PHOTOS OF MY FAMILY and MORE

Tim college-age

Favorite wedding photo of Tim and me

Tim

Donna and newborn Michael

Michael and Lisa stroller-time

Michael and Lisa in swing

Tim and Michael at the Fair

Michael loved ribbons

One of my favorite photos of Michael

On the carpet

Michael found out he could repeatedly say, "No!"

Outdoor summer fun

Smiling at Dad

My favorite top for Lisa

Angel-like pose

Two weeks before Lisa was buried in her favorite dress

Closeup of long-haired Lisa

Their last photo together

My mother is beautiful

My dad resembled Clark Gable, people told him

Mom and Dad during blizzard aftermath

Pat, Pete and me 

Pete and me

Pat at 16 and me at 14

Beatrice

The crocheted frames my mother made 

Mom and Louie/Louise

Michael drew this image of Jesus not long before the wreck

Resembles angels (drawn by Michael before the wreck)

I designed their headstone

Daisy

Abby

Toby

I made lots of "Hug-Me" pups for hospice

I enjoy making baby quilts

A quilt I made

"Kevin" as a newborn (and me)

I'm in the black coat in foreground, visiting St. Basel's in Moscow

LISA WAS HERE

Today while walking to Target, a bright pink, sidewalk chalk message caught my eye. The words, "Alexandra was here," reminded me of something I'd struggled with during early bereavement: the worth and value to society of someone that hadn't lived long at all on this planet. Lisa lived only nine and a half months on Earth. Michael only twenty-seven months. I had no relatives nearby nor many friends,  being newly relocated to a very small, near-rural city.

Lisa was the harder struggle on this issue for me. Not many people even knew that Lisa existed in the world. Michael at least had made a friend and had interacted verbally with others. Lisa seemed more of an immediate extension of myself, not fully separated from me yet, still getting nutrition from me. My husband having also died in the auto accident, who but me and our parents thought Lisa added any value to society? Who except us really even cared that she was "gone?" A decision was made for Michael and Lisa not to even have their own casket; Lisa totally hidden from view due to her injuries. 

So the chalk message really resonated with me. Back then I'd wanted to shout to the world, "Hey! Lisa was here!" Her utter absence was exacerbated by the fact I'd been unable to attend my family's funeral, still recuperating in the hospital. 

How I struggled when other people's children died and so much wonderful fanfare attended them afterward. I was glad for those involved, yet it still seemed a double-whammy loss for my children. So few remembering them during life . . . or likely afterward. Not one mention of how they'd impacted another's life for the better. No public recognition and reminder that their death mattered to those outside the immediate family. Even today, I'm sorry to say that I still fight a twinge of  envy when hearing about the wonderful fuss made over someone newly deceased. (Btw, I hate the word "dead" because it implies complete cessation of all life. And that's not what I believe as a Christian. "Physically dead" is much more accurate a description. Because they're still spiritually alive--that is much more alive than is possible while still shackled to mortality.)

After much struggle, I finally concluded that Lisa and Michael's worth and value were immense in God's eyes. There was scriptural evidence to back that up. Jesus valued children, embracing them and telling his disciples: 
"See that you do not despise one of these little ones. For I tell you that their angels in heaven always see the face of my Father in heaven." 
(NIV Matthew 18:10) 

What did it matter if nobody but my immediate family had valued Lisa and Michael? God said they mattered and that is all that is important. What if something happened to my memory of them? Would they lose their importance? Of course not. Worth and value come from God and nobody can ever take that away from God. Even a sparrow has value in God's eyes:

"Are not two sparrows sold for a penny? Yet not one of them will fall to the ground outside your Father's care." (NIV Matthew 10:29)

In conclusion, from the words of someone replying to my tired, direction-challenged query on my first walking trip to Target, "You're almost there! It's just straight ahead!" 

Let's keep on our hopeful walk, because we're closer to our final goal than we think!

