Author: Brad Luczywo

Two

My sweet, spunky, fireball of a little girl turns two years old today. Happy birthday, Halle Charis.

You are so much like your mommy, and it’s so wonderful to see your personality coming out more with each day. I’m so thankful to God that I got to have a daughter after having a son, and I’m even more glad that Mommy got that, too. She was so hopeful that you would be a girl; and you are all girl just like Mommy. You already love shoes and clothes, and Brady assures me that your favorite color is pink because “you a gerl, Ha-yee.”

Just like Mommy, you’re able to light up a room with your smile and personality and make people happy just because you’re around. You are so good at making people laugh in the most unexpected ways. And you always have your little projects, and do not like people to get in your way of finishing those projects. I have no doubt you’re going to use that about yourself just like Mommy did.

I love the way you know just what you want, even if it does result in you yelling at me when I don’t get it for you. You just want things to be efficient and you always know a better way for things to get done.

You’re adorable and such a joy in everyone’s lives, and Mommy would be so happy for all the ways you’re so like her. As much as I wish she had more time with you, I’m so thankful for the 18 months of your life that she did get to spend with you. Your middle name means “grace” and it was Mommy’s favorite thing about God. It was His grace that gave you to Mommy. After three miscarriages, we weren’t sure we’d ever get to have another baby, and it’s clear that you are the exact child God wanted us to have.

We love you so much, and I can’t wait to continue watching you grow (as a person, at least, since you don’t exactly grow too much physically, my little peanut). I know you’ll make me and Mommy so proud.

I love you, Sugar.

Seriously?

I just.

Can’t.

Believe.

She’s gone.

And I’m pretty sure I never will. Fifty years from now, when I’m old and gray with grandchildren, and maybe even a wife, I’ll still find disbelief in this fact of my existence.

It’s one of those stories your grandchildren hear for the first time and they find themselves in deep shock. “Did you know Grandpa was married to someone else before Grandma?”

It’s been a while since I’ve given an update. I’ll give more details later, but I’m actually doing quite well. Even still, this disbelief is heavier than lead.

I keep saying that for as much as I believe in God more and believe in His goodness and grace and mercy and promises more, I disbelieve this situation more. It’s almost as if it’s even harder to believe, the more I believe God.

And He is so good to me, and to everyone. And I can’t wait to see how He used this to change me for His glory.

An Odd Longing

It’s actually an odd thing to want. For some reason, I find myself longing to be back in the hospital more often than any other point in my marriage. I can only guess that I’m too much of a realist to imagine earlier times. My time in the hospital isn’t all that different of a reality than now.

But I think back to that time every few days. I remember how comfortable I got there, as if it were a 10-day sleepover. I can’t imagine what it must be like for others who endure much longer battles. I spent every night either on a couch in the waiting room or in a chair next to Stephanie’s bed.

I began to know the nurses, and I’m sad that I don’t get to see them any more. They were so wonderful, taking care not only of Stephanie, but of me and my entire family. How many times have they done the same for others? I wish I could have thanked them more while I was there.

I learned how to read all the monitors. I was so proud of her for breathing “above the machine” – she took more breaths than the machine made sure she took. And then she stopped doing that at the same time God stopped telling me to “just wait” and I knew she was gone, even if her death certificate says it was two days later. I could read the EKG and knew when she was having seizures. I remember sliding up next to her during those times, holding her hand and touching her face, trying to calm her down. I can still hear myself saying, “Oh, honey. You gotta stop.”

How many nights did I beg her to fight? How many times did I remind her that she refused God to take her once before and needed to do it again? How many hours did I spend holding her hand and stroking her hair?

I know it doesn’t seem to make a lot of sense because she wasn’t talking to me at all, but I miss my time with her in the hospital. What part of that longing is because of the hope I still had that she might be okay? I miss spending every moment with her, even if she wasn’t exactly “with” me during those moments.

