Remembering

Happy 38th Anniversary, Mom and Dad.
Thank you for teaching us the meaning of true committment within a marriage.

Thanksgiving 2011

Thanksgiving Day marked Jack's first road trip. John, Alyson, Abby, Jack and I traveled across Pennsylvania to spend the day with family. Grant, Deborah, and their kids had arrived Wednesday night. It seemed like a LONG TRIP after stopping twice to feed and change Jack, but finally we arrived. We certainly had a lot to be thankful for as the house filled with laughter (well, if we're being realistic there was a lot of crying from babies and small children, too) and the smell of turkey. Mom's presence was there, too, of course, even in the simple things like her fall decorations set around the room.

Another highlight of the weekend was Jack's Baptism. My heart filled with joy as my dad sprinkled my son's head with water from the Jordan and prayed blessings over him. We got to spend the majority of the afternoon with dad's family, in from Lancaster, and John's family. Miles presented Jack with a special gift: his first Bible, beginning what I pray will be a faith-filled life.

In-between the festivities, our immediate family took a little time to visit the Wellness Community to see the bricks laid in memory of Mom. We wandered through the gardens, enjoying the late-fall sunshine, remembering who Mom was. Grant and Deborah reminded the kids that "Mica" is with Jesus,and Claire responded with "but I can't see her!" I share Claire's frustration, and I can only come to terms with the mystery of heaven by holding onto hope. This Thanksgiving, as I have in Thanksgivings past, I give thanks for that hope of God's provision in this life and his promises for the next.

Welcome, Babies!

Finally I sit in the quiet of the evening, in the stillness of my candle-lit family room, listening intently to my son's breathing. Finally, I catch my breath and gather my thoughts, taking a moment to introduce you to Deb's newest grandchildren:

Hazel Mae McKinney
September 25th, 3:49 a.m.
7 lbs., 11.5 oz.
20.5 inches

Jack Matthew Michalak
September 26th, 5:32 a.m.
8 lbs., 4 oz.
21 inches

Although the cousins came into the world slightly differently--Hazel quickly, via natural childbirth, at the Midwife Center; Jack stubbornly, via c-section after 2 hours of pushing to no avail, at St. Clair Hospital--they were both celebrated and enjoyed meeting one another just a day after Jack's birth. Miles and Claire met their new cousin once he got home from the hospital. How my mom would have loved watching all four of her grandchildren snuggling on the living room chair.

Sometimes, it seems incomprehensible that I am now responsible for this little life, and I marvel at the gift that I have been given. It's as though everything I have learned, everywhere I have traveled, every relationship I have ever invested time in has been preparing me to be Jack's mom. The only thing missing is his Mica.

When she first died, the loss of Mom hit me the hardest at night. I would sit in the hallway for hours, sometimes, my back pressed up against my bedroom door, crying in the dark. Now, my cries are replaced by Jack's, and I pace that same hallway trying to figure out if he is hungry or wet or just wanting to be snuggled. Our favorite spot is in the corner of his nursery, rocking in the antique chair passed down from my Pap to my mom and then to me, much like the way knowledge about parenting is often handed down through the generations. Just above the chair hangs a picture of me as a 3-year-old, nestled in my mom's lap, a reminder that she is a constant part of me and, therefore, a part of Jack.

I already consider what stories I will tell Jack first about his Mica. I will mimic her laugh for him. I will take him somewhere to eat lemon meringue pie just because she loved it. I will read to him as much as possible. I will teach him to be strong and independent and gracious.

Jack and Hazel remind me each day that life is a precious gift, and that with every ending there is a new beginning waiting around the corner.

Happy Birthday, Mom

Technically, this post is a day late. Mom would have turned 60 yesterday, and we commemorated the day as a family in a variety of ways. Grant, Deborah, and the kids planted a tree near the water's edge at the cottage, near to the swing that Mom loved to sit in while reading. Dad, John, and I stopped by at the Wellness Community of Philadelphia (the cancer center) to see the bricks laid in Mom's memory. As we stooped under umbrellas, the rain coming down in sheets, I again thought of how unfair life can seem sometimes. Someone as vibrant as my mom should not be dead. Instead we should have been throwing her a party to celebrate a birthday milestone. Throughout the entire past year, I've received confirmation again and again that the Lord is taking care of our family and that Mom is enjoying the party of all parties in his presence, but even with that knowledge I miss her more every day.