MICHAEL TURNS 37 TODAY

DONNA AND MICHAEL
HIS BAPTISM DAY

Today Michael would have turned 37 had he survived the wreck.  One of his last pictures is placed before a lighted candle, electric with "wavering flame." It's always mind-boggling to think about the last time I touched him, he was only 27 months young. Although I no longer can touch him, he continually touches my heart, soul and mind. In that short span of time, he taught me, at the minimum, three very important things which give me insight and effectively touch me, continuously. 

He first taught me, that a rainbow (or "Bow!") as Michael called them, was something to be awed at. Marveled at even; its magical beauty arising unexpectedly and instilling a wondrous "Wow!" moment to be savored, fostering my newfound gratitude towards God and His marvelous creative ability. Thank heavens we placed that aquarium near a sunny window.

Secondly, that when we leave Earth, we return to Jesus, where our true Home is. Michael told me, as I've often mentioned, starting around two weeks before the wreck, "Going Home (to) be with Jesus!" Incredible, coming out of a wee one's tiny mouth. I might not believe it myself, had I not heard it repeatedly with my own two ears. This was heart and soul comfort for me, after Tim, Michael and Lisa unexpectedly "left."

The last thing is that surviving tragic loss means clinging to the strongest, closest rock that can unquestionably and unwaveringly "support" me. That would be Jesus. The hardest thing I had to do with grief was to let my loved ones "go." This was much less difficult when holding onto Jesus' hand, knowing that He was holding onto their hand. 

The so-called trite saying is very true, to me,  and I find comfort in knowing with certainty in my heart and soul that, "They've gone to a better place." Christians are not in la-la-land but are right here in the midst of constant battle. Like everyone else. The more I've experienced pain, suffering and other sorrows during the time after they went to Paradise, the more certain I've become that they have been spared (from earthly difficulties).  I guess that's one reason to be thankful for even the troubles in my life . . . they make it that much easier for me to truly feel that my loved ones ARE in "a better place." 

They're really only a heartbeat away. As I've aged substantially since 1984, this, too, is gratefully known more clearly to me. One good reason to be thankful for older age! 

Happy Birthday my dearest little Michael. You'll always be my baby, no matter how many earth years go by. I love you forever and look so forward to reunion with you, your Dad and sister Lisa.  And thank you for teaching me. See you soon. Mom

NEW EYES

I'm really surprised at how differently I view now, the tragic death of my husband, toddler son and baby daughter. It's been over 30 years that I've dealt  with the tragedy and I'm frequently surprised at how much has changed, regarding how I "see" the whole shebang of my tragic loss. Overall, the biggest change is that heartbroken loss has morphed into the realization that they're only one heartbeat away from me and quite close to me. In a way, it's like they've come back to me again, now. 

I realized that my developing way of viewing the tragedy, was akin to how newborn infants learn to see. According to online references, just like the grief-stricken, each newborn develops their sight ability uniquely to them, although there are definitely general milestones to be reached. 

At first, newborns can only see black and white and shades of gray. Sounds like me after early loss. All I knew was my family was Dead and I was Alive. Black and white. Like the news headlines about my accident. Like their death certificates. I've had a gradual evolution over the years of really knowing and feeling that my family is very much still alive, only physically dead. What's most important to stay alive . . . is still alive! The soul can never die:
Matthew 10:28a  "Do not be afraid of those who kill the body but cannot kill the soul." (BibleGateway.com). 

Newborns are very myopic; they see about 20/400 at first. Like a newborn's eyes, my vision was non-focused and all I could see was what was right in front of me. I saw my loved ones everywhere in every blond young man, little toddler boy or baby girl. In anguish, I couldn't make sense of what I saw, just like a newborn's confusion. It takes them awhile to see details. "God is in the details," is one of my favorite sayings regarding His many blessings. I was initially either blind to, or unaware of important details of grace that came my way after my loss. Only later was I able to connect the dots.

Initially, only bright colors--like red--get the newborn's attention. Later on, more gentle colors can be discerned. I felt numb after my family’s death, and my vision consisted of blah color. Life took on a prolonged beige tint. It took me a long while after the accident before I could distinguish and acknowledge the beauty of something like rainbows--something my toddler Michael used to point to when the light reflected off our home aquarium, causing "Bow!!!" to appear, much to his utter delight.

