Silence-

I've stayed silent for quite a while now.  Losing "my words" has been incredibly challenging-the silence sitting in my soul, my thoughts jumbled and foggy.  I've shut out the world at large, much preferring to hide in my cozy little house than put my "face" on when I have to leave it.  I had the urge to write this morning-then found that once again, "my words" fled before I could put them to paper.  So I went back and read this post that I'd never published and I realized that these words are the ones I still need to say.  6 months ago, when I wrote them, I needed to say them then, and I still need to say them now.  Maybe saying them will begin to break the bondage that I feel so trapped in.  Before I share those words, I have to say this-

Grief is individual, it is personal, and it is selfish.
I am selfish.  Selfishly heartbroken, insanely jealous of every person I know who hasn't lost a child, envious beyond words of new babies, new adoptions, bigger families and people who don't have traumatized children.  
I am selfish because I can't always look outside the fragile bubble of our minute to minute roller coaster existence, a bubble that gets popped by the dullest of pokes, by the slightest memory and the continual realization that my children's grief and tragedy is shaping and will shape who they are and will become.  
I am selfish because the seething anger at my circumstances that lies beneath the surface every moment of my day feels like a prison.  one that I'm not sure I can ever be paroled from.   
I am selfish because I don't want platitudes or minimization of what we deal with every day.  
Grief is selfish. 

And it is fundamentally redefining who I am...

(I wrote this in June, not long 1 year had passed since the accident date-)

I look in the mirror so often and am constantly surprised to see the same face staring back, the same exact one I had before the accident.  Tucked somewhere in a quiet corner of mind was the assumption that I'd look different.  This face couldn't possibly belong to this me, now the mother of dead children.  This face had belonged to a different woman, one who woke up every day believing she would have the future she planned.

Recently I came to the realization that this past year hasn't just been about grieving the loss of Mercy & Sam-it's grieving our home, our life, my identity, MY innocence, our future, the relationships that have been destroyed, the dynamics of life that changed beyond what I ever thought possible and, of the most consequence, the loss of the innocence of my surviving children.  

So often, I find myself telling complete strangers our story, of Mercy and Sam and the time since.  Of the incredible and countless times God has made a way in the wilderness of grief.  I wonder if it's weird.  If I'm trying to find my new identity and this feels like the only way people can know me now.  I used to be that crazy mom of 5 who'd haul them anywhere, now I'm that lady whose kids died.  And I'm not sure I know how to be anything else.  Does it make them squirm inside?  Is my husband embarrassed by this oversharing ghost of the wife who used to make people laugh and now she makes them cry, or look away, or awkwardly change the subject?

Or does sharing the grace of God in the midst of 

tragedy somehow, someway, touch even just one 

unsaved or struggling soul?  

Frustratingly,  I struggle with seeming to write the same thing over and over...that the sadness of my soul feels too much to bear and I can't find other words.  Other words that will show you the provisions God made from the very beginning of my life and in the lives of my husband, my children and those who love us.    

I want those other words tell you My Story...

It's not just my story, though.  It's a narrative woven of innumerable strands- I could search for the rest of my life and never find every single one.  

I have to try, though.  I have to tell you My Story.

It's my greatest hope, my most fervent prayer and my offering to a God who is immeasurably greater than we know. 

If I show you, if I tell you, will you believe it?  Or will you think I'm just nuts?  Sometimes even I think I'm nuts.    The trust it takes to look back and see, to know and to understand the vast love of a Creator who covered and covers our family in His protection and provision in the midst of our greatest tragedy is mind boggling and quite frankly, seems a bit crazy even to ME.  

I found a journal a few days ago, a tiny and precious collection of memories that I started when Charles was deployed.  In it were moments, rare snippets of time that I recorded for the husband so far away.  And honestly, for myself.  I was always so scared, so filled with fear that I wouldn't remember enough, I wouldn't be able to keep their "littleness" alive in my memory...

and there were only 5 pages-5 priceless pages.  The desperate unfairness of it all washed over me, burying my heart in a fresh wave of grief that took my breath away.  

Dammit-that happens a lot lately.  Those waves of grief that hit me in the gut like a sucker punch.  Maybe it's because a door has been closed, or rather slammed shut, that finally released the dam.  The crack in that door was open just enough for me to have hope that what I believed was someone else's "truth" was just my own perception.   

Maybe it's words that were so hurtful, so powerful, and incredibly cruel at a time when we are most vulnerable.  That old adage about sticks and stones breaking bones, but words will never hurt me?  I call BS on that one.  WORDS are powerful, and they can be flaming arrows to the heart or they can be a balm to broken soul.  We've been pierced by some pretty hot arrows and have been on the receiving end of an accusation that is the single most hurtful thing ever said to Charles and me.  

It could very well be that the last of the shock has worn off...

Or, and this is my most confident assumption, I guess it could be that the clear and present reality of no more "firsts" and a future life of gazing on images of children who will never grow up has settled like concrete in my stomach.  

I'd venture to say it's probably every one of those things, and a million more I can't even find words for.  

