Fall again

Stephanie loved the fall. She got excited about the leaves turning to light the trees on fire. She loved the crisp air, even though she was cold if the temperature dipped below 80. She loved pumpkin anything, especially if it had the word “Starbucks” in it. And there was no greater excuse for her to bake constantly.

But she loved fall for another reason. And it was my favorite reason for the summer to come to an end: her birthday.

She breezed in right at the beginning of October; a fact that she quite enjoyed. She would have turned 35 today. (She barely made it past 33.) I would have racked my brain for months trying to decide what spectacular thing I could do for her celebrating a “5” birthday, worried the entire time that I could have done better, and knowing the entire time that she would absolutely do better when it came my birthday.

But here I am, writing for the world to see. And hoping, that if the world can read this, maybe she can, too. Happy birthday to the most beautiful, most caring, most loving, most compassionate, sweetest, and — [list cut short so as not to break the Internet] — woman I have yet to know. You made the years you were here count so much that it’s hard to imagine you could have poured any more life and joy and love into those around you.

Whenever summer turns to autumn, I can’t help but think of you, Stephanie. Your name is synonymous with autumn in my mind. You made me love the fall more than I ever had. And now I also hate the fall more than I ever have. It’s painfully fitting that you died in your birth month and your favorite season.

I praise God for bringing you into the world on this day 35 years ago. And I thank God and you for who you are. You changed everyone around you for the better. Just like your daughter after you, you radiated joy and you brought it into the room along with you.

I love you. Brady and Halle love you. And we miss you.

It’s fall again. Happy birthday!

Health insurance

I recently received a letter:

“This letter is a reminder that you have elected coverage for your dependent(s) in a Healthcare plan… you are required to furnish proof of dependent eligibility. If you do not furnish acceptable proof…within 30 days, your dependents will be removed from coverage.”

Dependent in question: Stephanie

It’s almost as if even the companies who have her name find it hard to believe she’s dead, too. I would love to respond as sarcastically as possible: send in a picture of the grave stone and just write on it, “Please don’t revoke Stephanie’s health coverage. She really needs it!” or “How’s this for proof of dependency?”

But seriously, I’m so thankful for how God has brought me through it all. If I were in a worse place, this would have been an incredible slap in the face and I’d probably be miserable for days. But, by God’s grace, I can just look at this situation and laugh (almost). At the very least, I can handle it like a sane, respectable adult, boring as that may be.

Unwelcome

It happens so randomly. Out of nowhere. And it always catches me off-guard.

It’s the memory of that night. That last night. Even nearly two years later, it still jumps on my back and knocks me down. I can’t say I’m surprised. I’m sure I’ll be saying the same thing 30 years from now.

That doesn’t mean I’ll ever grow accustomed to it. It’s a hateful, hateful thing.

And I quickly scramble to try to forget it as soon as it invades my thoughts. It’s not really worth my time anymore.

Just a visit

“Daddy, I just want to pray for a new mommy tonight. And that I love my first mommy so much.”

“OK, Buddy.”

“And, maybe can we go to Heaven to see our first mommy?”

“I’m sorry, Brady, but we can’t go to Heaven for a long, long time.”

“But why not?”

“Because once we go to Heaven, we can’t ever come back. People only go to Heaven when they die. I really wish we could visit mommy, too, but I don’t want to leave you or Halle or Nana or Papa or anyone else. And do you remember how we get to Heaven? We have to believe that Jesus died for all the bad things we do and that only He can make us better from all those bad things. If we don’t believe that, we can’t go to Heaven. Mommy believed that and that’s how we know she’s in Heaven.”

“Oh. Well, maybe I want to wake up real early and look at pictures of mommy. All of them.”

“Okay, Sweetheart. We can do that.”

Little Friends

“What’s your name?”

The other boy at the pool doesn’t waste any time with pleasantries.

“Brady. And that’s my daddy.” (After all, why would he introduce himself without acknowledging his namesake?)

“He’s holding a baby.”

Brady is quick to defend. “No he’s not. That’s my sister, Halle.” He’s always very logical and straightforward about such things.

And then comes that ever-present fact of life for Brady.