Eventually, with developing vision, the baby is able to reach for things. After some grief resolution took place, and I could see things more clearly, I started to reach more aggressively for my Savior's hand to pull me through the many dark and cloudy days. He alone can guide us best because He alone sees perfectly. God has no blind spots. Without Jesus helping my "development," I would have been completely blind to God's many blessings revolving before, during and after the physical deaths of my family. 

The most important blessing to me, is the recognition and concrete assurance He gives me--us--of eternal life and reunion with our loved ones . . . those in Paradise who now have superb, stellar vision.  

LISA AND AGE 35

The crocheted frame my Mom made that I treasure. She suffered a massive stroke not long after. 

Tomorrow, March 1st, my baby Lisa would have turned 35 years old. Incredible to me. The years march on and on (onward from 1984), and I cannot envision Lisa any age other than last I saw her . . . just 9 and 1/2 months young.

I got tired of wondering what she'd have been like had she physically lived past 1984. In the end, it just doesn't really matter. The possibilities are endless and I've long tired of trying to figure out which choice she would have made: her appearance; her likes; her dislikes, etc. The only thing that matters now to me, is that we are in a loving relationship and God assures me we'll be reunited in Paradise.

I've read something recently that talked about those soon to cross over, how they have dreams unlike any other as far as "realness." All report seeing their deceased relatives and/or friends. Deceased pets were seen by those who were very young. These dreams brought great reassurance to those that were dying. I think that's why my own father had a vision of seeing my Lisa at the end of his bed, just sitting there, all young lady-like and gorgeous. The tell-tale sign was her hair behind one ear like it was in a photo my Dad had of Lisa. He'd felt just awful he'd never even had a chance to hold her before she went to Jesus. The vision was a way of helping to ease that pain before he crossed over, a short while later.

Isn't that just like God? To give us comfort, in order to prepare us, before we physically die. (Usually a scary prospect to the majority of us.) I realize now, that God is all about comforting us. That's what a parent does if they love their child. They try to soften an upcoming stressful situation as much as possible. A parent may allow something painful to occur, but the parent still loves the child. God is love. Short and sweet. Just like my adorable Lisa.

I love you always and will see you soon, my little angel-child.
Mom

KNOCKED OUT

A neighbor brought my attention to an article about a widow and her arduous path back to recovery from that loss. The widow wrote a self-help book, the title of which, as a bereaved mother, completely turned me off: "A to Z Healing Toolbox," by Susan Hannifin-MacNab. Part of the article described the book's content and what really got me was, "Have a plan. A, B, C, . . . " Don't get me wrong, I'm sure this book that's won awards is great for suffering widows. But my neighbor thinking we have so much in common, threw me for a loop. 

My neighbor has admittedly never suffered bereavement of husband or child. She thought I might be supportive of the author and offer encouragement to her. She meant well, and I'm very fond of this neighbor. My way of thinking is, if she's recovered enough to write a self-help book, she wouldn't find it particularly timely "help." But there's a bigger reason I was turned off by my neighbor's suggestion. That is because I am prejudiced. After experiencing the loss of both (my beloved husband and children), at the same time, I passionately feel that losing my children was far, far more difficult to recover from. To me it's like comparing apples and, not oranges, but broccoli; the difference between widowhood and child bereavement being that vast a contrasting experience for me. 

Child bereavement to me, was like being flattened completely out by a steamroller running over me. l felt as though I'd lost my very life. There was no more "me" anymore. My identity so wrapped up in being young Michael and Lisa's mother; when they died, it was as if I'd died, too. Down, down down, buried far below in the ground. How do I get up? Which way even, is up? Do I even want to get up? Why should I get up when my children are no longer here? What's the use? What's the point? They don't need me anymore! Or do they. . . are they crying for me and wondering, "Where's Mommy???"