Love Day

At American Greetings where I work, Valentine’s Day is like the Super Bowl for us. It is by far our biggest holiday. However, for Stephanie and I, it wasn’t quite that. Sure, we celebrated it – gave each other cards or gifts and ate out somewhere usually — but it didn’t hold a candle to our anniversary and birthdays. At the risk of sounding incredibly cheesy, we didn’t really need a holiday to celebrate our love for each other.

I’m thankful for that this year on February 14, as I think it will soften the blow. I’m sure it will still hit me. My day will no doubt come to a crushing halt as I double over in tearful emotional turmoil. But for the most part, I think I’ll be okay.

What really surprised me was that I found myself perusing the “For Wife” cards last week. I even thought I had picked one out and was going to buy it for my bride. That is not like me at all to do something like that. But I almost did. The only reason I didn’t was because I found one card after another that seemed too perfect. I couldn’t pick just one. I loved being married, and every card reminded me of how beautiful she was and how amazing it was to be married. God sure did an incredible thing when He created marriage.

And for that, I wish God — and all of you — a Happy Valentine’s Day.

Four

Happy 4th Birthday, Brady Chase!

You are such an amazing little boy, Sweetheart, and this day is always a special day to your mommy and I. Ever since Mommy was a little girl, all she wanted was to be a wife and a mommy. And ever since I was a little boy, I only wanted to be a husband and a daddy. We anxiously awaited your arrival all our lives. When you came, you brought those dreams into our lives, and you didn’t come a minute too soon.

You make me so proud every day. You are considerate and always saying “please” and “thank you” and you love people so much. Any time someone is sad, you are the first one there to give sweet cuddles and tell them it will be okay. You don’t know it now, but you have strength and wisdom well beyond your four years.

I love the way you care about Halle and are so often trying to help her or help out with her. You’re an incredible big brother to her. It’s no wonder why she loves you so much and looks up to you and imitates you. I know the two of you will have such a strong relationship throughout your entire lives.

You are not only tender, but also strong, and I pray that you never lose that about yourself. I am so proud that you carry my name (plus a “y”), and I hope that you will always chase after God all of your life.

Mommy and I love you so very much. I can’t wait to see how you grow each and every year. Happy Birthday, Bean!

Another day

For my birthday on Wednesday morning, I woke up and cried for a bit. It was one of those “good” cries, where I really got myself into the moment and the memories and the sadness. I had the day off from work. Unfortunately, it didn’t turn out to be much more than just another day off.

Stephanie wasn’t there to wake me up with breakfast and a candle in my breakfast, and a present that she had specifically picked for me to open in the morning. She didn’t excitedly wish me a happy birthday when I woke (or the night prior when it hit midnight). There was no homemade card from her detailing just how much she celebrates me and loves me. She always made it so apparent how thankful she was that I was born on that day X number of years before. There was no “birthday week” celebration for the whole week. There wasn’t a surprise lunch to bring to work with a sweet note and small present in it. And dinner wasn’t my favorite dish lovingly made.

So, it was just a day off. It wasn’t bad, but it didn’t feel like my birthday. I had someone say to me that birthdays do feel more and more like just another day the older you get. I’m sure that’s true for some people, but not for me and not for us. And we made sure of that for each other. Birthdays were often better than previous years.

So that’s how my day went. Not bad, but not special. I went to see Tron: Legacy in 3D by myself. It was a great movie and fun to see it and I quite enjoyed it, so that was good.

I will say that I do feel very loved, and I’m so thankful for that. I had about 154 birthday wishes on my Facebook wall. I’m pretty sure that’s a record for me. Thank you all for that. And I’m told by my mom how loved I am based on all the help/support/money that people are putting into my birthday party. I can’t wait for it.

I really just pray that I can get into it. As I’ve been doing, to fully embrace whatever emotions I have, but that I could really just allow it to be a strong memory (whether good or bad for how I’m feeling – that it’s at least strong because it meant something). God wants me to prosper and I’m fully aware of that. I can’t prosper if I pretend my emotions aren’t there, and I can’t prosper if I don’t fully embrace every moment.