What happens to a person when the dreams they have lived for, the life built, the future imagined- when all of that comes crashing down in an instant?  

Doubt-soul crushing, faith blasting, fear mongering DOUBT.   

of Yourself. 

Your spouse.

God. 

Everyone and everything you've ever known.  

The ability of your faith to carry you. 

The strength of God to pull you through. 

Pretty much every decision that got you to the point of impact.  

The doubt becomes that proverbial fork in the road.
But the choice isn't as simple as it would seem.  It's not a choice made "one and done." It's a constant and exhausting battle-living in the pit or hoping for a redeemed future.    

In all honesty, a lot of the time I do want to live that bloody pit.  The thought of a future redeemed is so foreign, seems so improbable, feels just SO WRONG.  Because it feels like a betrayal of the love of my children.  I can't explain it, I can't justify it and I don't know why, but it truly feels like I'm failing them in death just like I failed to protect them in life.  

And it's just so stupid.  I didn't fail to protect them.  I loved them, I cherished them and my entire life revolved around being their Mama.  I guess I just haven't figured out how to be a parent to living children and dead ones at the same time, so in some ways it's easier to teeter at the edge of the pit than acknowledge that an earthly life without Mercy and Sam could be redeemed.  

This morning, I found myself sobbing in front of the computer as I read Ann Voskamp's adoption story at A Holy Experience-her words revived in me the call my heart has felt for adoption for 13 years.  And once again, I found myself grieving-for the dream that I'm so scared of now.  For the fear of opening my heart to take a chance and for the children I may never know because the shrapnel of the past is launching itself into the future of my family.  

I don't spend my days wailing and sobbing, and laughter often passes my lips.  I don't languish in my bed, clutching a photo of the children lost to the world while clinging precariously to memories of a cherished life now shredded into pieces.  At least not very often.

I'd be a liar if I said I didn't have those moments, if I was able to stuff it all the time, if putting on a face was easy.  

I do have them.   There are times, in the quiet of a house filled with no children and sometimes, no husband, I completely lose my sh*t.  I yell at God, yell at myself, scream at the injustice of it all.  I throw stuff and I go through an entire box of tissues.  I clutch pillow pets or stuffed animals, I try to smell clothes that have long since stopped carrying their scent.  

And then I dry my tears.  

Wash my face. 

Pick up the mess. 

And ask God to forgive me all over again.  And hold me up.  And give me His love and mercy.  And fill me with a peace that surpasses all understanding.

My prayer is this- the time that is my enemy will become my friend, laid out before me in a tapestry of moments in which to fulfill God's purpose in my life and the life of my family.  I pray the dreams and plans God placed on my heart so many years ago will someday come alive again.  My deepest wish and heart's desire is to have a story to tell you that will be filled with the provision of God's grace, redemption, new life and a love that transcends all understanding.  

not my story.
HIS Story. 

Please, precious friends, pray for me.  So desperately I want to share all that God has done in and through the people who have loved and lifted us during this tragedy.  Pray that those words are the ones that break through and fly from my heart into the world.  

By His Grace,
tiff 

So, it's my birthday.

And this morning, I just wanted to remember what it felt like that last year before the accident.  How precious, how adored, how loved I felt by each one of my children.  How wonderful it felt to wake up to smiling faces, happy birthday shouts from my little people, flowers on the counter, birthday presents piled high in the living room and anxious requests for me to "open your presents, Mommy!" And it wasn't about the presents, or the flowers, or the cards.  It was all about the 5 little smiling faces and the love they showered me with from the minute I stepped out of my bed.
Last year, we were so shell shocked that we spent my birthday driving to Maryland to get away for a few days and celebrate Eva's birthday with my family.  And I pretended like it didn't even exist.  Which was purely selfish on my part, since my kids wanted me to be excited just like they always are on birthdays.
But I simply couldn't wrap my brain around how to celebrate anything, let alone my birthday, without all my "gifts" surrounding me.
Because that is what my children were and are.  The most precious, cherished, honored, and incredible gifts I ever received.
And celebrating anything without ALL of them seems just so wrong.
But it's not. I know, somewhere in my rational mind, it's not.  I just wish the rational and irrational parts of my mind would stop fighting like twin 2 year olds over a bag of M & M's.

There's so much I don't remember anymore.  My brain seems intent on shutting out both the happy and the sad in some feeble attempt to keep my sanity.  Because that's what a daily battle with this grief is-it's a battle for my heart, my mind, my sanity, and my very soul.

Today, as much as I want to crawl into a hole and hide, away from the light and the reminders of how I still grow older but Mercy and Sam don't, I won't.

I've hidden from the light so much in the last 6 months, desperately seeking respite from the hurt and holes in my heart.

So I'm going to try hard, so very hard, to see the light, see the joy and feel blessed.  And for that I need you, ALL of you.  I need your prayers, your intercessions to the God who sees, who knows and who hears.  Please pray, for not just me, but especially for Charles, for Eva, Charley and Max.  The gifts who are still here with me, who need me, who love me and who look to me to learn how to survive life with THIS past, present, and future.

