30 little minutes-

it only took 30. little. minutes. to set me back almost 4 years.  30 minutes of mounting panic, mental bargaining, searing disbelief-
And I'm back in the sea of grief, tumbling under crashing waves of pain that relentlessly pound me, refusing to give me even a minute to catch my breath.
It was such a simple thing.  I told her-"ride down to the Best's and I'll meet you there."  She heard, "ride down to the beach and I'll meet you there."
Realizing she's not there, chalking it up to miscommunication and assuming she's at home.  Finding out she's not.  SHE'S NOT, no matter how many times I call Eva and make her check.  Driving to the Pier, then the public beach access, following the back route she normally takes to get there, checking the bike parking, driving the back loop again, going home again, calling Charles, my friend and I searching, sending her kids searching-
She can defend herself, she's cautious, she's alert-
And still, my mama heart went there.
To that place where NO mama heart ever wants to go.
Dammit, mine lives there.
No matter how much time passes or how many years I get to have with the precious ones who have remained, my heart still lives in that chasm of pain and fear, disbelief and sorrow, terror and gut wrenching agony.  Because I know that lightning CAN strike twice-or in my case 3 or 4 or even 5 times.

Sure, I can plod along, stuffing my feelings, pretending I'm ok and plastering this stupid smile on my face.

But it literally only took 30 minutes to fling me back into crying in the grocery store, my heart pounding, my ears rushing with the assault of sound and life and NORMAL.

Of course it wasn't quiet in that damn grocery store where I went to wander the aisles.  Because that's what you do sometimes when your heart is broken and your brain won't function, when you just
need. a. damn. minute.  
There was this ridiculously adorable little boy, dark haired and wide eyed, dressed in his rain boots and crazy clothes, pushing his little cart and chatting up a storm with anyone who looked his way.
Holy mother of all things, I wanted to walk up to his mom and just hug her.  Hug her so hard. And tell her how lucky she was, and really, how freaking great she was because she just let him be-
SO. DAMN. LITTLE.
But I didn't.  I bought my stupid dairy free yogurt, my bananas and my wine.
And then I went to get Charley from karate.
Charley.
Because I finally found her at the beach.  After the 3rd or 4th time of driving the stupid loop, checking the bike racks, calling Eva, and calling Charles.  I parked the car and I started walking to the Pier, and then I was running and then I was beseeching-
Sweet Jesus-this can't be happening-NOT AGAIN.
My eyes scanning frantically, not seeing, not recognizing.
Until I spied her in the distance.
Standing at the edge of the surf.  Waiting, watching, ready to take on the ocean and make it her friend, her ally, her place of refuge.

Oh friends, my heart.  I don't know how much more it can take, so I'm thankful that today it kept beating, kept me breathing and thinking and driving and moving until I found her.
And I'm thankful for my precious friend and her children, who searched with me.  And celebrated with me by teaching her to make the ocean her ally as they taught her to surf.  Something I could never do.  Seriously.  NEVER.

Today, my heart is filled with inexplicable gratitude for the One who gave her to me, Who brought these amazing friends into our lives, and for the promise of another day with my sweet girl.  

When you pass through the waters, I will be with you; 

and when you pass through the rivers, they will not sweep over you. 

When you walk through the fires, you will not be burned; 

the flames will not set you ablaze. 

For I am the Lord your God, the Holy One of Israel, your Savior...

Isaiah 43:2-3a

I just have to keep walking, trusting and praying.  It's the only way to save my sanity. And my broken heart.  

love, 

clan mac mama

Humbled-

...there simply isn't another word that could encompass the emotions that washed over me as I looked out at the sea of faces surrounding our family that Sunday morning.  Familiar faces of old friends, new friends, and family.  Unfamiliar faces patiently waiting for my trembling voice to share our story.

The SaMercy Fund was honored to be chosen by Coal Road CrossFit to be the beneficiary of their 6th annual Shamrock Run, held on Sunday March 10th, in La Plata, MD.  

My hometown.  

