Beauty For Ashes

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness." Isaiah 61:3



When you struggle with infertility for five years, give birth to what you consider a miracle baby, and then use birth control deemed as 98.9% effective, the last words you expect to hear from your doctor are "Congratulations! You are pregnant." But this is exactly where I found myself in August.



Our shock soon turned to gratitude and humility, even awe as I pondered the path my life has taken, which is so very different from the map I created for my own life.



Quietly, I have found peace in this precious gift inside of me. For with it comes pure knowledge that life goes on, that my Heavenly Father loves me and knows exactly what I need to take the sting out of my father's death.



So many nights as I lay in bed absorbed in my grief, this baby is the oil of joy for my mourning, the beauty for ashes. I know my dad is ready to go. His suffering is really too great to ask him to stay. I have great peace in knowing that he will soon be free from his pain, able to live and laugh and once again be the strong, charasmatic, happy man I know him to be.



And yet, and yet....I cannot fully comprehend my life without him. I don't know how to begin to fill the void I will feel in his absence. But I do know, this angel baby will come in April, fresh from my father's arms. I know the crater slowly forming in my heart will hurt a bit less as I am enveloped in the sweet spirit of a newborn babe.



I am profoundly grateful for this gift which I didn't even know I needed.

Broken Hearted

Dad, Tony and I at the Hope Gala

When I was a junior in high school, my grandmother, my dad's mother, was suffering from bone cancer. I remember sitting at the kitchen counter studying my biology book trying desperately to memorize all of the bones in the human body. My dad glanced over my shoulder and asked if he could borrow my book. The next day my dad carried my large text book into his mother's oncologists' office and in exasperation asked the doctor to explain exactly which bones were affected by the cancer. The doctor quietly took a highlighter and methodically colored nearly every bone of the pictured skeleton. I think my dad needed a visual to adequately understand his mother's diagnosis.

I find myself in what I imagine to be that same place of shock and disbelief. I thought I was ready. I have known this day was coming for a year and a half, and yet learning that we are at the end of the road treatment-wise has brought a new sense of grief. My dad's cancer is now in his bone marrow, so effectually, the picture of his skeleton can also be colored from head to toe. The beast he has been fighting so diligently, for so long, has at last overcome, despite his best efforts.

The week has been long and there are more emotions than words. So many moments this week and the witnessing of my dad's suffering in his final days, have brought me to my knees.

It was on Tuesday when we met as a family to try to figure out the best care for dad. He, who so rarely shows emotion, choked up on several occassions. Witnessing such vulnerability and humility is heart wrenching. I cried, which upset him. Then I felt guilty for crying. It should be me lifting him up rather than the other way around.

It was on Thursday at the American Cancer Society's Hope Gala where my dad was honored with the Sword of Hope Award. Seeing my dad in a wheelchair for the first time, smiling despite the pain. Watching him insist on walking un-assisted to the podium to accept his award and deliver a charming, witty speech more true to his larger than life character than his frail body portrayed.

It was Sunday witnessing my sweet husband and kind brother administer to him. Jon's tender words of peace and comfort which bore witness to my heart of truths I hold dear. It is watching those promised blessings and tender mercies come to fruition one by one and knowing my Heavenly Father is mindful of him, of me and my entire family.

It is the voicemail message Monday night, left from his hospital bed for Cole, wanting to dissect the Chargers game and celebrate Weddle's interception.

It was on Tuesday watching Miles snuggle with him at the hospital; Miles content to lay with him, Dad stroking his cheeks repeatedly as if to memorize his face.

It was Wednesday, watching the hospital bed be delivered to his home and then helping to bring him home from the hospital. His struggle to walk and to get into his new bed. He wore his sunglasses and neatly pressed golf shirt and shorts. He cracked a joke once he caught his breath, turning our tears to laughter. He is still the same man, but oh how his body betrays him.

It was on Thursday as I held his hand and told him a secret. His blue eyes sparkled and joyful tears leaked onto his cheeks as he winked at me.

