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

There are holes in the floor of heaven…

and their tears are falling down... 

I should have known they’d be with me.  Someway, somehow, They always are.  

  

It’s my first visit to Tennessee since “the accident.”  

My first trip without my other half.  My anchor.  My Charles.  

The other anchor in my life, my other sweet Sammy, rode shotgun today, sniffling, sneezing and snotting the entire 11 hour trip.  She sat beside me, heart pounding, anxiety mounting, as we treacherously inched through a raging rainstorm with one headlight, fog, mist and almost zero visibility.  She hunched beside me as I gripped the wheel and I prayed over and over and over again-

Jesus-please. 

Jesus-be near-

Jesus-cover us in your grace, your protection, your mercy.  

Jesus-PLEASE.  keep them safe-keep them covered-guide them to safety.  

Because in front of me were 2 of the 3 children I have left on this earth. 2 of my precious babies were in a car, in front of me, in some of the  most dangerous conditions I’ve ever driven in.  

2 OF MY 3.   

I simply couldn’t breathe.  

And when we got here, to her home, the one my kids had never seen…it hit me like a freight train.  Mercy and Sam were never physically here- 

and yet, here they were.  On every wall, in every room, on almost every surface.   bits and pieces and memories. Everywhere.  

And it hurt.  Like you wouldn’t believe, it stung.  My sister, their aunt, not me, their mom-seemed to have more ways to remember them in her home than I did.  Little pictures dotted almost every surface & wall, butterflies peeking out, superheroes smiling, a lovely little corner of their things.  

So I escaped.  I hopped in the car, bound for the grocery, as usual.  Tears poured down my face in the blur of the night...and the radio that had sat silent the entire day- it suddenly beckoned me.  

Seek me. 

Search me. 

Find me.  

And I did.  

For the first time in at least 10 years, THIS. SONG. PLAYED.  

‘Cause there's holes in floor of Heaven…

and her tears are pourin' down. 

That’s how you know she’s watching’

Wishing she could be here now...

And sometimes if you’re lonely

Just remember she can see

There’s holes in the floor of Heaven

And she’s watchin’ over you and me

So I had another hissy fit-(to which I firmly believe I am completely entitled.)

I told Him again, for the thousandth time, how outraged I was.  How completely infuriated I was with His lack of a miracle for my babies.  How they don't belong in Heaven in yet, THEY BELONG WITH ME.

This is not supposed to be my life…

Yet it is.  

So I thirst like a withering vine in the desert for any tiny reminder, any little “sign,” any shred of a memory or moment.  I cling desperately to the little things.  

Like songs from decades ago-songs that remind my lonely heart that my precious little people are still and will always be with me, that He is with me, walking beside me, carrying me, drying my tears and gently reminding me that they are NOT gone, they are just waiting for me.  

In Heaven. 

Dammit-I'm stuck here, I'm left here, beseeching Him, actually... BEGGING HIM...for the peace to trust His voice, hear His whispers and fulfill His plans.  

I’ll wait here, fighting with all I am for what is left of my family and believing in His promises.  

I’ll wait here, safe in the knowledge that He created me knowing I would live this life and He will walk/carry/drag me through it, one single moment at a time.  (He might well be doing some dragging right now.) 

Quite simply, I know it’s not a coincidence that I write- in His infinite wisdom, He knew it would help me find my center someday in a painfully topsy turvy world.  He knew I’d use it somehow and He knew every one of you would read it.  Because He. knows. us.  He knows every choice our lives will be directed by, so He creates us to survive them if we fall into His arms and beg Him to show us the way.  He KNOWS we are fatally flawed, He knows we will fall, and He loves us in spite of it all.  Because He created us to serve Him for the number of days we will walk this earth.  And He knew my babies would be in His care far too soon-

For you created my inmost being;

You knit me together in my mother’s womb.

I praise you because I am fearfully and wonderfully made;

your works are wonderful, 

I know that full well.  

My frame was not hidden from you when I was made in the secret place, 

when I was woven together in the depths of the earth.  

Your eyes saw my unformed body;

all the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be.   

                                                                                                                                     Psalm 139:13-16

Which means that I must remain squarely in His care. 

So I will open my eyes and my heart WIDE-alert for every little reminder, overwhelmed with the love my sister and each member of my family has poured out over us and covered us with as we faced our first season of our Savior without Mercy and Sam.  