Can you do what I simply cannot right now?
For my birthday, will you gift my family with your prayers?  It is the most precious and fragrant offering-and I hope, will remind me of the grace, sovereignty and beauty of a God who will redeem this pain and restore the hope my family so desperately needs.

Return to your rest, my soul, for the Lord has been good to you.  

                                                                                                           Proverbs 116:7

By His Grace only and always,
clan mac mama

Dear Ella's mom & dad,

you'll probably never know the priceless and precious gift you gave me today when you shared sweet Ella with me.
You'll probably spend a few minutes talking about me and wondering why I got all teary-eyed when you handed her to me and I felt the soft weight of her cuddly little body.
You might be a bit intrigued as to why I'd go to the trouble of taking my earrings & glasses off just to hold an itty-bitty girl in a rugged and cozy hometown market.
As you leave, perhaps you'll smile a bit at the memory, then head off to your home filled with baby snuggles, precious laughter and a wee bit of a girl who was the personification of God's grace and light to a broken hearted mama on a sorrowful Sunday afternoon.
What I wish I could tell you is how it took my breath away to see her reach for me, to light up the room as she smiled, and to have a few of the holes in my soul filled to overflowing by the innocence of a young spirit so willing to let me love her.

Every single day... 
Searching, seeking, I'm desperate to sense their nearness.

And He blesses me-

A striking chirp of a cardinal calling,
the gentle flutter of a soaring butterfly,
crashing waves on a sandy shore,
rolling thunder amidst a storm,
murmuring wind and rustling leaves,
tinkling laughter of a tiny little voice...
and the velvety touch of a pure and virtuous soul.

Ella's mom and dad-
Today you returned to me a precious piece of my soul.  In sharing Ella, you gave salve to a gaping, grieving wound and began to wash it clean.  To simply say Thank You isn't enough.  I could give you a million reasons why it's not enough, but there is only one that matters.

Your child, your "different" child, was Christ radiating His light right into that room, and the love that filled each of your eyes as you held her, gazed at her and shared her was simply majestic to behold.

Ella-
You are absolutely perfect in His sight.  And you are more than perfect in mine.  I wish that I could wrap you in a bubble and keep you from a world that demands unrealistic flawlessness.  I only held you for a moment and I would stand in front of a speeding train to keep the world from hurting you, so I can only imagine how much your mommy and daddy love you.  And for just one moment today, I felt the unconditional love of my sweet babies pour from your pure heart as it did from theirs.

Every day, I'll pray for you and Mommy and Daddy, Ella.  I'll thank God for you, I'll hold out hope with a little corner of my heart- that someday I'll get to snuggle you for just a moment again and tell you how perfect I think you are. I'll whisper in your ear how much better the world is with you in it.  And I'll tell your Mommy and Daddy how beholden I am to them for letting me have just a moment with you.

Jesus loves you Ella, this I know, for the Bible tells me so.
And I do too.

love,
clan mac mama

It's kind of like expecting a deaf person...

to understand sound.
A color blind person to grasp what a rainbow looks like.
A barren woman to understand the magic of a baby in her womb.
Or an atheist to understand that denying the existence of God because you cannot physically prove He exists is a bizarre kind of reverse faith, based on the exact same type of principles as believing He exists EVEN THOUGH you cannot prove it.
Trying to explain parental grief is pretty much just. like. that.  
Unfortunately, I've learned immeasurably more than I care to about parental grief in this last year and 12 days.  12 things for 12 days into year 2...

1.  Until you awake every morning to 2 of your kids, in a box, on your husband's dresser-Praise Jesus, you cannot, will not and should not understand how we feel.  I don't want you to try to, because it's simply awful and since we love all of you, we'd rather you just continue to pray for us and love us in the unconditional way so many of you have through the twists, turns, ups and downs of our new reality.

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness.  We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with wordless groans.  

Romans 8:26

2.  Wow-my kids were, and are-infinitely loved.  As are we.  Truly, we are blessed.  Even in the midst of this trial, His tender mercies are abundant and true.

Children are a heritage from the Lord, 

offspring a reward from him. 

Psalm 127:3

3.  I absolutely love to hear about my kids.  I love to talk about them, laugh about them, recall their antics and remember the incredibly neat little people they were.  Some of the greatest blessings in the last year have been photos, videos and letters of memories we have been blessed to receive.  Please send and share them if you have them-it's such a balm to our hearts.

I have no greater joy than to hear that my children are walking in truth.  

1 John 3:4

4. I can't make peace with the death of my kids.  Ever.  But I can be a part of making a powerful statement for wisdom when using recreational vehicles.  And that is exactly what our family is doing through The SaMercy Fund.  Tirelessly, so many have already worked every event to promote our cause, and I've not planned a single one.  Or even been able to attend one.  Every one of the fundraisers has generously been scheduled, promoted and executed by family, friends and even those who have never met us or our kids.  They simply want to serve and lend a hand and heart wherever they can.
Every single penny that we raise helps us to begin partnering with the people that use and sell these vehicles to help raise awareness and to promote safety through educational classes/seminars/training.  We absolutely cannot sweep this under the rug and allow it to be considered a consequence of a way of life when people die or are horrifically injured because of such powerful vehicles.   Every human life is precious to God and it is our intent to honor that in helping to reduce these casualties.

