breath in and out

I wasn't sure if I had the heart to post anything for memorial day. It seemed too cliche`. But then again, I'm the queen of cliche` so I might as well keep up my reputation.

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning... breath in and out all day long. Then, after a while I won't have to remind myself to get out of bed every morning and breath in and out... and, then after a while, I won't have to think about how I had it great and perfect for a while." - Sam Baldwin, 'Sleepless in Seattle'

I love this quote from Sleepless in Seattle. I watched a lot of sappy chick flicks right after I placed my little boy. This was one that I frequented via Netflix.

I think this is how it feels when we lose someone close to us. This is how I've been feeling every day since I knew Lynn was really passing away. When I would wake up, I'd keep my eyes closed for a moment longer, hoping it was one of those dreams where you thought you were awake, but you had to wake up again because you only dreamed you were awake. (Just think about it a minute, it'll make sense). All I could think was, "Another day. Here we go." Praying was hard, but necessary. I miss my dad so much...

Watching them close the casket at the funeral was the hardest part. I'll never see his face in person again... at least not in this lifetime. My heart was breaking, but it was really only breaking for those of us left behind. I know Lynn proved himself, he served his mission on this earth (I wonder if any of us realized part of that mission was to save me?) and was absolutely ready to move beyond the veil. I wish the veil was just a little thinner, or had some peek-holes or something... what I wouldn't give to hug him one more time. Just see him smile. I want to say something stupid, and make him laugh. It'll be a long time yet before that happens. I took everything for granted. I swear I will never do that again.

I love this song by Toby Keith. (I've always had a little celebrity crush on Toby)

scarlet letter, or......

Superwoman?

I think the latter.

I was talking to my mom tonight, and the conversation went something like this -
{my mom is a very wise woman, and I value what she says so much}

Me: It's not that I WANT to be in a high position in the church, I just don't think I'd ever be able to be called to one, 'cause people would say something like, "Oh, the second-counselor in the General Young Women's presidency had a baby out of wedlock, she's not a good example to young women."
My Awesome Mom: Or, they'd more likely say, "Wow, what a great example! She made a mistake, but made a selfless, righteous choice in placing her baby for adoption and strengthening her testimony in the process."  You could help a lot of girls who feel lost.
{insert warm fuzzy feelings here}
I love my mom. Walking down the street, nobody would be able to look at her and know that she was divorced, widowed, had a son go off the deep end, and a daughter have a child out of wedlock. Nowhere on her does she wear a scarlet letter. Instead, I'm pretty convinced that she secretly has a Superwoman symbol underneath her shirt.

a strong kind of broken

Sometimes, I wonder if people can tell just by looking at me. I wonder if it's the reason why, when we briefly make eye contact, they quickly look away.
   Can they feel the pain, too?
Lately I've felt like my GaGa-inspired sunglasses are a shield. Not for me, but for others around me. I feel like the ache in my soul is just reaching, clawing its way out of me, trying to latch onto someone else. I know I've looked at people and sensed that they've suffered a great loss. There's something deeper in the way they meet your eye, the way they hold your gaze as if they're afraid to let go.
 
I know there's no way they can possibly know. I'm the only one who knows there's an elephant in the room (most of the time). But it still sometimes feels like my soul is going to shatter, and if I don't hold my arms around myself then my body will shatter with it.

I'm not just aching over David right now. I always ache over him. I always will. But I know he's safe, loved and warm. I felt my deepest sorrow and my greatest joy when David came into my life. I needed him.

My dad, Lynn, is passing away. After months of my praying, begging, pleading with the Lord, Lynn's body has signaled to us that he's ready to go. {not my will, but thine, o Lord}

We've brought him home so that his last days can be spent with the people he loves most - his family. We know he is seeing beyond the veil, and has been serving the Lord on the other side for some time now. It's just time for his mortal body to rest. I now know that Lynn was with me at placement. He was with my sister when she was robbed at work. He was with my mom these many months that she's sat by his bedside, so devoted. He is with me when I ache. I believe in guardian angels, and I have had experiences over and over that help me remember that the veil is so very thin. Lynn is there. He is preparing a beautiful, wonderful mansion in the eternities for my mother. He is spreading the gospel message to those who have passed on without a knowledge. I will be with Lynn again.

I cry a few times per hour. My chest feels like it will explode one minute, then I feel that familiar hollow ache the next. My dad, the man who helped carry me through my pregnancy (blessings at 3 am, letting me vent, bearing his testimony of my Heavenly Father's love), and the man who, by the way he loves and adores my mother, showed me how I deserve to be treated, will never leave my heart. I only knew him for just over 3 years, but he changed my life forever. I will cling to anything I can, I will mope, I will be tempted to hide away and never reenter the world. But I am at peace with the decision my family has made. I will be there for my mom, because she has always been there for me. I will hold my head high, because I am a daughter of a loving Heavenly Father who will not let me be miserable for the rest of my life.

Sometimes I wonder if people can tell, just by looking at me, that I'm broken. Even if they can, I hope I'm a strong kind of broken. The cracks in my heart allow me to radiate more love to those around me. And I'm trying. I will love, I will give, I will serve. Lynn was my example, so I will live the way he taught me to.

Lynn - you are the father I didn't always have, and you never had to be. You didn't have to hold me when I cried, but you did. You didn't have to call me your daughter, but you did. You didn't have to put up with my attitude, my messy room, my piles of laundry... but you did. I love you so much. I always will. My children will always know how amazing their grandfather was. I pray that you are teasing them right now, preparing them to come down to a crazy mommy. I pray you'll watch over David, the little boy you helped me make the right, loving decision for. I pray he'll feel your guiding strength behind him his whole life. You are always in my heart. Forever, your daughter.

July 2007

Not my post...

What I want to share this week isn't my own post. The guest blogger for the LDS Family Services Birthmother Bonds group today (Wednesday) is Amy... my Amy. Of course, I'm the one who picked the guest bloggers, so... Anyway. this link should take you there. It's a long story, but wow. It's powerful reading [what turns into] my story from the other side.

Oh, and David rolled over this past week. He's growing so fast!!!

Tee hee... sometimes, spit happens! :-)

Mother's Day (a day late)

I love Mother's Day. I won't lie, today was a little rough, but overall it went well.

I wish I could say something profound tonight... something that would bring everyone to tears (I'm okay with crying, it heals), but what's in my heart right now is pretty simple.

I love the experience I've gone through. I have two very important mothers in my life - my own mother, who has loved me unconditionally and has never ceased to leave me in awe of her strength, and Amy. Every time I think about Amy my heart feels like it will burst out of my chest. She has become like an older (far displaced) sister to me. More than anything, I'm grateful for what she is doing right now - giving her son (because he IS hers, completely) all of the love, care, and snuggles that he deserves. Little David deserves the world, and Amy is his world (and Dave, but this is a Mother's Day post, look for yours in June!) and I love her more and more every day.

Happy Mother's Day, Mom! Happy Mother's Day, Amy!