That little place where our family landed in 1982, the sweet small town that caught us and sucked us in, just like we had always been there.  

And in some ways, it's as though some of us have never left. Because that little place keeps right on holding us up, coming out to support our cause, our family, our mission-even when some of them never met my children, or held their soft, squishy hands, or shared a smile and a moment with them.  

They keep loving us and showing us that Sam and Mercy still matter.  That what happened to my family matters.  That they still love us.  

For the past 3 1/2 years, that community has given incredible rise to our Fund, backing us whenever we ask and stepping out to support us.  Every. single. time. 

So, I'm humbled.  

Thankful. 

And sappy.  

Sad, but happy.  Sad, because I never wanted to be in charge of fund that honored my dead kids.  Sad because I never envisioned my life being about helping other grieving families, finding ways to get through to people about the importance of ATV/UTV Safety, or writing a story that regularly makes people cry. 

Happy-because my heart was buoyed by the love we were surrounded by and the love that continues to snap us back to standing when we fall.  Which happens often, so often.  Because when you're broken in this many pieces, they fall apart- A LOT. 

Cindy, Mike, Ashley, Siggy, Whit, and Kristen-I am beyond blessed by each of you and your efforts for our family and Fund.  I'm thankful for your friendship and your prayers, your love, support and the hearts that each of you wears on your sleeve.  

For my family, especially including the FRAMILY that shows up every single time-both in spirit and in person when you can-You know who you are.  I adore you.  I'm in awe of the ways in which God has worked in my life and the lives of my family to bring each of you to bear on our lives.  

I love you guys-

every one of you.

And I'm just stunned by the final number that was raised and donated to The SaMercy Fund...

$18,000!!!!!!!

Once again, my friends and all those who came out in support-

THANK YOU! 

as always, 

with love, 

in Christ, 

clan mac mama

Welcome to the world, Samuel Joseph...

This precious boy came into this world last night, completely surrounded by love and thankfulness.  He joined a family that loves with abandon, gives every piece of their hearts and radiates Christlike love.
This mama, my cousin Rebecca, welcomed this little boy, carrying forward the name of my sweet boy-
without her mama.
Because her amazing mama lives in Heaven with my babies.  3 incredible souls whose leaving left a hole that can never be filled, but whose spirits and joy still find ways to invade each of our hearts.

Her mama, my Aunt Deb-I could write a book and never tell you all the ways she shaped me.  The love she shared, the wisdom she exuded, and the selfless servant heart that carried me during times in my life that I couldn't carry myself.
I'd be lying if I didn't say that reading the words telling me my son would have a namesake didn't take my breath away.
Because they did.
I never thought, in a million years, that he wouldn't be here to grow up with Becca and Kyle's babies.  That he wouldn't be there to make those crazy memories only cousins can share.
And I was, and still am, humbled beyond words by their selfless and loving act of choosing Samuel to name this beloved boy.  Touched far and deep into my soul.
Samuel-
Welcome to this crazy world.  You're so blessed God chose this family for you.  Your mama and daddy are some of my most favorite people, and they have inspired me for so many years with their faith, patience, devotion to family and insatiable zest for life.  Mama and Daddy will love you with the reckless abandon they love Mols with.  You'll be an amazing, and endearingly irritating little brother.  And we will all love you, cherish you and tell you all about those amazing people who live in Heaven that we miss so much.

Welcome to the family, Sam!
Love,
Aunt Tiff, (AKA TT,) (AKA that crazy lady with the tattoos who drinks too much wine and will always try to steal you from your mom...)

Unfiltered.

A new friend told me the other day that I shouldn't filter what I write...Bless you, Anne, but you might live to regret those words.
I won't.
I'm tired of regret and filtering, worrying that I'm going to make someone uncomfortable or awkward.  Life without my kids and with my surviving children  IS awkward and uncomfortable.  And just like the amputee that has to live without his or her legs by relearning every, single thing-

I, WE-all of us, have to do the exact same thing.  Except our amputation isn't something you see with your naked eye.  It's a cleaving of the heart, soul and spirit.  A literal ripping away of integral pieces of the heart, and shredding what's left.  It's bloody and it's brutal.
And you simply cannot see it.
But I can.  Every day that I look in the mirror and stare at the hollowed eyes that stare back at me now.  Eyes that used to smile when I did, but now only see.  No one tells me they're pretty anymore.  Because they're not.  They're dead kid eyes.  And those eyes don't smile.  No matter how hard you try, the smile just doesn't ever quite reach them.