Far from needing a toolbox of handy "A to Z" helpful suggestions, back then I just needed to get the desire to even breathe again. That took a long time. God provided helpful people that gently, ever so gently and kindly, encouraged me, prodded me to get up again and want to continue breathing. With help, I got out of the protective cocoon I'd been in, unable to take another memory-trigger slamming me back down. By allowing God's assurances that my children were happy and that I'd see them again sink in, feebly holding onto that wavering faith, I was able to withstand the years of being in a slugfest of daily pain that advanced and retreated depending on my strength to withstand the punches that came from out of nowhere. I didn't know back then, how to prepare for what I didn't know was going to happen to me!

Widowhood was tough, too, to be sure. But the main difference for me I think, is that I didn't feel as though I'd lost my very life when my husband died. Sadness and pain were there, triggers were there but the intensity of the loss was as different as night and day. I didn't have the horror of anguish, feeling as though I'd failed as a mother because I couldn't save Michael and Lisa from dying. There wasn't the inner turmoil and despondency that my children's lives were grossly, unjustly, unfairly shortened. All the consequent woulda, coulda shoulda's were infinitely more numerous and torment-laden in regard to being child bereaved compared to widowhood. There just is really no comparison, even though I deeply loved my college-sweetheart husband.

Appropriately, today's church sermon was about Jesus turning water into wine.  The upside of severe suffering is that we have the potential after recovery, to become more sensitive to the slightest nuance of joyfulness. After undergoing child bereavement, we bereaved mothers can joyously look forward to Reunion, and restoration of our children; our very lives. Something as inconceivable in the beginning of our grief, as Someone turning water into wine. Soldier on!   Donna 

33rd ANNIVERSARY

Shortly it'll be 33 years ago that the fatal accident took place. 33 years is purportedly how old Jesus was when He died. 33 years from His birth to His death; an entire earthly lifetime. That's a very long time to be counting this anniversary date.

The pain of sudden and total loss of my husband, son and daughter has softened to an almost indistinguishable twinge. The pain of coexisting with my second son and our conflicts has taken up that space. The more challenges I endure in this life (and my son endures), the more confirmed I am that my first family is free from all of this suffering. How much more pure can one's soul be than an infant or toddler that's gone straight from cradle to Heaven? How very much capacity they must have within them to receive the utmost outpouring of God's overflowing Love.

It used to bother me that not only did I "lose them" but I lost the earthly boundaries of our relationship status. I used to be their Mom that knew everything and did everything for them. Now they know more than I and have become my superior. The role reversal further established our distinctness, our separateness and our great divide. Most people don't like change. Even if it's for another's good, sometimes.  Over the years I finally realized I needed to let everything go. All my preconceived ideas about what I thought I'd deserved from my Motherhood. All the things that were expected to have taken place and yet were completely ripped away for all time. All earthly time. The grieving experience is a lengthy process of evolution. The end result for me was not to expand though, so much as it was to contract myself and to let God take over every single expectation that I had and let Him make it what He said it should be and will be. Trust has been paramount in all of this conversion process. Change has been hard but has definitely gotten easier the more I have been able to give in to God's way of doing it. His way of doing everything in a perfectly well-thought out plan of execution. Only He knows the final result of all the angst I've been through and I know that when I transition finally and rejoin my family in Paradise, then I'll have those impossible to answer now questions fully answered. I get glimpses here and there of the "why." I have some  painful  "answers" that I've formulated over the years of my own personal growth.

Eventually I'll know but I'm convinced that finally knowing "why" is going to be overshadowed by the joyful reunion with my loved ones. It'll be like trying to tell someone about how incredibly lousy something was, all the while you're walking through Paradise with delights to the left of you and delights to the right of you.  Pain? Agonizing sorrow? What are those compared to ALL of this glory around you and ecstatic highs you're now experiencing? It'll be like tasting the most delicious chocolate cake you've ever tasted; you're delighting in it and somehow whatever was bothering you suddenly is furthest from your mind. Joy has taken its place. Multiply that by a trillion and I think that's what Heaven's going to be like. I'm just not going to care about the whys of the painful details anymore because pain will be no more so I'm not likely to think on it.

