Monday, August 1

Flowers yet to grow

Today was the ultimate fresh start. A new month, beginning on a Monday morning. You know how much of a sucker I am for days like this. I woke up this morning and breathed in little goals and dreams like air. Lately, I have adopted so many different rituals and routines to help me feel in control even a tiny bit, and the kids have loved picking new traditions and having some structure in our day-to-day, a little at a time. I know that keeping my mind and body as active as I can since his passing has helped and is helping keep me grounded and distracted all at once, and the way I see it the more things I can fit into our life right now that does that, and that brings us closer together and make us all happier, the better.

So today I'm trying to begin, if even a tiny bit. New beliefs in myself and my abilities, new patterns of thought, new little lists of projects and activities. As I've said before, at the end of the day I still have to keep going for my little kiddies. I literally am forced to get out of bed every day by 5 voices calling for me, for breakfast, or help getting their shirt on, etc. This month though, today, I took lots of deep breaths and thought about all the things we have ahead. There is still so much more ahead. So if I can help it, our August will be full of much more.

More evening bike rides after dinner,
more baking together in the kitchen,
more reading on the hammock,
more road trips together,
more blanket forts,
more dress-up,
more writing,
more roasting hotdogs,
more cartoon snuggles on moms bed,
more singing Adele at the top of our lungs,
more sunsets on the roof (just me:)),
more running in the garage(also just me),
more hikes in the woods,
more adventures,
more creating,
more exploring,
more dreaming,
more healing,
more hoping,
more love.

There's a quote by Gaby Compr├ęs that I shared on my Instagram that says:
"There are stars you haven't seen and loves you haven't loved. There's light you haven't felt and sunrises yet to dawn. There are dreams you haven't dreamt, and days you haven't lived, and nights you won't forget, and flowers yet to grow. And there is more to you that you have yet to know."

I do feel hopeful today, so I'm writing this while that feeling lasts.
I feel like our future is brighter than the darkness that follows me constantly. I wish I could explain what a huge role you play in that hope, and that such a large part of my often positive attitude is always attributed to the constant encouragement flowing my way from you friends, truly. I need you to know that.

In wrapping up tonight I have to apologize for how jumbled I feel all of my thoughts are lately, I just have so much on my mind and it's hard to find the right words. I look forward to sharing the new traditions, routines and things that have been working well for myself and the kiddies here with you sometime.


Wednesday, July 27

a fallen tree

The babes are all asleep and the house is quiet. The only sounds I hear are the crickets outside the open window, and the clicking of the keys beneath my fingertips. I imagined starting this post with some bullet points about what I've been up to with my little ones lately, with maybe a couple photos out of my archives added in, but that'll all have to come another day. Tonight I have a couple thoughts instead.

There's a great philosophical question to the effect of; "If a tree falls in the woods with no one around to hear it, does it even make a sound?" It's a question about observation and our knowledge of reality if there is no witness to it. Since my sweethearts passing(six weeks ago today), one of my greatest struggles has been feeling like that fallen tree. Wondering to myself that 'if the most important witness to my life is gone, and I'm on my own as a mother to so many small children, what does any of it matter? and do I even matter?'
I know the right answer to those questions of course, and feel silly even typing them, but with each busy day and quiet night, every time I reach for a hand that's no longer there, and every morning waking from sweet dreams only to have my new reality come rushing back at me all over again, I can't help but feel that way.

I do have five little witnesses, though, and they don't let me forget it for a minute:) In their sweet innocence, they see when I'm exhausted and when I put in effort. They notice when I smile and when I cry, they thank me for cooking, and compliment me when I do my hair. It's not quite the same of course, but I'm adjusting all the time. I have to.

Mothering is my life now, my purpose, and that's enough for me.

They need me, and I need them more. No matter how crippled I may feel by Martin's absence, or when I feel like giving up, they've always there to keep me grounded. They've gotten me through so much already. I'm doing it for them, because even when I may have feelings of meaninglessness, they mean everything to me. They're my whole life now, my little pile of children. They hear when I fall, and they're right there to help me back up, along with all of you dears out there:)

How lucky I am.

P.S. Thank you so much for encouraging me to share what's on my heart, and I hope you're okay with many more late-night thoughts like this moving forward. xoxo

Tuesday, June 28

Daddy's Special Day

It was a week ago today. Two days after Father's day, nearly a week after he'd passed. A week that was full of meeting with the funeral director, choosing flowers, ordering a casket, endless phone calls, picking out music, typing up the program, sorting through thousands and thousands of photos that told the story of our love and life together. My sweetheart. So much heartache, so many mixed emotions. It still doesn't feel real.
Much love to my dear friends Tracy Layne and Justin Hackworth for taking beautiful photos on the day, that my children and I will keep close to our hearts forever. I'm sharing a few from Tracy today to honor the anniversary, to help me accept a bit more, and to encourage you to hold onto your loved ones a bit tighter. 
If you're not in the mood for a heavy picture story, or if you feel uncomfortable viewing and reading more details of my husband's funeral, feel free to click away, but please come back later. ♡ 

Thank heaven for me sweet children. Just as they have kept me smiling every day through the hardest months of my life, trying to put our situation into words that they can understand has helped me understand it more myself.

Trying to explain to my little 6-year-old Ellie that everyone we loved was going to get together for a special day for daddy, that there was going to be lots of hugs and tears because we all missed him so much, helped me prepare for it myself.
Telling my innocent 5-year-old Sophie that we were going to be seeing daddy's body for the last time, that it was okay to be sad for ourselves but that we should be happy for daddy, helped me to acknowledge those things as well.
Finding the words for John, my 4-year-old, that daddy's body was in that beautiful box, that it would keep his body safe in the ground, and that he wasn't sick or hurting anymore, helped me to accept those things a bit more too.
And telling my sweet 2-year-old Lydia, to say "goodbye daddy, see you soon." while we laid our hands on Martin's casket, solidified in my mind a beautiful picture of our family all together again one day, and I could close my eyes and almost feel his warmth and hear their sweet giggles.

It doesn't matter what you believe in, but at the end of all things life is so precious, people are important, and what matters the most is love. Telling my sweet children that I know, that the love they have for their dad, and the incredible love that he has for them is strong enough to keep them connected forever and ever, and that they'll see him again one day... That's the only thing that can make them smile again, and give them hope to keep going.

And telling them that every day helps me to hope too, and to smile, and to keep going.

I miss you so much, Martin.

Thursday, June 16

Goodbye My Love


Yesterday morning while the sun was shining, I held Martin's hand as he took his last breath and slipped quietly into eternity. The heartbreak I feel is far more crippling than I ever imagined, but more powerful still is the happiness from knowing he has finally found peace from his pain, that he's walking with angels, and that we will be together again one day.

'But they that wait upon the lord shall renew their strength; they shall mount up with wings as eagles; they shall run, and not be weary; and they shall walk, and not faint.' - Isaiah 40:31

Until we meet again, I miss you my sweetheart.