I see that amputation- 

Every time my son bursts into tears because I said "listen up guys," because I forgot it was just him in the room and not all of the littles.
Every time my oldest child rips my heart to shreds when she tells me that I make everything about Mercy and Sam, and that "it's not all about them, Mom!  It's about us too!"
Every time I watch Charley hold those who are desperate to love her at arms length.  Because she is terrified of loving them back and then losing them all over again.

I SEE IT.

You know how they pick people to get new houses because they're sick or broken or been through something completely awful-like losing a limb, or a spouse, or getting blown up in war?

Is it ridiculous that I just want someone to pick us?  They don't even have to give it to us.  I'll buy the darn thing.  Just find it, furnish it, do some crafty and beautiful thing to create space in my house for the kids who live with Jesus and then hand me the keys.
So I can go home. 

And before ANYONE feels the need to remind me that my true home is with Jesus and nothing on this earth can compare, let me remind you that I KNOW THAT.   I spend every day waged in an internal, spiritual battle of epic proportions-because when you have children to die for and children to live for, it's freaking HARD.  But I have to live HERE, in this world for now.  And as much as I do daydream about that day when we're all truly home, together, in the arms of Jesus-
It's not my reality right now.
This is. 

So for now, I'll just spend some time daydreaming that the #propertybrothers are going to show up and fix it.

A broken hearted mama can dream a little, right?

10 years ago today-

a double blessing came our way.
hearts broken by a babe lost in the womb
were mended in a delivery room
Mercy joined us, oh so quickly!
Max, he was a bit more prickly...
17 minutes he lagged behind.
quite determined to take his time.
Not even a year had passed us by
when Sammy became a twinkle in my eye.
And just that fast,
our family become much more vast!
Twins who adored one another,
quickly took to their little brother.
Much like triplets they seemed to be,
a happy little band of three.
Lil' mamas, Eva and Charley became,
every little thing was made a game!
Each outing was a great adventure,
our little crew always at the center...
of all the chaos and commotion,
precious, curious, whirling in motion.
another 2 years passed, then 3 and 4,
till suddenly 2 of them were no more.
The double blessing was cracked, then broken,
the littlest one, too, could never be woken.
A family fractured, torn and battered,
every dream into tiny shards was shattered.

Now 3 precious ones remain,
here upon this earthly domain.
The time has come to dream new dreams,
to mend and repair the tattered seams,
to find the strength, to see the joy,
of the memories of that girl and boy,
who changed the core of who we are,
who from our hearts are never far.

Redeem us from this lonely place,
fill us with Your saving grace!
For until it is Your face I see,
wrapped in your embrace I must be.

On this day, we'll laugh, we'll cry,
we'll let their love be a lullaby,
comfort and peace we will gain,
a salve to our hearts in their pain.

Remember the love they shared while near,
and keep them in your heart all year.

Finding home...