Birthday

It has been nearly five years that I’ve had to hear about it. Every now and then it would come up and it gave her so much of a thrill to tease me. I’m pretty sure it was less than a week after my 25th birthday that she brought it up for the first time. I’m talking about the birthday party she was planning to throw for me when I turned 30.

January 12. This Wednesday. Sucks again that she’s gone.

I know most of you probably missed many of the parties she threw, but let me tell you how Stephanie puts together a party. Every party has a theme, and that theme envelopes every last detail. For instance, my 25th was a theme of miniatures. (I have an unhealthy obsession with anything that’s miniature.) The cake was tiered simply to accommodate cupcakes. Each cupcake had a circular tag stuck in it depicting something about my life. There were cocktail hot dogs and mini burgers and mini grilled cheese sandwiches and chicken nuggets.

I’ve always loved my birthday and Stephanie has always felt strongly about how special a person feels for his or her birthday (and the entire week). I’ll be excited for my birthday no matter how old I get – age doesn’t bother me. And Stephanie went to every length to make me feel so special. She’s literally had an idea for my 30th birthday since the week following my 25th birthday, and she has casually teased me with that fact over the years. I’m pretty sure the theme has changed a few times, but only because she thought of something better. She would taunt me, “I came up with an even better idea for your 30th birthday. It’s going to be incredible.” Oh, I couldn’t wait! (If only I knew what else 30 years would bring.)

I’ve been anticipating this 1 month for nearly 60 months and yet 3 months shy of it, my wife passed away. I have no problem sharing with you that I yelled at God about that. A lot. It ran through my mind a number of times while I was in the hospital. I’m not going to get to have my birthday party. Obviously, it wasn’t the worst pain of them all, but it certainly didn’t help the situation.

In line with my aversion to change, I’m trying to keep things as close as possible to what they were supposed to be this year. It’s why Thanksgiving was still at my parents’ house as usual. It’s why I had a Christmas tree and other decorations up based on the way Stephanie decorated. And it’s why I asked my mom about still having my party. Thankfully, Stephanie had shared most of her plans with my mom. (For the record, my mom can throw a quite a mean party, as well.) With the help of some friends – one of whom seems to throw similar parties as Stephanie always did – the party will be happening on January 15 with a rather large guest list.

Nonetheless, I expect this week to be possibly the hardest week of my life besides that time in the hospital. I think it goes without saying that I’m not looking forward to it.

I think of Stephanie’s 30th birthday three years ago and how joyous it was. I made sure her brother was in town for it and surprised her with two La-Z-Boys. (She was always manic about rocking in a chair constantly.) We had just had Brady 9 months prior, which was fantastic considering how desperate she was to have kids before she turned 30. It was such a fabulous celebration of her life thus far.

And now it’s my turn to hit 30. I hate to be melodramatic, but who gets stuck celebrating 30 years as a widow? I know I’m not the first and won’t be the last. But I’m one of them. What kind of birthday am I celebrating this year? Right now, I’m hoping that I can just stay 29 forever until my Stephanie is returned to me. I don’t want to turn 30 without her! It wasn’t supposed to happen this way.

Christmas

Christmas, as well as the rest of the holidays ended up less difficult than I expected. But, in retrospect, I’m not surprised. When it comes to the grief, it’s more about the loss in my normal daily routine, and less about a day or two out of the year that was out of the ordinary. Granted, it’s still not easy, and there are a lot of special memories tied to Christmas due to the specialty of those days, but I think I probably already dealt with a lot of those feelings before the day came.

However, I am less than satisfied with the amount of preparing I feel like I did. I’ve had a lot of people asking me if we started any new traditions or things like that. I’m sad to say that we didn’t start anything that I think will particularly “stick” in future years. I feel like I didn’t give it enough thought and in some ways want a do-over.