It was last night holding the small sobbing shoulders of my twelve year old son as he grieved his beloved grandfather.

Each day brings a new moment of heart break, of remembering, of gratitude. Each day in my grief I feel angel arms around me bolstering me. It is in the meals which magically appear on my kitchen counter, the tender emails, kind phone calls and flowers. It is in the daily phone calls with my mother and each of my brothers and sweet sisters in law. It is in Tony's constant support and care of me. I feel loved. I feel lifted.

"It is imperative to remember He is right there with us as He has always been. When we weep, He and the angels of Heaven weep with us...When suffering, we may in fact be nearer to God than we have been in our entire lives...Bad days come to an end. Faith always triumphs. Heavenly promises are always kept." Jeffrey R. Holland

Even in my heartbreak, I know it is true.

A Beautiful Life

I arrived home this afternoon to a beautiful bouquet of roses from my sweet husband. There they were nestled among the breakfast dishes, the scattered newspaper and crust from my morning toast. We celebrated our anniversary this past weekend in Jackson Hole and yet he still made the effort to make today special.

I put the baby to bed and quickly called my dad to see how his appointment at the pain clinic had gone. His new drug regimen made him particularly loquacious and he had a lot to say. At times I struggled to follow his pattern of thought and even wondered about his lucidity. But then he paused and wished me happy anniversary. "How many years?"

"Fourteen". I replied.

"Jill, you have a beautiful life with Tony. I'm proud of you. I'm proud of all the things you do and have accomplished together. Keep living the way you are."

I hung up the phone and wept. It is very rare for my dad to compliment me, or anyone for that matter. Rarer still for him to tell you he is proud of you. He was raised with the mantra that a pat on the back will spoil you, so it always, always takes me back when he sincerely and openly praises me. Perhaps his words meant more today knowing that I won't be having this same conversation with him next year on my anniversary.

I went to work cleaning the kitchen and making lunch. I visited Tony in his office and told him I wasn't feeling well. He told me to lie down, take a nap, take it easy, we could have leftovers for dinner.

I did just that and quickly found sleep, waking just in time to run the after school carpool.

The leftovers are in the oven now. Tony is out mowing the lawn with Miles close behind. Rachel and Cole are both gone for the evening, absorbed in dance and football practice. The house is quiet, rain slowly beginning to fall outside.

I am overwhelmed in the abundance of my life. Amongst the chaos of children and dishes and laundry to fold, my sweet husband would rather see me take care of myself and get the rest I need than attend to my chores. He happily lets Miles "help" him mow the lawn. He drives my carpool anytime I ask. He listens to me, he loves me, he makes me feel safe. Our life isn't perfect. We have weathered many storms and I know many difficult days are closing in on us. But I know he'll be there. I know he will strengthen me and give 100% on those days when I can only give 5%. I believe in him. I believe in us, and in the life we have created together.

It is a beautiful life.

Day in and day out.

Happy Anniversary to my best friend. Thank you for giving me our beautiful life.

Memories for Miles

A few weeks ago I was heading out the door with Miles to go and sit with my dad while he had chemo. As Tony hugged me goodbye, he suggested I take the camera with me so that I could take some pictures of my dad and Miles, so that we could help Miles remember him. His words tore at my heart as I recognized the validity of his comment. We seem to have come to a point where we need to do and say those things which will comfort us after his passing.

Reluctantly, I slipped the camera in my purse.

I arrived at the infusion lab and quickly scanned the room for dad. I wheeled the stroller clear to the end of the room trying to find him and turned around to re-trace my steps. A kind nurse who recognized me, silently pointed me in the right direction. Dad was there, quietly sleeping. I took a moment to regain my composure as I realized that it was in fact him. I didn't recognize the thin, pale, gray man as my father. I had walked right past him.

I watched him sleep for awhile and witnessed occassional slow tears leak from the corners of his eyes, tears born of pain I'm sure. Next to me in the stroller, Miles also lay sleeping, rosy cheeked and pudgy legged. I found it difficult to comprehend these two that I love so much: One preparing to leave this world, and one just discovering all that this world has to offer. The contrast was stark. It left me shaken, and perhaps for the first time I felt the urgency, the reality of my dad's diagnosis.