We're trying so hard to "find home."
We've been praying.
Weighing pros and cons.
Sending emails and doing research.
Scouring the internet for possibilities.
Looking at finances.
Trying to wrap our brains around what it would feel like to sell the home we built to raise our big family in. 
Contemplating what it might feel like to wake up in it again, not such a big family anymore.  Every day.  Without them.  
And knowing we just can't. 
Yet also knowing that this house, this precious and sweet bungalow that has provided us shelter and quiet in these past 3 1/2 years, this is not my home anymore.
HOME. 
It's the place where we can have ALL the things.  In one place. Where we can have a room to unpack every single box of their things.  We can hang their clothes and put up their artwork.  We can touch the things that touched them, that lived in their rooms, that were part of the life they lived so quickly, and brightly
and
so. very. beautifully.
I can't do this anymore.  I can't keep walking into that storage shed and seeing their lives all boxed up.  I can't walk into the house where I raised them and see their cribs and beds and dressers shoved into an attic and covered with dust.  See Mercy's little rocking horse and Sammy's pirate ship-dirty and unloved.
Because that's how this makes me feel. It's grief interrupted, and it's just that.
Dirty and unloved.
We have a precious memorial garden we can't ever seem to tend to, homes we try desperately to take care of and topsy turvy lives that seem to spin faster and faster each and every day.
Because we're just stretched far too thin.  Trying to grieve your children and grieve with your children, hold your marriage together, keep all the balls spinning and face a harsh and impatient world every single day is utterly exhausting.
I just want to wake up in a HOME where it's all in one place.  And I can open the damn boxes and lose my sh*t.  Wail and cry and be covered in snot.  And yell about the unfairness of it all. But-
Then we can remember.
And all the feels that come with that-we'll have those too.  Joy. Laughter. Love. Togetherness. Wholeness.
All the things.
I know it sounds ridiculous, but I just want this thing, this one thing, to be easy.  Nothing has been easy in the past 3 1/2 years.  NOTHING.  And when I say nothing, I MEAN IT.
I just want a house that fits my family, all of it.  In a neighborhood where my kids can have friends and play, where I can maybe make an attempt to do the mom and friend things I used to.  Where I can sit on my porch and look at trees, feel the breeze and watch my kids play.  A place where I can make Sam & Mercy feel alive in my heart again.
I want this thing, this one thing that is so important to me, to what's left of my family-to be easy.  
For the love-I sound like a 2 year old.  And I know it.  my spirit is tattered and worn out. and so utterly sad.  and I know, deep in my soul, that this is what we need.  To go through those boxes-TOGETHER.  To bring them back into our lives in a tangible way.  To know them again.   
In our HOME. 
Sweet Jesus, I know it's earthly and worldly and all that other stuff.  But I'm going to ask, no BEG.  Please, for the love, make this easy.  Help us be wise and discerning and all those other "adulting" words so that we can find a home for this season of life and of our grief.  Here on this earth, to shelter us and give us rest, until we come to our forever home with You.
amen.
love,
clan mac mama

A few days-

of trying to find the words I promised to write.

Words that are stuck in my "throat," because there are SO MANY things I want to say.  Things I've tamped down, hidden away, shoved in the feelings closet.  OR-simply haven't had the energy to share.  

Christmas shopping when 2 of your kids are dead sucks.  

No way around it, no silver lining or cute emojis that can make it suck less.  

No amount of "being thankful for the kids I still have..." can even remotely touch the fried endings of my nerves.  

I still have to hang their stockings, knowing they won't be filled with anything because they don't need anything here on this earth anymore.  

I still have to open the boxes of ornaments and Christmas projects, fully aware that we are one Christmas away from having more Christmases without Sam than with him.  

I STILL HAVE TO-

do all the things for the ones I have left.  

Because they have suffered enough and they deserve to know that joy is still real.  

Going to church when your kids are dead also sucks.  

Especially when you just don't want to go.  

Not because you don't love Jesus, or want to worship or spend time in the Word.  

I don't want to go because every single Sunday, without exception, when I usher my 3 living kids out the door, I still feel like we're incomplete.  Because. we. are. 

Of all the chaos in our lives before Sam & Mercy left us, the one constant was our church.  

SO-After nearly 9 years at the same church, we stopped attending last spring.  Much to the dismay of our surviving kids, who couldn't quite grasp why we would do such a thing.  

Walking into that place, incomplete-finally just became too much for this mama heart to bear. 

To be frank-it was also the raw scraping of being in that Family Life Center where people eulogized my kids and "celebrated" their lives, it made me SO FREAKING ANGRY that I was physically ill when I would force myself to sit there and ride out the service.  

Period.  