Whatever you do, work at it with all your heart, as for the Lord and not for men..

Colossians 3:23

5.  Grief is quite possibly the most powerful and debilitating trial I can ever imagine going through.  It has forced me to be selfish, to blot out the world at large and to realize that tending to my shredded family is the one and only priority I can have right now.  And for a fixer, a gift-giver, a glass half-full bleeding heart and one who always tries to see beyond the surface, that has been a bitter and hard pill to swallow.  It has revealed more about my character, my weaknesses, my soul and my connection to Christ than I could ever have imagined.  And it has opened my eyes to immeasurably more about the true character of God.
Never does he ever, leave or forsake us, no matter how hard we try to sever the cord when we are bitter, broken and hurting, He NEVER leaves.

Though one may be ovewpowered, 

two can defend themselves.

A cord of three strands is not easily broken.  

                                                                      Ecclesiastes 4:12

6.  Guilt is a clever little devil.  Or should I say, work of the devil's hands?  Even though I was nowhere near my children the day they died, I have lived the last year blaming myself in some way, shape or form.  I know it's not my fault, but to live each day knowing that I somehow failed to protect them?  I don't know if my son felt pain, if he knew for just an instant how horrible his injuries were and that he was almost dead?  Did he cry out, call out or know he needed mama?  Or was he just instantly gone?  I don't know if Mercy cried for me, or if she knew what had happened.  I don't know if she saw her brother, dead and broken, and if she knew she was going to die too.  And I don't know if she felt the crushing pain that must have filled her tiny, precious little body.  That, my friends, is a guilt and shame that burrows deep into the recesses of the soul and plants a very bitter root.

...Your enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour.

1 Peter 5:8b

7.  Praise the Lord, kindness and grace are abundant in this world.  Simply put, there are just a tremendous flock of people who are exceptional in the way they serve, treat others and give grace.  It is my heart's desire to send a personal thank you note to each and every one of them-not because I'm a proper etiquette nazi or because I feel obligated-but because I truly want each of them, from the butterfly tattooed woman on the beach who found us by way of our church and sent us a letter, to the strangers who have sent meals, to the loving ladies who knit prayer shawls for each and every one us, and finally the incredible friends and family who have picked us up when we fell and keep falling, to know what a treasure it is to be held in their hearts, prayed for, and loved by each of them. In truth, that is just a tiny smattering of the blessings we have received.  Honestly, I still sleep with the very first prayer shawl I received, every single night.  But I know that not one of those people expect a thank you note, a pat on the back or acknowledgement.  Each one served out of the wellspring of love God placed in their heart.  Period.

Bear one another's burdens, and so fulfill the law of Christ. 

Galations 6:2

8.  Sadly- guilt, anger, judgement, selfishness and expectation are also dismally plentiful.  I wish we had made it through this year with a minimum of cuts and bruises on that end-unfortunately, we did not.  Harsh, thoughtless words have been spoken, judgment has been handed down and relationships have potentially been destroyed.  There is fault to be had on all fronts and only God can close and repair any of those gaping canyons that now exist.

Indeed, there is not a righteous man on earth who continually does good and never sins.  

Ecclesiastes 7:20

9.   Healing-For reasons I'll try to explain without sounding like a jerk, it is the buzzword that makes my hackles rise, my knickers twist up and my hair catch on fire.  Maybe it's because, to me, it says that I'm expected to return to the person I was before, that I'll be whole again and that the wounds left behind by the absence of Mercy & Sam in this life will be rendered cured.  That may not be what it means when people say it, but I tend to be a bit on the prickly side with that concept at this point in my life, so I'm just being honest.
His healing of my heart will be filling it with His presence and peace-and because I'm flawed and human-well, that means it may take a while.
A precious friend had her daughter go home to Christ 10 years ago on June 20.  Her "healed" heart still hurts, she still grieves and she still longs to hold her baby again.  BUT, because she has held onto Christ like a lifeboat in an epic storm, she has found joy & purpose again, she truly does laugh, and she adores the life she still has with her living children-I KNOW she does, because it radiates on her face ever single time I lay eyes on her!  So I'm holding onto that lifeboat too and praying for rescue.

And if I go and prepare a place for you, I will come back and take you to be with me that you also may be where I am.  

John 14:3

10.  It must be incredibly hard to be my mother, my father, sister, brother, friend, husband or child.  No one really knows what to do, what to say, or how to help.  As time wears on, I wish I could say that part got easier, but it some ways it's harder.  Time has passed, we've walked through all the firsts, we go out in public, we do things normal families do-but Mercy and Sam are still dead, we are still hurting with every breath we take, it is STILL too quiet in our home, I still look for them around every corner, and we never know when a new wave of grief will knock us down.  When it seems like we're normal on the outside, I think it makes the "how" of loving the inside of us through this grief even more complex.  