We all have much to anticipate and hope for. Don't give up hope! Trust in God Almighty with whom nothing is impossible. And with whom all joy is forthcoming. Michael and Lisa and Tim, I love you and will see you pretty soon. Tell Jesus to get that luscious six-layer chocolate cake ready!

Love You! Mom

"WANTED DEAD OR ALIVE"

"Wanted Dead or Alive," the old song sung by the group Bon Jovi, has made me think closely about that title choice, from the bereaved mom viewpoint. I certainly wanted my children and husband back in any way, shape or form I could have them. Heck, I was ecstatic finding some of Lisa's hair in her old hairbrush one day long ago. But "Dead or Alive" seems to me rather redundant phraseology. Because "dead" refers only to the physical body being dead and not the most important "me" part of us--our soul. That can never die. Our souls are safely held by God in secure, vault-like safety because of His over-reaching Omnipotence:
  
 "I give them eternal life, and they can never perish; no one can snatch them out of my hand. My Father, who has given them to me, is greater than all; no one will snatch them out of the Father's hand."  (John 10:28-29)

There's no room for doubt in what He says there. My husband and children's souls, all our souls, are safe with God. Any matter of destruction may come to us physically, sometimes with resultant  physical death (like with my family) BUT their souls, all souls of the departed are still unscathed and untouched by the errors of humans. Because of God's Omnipotence, nobody can do anything to us unless it is allowed from above. No matter how awful, there's a reason why something bad's been allowed to happen to us or to our loved ones. I've been so relieved these 30 plus years, trusting that God had a reason why my husband, son and daughter all died instantly in a senseless crash . . . and why I survived.

Speaking about "survival," we had a visit by our Presiding Bishop (Episcopal church) who made a comment I thought befitting for us, bereaved parents. Talking about our departing rector and upcoming "change," she said essentially that after a wound, scar tissue will form. But . . . The important thing is . . . "Scar tissue is always tougher than regular skin." 

That's how I feel, that bereaved moms and dads are tough. Constant repetition of our "triggers" causes scar tissue to form over wounded areas. And sensitivity to painful stimuli has been lost in those areas that are now substantially more tough and thick. Amen to that!

We're a tough lot, us bereaved. When I go in for weekly accupuncture treatments, my nurse asks me every time in a monotone voice,  a few routine questions asked all patients,
    
 "Has anyone punched, slapped, hit or otherwise physically hurt you in the past week?"
  
 I guess domestic violence is pretty prevalent, unfortunately. But what about emotional abuse? I've read that can be even worse than physical abuse in a troubled relationship.

As far as I feel, there's no greater emotional pain and heart-stabber than the loss of children; the emotional equivalent of being on Death Row. The ultimate faith-questioner and the greatest potential for spiritual growth due to the extreme flexing of all our resources to cope.

The Bishop said something funny to conclude her sermon last week. I think it's appropriate for bereaved parents facing "change," too.
 
 "Nobody likes change. Except of course, "wet" babies!"

Thankfully, we have a Saviour Who knows all about profound loss and bountiful gain, and how to help us make the best of it.   



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MICHAEL AND NUMBER 36

So many more birthdays have come and gone than the last one I had  with Michael. That one, he turned the big "Two." Today, I'm marking his number 36th in Earth-years. It's mind-boggling to me. Even still, the questions come: "What would he have wanted for his birthday gift?" What would he have even liked that I could make a choice from? His last favorite toy was his Sesame Street themed "Ernie" stuffed toy. Now, at 36 had he still lived on Earth, he would have likely had kids of his own to buy toys for.

Unlike so many, I'm going to break tradition here and say it has gotten easier. Gone are the deep and painful grief stabs at every point. Gone are the questions; "Are they ok?" "Where did they go?" "Will they still remember me?" "Will I always feel this bad?" I still miss them, of course, that just goes with the territory when you truly love someone who's gone for an extended stay. But with age comes familiarity and with familiarity comes a lessening of the surprise attack of shock-like jolts of unrelenting pain that would ease up, only to come back again from yet another newly discovered trigger to my grief.