For much of the last year, my life has felt like it was falling down around me.   Dominos falling in sequence, faster and faster, with no chance for me to flick one out of the way to-

make. it. stop. 

BUT- walking into this season, one that absolutely isn't about presents, trees, lights, cookies, ugly sweaters or hallmark movies-

I'm going to kick the dominos out of the damn way.  

To focus on the true gift.  

Even though-

It's our first Christmas without any family here to help fill the holes.  To create noise where there is none now.  

It's our first Christmas in 8 years without our closest pals.  

It's our first Christmas without unit parties and Gunny Claus. 

It's the first time we'll wake up Christmas morning with-

just. the. 5. of. us.  

And eat Christmas dinner with-

just. the. 5. of. us. 

It hit me last night that in this year, with all of it's chaos, our focus as a family hasn't even been close to the way we used to celebrate this season.  In the last 3 1/2 years, we've all just been trying to survive.

In my sewing cabinet last month, I found a beautiful, unfinished Advent Calendar that I started sewing for the kids the year before the accident.
The irony of that unfinished calendar coupled with our incomplete life has been stewing in my spirit-reminding me of all that has been lost in the time since Sam & Mercy left us.

Slowly, but surely, each tradition has fallen away-too painful to continue without all 5 sweet faces and hearts.
Gradually, we've learned it's often easier to fill our time in ways that require no thought or planning, no emotional engagement, no little pieces of our hearts and NO reminders of the people missing from our family.

And I hate it.  My spirit and my soul fiercely miss the beautiful traditions, the simple joy of keeping our focus and our hearts on Christ.

Will you pray with me?-
Pray that each heart in our family can seek ways to build new traditions.  Pray we find ways to be a blessing, to serve and to demonstrate the miraculous love that Our God showed us when he gave us-

the true gift of Jesus Christ.  

The Word became flesh and made his dwelling among us. We have seen his glory, the glory of the one and only Son, who came from the Father, full of grace and truth. 

John 1:14

love, 

clan mac mama

Hurting all over-

so yesterday evening, for some reason, Charles and I decided we'd have dinner at the restaurant we were headed to the day of the accident.  The one we were merely steps from when our lives irrevocably changed and our world was shattered.

That was probably stupid.

I've plowed through an incredibly emotional weekend with my "face" intact...and I capped it off by rubbing salt in a festering wound.
Oops.
I've also added in a nasty flare up of my auto-immune disorder and sick kids.
Nod to the master of chaos for the crazy carnival music...

I finally had no choice but to listen to my body and my heart today-which were nearly impossible to ignore since I'm currently a crabby butthole, I'm so exhausted that breathing takes too much effort and my joints feel like they are on fire while being hammered with a thousand tiny, ultra sharp, tack nails.  Thankfully, I've managed to keep the irritation at bay and NOT take it out on my kids.
Um...Sorry, Charles.  You know I LOVE YOU.

I have plowed through this fall, with all of the chaos and destruction and uncertainty, with my "face," again, mostly intact.  I've managed to perfect walking into "my" house in Swansboro without crying every time I step in the door.  I only embarrassed myself with tears and oversharing to contractors a couple of times...(that I can remember.)  We said "see you later," to the dearest friends who walked beside us in the burning flames of life after Sam & Mercy died. I compartmentalized paralyzing fear and worry for precious family walking through tremendous trials.  And I survived the emotional minefield of -
The Nutcracker.

And today, I just needed a minute.  So, I'm taking it.  I'm going to cry, eat chocolate, watch crap tv to shut off my never resting mind and go to bed-VERY early.  And pray that when I wake tomorrow, I can slap the "face" back on.  And if I can't?  I'll just pray that there will be some hands and hearts to catch me when I fall and help carry the load with my sweet kiddos for just a bit.

I used to think my life was so exhausting when the kids were all little-For REALS, they were all under 7 when Sam was born.  And I thought cloth diapering was a GOOD idea.  (It sure saved some moo-lah, but I'm not certain Charles will ever recover from the poop sprayer attached to the toilet.)

I had no idea. 