Then they sat on the ground with him for seven days and seven nights.  No one said a word to him, because they saw how great his suffering was. 

Job 2:13 

11. On the flip side, it's a tremendous weight to be the parent of 3 hurting kids and really have no idea how to help them, how to make them feel safe again in a world that damaged them so deeply, and how to teach them to live THIS life to the fullest extent of God's will and plan for them.  How do we teach them to be bold, be brave, be Christ-like?  How do we honestly teach them how loving God IS when we can't explain why He'd allow us all to hurt like this?  How do we answer their why questions?  Making decisions for their lives carries with it an overwhelming sense of fear and worry, far beyond anything I ever experienced before June 11.
And for my husband?  How can I be the wife he needs me to be when I can't fix, mend or soothe the things that hurt him in the deepest part of his soul?  The incomprehensible loss of his children and the dissolution of his family.  I can't make any of that better, I can't change the past or people, and I certainly have no inspiring wisdom that springs forth about how to plan a future that is so drastically altered.  So into His wisdom, I have to lean.

In their hearts humans plan their course, but the Lord establishes their steps.  

Proverbs 16:9

12.  Finally, and most importantly-
Transparency is the greatest gift we can share with one another.  From the moment I could put my fingers to a keyboard again after the day our world imploded, I have vowed to keep our story out there, to beg all of you for prayer and to shine a light on the fact that while faith is messy, complicated, and HARD-It is the only way we can ever survive THIS life.   Your burdens may be different than mine, but each of us is walking in our uniquely fitted shoes-and those shoes desperately need God to keep them on our feet.
SO-I'll never be the quiet grieving girl in the corner, the stoic, yet broken-hearted matriarch, or a pretender that grieving while loving God is easy if I just give it all to Him.
I HAVE given it to Him.  I have laid it at His feet, sometimes with grace and sometimes with my teeth clenched and my fists ready to punch.  For 1 year and 12 days, I have done my very best.  And my best is all I can ever do.  HIS best is what will carry me through.

And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with the Lord's holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ.  

Ephesians 4:17b-18

And as I just looked out my window for a moment,

2 pure white, busylittle butterflies flitted into view...
As if to say, "look at us mama, look at us!"
Our Father is just. so. good.

love,
clan mac mama

Unconditional and simply selfless LOVE-

It's who he is, woven into the fabric of how he lives, how he loves, how he serves, he IS love.
My husband, the man who God chose for me, the father of my children, he is my love, but more importantly, he is who God appointed to raise up our babies.  
From the moment he laid eyes on each of them, he was entranced.  He adored and continues to adore them with every part of his heart and his soul.  Even as he grieves Mercy & Sam, he continues to selflessly give to Eva, Charley and Max.  He is determined to lean into Christ to sustain him as he lives and more importantly, he is determined to teach our children the same.
I wish I could find words that eloquently speak of him, that give you the picture of the man I see.  But there really aren't any-you just have to witness it.  And that's what I do, every day of my life.  I, and my children, are truly and unequivocally blessed.
Today will be a dichotomy of joy and sorrow, happiness and tears, grieving the life before and trying to find the life ahead.
One year ago today, my husband woke to his first Father's Day without 2 of his children-
it's the last of the firsts.
Today, to honor him,  I choose to share each of the most important firsts in our life.
And the last Father's Day he shared.
And the very last picture of our complete family.
I pray that today he will find joy in Eva, Charley & Max, be comforted by the memories that sustain us and find hope in the future that Christ promises us.

Charles, my love-
The Lord bless you 
and keep you;
the Lord make his face to shine on you
and be gracious to you;
the Lord turn his face toward you
and give you peace.  
                        Numbers 6:24-26  

Eva & Daddy

Eva, Daddy & Charley 

Max & Mercy joined the party!

Sweet Sammy-the best plan I never knew God had.

Celebrating the father he was and is-June 2014

Our last family photo

June 7, 2015

A Letter to My Son on His 6th Birthday...

           Samuel Charles McCawley
                     June 5, 2016






To My Lil Man Sam,
Where do I begin? I remember crying the day your mama told me she was pregnant. We had always talked about having another child, abut having more children. Just did not expect it too happen so soon. God truly does work in His own ways. I may have cried, but I was still ecstatic, tremendously happy that we were going to have another baby. I will not lie, I wanted another lil boy. another lil man around the house. And God blessed us with you, my sweet lil man, Sam.

The beginning was filled with worry, the midwife and corpsman was concerned about you. Your mama prayed and talked to you. I admit I was lost. See my son, my faith was not overly strong then, I think I more or less just went through the motions. I have struggled over the years with my faith and my commitment to Christ. Which I do not think you ever did even though you were so young. You had such a love for the church, for Christ and all those around you. I think I learned more from you in your five years here with us than you ever did from me.