“My mommy’s dead.” Every time he says it, it’s emotionless, like something he read in a text book. (And yet, he spares no emotion when we’re alone and talking about her.)

The other boy is a little confused. “She’s dead? ”

“Yeah. Now she’s with Jesus.”

That’s my boy! He didn’t quite get to lay out the whole plan of salvation to the other 5-year old, but I love that there’s no way for any of us to share our story without God being a critical part of it.

And I’m not surprised. I’ll always stand firm on the fact that this is not our story, but God’s. We’re just tiny bit roles. Nice job playing the part, Brady.

Random spontaneity

It’s been bugging me for a couple months now. This insatiable itch to do something a little crazy for a widower with two preschoolers.

I love road trips. I’m not sure why, but 12 hours each way to Myrtle Beach every single year has nothing to do with it, I’m sure. And 24 hours each way to Colorado Springs, once on my own and once with Stephanie, also had no part in solidifying that. Sprinkle in a month-long vacation to California and back and countless other locations through my life, and I’m sure there’s no reason I should like road trips.

But now that it was just me and the kids, the task seemed a bit daunting to do alone – no one riding shotgun to divvy out snacks, drinks and entertainment. However, I’ve heard from so many various people how much fun they had when their parents would just up and take them on the road to some undisclosed destination at the last moment. I also fondly remember our various trips growing up.

And so it happened. As I started lunch one Friday less than two weeks ago, I had no plans for the weekend. As I finished lunch, and thanks to a random conversation on Facebook (oh, technology!), I was then giving serious thought to being in Chicago for the next two days.

Dinner came and went quickly due to the promise of time at the pool. (A six-hour drive looming in the near future and we’re at the pool – surely, I’m crazy!) We made quick work of the nighttime routine, after which point I packed up all I could think of in preparation for an early morning drive. Four AM arrived, and we were on the road, presumably while the kids slept and I enjoyed music or podcasts or both.

To my chagrin, the kids stayed awake all but one hour of our drive, but they did really well. We had extra stops for bathroom breaks, but I’m impressed with how well they handled it. In our fifth of six hours on the road, there was also the call from Brady, “Daddy, can we please just go home now?”

He changed his tune for the ride home, though. To say the weekend was a success is a vast understatement. We all had a great time spent with good friends and my cousins (who have four boys under 12). For our ride home, Brady was asking that we spend not one night, but two nights with my cousins.

We’re building memories. It’s not always easy for me, but I’m learning what works for me and the kids that we all can enjoy. And I’m so thankful to my cousins for letting us stay on such short notice and for my friends for hanging out over the weekend at the last minute.

Chicago: we’ll be back!

Brady enjoying the water
Brady enjoying some swimming

No Excuse Acceptable

God revealed something to me tonight: I’ve been making excuses. I’ve been coming up with reasons. I’ve been claiming my thoughts are acceptable.

He showed me my mistake. And here’s the punchline: He is present in my loneliness.

I know that seems like an obvious conclusion. And it is… in my head. At least for a moment. Then my heart gets involved and, along with my mind, colludes to the point of tricking me.

What are my excuses? Shamefully, I’ve even spoken these out loud.

  • “Of course God is all I need, but I’m lonely for someone made of flesh and bones; who I can hold; who I can hear and see and touch.”

    Seemingly, I’ve forgotten the first seven words of that statement by the time I make it to “lonely.” Is He or isn’t He all I really need? Well, in the depths of my heart and soul, I have no question that He is all I need. My need for interaction does not surprise God. It does not overwhelm God. It is not too much for Him to handle. It is not beyond His ability to satisfy.

    In fact, it is one more moment in life wherein He is still there. He is ready to receive my need for interaction; to receive my need for communion and connection and communication. He’s ready to hang out with me.

    And yet, I try to tell myself “it’s not the same.” It’s so easy to pull the old “flesh and bones” card and claim that He’s not good enough. Where do I get off? How dare I make that claim? As if He could ever not be enough for my needs! That is a bold-faced lie and attack on His character. And of all things, I’m claiming it’s a need that a mortal, imperfect human being can satisfy. What am I thinking?

  • “It’s obvious I need other people because God said it’s not good for man to be alone.”

