hand.
Our family packed our bags, and began our 26 1/2 hr (Straight through!) journey from Michigan to Idaho.
Once there, we had so much to do. Immediately I found a few pieces to the puzzle- my dad had booze and weed all around his place. This explained the mood change within the last year.
The mortuary was compassionate, but I found out that I was to be burdened with the expense of his death and body. I had to write his obituary, plan what to do with his body and for a service, and at the last minute I asked to see him. I just wanted to hug him one more time.

We went through my dad's things for a few days- my uncle looking for all the legal paperwork (everything in the will had been left to him in the will), and I was tirelessly looking for something, some clue as to what my dad was thinking. I collected a pile of memories, clothing, small clocks, flashlights, pens- to keep- I wasn't ready to let him go! My kids enjoyed playing at grandpa's one last time. They did much better then I thought they would, but little did I know the tears that would flow later.

The police were less then nice. They explained the note they had found, where my dad had said awful things to me. This final act for him was a direct attempt to devastate me. He succeeded. I wanted every single detail from the detective. When they told me dad used his left hand to shot the gun, I thought for sure someone had murdered him- he couldn't have done this to me!!

My dad's memorial was small, but nice. Since he wasn't affiliated with a church, and a mortuary was stuffy, we did it at a park. His buds rode their bikes from dad's favorite shop to the park, and I set up pictures along with some of my dad's things. His ashes sat on the table in the middle of it all. If only he had been able to see how very loved he was before it was too late!

The week was one big exhausting blur. I half expected this to be a big joke on me- to have dad pop out of somewhere saying this was his way of getting me to Idaho. However, it was no joke. It's my life now.

2 weeks later, I am burdened by wondering why? I go to sleep every night thinking about him in that chair. He'll not be there for my kids next birthday's, their graduations, or their weddings. He took the most precious thing he could from me- and I am left to deal with all the hurt, with all the questions, and with all the tears.