I look back over the years and I wish I would have done more with you. There were plenty of times when I think you sought me out, when you just wanted to spend some time with me and I put you off. I am so sorry for that my son and I want you to know how much I truly love you and miss you. I pray I could turn back time and do things right by you. I am so sorry that I was not there to protect you. I should have never sent you and your siblings to Texas to my family. I am sorry that I felt a desire for you to know my family the way you knew your mama’s. I should have never put you on that plane.
I remember seeing you walking down that jetway to the plane, holding the steward’s hand. You were such a big, lil man. I started to call you back because I didn’t get a hug, but I stopped because I was worried that you would get upset and then not want to go. So I turned to your sisters and brothers instead and gave each of them a hug and told them I loved them and would see them soon. Never knowing that a choice would be made in Texas that would prevent me from seeing you and Mercy again, from telling you how much I love you and feeling your little arms hugging me back. A choice that would result in grieving over you instead of you celebrating your 5th birthday again with your grandparents, aunt, uncle, and cousins in Texas. I am so sorry my lil man, I pray and wish that I had called you back and hugged you and told you how much I love you and was going to miss you.

Today we were supposed to be celebrating your 6th birthday in South Carolina, in Parris Island, in our tiny little house on base. Today was supposed to be filled with what you want to do, not with sorrow, not with us wondering what to do to honor your memory. I know that you would love to go on a bike ride, or a scooter ride, but I am sure that you would have learned to ride a bike in this past year, so a bike ride it would be. We would be close to the river there, so we could go fishing. I so looked forward to having more time to take you fishing. There would be cupcakes and presents and most of all there would be the sound of your laughter, the sight of your cheshire cat grin, and of course the sounds and sight of you stomping off when you got mad at your brother or sisters for trying to intervene in your present opening, playing with one of your presents, not paying attention to what you were saying or trying to get them to do or just because you did not get your way. I miss that chaos. I miss the way your strong lil personality infused our family spirit.

I know there will come a day when we are reunited in heaven. I know that you are there in heaven with Mercy, bugging Jesus at every turn to answer your questions. I know that you are missed and loved here on earth by many. But none so more than by your mama, daddy, Eva, Charley, and Max. My son, I am truly sorry that choices here on earth sent you to heaven before God’s plan for you was fulfilled. I promise you and God today that your life, your memory, your presence will not fade. God promises us that as long as we have faith that He will make good from every situation, from every event. I may have struggled in my walk of faith during the time that you were born, but your love, your strong desire to know Jesus has shown your daddy the way and I promise to not let you down again my son.

All My Love,

Daddy

What was it like when I was born, mama?

That was the very last question I remember you asking me...I can still here your sing-song voice asking me as your arms were wrapped around my neck.  On your birthday, at just 5 years old, you asked me what it was like when you were born.  Honestly, I was speechless for a moment, then I whispered...
It was so quiet.  Just mama, daddy, the midwife and a corpsman.  You whispered your way out and it was just. so. quiet.
Such a contrast to the chaos a few hours before when we almost lost you-
I fought so hard for you, you know.  You did know.  I can still feel you squirming and shifting in my dry belly, hearing my whispers and knowing I was praying for you.  And you heard me, you listened and finally, after 2 days-out you came, silently sliding into the world and seamlessly into our family.
I called you my pocket baby.  I had fought so hard for you, it was incredibly hard for me to be away from you.  I took you everywhere, just like you were in my pocket.
I never expected you, you know.  Your dad and I, we would talk about having another little one, hoping we'd have a little brother for our charming mini Max-man.  But, God had other plans and he blessed us with you far sooner than we even thought possible.  Just 8 1/2 months after Max & Mercy came into this world, you became a twinkle in our eye and captured our hearts.  I laughed like a maniac when that stick turned positive, your poor dad-he cried.  Here we were, 4 kids under 6 and another on the way.  Talk about a kick in the proverbial pants!  We went from 2 to 5 kids in 17 months.  And what a journey that was.
You scared us in the womb, and I didn't know until you were born that you were truly ok.
You scared us coming out.
You almost drowned when you were 3...
then you started asking me about Heaven...I wonder if you saw Jesus then.  If you got a glimpse of that glorious face.  I still believe it was Jesus who opened Charley's eyes that day and made her see you under all that water, struggling to make your way up to the air.  You weren't breathing when Tolly pulled you out-and I thought then that it could have been the worst day of my life, never imagining that the worst day would come and I'd lose not just you, but my baby girl, my Mercy, my sweetness and light.

My goodness, you loved Jesus.  Your little boy prayers were such fragrant offerings to God and sweet music to my ears.  Hearing you recite our ABC scriptures and your Awana verses are some of my most treasured moments.  The joy on your face when you finished your Awana book-priceless.

I sure do miss singing to you.  I wish I could recall all the songs I made up when rocked-I remember thinking that I should write them down, that with all the memories a family makes when there are so many of you, I wouldn't have enough room in my brain.  And then I got busy and now I can't remember...and my heart breaks a little more.

We put your chair in Charley and Max's room.  We rock in it every night when we pray and tell you & Mercy that we love you to the moon and back.  Some nights I can barely whisper it, my soul hurts so deeply.  Charley always yells it, positive that the louder she is, the better you can hear her.  Max only makes it to that part about half the time-you know how quickly he falls asleep!   Eva kind of stares into space, I think wondering if you can really hear us.  And your daddy, well, sometimes he can say it and sometimes it's just too much.  