My son by remarriage has gone through such a troubled life, that I secretly wonder if Michael and Lisa have been spared from the generational effect of my having grown up in a dysfunctional home. Over the years I've grown in my appreciation of the fact that Michael and Lisa have not had to go through the angst of growing up in a world that increasingly shuts God out. Even to the point where there's been talk about  removing "In God We Trust," from our coinage. With so much atrociousness in the world, the fact that Michael and Lisa are safe and secure in Heaven for eternity has grown increasingly comforting to me instead of repugnant. As I've grown and matured, the distance between us all seems less and less. Eventually, that distance will dwindle to nothing, as, God willing, I'm reunited with them when I transition into Paradise. Until then, I (try to) "patiently endure."
 
HAPPY BIRTHDAY DEAREST MICHAEL MOUSE!~ I LOVE YOU (and Lisa and Tim!)   Mom
                                                 

PSALM 137

Part of psalm 137 (NIV verse 4) explains how I feel today.
    
          "How can we sing the songs of the Lord while 
in a foreign land?"

Yesterday in church (Episcopal), it was announced that a long-time parishioner had yet another recurrence of his cancer. This time, things look particularly grim and survival not expected. A collective gasp of sadness and worry emanated from our group.   Myself included.

But then in my mind I countered this sadness with  Jesus' own words:
         
 . . .  "Truly I tell you, today you will be with me in Paradise." 
(NIV Lk 23:43).

 It's not just a coincidence that Jesus was telling this to someone described as a "thief;" one of two thieves ("takers") suffering crucifixion agony alongside Jesus ("a giver.") One had no dying repentance. The other, this so-called "Good Thief" was repentant, asking Jesus to remember Him when He entered His kingdom.

The good thief was no saint, yet he was told by Jesus as directly as possible, that he WOULD be with Him in Paradise right away-- and as a matter of fact, how about "today?" Not after lengthy groveling before a decree is handed down. No begging. No, none of that. "Today."


The Nicene Creed has been around since the 4th century. So the concept of life everlasting with a resurrected body in glory is not some johnny-come-lately idea. In my church we profess the Creed every Sunday without fail. So why do I feel so lousy today? 

I feel, again, like "odd man out" because I never heard anything to counter the negativity associated with this beloved parishioner's imminent death. It was as if we were non-Christians sitting there. My attempts later on to talk of our mutual (is it mutual??) belief that this decorated WWII hero, a pillar of our small church community, will be after death, merely sliding right over to a place of light, joy ("I think it's almost like a party going on up there!") and with Jesus, met with silence. And counters. And frankly, I expect more from my long-time Christian friends. Am I the only one out there that feels almost  a tad of excitement for the desperately ill and suffering ones, soon to transition and be with Jesus in Paradise?

I know, I know,  there's a period (usually quite lengthy ie. particularly with child bereavement) of intense sadness, loss and near-despair. Losing two children and my college sweetheart in an instant taught me that pretty well. But . . . there's a yin to the yang of horrific loss--it's called remembering and believing Luke 23:43 (that verse above) and what the Nicene Creed says about the resurrection of the body and "life" of the world to come.

    (I like the Catholic wording of the last line of the Nicene Creed better: "And I look forward to the resurrection of the dead and the life of the world to come.") (Italics mine).

The Nicene Creed (episcopalchurch.org)

   We believe in one God,
    the Father, the Almighty,
    maker of heaven and earth,
    of all that is, seen and unseen.
We believe in one Lord, Jesus Christ,
    the only Son of God,
    eternally begotten of the Father,
    God from God, Light from Light,
    true God from true God,
    begotten, not made,
    of one Being with the Father.
    Through him all things were made.
    For us and for our salvation
        he came down from heaven:
    by the power of the Holy Spirit
        he became incarnate from the Virgin Mary,
        and was made man.
    For our sake he was crucified under Pontius Pilate;
        he suffered death and was buried.
        On the third day he rose again
            in accordance with the Scriptures;
        he ascended into heaven
            and is seated at the right hand of the Father.
   He will come again in glory to judge the living and the dead,
        and his kingdom will have no end.
We believe in the Holy Spirit, the Lord, the giver of life,
    who proceeds from the Father and the Son.
    With the Father and the Son he is worshiped and glorified.
    He has spoken through the Prophets.
    We believe in one holy catholic and apostolic Church.
    We acknowledge one baptism for the forgiveness of sins.
    We look for the resurrection of the dead,
        and the life of the world to come. Amen.