Later that night I went searching for pictures of my dad with Miles. This is the only picture I have of the two of them together. Just one picture taken a month after Miles was born and one month before my dad was diagnosed. It saddens me that this may be the only picture I ever get of Miles with his grandpa. There are not many days when dad feels well enough or looks well enough to want to be in front of the camera. I wished I had recorded more of the time they have spent together.

The next week I was responsible for getting dad to chemo. Miles woke up just in time to walk into the hospital with us. We waited with dad for almost two hours before he started his infusion. I was so grateful for that time. Dad was relatively comfortable having taken pain meds before we left the house, and Miles was, in a word, delightful.

Miles, I may not have many pictures of you with your grandpa Bill, but the memory of that day is forever ingrained on my heart. As we sat waiting to see the doctor, you shared your pretzels one by one with grandpa. Usually you would take a bite of each one before giving it to him...but you shared nonetheless. You offered up your sippy cup as well, but grandpa refused. Grandpa and I laughed as you emptied an entire box of kleenex in the waiting room. Something I normally wouldn't have let you do...but grandpa was getting such pleasure in watching your curiousity.

When it came time to start grandpa's IV, the nurse had a hard time finding a vein. You kept pointing at your arm and saying "Ow" and making the sign for hurt. When it was finally over, you climbed up on grandpa's lap and kissed his arm better, again signing "hurt". Grandpa lay back in the recliner and had a hard time seeing you. You stood at the foot of the chair playing with his shoes. He opened up his feet to get a better look at you and you instantly said "boo". A game was born and the two of you played peek a boo for a few minutes. I told you to kiss him and hug him goodbye, which you did without hesitation.

We left him to rest and I chased you all the way to the elevator, so grateful for your happy spirit and the opportunity you had to brighten up a normally dreary day for your grandpa. You will not remember this day. You probably won't even remember your grandpa. But I will remember and I know your grandpa will remember. Thank you for shining so bright my darling boy.

The Last

My friend Courtney recently had her first baby after a five year struggle with infertility. She wrote a very poignant post where she describes knowing that her baby would come. It got me thinking to how I knew as well. I cannot proclaim the same type of faith that Courtney possessed. Many times I lost hope amidst storms of frustration and doubt. But I still knew. I knew this little brown eyed boy would eventually find his way to my arms. I didn't know how he would come to join our family, I just knew that he was coming at some point. Many times this impression I had held hope for me when I had none.

Every now and then I will catch a certain glimpse of that boy in Miles; his eyes or his smile will seem familiar in a way I cannot adequately describe. Mostly though, Miles offers me a sense of peace I did not have before he was born. I often wonder if his birth was pre-ordained for this very specific time in my life. He has brought immeasurable joy to my heart. Many days I find great comfort in the miracle of his birth. He brings a calm assurance that prayers are indeed answered, that my Heavenly Father loves me beyond measure and that trials can be endured.

It isn't that I love Miles more than any of my other children, ....but somehow I am constantly and keenly aware of what a blessing he is to me. I cherish these short days of his babyhood knowing all too well how fast he will grow. Here are 25 things I want to remember about Miles right now:

1) He prefers Tony over anyone. 2) Each morning when I bring him into our bed, if Tony isn't there he says "Da Bok" and signs Bike. Smart little boys that knows his daddy is usually on his bike. 3) He still has his bottle...because he's my baby. 4) He loves all types of fruit..especially strawberries and grapes. 5) The way he sleeps on his stomach with his legs tucked underneath him and his butt in the air. 6) The way he runs everywhere he goes. 7) How he cries whenever his siblings leave the house...he misses them. 8) How he loves my make-up...particularly lip gloss. 9) He signs more, thank you, please, bike, ball, throw, dance, milk, thirsty, imagination, dirty, clean, hurt, car, train, shoes, socks, and get dressed. 10) He says more, Cole, Da(d), Coke, show, hot, hurt, ow, wow, car, shirt, shoes, ba ba (bottle), ball and bok (bike). 11) He likes to flirt and will often cast a sidewards glance at me with his big brown eyes. 12) He loves the water..shower, tub, pool. 13) He loves to play in Daddy's office (poor Tony). 14) He gives high fives, pounds, great hugs and wet kisses on demand. 15) He loves to go...always happy to get in the car and leave. 16) He will NOT sit in his high chair and prefers to eat standing up. 17) He prefers Diet Coke over Sprite...no comment. 18) He has thrown up more in his 20 months of life then my other two children in their combined 20 years of life. 19) He loves to brush his teeth and comb his hair. 20) His favorite show is Signing Time...we are constantly renewing it from the library. I need to just break down and buy it already. 21) He prefers peanut M&M's over plain..hmm. 22) He has discovered how to escape out the front door...even when it's locked. 23) He hides all kind of things in our shutters...toys, beaters, bottles, utensils. 24) He likes to wear everyone's shoes...but hates to wear his own. 25) Right now, at this moment in time, he is my constant companion.

Love this boy. So lucky he belongs to me.

The Second

Rachel and I spent the last three days up in Park City so she could attend Dance Attack which is a dance convention put on by her dance studio. This year her instructors included Nick Lazzarini, Travis Wall, Cameron Binks and Sabra Johnson from So You Think You Can Dance. Being among these dance stars made three long days of dance seem not so grueling. Rachel had a blast and mastered some very difficult choreography. I was proud of her and ecstatic when she won a $275 scholarship for next years' Dance Attack. Rachel has more talent in her pinky finger than I have in my entire body. She never ceases to amaze me, this child of mine. I texted Tony and told him the news, exclaiming how proud of Rachel I was. His response: "Just remember that the next time you want to beat her." Rachel is the most tenacious little person I have ever encountered. This determination helps her succeed, but also makes her difficult at times....her will is so much stronger than mine. She tests me, this one....but oh how she teaches me.

So this is for you, my lovely dream daughter, 25 things I want to remember about you right now:

1. Each night you complain that it's not fair that you have to sleep alone while Daddy and I get to have a sleepover every night. 2. At eight years old you weigh a whopping 35 pounds. 3. You LOVE chocolate. 4. You set goals and you reach them...often. 5. You're messy, but organized. 6. You HATE being late. 7. You're my best eater. 8. I never have to ask you to do your homework. Never. 9. You require very little sleep...much to my chagrin. 10. Your favorite treat is to get a pedicure with mom or grams. 11. Two summer goals accomplished: Back Tuck and Front Aerial. 12. You're working hard to perfect your triple pirouette. 13. You have enough confidence to call Corbin Bleu on his cell phone and chat him up. 14. You love to bathe with Miles. 15. You are always up for a bike ride with Daddy. 16. You eat a bowl of ice cream every night. 17. You have a tender heart. Last week when I was shedding a few tears about Grandpa you asked me if I wanted to talk about it with you. 18. You can do this weird stomach roll thing. 19. You are happiest when you are busy...you don't like a lot of down time. 20. You always volunteer to shuck the corn and to lick the beaters. 21. You worry more than an eight year old should. 22. Before you make a phone call or leave a message, you practice what you are going to say. 23. You are constantly, constantly in motion...dancing, tumbling, twirling, talking. 24. You like to fall asleep in my bed (see #1 above). 25. Right now, at this moment, you are my most independent child.

So much to love in such a small package.

Thanks for teaching me how to be your mom Miss Rachel.

XOXOX

Momma

The First

On Wednesday, I woke up at 5 am to drive Cole to Scout Camp in Franklin, Idaho. Both of us had gone to bed very late the night before and neither of us had slept very well. I expected him to be grouchy as I woke him in the pre-dawn darkness. But as I went downstairs I found him up and showering. He quickly fell asleep once we were on the road and I was left to my own devices for entertainment on the two and a half hour drive.

Much to my delight, he woke up when we hit Logan, just in time to share breakfast at McDonalds and a Diet Coke.