What we did do was to attempt to read the Christmas story out of the kids’ Bible and then talk a little bit about Mommy. The kids were so distracted, though, it was more a practice in patience for me as I talked about Mommy through misty eyes. I then lit a candle to represent Mommy’s presence as we opened presents. Thanks to a suggestion from someone, I was able to designate a couple gifts as coming from Mommy, which I think is a fabulous idea that I plan to use in the future. The “Mommy” gifts this year weren’t purchased with that in mind, unfortunately, so I think that lessened the meaning it had for me; and the kids didn’t really connect with the sentiment, which doesn’t come as a surprise to me.

I guess to think about it now, I realize how disappointed I am in myself and how much I don’t stack up to Stephanie. She was always the one to plan all the gifts and she planned things out so wonderfully. She had a great gift idea for nearly everyone on our list and she would wrap each one with such care and beauty and personalize it in some way. I know there’s no way I can match what she did, but I really feel like I dropped the ball on Christmas.

I know I might be expecting a lot from myself less than 2 1/2 months after my wife died, but I know myself and can’t help but fear that I won’t give it my best if I don’t expect a lot from myself. I don’t want to take the chance of getting into a habit of doing the bare minimum. And I want to honor Stephanie and try to carry on her legacy. I don’t feel like I did that this Christmas, that’s for sure.

Little Helper

No, I don’t mean “Santa’s…”. I speak of my son once again. He still continues to amaze me. Last night, while I was up in the late hours trying to stuff my Christmas cards, he woke up with a coughing fit. I suspect his allergies are yet again to blame, but that’s besides the point. After some cuddles, he asked for juice and eventually an apple, which I peeled and cut up for him, leaving the peel, peeler and core in the sink. I was pretty tired by this point and laid down with him on the couch, falling asleep pretty quickly as long as his coughing wasn’t keeping me up. He asked for an orange at some point, but I must have fallen back asleep and not gotten it for him. I don’t know how long he was up, but it was at least a couple hours before we moved off the couch.

This morning, I made my way into the kitchen to notice the step-stool by the sink. Peering in, none of the peels were there and I found the peeler put away looking clean. In the living room, there was an orange with one or two missing pieces along with little chunks of its peel on the table. His pajama pants were on the floor. When he woke up, I asked him about it. He did, in fact, clean the peeler, wash the apple peels down the drain and peel himself an orange by hand. While cleaning, he apparently got water on his pajamas and needed to change them, so he did that as well. Now, he’s my firstborn, so I don’t know when kids learn these things, but this sounds to me like something that you pray that your six-year-old might do if you ask him, let alone of his own volition. Brady, on the other hand, is always trying to help. Most of his sister’s anger towards him is because he is taking something from her that she is not supposed to have or that could hurt her. He’s usually trying to protect her and help me.

I know this is entirely how God made Brady. And I don’t think the timeline for him doing these things is simply because Stephanie is gone. I am thankful to God for that timeline and that Brady is such a sweetheart to know that it would be helpful to me. I thank God for who He made Brady to be. And I am just so proud of that little boy and thankful to God for all His wonderful blessings. I’m sorry if this comes across as bragging, but so be it. I just had to brag on my kid.

Peaceful Home

Stephanie’s dream for our home was that it would be a place of peace and rest for people. She wanted all who entered to leave feeling restored and at rest in their spirits. And she wanted that for all of us. Her kids would grow up in a warm, safe, and peaceful home where they could take refuge from the world. And I would be able to come home from work and shed the burdens of the day and be ready for the next day. This was one of her many missions as a housewife. She made such a godly pursuit out of creating a home for us to live in. It was so much her life dream and she did everything to attain that.

Some of the women in our families have done similar, and I know she learned so much from them. In addition to them, I have learned so much from Stephanie. Because I’m not Stephanie, though, I pray so hard that I can maintain that air of peacefulness and rest in my home. It’s easy to be afraid that I might not live up to what she has created for us. She had that sensitive spirit that could really feel the Holy Spirit, and I don’t have that the way she did. It was her spiritual gift to be able to discern spirits, and I miss that. I depended on her for that so much. But I just hope that I can use what I do have to keep our household just as she kept it.

I do pray that people would be able to come to my home and feel that rest and peace. It’s something I always wanted along with Stephanie, and it’s certainly something I will still strive for constantly.