I sit on the back porch a lot now.  Even when it's too hot and my fingers are sweating, I love to be out here.  Your wind chimes are here and when I hear their sweet music combined with the wind and the sounds of all my birds, I swear I can feel your whispers and your sweet little hands caressing my face.  You used to take my face in your hands and make sure I was looking at you when you talked to me-I often wonder if you knew I needed to see you, really see you, because you weren't going to be here long enough...

I believe you knew.  You & Mercy.  Somewhere in your little spirits, you knew your time was short and the Holy Spirit gave you much to share, much to do and faith beyond your years.  I'll never understand why God allowed you to leave us so soon, but I'll never question His love for me.  Because without it, I'd never have had the privilege and honor of being your Mommy.  He knit you in my womb, he created your inmost being, he chose daddy and I.  He CHOSE us.  What a blessing, an extraordinary gift from an extravagantly generous God.

I'll also never believe that it was part of His plan for you & Mercy to die the way you did.  I'll always believe He had greater plans for you both, but free will and a fallen world destroyed them.  And he knew, He knew the end from the beginning and He still let us have you, hold you, love you.

Still, He will bring good.  By his mercy, He will bring joy from mourning and He will restore what the locusts have eaten.  His word promises us that redemption, promises us the restoration of the perfect world He created for us in beginning.  And until then, I'm clinging to the vine of His strength, His Word and His truth as I know it to be.  He will strengthen our family to fight the enemy from further destroying what He has given us, He will be our strong tower.  It is by His might that we will bend the bow of a fallen world and fight for the Gospel even when every ounce of our souls wants to give up.

It is God who arms me with strength and keeps my way secure. 
He makes my feet like the feet of a deer;
he causes me to stand on the heights.  
He trains my hands for battle;
my arms can bend a bow of bronze.  
                                             Psalm 18:32-34

So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.  
                                            2 Corinthians 4:18


Cupcakes for breakfast, pictures to hold...
close in my heart until I am old.
Even so old that I may barely see,
my sweet little boy will always be with me.
So many questions my little man asked,
answering them was quite a task.
Quiet, too quiet, it is here today,
we should be celebrating some special way.
A jumpy house, a pool or a park,
it's where he'd want to have his lark.
Frosted and Dairy Queen, Rucker John's too,
Treats and sweets is what he'd want to do.
So today, as my tears cover my face,
I'll think of you in your heavenly place.
And pray that in all that I do and say,
I honor you on your precious day.

The beginning-June 4, 2010

 Finally, June 5, 2010

Your 1st birthday-June 5, 2011

Always in the water, where you loved to be!

Your first cupcake!

 

Your 2nd birthday, June 5, 2012

We celebrated with the Blue Crabs, pool time at Nana & Papa's and Haley's graduation!

And a little putt-putt on Father's Day!

Your 3rd birthday, June 5, 2013

Parks, ice cream treats and nighttime basketball!

Your 4th birthday, June 5, 2014

Crazy time at Jump-in-Jax, capped off with park fun and cupcakes with all your best pals!

 Your 5th birthday, June 5, 2015

Scooters, legos, hexbugs and a pool party...

Sweet boy, mama misses you so much.  I'll forever hold these moments and every minute I was blessed with your life close in my heart-waiting with bated breath until I can hold you once again.
Happy Birthday in Heaven, my pocket baby.   I'll bet you're holding His face in your hands and asking so many questions-and He's holding you right back and answering every one of them with grace, light, beauty and truth.

all my love,
mama

I wasn't supposed to be there today.

I sat in that auditorium 1 year ago this weekend, bittersweet tears falling from my eyes as I fully realized that in just a few short weeks, we were leaving.  Pulling up stakes on the Marine Corps traveling road show and unexpectedly starting over yet again.  This day, these hours, precious laughter and tear stained moments, would be my girls last recital with the dance family we claimed as our own.  Wistfully, Corry and I sobbed while Maura and Casey graced the stage together for the last time before Maura headed off to Meredith.  My heart filled and then broke as Sydney floated across the stage to Cinderella to honor her dad, Jay.  And finally my heart just crashed when Jessica danced a heartfelt farewell to her dance sisters who would soon go off into the world to find their way.
Every moment of that precious day, we spent in that auditorium, from early morning to late in the evening, touching up lipstick, adjusting costumes, chasing down little people and pinning up buns.  Mercy popped up and disappeared, flitting from big girl to big girl, cartwheeling with Kaylan and conning Samantha out of her lunch.  Hugging Nana Cathy and chattering away at Papa Freddie.  Plopping herself down squarely on Kevin and convincing him to let her video, photograph and just generally do whatever she wanted.  (He always was a sucker for that little bean-loved her from the moment he set eyes on her the week after Charles deployed.)  Insisting on using the last itty bitty byte of space on my phone to video Abbie in her very first recital.   Hugging and mugging for one last dance picture for our Halls Creek crew.
For some reason I couldn't quite pin down, I felt compelled to watch her dance.  To not take a single picture or even attempt a video.  I set the stupid camera down and just sat there in that front row next to Corry and stared, captivated by the precious happiness that radiated from her graceful little soul.
I just wanted to see the joy on her sweet face when she flitted across that stage, when she tried to take charge of any of the tinier dancers who couldn't quite keep up, when she realized Mommy was watching and so proud of her hard work!
And her brothers & Charley-they were remarkably patient, sitting through not one, not two, but THREE recitals for their sisters.  (Mind you, there may or may not have been some electronics and a Dairy Queen bribe involved, but they were AWESOME.)
And I never dreamed, not even with the unease that been settled in my spirit for the previous few months, never once did I dream that this would be the very last time I would watch my daughter dance on a stage.
And I didn't even take a picture.  Or if I did, I simply don't know.  Because I just can't bring myself to upload that last memory card.  Of the last 2 months of the life I'll never know again.  Of the life I just never believed was truly mine.
I could never really wrap my brain around the fact that I could be that blessed.  We had a beautiful home, 5 healthy kids, my husband was finally reaching a career goal that he had strived long and hard for-
Maybe I knew that the other stupid shoe just had to drop.
And drop it did.