I will study and memorize every picture I see here, I will turn every corner and see their faces.  I will hold Sammy's blanket and Mercy's skirt, I will inhale what remains of their scent and be thankful.  That they will never be forgotten, not ever.  And that when I am too weak and weary to build my little remembrances-my family will do it for me, holding me up, anchoring my heart and preserving my loves.   One memory, one memento, one picture at a time.  

With love,
clan mac mama

Walking in my shoes...

I read a poem recently about the shoes I walk in.
The shoes I never wanted to wear-
the ones of a grieving mother.

And then I thought...
What about HIS shoes?  The grieving father and the shoes HE must wear?  The man whose heart is just as broken as mine-yet he stands in the shadows with his grief while the world comforts the grieving mother?
What about HIM?
It's SO not just me.

My husband- he is the shattered, grieving father in the darkness... in the midst of this nightmare.
So many times, helplessly, I watch the man who leads our family sobbing and broken.  It's gut wrenching to try and hear him when he can barely speak the words he needs to get out.  What's it like for him?  To put on that uniform every day and have to walk into the office where he would sometimes take our kids for a bit while I went to appointments or ran errands.  The place where he took them for the kid version of "Jane Wayne" day every single year.  That place where people just laughed as they watched the little fire team and a spare literally march by.  To have to drive, EVERY DAY, by the spot where we were standing when we got THE call.  To know he has to drive by the stupid Polaris dealership every. single. day. and see their proud display of that damn death trap that killed our kids.  To sit and watch him with his head in his hands because he simply can't fill out another piece of paper to inform YET ANOTHER person/agency/entity/organization that his children have DIED.  To see the regret etched in his eyes for the times he was gone, the memories he missed because of deployments, schools, PCS moves, classes…you name it.
What's it like to know your children are no longer of this world and you can't change it, fix it, mend it, patch it…nothing?  There isn't a single. solitary. thing. you can do.  And for a father?  That is simply the worst part of it all.  That he. can't. fix. this.

His son doesn't have a brother anymore, his son doesn't have a twin to share his life with.  His daughters don't have their sidekicks to plan every holiday months in advance, invent new games, dress up and hide in forts and corners with, watch scooby marathons with, simply GROW UP with.
And
he.
can't.
fix.
it.

We took the kids to the movies a while back.
It sucked.
We both spent the entire movie remembering what it was like when we took the 5 of them-the popcorn juggling, candy fighting, potty breaks, spilled drinks-
it was just too quiet.  Too easy.
Every. single. day.  It's just too damn quiet.

Every day, my husband, their father, aches for what was, what should have been and what will never be here on this earth.

The daughter he will never walk down the aisle, the son he will never see serve Christ, his family or  his country, the grandchildren he will never know.  But most importantly, the baptisms we will never share with them.  That moment when they come to Christ, when they CHOOSE Him, when they choose JOY and share it with those they love.   Don't get me wrong, they LOVED Jesus, but they hadn't walked forth in baptism yet.  They were so little!  Baptism just beginning to be a concept they could grasp.
Clearly, they've already gone to Christ.  The last thing any parent truly wants…baptism by way of actually meeting Christ.  Forever.

And yet, Jesus said...
      "Let the little children come to me, and do not hinder them, for the kingdom of heaven belongs to such as these."
                        Matthew 19:14

It's amazing to me how God created the human body and mind, preparing it for those times when it would be overwhelmed by the circumstances and choices of this fallen world.  He created it to withstand the insanity that threatens the human mind when it is simply overtaken by pain too great to bear...He gave us-
Shock-
And I'd venture to say we're both overwhelmingly grateful for it now.  Beyond thankful for the time we were numb and could show infinitely more grace than we, alone, could ever be capable of.  That shock was truly God's gift and provision for preserving what was left of our sanity.  Some days, I'd give my left arm to have it back.  And I know Charles would too.

So many days, shock seems like it would be so much easier. To just go back to that place of numbness and just putting one foot in front of the other.

Because when you're still in shock, it's not real.
And we just don't want it to be real.  And maybe, for a tiny window of time, all the moving and chaos of finding a home let it be "unreal" for just a little bit longer.

All of a sudden-it's been almost 5 months now. We've changed seasons, the time has fallen back, the holidays are upon us.  We live in home they never lived in.  We sleep and wake, eat and play, cry and laugh...we LIVE here in a home that never knew them.
Bless the hearts of every one of you who wants to know if we are settled...
No.
We'll never be settled.  Ever.  Not until we are all settled, once again, as a complete family in one place.  Reunited, every tear wiped away, all our sorrows forever forgotten, in our forever home with Christ.