I continue to think of you often, friends, and am glad that many of you are still very active parts of our lives, carrying on Mom's legacy in whatever way you choose.

One year later...

Scripture's encouragement for today:

"In my Father’s house are many rooms; if it were not so, I would have told you. I am going there to prepare a place for you. And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am. You know the way to the place where I am going.”

Thomas said to him, “Lord, we don’t know where you are going, so how can we know the way?”

Jesus answered, “I am the way and the truth and the life. No one comes to the Father except through me. If you really knew me, you would knowb my Father as well. From now on, you do know him and have seen him.”

Philip said, “Lord, show us the Father and that will be enough for us.”

Jesus answered: “Don’t you know me, Philip, even after I have been among you such a long time? Anyone who has seen me has seen the Father. How can you say, ‘Show us the Father’? 1Don’t you believe that I am in the Father, and that the Father is in me? The words I say to you are not just my own. Rather, it is the Father, living in me, who is doing his work. Believe me when I say that I am in the Father and the Father is in me; or at least believe on the evidence of the miracles themselves. I tell you the truth, anyone who has faith in me will do what I have been doing. He will do even greater things than these, because I am going to the Father. And I will do whatever you ask in my name, so that the Son may bring glory to the Father. You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it." (John 14:2-15)

Continuing to celebrate Mom's life and legacy. Missing her so much, but feeling encouraged by this passage of scripture and the kind words many of you have shared on Facebook and in person...

I uploaded pictures from Easter about 6 weeks ago, but somehow they must not have gotten saved. I just realized that they were missing from the blog, so I apologize to those of you who were waiting patiently.

As we approach the 4th of July holiday, Dad, Grant, Deborah, and the kids are finishing up their vacation week in Puerto Rico, and John and I are heading to our cottage near Conneaut. How we wish Mom could be here to make these memories with us. Her presence is still so strong in our lives, especially when I spend time at the cottage, sitting quietly on the swing overlooking the lake.

May each of you enjoy a peaceful weekend celebrating our freedom as Americans and the freedom we know through Christ.

I was re-reading a book on grief, subtitled "How the Soul Grows Through Loss" this morning. On the front cover of the book there is a picture of a blue heron, I think, or maybe a crane?...I didn't pay enough attention when my dad was taking us on nature walks when we were little...I feel like this bird today, staring into the expanse of the future just as this bird stares into the vast ocean. It's very hard to explain in words, one of those moments in life that is perhaps better explained in pictures.

I am struck often by the writer's musings after having lost his wife, mother, and daughter in a car accident...so much incredible loss to take in at once. I am amazed that he was not emotionally paralyzed. He writes, months, maybe even years, after the accident:

"If I want transformation, I must let go of my regrets over what could have been and pursue what can be. But what I cannot have is the best of both worlds: the growth that has transformed my life as a result of this tragedy and the people whose death engendered that growth. There is a bitter irony here that cannot be avoided, however much we grow through loss. The people whose death enabled me to change for the better are the very people with whom I would most like to share these changes. Their death has forced me to grow; I wish now that they could benefit from the growth that has resulted from their death."

--from A Grace Disguised by Jerry Sittser

I'm not sure I'm at the point yet where I feel transformed in any way by losing my mom. I do feel like I've grown, because I've had to. I have been forced to swallow emotions that threaten to shred my heart just so I can complete my work or focus on my stepdaughter's face as she tells me about school. I have read books on pregnancy and motherhood because I need information and don't have my best resource available anymore. I have cried alone many, many days because it is unfair after a while to expect those around me to continue to grieve with me. I have forced myself not to consider how many days I have yet to live without my mom and instead focus on just today.

I do think she would love to share the changes I have undergone, and I know she would benefit by watching our whole family grow and learn and change. The maturing process in me is still incomplete, and I wish I could know how rich my relationship with my mom could have become in the stages of my life I haven't yet reached.

I selected a Mother's Day card for John's mom and realized that was the only card I needed to buy. The disappointment was staggering. I held the single card in my hand for nearly 5 minutes before walking to the register.

Thank you, Mom, for being the best mother I could ever have imagined. There was nothing I needed that you didn't provide, nothing I wanted that you wouldn't have sacrificed everything to give me.