We visited the Pentagon last year on Eva's birthday.  It was the first time I had set foot in it since before 9/11.  Once upon a time, it's hallowed halls had been familiar to me, as I had been honored to serve there as a tour guide while I was on active duty in the Marine Corps.  A beloved childhood friend, who is now a Colonel in the Air Force (yup, I'm really that grown up,) took us on an impromptu tour.  As we crossed from one of the inner rings to the outer one that houses the memorial chapel for 9/11 victims, Jimmy pointed out the burn marks that still scar the building from the impact of the plane and the subsequent explosion.

Simply put-that's pretty much what every day life is like for us.  Not just for me, but for Charles, for Eva and Charley and Max.  The plane has crashed and burned-the fire is out, the damage has been assessed.  And when it's all said and done, the burn marks remain, scorched and blackened scars that will fade with time but will always and forever carry the shadow of the massive implosion of a once light-hearted family.   Constant, painful reminders of what is lost and won't be regained until we pass from this temporary, broken home into blessed eternity.  Whispers of a lonely little Max who finds tragic joy in strangers thinking his sweet pal LG is his twin...

A precious friend asked me today if I ever had a good day, or even just a good hour.
I honestly didn't know how to answer her.
Because I don't know.

Do I laugh?
 I do.
Will you see a smile on my face?
Fairly often, I'd say.
Do the hugs of my children and the sound of their laughter bring me unspeakable joy?
Without a doubt.
Do I enjoy a good meal and find delight in the company of true friends and treasured family? 
Indeed.
Do I love my husband today more than I ever thought I could love another human being?  
Unquestionably.  
Do I spend time doing ordinary, every day tasks that once upon a time seemed so mundane and for which I'd give my left arm to be doing for ALL of my children? 
Certainly.
Do I thank my God every day and beg him for mercy to get through this life, living His will, not mine?  
I do my absolute, humanly flawed best.

Yet I find that now, every one of those things is colored with a lens that, no matter how much I polish it, how hard I try to clean it or how much I adjust it, it just can't be clean or clear or unblemished.

I find myself haunted by the visions of what might have been, what should have and what will never be.  I watch my daughter dance and realize that-
we. were. NOT. supposed. to. be. here.

Still, here we are.

Precious memories were shared with friends and family today, tears mingled with joy as I watched Eva grace the stage once again.  Hugs from so many- tender touches, kind words, special memories shared.  As Heather and I watched Eva, I thanked God for this cherished woman who was not only Mercy's very first teacher, but who has ceaselessly given my Eva the gift of both her time and her love to honor Mercy and Sam.  Seeing our true brother in Christ, Brian, race around, dividing his precious time photographing not just his beloved girls, but my Eva. And finally, when Miss Christy wrapped me in her arms and let me just breathe and cry, I was completely convicted that I was just where I was supposed to be at just that time.   And for one simple extraordinary moment, I envisioned what it would have been like to see Mercy finesse the stage on pointe with the inate elegance of her enchanted, dancing soul.

I'll see you again someday, my precious and tiny dancer.  I'll hold you in my arms once again and hear your beloved voice whisper-"mama, watch me!"  And because it will be Heaven, I can sit with Sammy's soft hand wrapped in mine, all the while watching you dance your heart out for your beloved Savior- The One whose spirit lived in you from the moment you were conceived, Whose love you shared with all who crossed your path and Whose life consummately sacrificed gave you yours forever.

Yes, my sweet friend.  I do have joy-
He is bringing beauty from ashes and will restore what the locusts have eaten.  And the prowling lion will never have my family, for we belong not to this world, but to the heart and soul of Christ, from whom all blessings flow.  

Keep dancing, Mercy, keep dancing in my heart and in my soul.  I love you, baby girl.  

...that my heart may sing your praises and not be silent.  

Lord my God, I will praise you forever.  

Psalm 30:12

With His love and only by His Grace, we all still stand. 

love, 

clan mac mama