     "And God shall wipe away all the tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away."
                                                                                                              Revelation 21:4


And if I'm really honest, I'll tell you that they are starting to feel like a dream.  A really wonderful dream that we lived for 6 1/2 years.  
Because, truthfully...I can still barely look at their pictures.  Watching a video of them is impossible. And just holding their clothes can make me sob uncontrollably.

So I don't.  And Charles doesn't.  But our kids need us to, and truly, our hearts need us to.  So we will.  One image, one captured memory, one piece of their lives...at a time.  We'll walk, in tiny...itty bitty...baby steps...
of the shoes we must wear.  

     "Blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted." 
                                                                                             Matthew 5:4

Finding hope and joy in the daily presence of Christ, despite our circumstances, that will be the greatest blessing we can receive.

But, please, please, please, share with us your memories.  Your laughter.  Your moments.  Tell us about our babies.  Remember them, laugh about them, keep them alive in your hearts, your lives and your spirits.  Share those photos, tell those silly stories.  Help us take those baby steps.  Help us find comfort in not only who they were, but more importantly, who they are now.

And finally-
I know I've been quiet, not posting or sharing.  It simply wasn't time.  And I knew it was time when the Lord placed this verse on my heart-

      After the earthquake, there came a fire, but the Lord was not in the fire.  And after the fire came a gentle whisper. 

                                           1 Kings 19:12

My heart needed a quiet, humble place in which to listen.  To listen for whispers He provides.  To listen for the quiet breeze on which He sends the Holy Spirit.  

My heart needs Him.  My mouth will praise Him.  My life will serve Him.  And by both their births and their deaths, our family will serve him by ensuring the lives of Mercy and Sam will continue to glorify Him, spread His truth, share His love, live in His peace and glorify His saving grace.

     I will extol the Lord at all time, 
           his praise will always be on my lips. 
     I will glory in the Lord;
          let the afflicted hear and rejoice.  
     Glorify the Lord with me; 
          let us exalt his name together.  
                                           Psalm 34:1-3


Each prayer that is offered is a life giving affirmation of love- so, please continue!  Not just for our family, but for every family that is walking in these horribly ill-fitting shoes of grief.

With love and by His Grace,
clan mac mama

My sweet little son just asked me if he could...

"go back to that place, you know, the one where Mercy & Sam's bodies are?"
Umm…
I was speechless for just a minute, then recovered enough to try and give that sweet little 6 year old boy an answer that would make sense to his confused mind and broken heart.
To say today was difficult might be a bit of understatement.
EVERY. SINGLE. THING. stung like a sharply honed knife twisted in the festering wound of our hearts.
When I picked him up from his playtime with a friend today, his first words to me after he tackled me with a hug-
"I miss Mercy and Sam, Mama."
This was followed by the conversation at dinner during which he quizzed me about whether their bodies were still here, could we go back to "that place" and see them, or "are their bodies in heaven now?"
I swear my life mostly feels like the Twilight Zone.
I seriously wake up EVERY. DAY. sick to my stomach, exhausted and certain that this must be a nightmare and I WILL. WAKE. UP.
Right?
I'll wake up and Mercy and Sammy will be standing at my bedside, staring me in the face and scaring the stink out of me as I startle awake.
I'll wake up and they'll be in the kitchen, raiding the Nutella and bread.
I'll wake up and they'll be in the playroom, building a fort and having a castle battle.
I'll wake up and THEY WON'T BE DEAD.
Right?
Nope.
This is my life now.
This is my story.
I spend my days worried that my 2 sweet, kind, formerly naive daughters have PTSD and that my son will marry the first woman who tells him what to do and how much she loves him…all because he misses his bossy twin and is so lonely his heart just hurts.
I spend my days wondering exactly what in the bloody heck we are supposed to do now.
Everything is different.
Nothing is the same.
Not
one
single
thing.
Yesterday, I sat on the floor holding a sobbing child who couldn't even catch her breath because she was crying so hard.
All because school days remind her of Mercy & Sammy.  And how much she misses them.
2 days ago, I had to take the iPod from a miserable tween who just tries to hide herself in it when she realizes how lonely she is and how much she misses her little tribe.
Today, I had to analyze how every single decision we make is affecting how they are handling this, how we are helping them to handle it and how completely broken we are as parents, in our marriage and in our lives.
Simply put-this is a royal mess.
And I AM ANGRY.
THIS is not how it's supposed to be.