    This one is tricky, because it uses the Word of God. Does that surprise me, though? No. Satan used God’s own words to try to tempt Jesus. It’s so easy to think, “Well, God said…” and thus assume I’m accurate in my conclusions. The problem is that I somehow believe that I actually am alone. It’s true that it’s not good for man to be alone, but I’m not alone. I have so many family members and friends and others who would be so gracious to be there for me. Above and beyond that, I have God. Again, God has supplied my every need and yet I start assuming that He hasn’t supplied because He hasn’t supplied my every want. But to say that I trust God and all He says, is to say that I believe He has given me all I need. And I do.

Here’s the thing: I would make a guess that I’m not the only one who has thought these things. We’ve all been lonely at one point or another, whether it’s for a significant other or for a friend or for some other type of relationship. Maybe you’ve come up with other excuses. I’m sure I have, as well. I’m making it a goal to abolish these in my life and hopefully be aware of any others that come along.

Who’s with me?

Location Undisclosed

While at the pool, Halle bounced happily over to me.

“Daddy, when is my mommy going to come?”

I caught my breath and stuttered a bit. I drew her close. “Honey, don’t you remember? Mommy died.”

“No, Daddy!” she said indignantly, “My other mommy.”

This made it obvious to me (and I asked in order to clarify) that she was asking about a “new” mommy. I informed her that I don’t know but that I keep hoping and praying to find her soon.

As with so many things, I have to wonder what her perception is of all of this. It’s entirely innocent. The lack of pain her own voice makes it both easier and harder to hear her ask such things.

I didn’t think to tell her at the time, but I’m so thankful to all the women in our lives who love on my kids and show them that tenderness that doesn’t come so naturally to us guys. And I know how much my kids appreciate it, too, even if they don’t have the words to express it.

Oh, Summer, How I Missed You!

Dear Summer,

I’m sorry that we had a temporary break in our relationship last year and we didn’t spend any good time together. You see, I’m no good at family event planning. That was Stephanie’s department, and I feel most women/mothers are much better than me at that.

Frankly, I didn’t have the strength in me last year to make our time together worthwhile. I was too busy being a widower with two kids. I didn’t hear your knocking at the door above the absence in my heart. I was too wrapped up in the old memories: walks in the park, ice cream Sundays, everyday pool days, and hours in the yard.

I hope this year will be different. Just like my random bike ride recently after years of not touching my bike, I plan to make this just like riding again. My ride last week sparked all of this, in fact. I was able to just get on my bike and ride until I was afraid I’d be too tired to make it back the same distance. (It reminded me of pre-license days when we would ride our bikes what felt like miles to buy trading cards.)

This year, I’m not a widower with two kids. Instead, we… are a family. And we’re going to make new memories as well as reinvent the old. We’ll splash in the pool. We’ll walk to get ice cream. We’ll enjoy the park and have picnics there. We’ll play on the swingset or go to the playground. We’ll go boating. And we’ll find new things to do. Maybe we’ll try camping or a random vacation just the three of us.

We’re going to make it happen, and I am so thankful that you are back, summer, because I missed you. I didn’t even realize how I missed you, because I was too wrapped up in missing someone far more important than you. (No offense, and I wouldn’t change that if I could go back.) I’m glad you came back to me even though I left you in the lurch. And I’m so excited to be ready to enjoy you this time around.

Thanks for being perennially committed. Here’s some proof that we’re already starting.

Brady loves vehicles
Halle captures pure joy in her smile

Brief Conversations

I love the time I have with Halle on her change table. I think I might really miss that now that she’s on the verge of getting out of diapers. We often play and laugh as I tickle and kiss her. We also have some great, random conversations. Recently, it went like this:

Halle: “Mommy in my heart.”

Daddy: “You’re right. Mommy is in your heart.”

Halle: “Mommy not die. She not die when she in my heart. I kiss him. And I hug him in my heart.” (So, admittedly, we’re still working on personal pronouns.)

I love the simplicity of her statement, and I thank God that she feels this way. I especially worry that Halle is too young to have any memory of Stephanie, even though she is the spitting image of her mother. It makes me euphorically happy that at 3 years old, she is expressing such things.