It isn't often when I get two hours of pure peace and quiet to myself, alone with my own thoughts and the time to actually process and organize my feelings. I honestly didn't mind the long drive, but I was surprised at how happy I was to have Cole's company once he woke up and climbed into the front seat.

He chatted on and on about his recent experience at lacrosse camp. He cracked a few jokes and marveled at how beautiful our surroundings were. Just as we pulled into camp he said "Mom, we need to go on a road trip. Just you and I". And honestly, there is nothing I would like better than more alone time with Cole in the car. I count this boy as one of my closest friends. I have missed him this week. A LOT.

In those hours before he woke up, my thoughts were consumed with each of my three children: their personalities, their unique needs and talents, their challenges and how I could better mother each of them. Moreso, I was struck with how blessed I feel to be their mother. I probably blog too much about my children. But the truth is I feel so honored to be a mother. I appreciate it so much more for having struggled to become pregnant with Miles. But particularly, I know it is their tender spirits which are carrying me through. How I love them. As I counted the miles, I also counted so many things I adore about each of my children right now, at this moment in time. So here it is...25 things I want to remember about Cole:


1. Your tender concern for your cousin Riley. 2. The way you include Miles. 3. You love popcorn with extra salt. 4. You invited a boy to eat lunch with you at Golf camp when you noticed he was all alone. 5. The way you celebrate on the field when you score a goal. 6. The way you call dad Fasja. 6. The way you lolligag in the morning...too busy listening to music to get ready. 7. How you still sleep with a stuffed animal or two. 8. Constantly changing the radio station while we are in the car. 9. How you ask permission to swear on occassion. 10. Taking the higher road in scouting...showing integrity, even though it wasn't the easy way out. 11. Showing kindness and concern for your grams. 12. Telling me I look hot everytime I wear heels. 13. You are easily the most affectionate member of our family. 14. You're razor sharp quick wit. 15. The way you need your down time, your personal space...so much like your mama. 16. You drink soda straight from the can...even if it's warm (yuck). 17. How you love, love, love onion rings from Apollo Burger. 18. Telling girls "I'm done talking now." when you want to get off the phone (it makes me laugh, but we probably ought to work on that one.) 19. You always notice when I get my hair done. 20. You don't complain about working in the yard with dad. 21. You always wake up happy and still want to be tucked in at night. 22. You have a strong moral compass...always have, hope you always will. 23. You love to crawl into my bed and watch Jon and Kate plus Eight. 24. Golf is your new passion this summer. 25. Right now, at this moment in time, you are my easiest child.

I lubba lubba lubba you Coley.

Blank Pages

It happened again today. I was talking to a friend this morning and she mentioned to me that an acquaintance of ours had stumbled upon my blog and had called my friend to see how I was doing. It felt weird. Not weird because someone I know is reading my blog, but weird because I never know just who is out there reading my blog. After all, there is a lot of personal stuff on my blog. It's happened other times as well...people at my church will tell me they read my blog or someone will ask about something that I wrote about. It always makes me stop for a minute and catch my breath. Certainly I don't know everyone who reads my blog and that's okay. But sometimes, I admit, I wish I knew my audience better, I wish I knew who is quietly, anonymously, reading my story. I wish those people who read would just leave a comment, de-lurk or something. It's the not knowing that I guess gets to me a little bit.

I've often thought about taking my blog private, but that doesn't feel right either. I have made some amazing friends through the blog world and have been touched by so many other blogs that I read, that I feel selfish in not sharing my journey.

Which brings me to this day. I have so many thoughts whirling around in my head. So many words dancing in my brain begging for a place of permanence on paper. And yet...I hesitate. Maybe it's because I don't know who is out there reading my words. Perhaps it is because I don't want my blog to be all gloom and doom as my life is certainly filled with happiness and the perfect brightness of hope. Sometimes, the simple truth is that it's too painful to write it all out.