It's fall now.
We should be picking pumpkins, planning costumes, riding on hay wagons and competing in costume contests.  We should have gone to Great Wolf Lodge with our friends.
We're not.
And I AM ANGRY.
I am not better, it's not easier.
Still, I can't look at their pictures.  I can't watch videos.  I can't even hold Sammy's pillow right now or pick up Mercy's ballet shoes.
Because it makes me MORE ANGRY.
Angry that this is my life.  And my husband's life.  And Eva, Charley and Max's lives.
I want to see the good.  I want to praise Him in this storm.

And I have.
I will.
I must.
There is simply no other option.
So I will give it ALL to HIM.  To the one who can heal.  The one who can mend.  The one who is sovereign.
He knew, He knows, He IS.

"One bold message in the book of Job is that you can say anything to God. Throw at him your grief, your anger, your doubt, your bitterness, your betrayal, your disappointment -- he can absorb them all. As often as not, spiritual giants of the Bible are shown contending with God. They prefer to go away limping, like Jacob, rather than to shut God out."

~Philip Yancey, Disappointment with God

I'm not just limping, I'm broken.  WE are broken.  All of us.  I've said it all, I'll say it all again.  Because this isn't a simple 3 step process-

1. Children die.

2. Grieve.

3. Move on. 

It's a circle.  An INFINITE circle of grieving what should have, what could have been and what will never be.  

There is no moving on.  There is just learning to, somehow…someday... live again.  And we simply aren't there yet.  How do I know?  Because last night, I laid prostrate in the middle of a wood floor and howled myself into a snot covered, filthy, exhausted mess of a mama.  And tonight I want to get an ax and chop down every tree in my yard.  

Maybe then I'll sleep.  From the sheer exhaustion of the physical exertion-maybe then I can sleep.  

I dreamed of Mercy last night.  But I didn't get to hold her.  Instead, I lost her.  And when, finally I had found her, she was just out of my reach.  

Just. out. of. my. reach.  

Do you know what the Holy Spirit whispered to me in that dream last night?  If this anger consumes me in it's fiery furnace, Mercy and Sammy will ALWAYS be out of my reach. For now and forever more.  

So.  

I need your prayers.  I need mine.  But most of all?  

I need Jesus.  

I need to let Him hold me, mend me, and carry my burden.  

Carry it, Jesus.  PLEASE.  

Just carry it.  

28 “Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. 29 Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. 30 For my yoke is easy and my burden is light.”

Matthew 11:28-30

I give You my burdens. 

Help me, Jesus.  Help me. 

love, 

clan mac mama

   

skies a-painted in tie dye sunsets,

His whispers calm those last regrets.
Sammy's scent on a bumblebee pillow,
tears falling like the leaves of a willow.
butterflies flitting here and there,
memories, memories, everywhere.
cardinals resting in the trees,
shattered dreams drop me to my knees.
words of wisdom from God Most High,
to my beaten, broken heart, a lullaby.
the healing power of His Holy Grace,
evident in every place.
What good, I asked, could come from this?
Watch and wait, He says, don't miss-

My grace.
My peace.
My gentle bliss.

He reveals deep and hidden things;
he knows what lies in darkness,
and light dwells with him.
Daniel 2:22

Indeed.  

Light. 

dwells.

with.

Him.  

The alcoholic healed by His grace. 

The dying woman who sought His face. 

The tired old man who changed his ways,

blessed was he with brighter days.  

The roads we walk, the shoes we wear, 

together he brings us close to share…

the burdens of this fallen place, 

so that, well indeed, we'll finish the race.  

I have fought the good fight, I have finished the race, I have kept the faith. 

2 Timothy 4:7

Finishing the race well?

Eternity never meant so much until 2 of my precious children died.  

Then I understood what it meant for God to watch His. only. begotten. Son. DIE.  

For me. 

For you. 

I promise you, it's a pain I wouldn't wish on anyone, ever.  

And God caused himself that pain… by choice!

If I thought I was in awe of our God before? 

I simply had no clue.  

I write because He gives me words to speak.  Precious words that can only come from Him, through my heart and hands, for His glory.  

What will you do for His glory today? What will I?  

love, 
clan mac mama