Peace be with you!
Donna





       




 

ONE QUESTION

"Am I going to feel this miserable for the rest of my life?" That was the question that, after the initial bereavement shock and numbness wore off, I would wake up with and go to bed with and constantly grapple with all day long. How could I go on? How could I face a life of day after day, non-stop bereavement pain? There wasn't anywhere I could hide where "it" wouldn't find me. 

One day, I'd be all steadfast faith; convinced of their eternal joy. Then the next day, my faith would evaporate the second I saw a child that was around my toddler boy or baby girl's age. Or a young guy around my husband's age. My faith was strong enough, all right. Strong until another trigger slammed me down to my knees. Like a wobbling fighter in the ring,  one more good right hook took me down. Very down. But God provided a way out.

They were mother and daughter. (The daughter was near my age.) Both had experienced child bereavement and now both were "mentoring" me after my own bereavement. Only one had Faith that I could survive, though.  The other prayed I'd never wake up from my post-accident surgery, to spare me from what she endured.  It scared me, all the talk I heard around me, from some moms who'd trod the path for so long. How, "The horrible pain never stops!"  "It never gets better!" Scary stuff! What my future would be like?

Don't listen to anyone who is ultimately discrediting God's ability to save you from bereavement's stabbing pain. Even if they've been on the journey a long time and other things they've said have been helpful.  Your path is your own. And you can survive! You can regain a life without constant horror. Give it to God to "fix." Let Him handle it. Then step back. Expect to receive. (Even if it's a teeny-weeny faith-expectation--at least, you're trying!)

I'm glad I decided to follow the example of the mother--not the daughter. Only one of those two led me closer to Jesus and the glimmering of a way out of gloom. I took her hand, weakly trusting He knew the way out. What happened afterward?

 "He brought me out into a spacious place; he rescued me because he delighted in me." (NIV Psalm 18:19).

Don't get all hung up on "Because he delighted in me." It only takes a tiny mustard seed amount of faith to "delight" God. Maybe that's all we can come up with under such intense pain . . . but it's enough to change our world for the better. Peace, Donna

MY BOOK

After 2 years of sporadic at times yet intense work, my book (in print and Kindle version) is finally done and is up on Amazon now. It’s been a labor of “tough love.” I anticipated being able to finish writing this book in the several months hiatus from my library bookstore volunteer job. What people don’t tell first-time writers though, is that you basically, write the same book over and over again as you find your written “voice” and learn new skills as you progress. Which means going back to the beginning again and refreshing your previously written work with your new writing knowledge. Again and again!

After some soul-searching, I decided I would change identifying details out of consideration for the fact that "the impossible" has happened with me, more than one time. Other than names and places, everything else is true. My goal with this book is not to make money, but to somehow, some way help others that are either struggling with bereavement or know someone who is. 

What I learned from writing this book, is a reemphasis of how much God help helped me, and how I’ve changed over the years after my family’s transition into Heaven. Gone (thankfully!) are the long stretches of near-despair; the feeling that they (us!) were “cheated” out of life’s joy, etc. I feel acceptance of God “allowing” their physical death and have complete reassurance in my mind that they are with Jesus in our Father’s heavenly abode. Trusting in God (sometimes akin to leaping  blindfolded into hopefully waiting and open, secure arms) was how I got to this place of peace. Everything I needed was initiated first, by trusting God. He delivered. That's not to say I don't feel sad at times, of course. But I've also learned that I cannot stay in that spot, because I get sucked under like quicksand the longer my feet stay there. I learned I had to reach out my hand for help.

Peace! Donna