I have read the Twilight series by Stephanie Meyer and while I don't think I ever truly understood the mania surrounding those books, there was one moment, in my opinion, of pure literary genious. In the second book, when Bella and Edward broke up, Meyer strategically left several blank pages in the book. I remember smiling as I turned the pages. The feeling of shock, of having no words, felt so familiar to me.

Lately, I have had several weeks of blank pages. Many days of worry and wonder that did not, could not, transcribe themselves accurately into words. But I have also had many many moments of joy this summer and for that I am most grateful.

So I will continue to write my story. It isn't always a pretty picture and sometimes I hesitate to let it all hang out. Writing is therapeutic to me. It helps me remember all that I have in my life that is brilliant and pure and good. So if you're out there, let me know. Drop me a line. I know I have many dark days ahead and I imagine I will weather them a bit easier knowing I have the love and support of all of you, friends and strangers alike.

Just as Pretty on the Inside

For the past three months we have been in a High School Musical frenzy around our house. My darling niece Haylee was chosen as one of the principal dancers in the film to be released this fall.

We have all had the priviledge of being on set to watch filming, eating dinner at my brother's house with all of the HSM3 stars and getting an up close and personal view into not only the nuances of filming, but the day to day drama of being on a movie set.

I have adored Haylee from the moment she was born as hers was the first birth I ever witnessed. I love having her in my home twice a week, visiting with her over lunch before she drives Rachel to dance for me. I have been amazed at her grace and uncommon maturity as she has dealt with this opportunity. This has been an amazing experience for her and yet she remains the kindest, sweetest, most humble dancer I know......just as pretty on the inside as she is on the outside.

We love you Hay-Hay, and we're oh so very proud.

To read more about Haylee's High School Musical Experience, click here.

Ah...Kiawah

While I love, love, love traveling with my family, I have found that adjusting to real life has been a bit more difficult that last few times we have gone away. The re-entry is rough, and I find myself dragging as I try to play catch up.

We have been home for about ten days and have not stopped since the airplane landed. The kids had one final week of school to get through, Cole was involved in a lacrosse tournament in Park City, I had to fill in for a few days at my old office helping an old colleague who is battling breast cancer, not to mention bills to pay, laundry to finish, and celebrating Father's Day. We were home an entire week before I actually had time to go to the grocery store and take a deep breath.


But oh, what a time we had. I have never seen such a beautiful place, so green and lush. Our family stayed in two southern style mansions complete with front porch swings and french doors. Our homes bordered both the golf course and the beach. I felt like I was living in the pages of Southern Living.


While I could devote an entire post writing a travelogue about the beautiful beaches, golf courses, dolpin cruises, gator sitings and warm waters of the Atlantic ocean, I have two memories of this trip emblazoned on my heart.


Kiawah Island has over thirty miles of bike trails begging for exploration. We all rented bikes...including a very sturdy tricycle for my mother and a baby buggy for Mr. Miles. The second morning of our trip we all headed out for a bike ride. I stayed at the back of the pack enjoying watching most of my entire family delight in the company of one another, young and old alike. We watched for gators, heard the trill of red cardinals, laughed and raced and were in awe at the beauty surrounding us.


On our last night on the Island, sunset found all of us at the beach. My brother Mike was in the ocean, fully clothed, boogie boarding with Rachel and my little niece, Emily. My brother Brian, nude except for his undies, was skim boarding with Cole and his Cousins. Tony and my brother Jon were playing football with a few of the boys. Christee was helping Miles collect shells. The beach was practically deserted and we had miles and miles of sand all to ourselves. I don't know if it was the light cast by the setting sun, or the laughter carried on the gentle breeze. It may have been the calm lapping of the waves against my toes or breathing in the warm sea air. I don't know what it was really, other than for the first time in a really long time, I felt peaceful.


I felt hopeful and calm, and remarkably, I felt the healing begin. I felt profoundly grateful for each of the 17 people on that trip with me, and for the three nieces and one nephew who couldn't come with us. I have an amazing family. Still.


Thanks mom, for the reminder, for each of my three brothers and for working so hard to make us each feel so loved. I love you!