No clue how much mental, physical and emotional energy it would take to keep going just a few years later-when the shrapnel of June 11, 2015 would shatter my world and forever alter-
every. single. minute.

So, I'm trying to learn.  To take the time I need.  Step away when it all rubs my heart too raw.  Be honest and blunt about what I can and can't do.  Speak truth when I'm hurting or need some extra love.  And accept that how I deal with the death of my kids only truly matters to the people in these 4 walls and The God who brought all of us together.
This house and this heart?-got to be judgement free.
I DO NOT need to bring outside opinions into how I walk this rutted, pitted and treacherous path.  
I DO NOT need to concern my heart with how my grief looks to anyone other than the husband I'm committed to and the children I am blessed/charged with guiding.

Keep your eyes on Jesus, who both began and finished this race we're in.  Study how he did it.  Because He never lost sight of where He was headed-that exhilarating finish in and with God-He could put up with anything along the way: cross, shame, whatever.  And now he's there in the place of honor, right alongside God.  

Hebrews 12:2, The Message

To be truthful, I've never been a big fan of The Message translation-it's often seemed a little too "popmusic" for me. 

But this one? 

This said EXACTLY what I needed to hear today. The only "self-help" that I need in my life is to keep my heart pointed right where my children are rejoicing today.  

WITH JESUS.  

love, 

clan mac mama 

I WANT you to tell our story.

Did I ever want to be the cautionary tale you tell?
Not just no, but HELL NO.
But-
IF it saves the life of just one child…
I will gladly tell it over and over again.  I will share it with you so you'll share it with others.  I will stand in front of crowds and watch as videos of our story roll across a screen.  I will endure uncomfortable questions and comply with requests to tell my story over and over again, even when I'm so emotionally exhausted I just want to die.

I'll find a way to make this new "dream" of mine, a dream I never wanted but have accepted, be that thing that every bereaved parent wants.

A purpose out of seemingly infinite pain.

because it could save the life of-
just. one. child.

We celebrated Thanksgiving a few weeks ago at Eva's school.  Yup, you read that right.  EVA GOES TO SCHOOL.  Being the dorky and over attached former homeschooling hoverer that I am, I decided to take the invitation to attend the school Thanksgiving Day luncheon seriously and actually go.  Well, aside from the parents serving, only one other mama decided to embarrass her kid and pop in.  And she just happened to be a friend from "before." A sweet mama who graced my life in overlapping social circles.  Ones that usually involved funny mom's nights with my ridiculously entertaining pal, Misty.  We'd seen each other in passing and chatted for a few minutes here and there during school events in the last few months.  She'd gracefully reminded me of how we met and shared some laughter when I couldn't recall.  (Happens way too much now.  Grief brain is real, I promise.)
I know she was nervous as she shared that she had spent some time waiting for the right moment to tell me how my story had hit home in her life.   Today was that moment.
And I am so glad she did.  Beyond glad.  GRATEFUL. SO VERY GRATEFUL.
After she shared how much and how often she prayed for our family, she looked me right in the eyes and said-"I don't know if I should say this or if it's the right thing to tell you, but I tell your story.  I use it as a cautionary tale."
Her honesty just about took my breath away, but so did her willingness to be transparent and truthful.
The Holy Spirit convicted me through her again that day-
As much as it makes people uncomfortable to even imagine what it's like to walk in the shoes of a family who lost TWO sweet babies in one single day, it's not my job to make you comfortable.  It's my job to be a mama to all 5 of the precious children The Lord blessed me with.  And part of that job is honoring the 2 who left all too soon.  To let their deaths change nothing would shatter my heart beyond what I could bear.  The other part is raising my surviving 3 to be convicted in what it means to own your choices, own your history and to not even consider allowing the enemy to steal the life God has planned for them.

So I WILL share my story.  YOU share my story.
Don't assume it won't happen to you or your kids just because they've grown up around ATV's/UTV's or dirt bikes.  Don't assume it won't happen to them because it didn't happen to you when you were a kid.  News flash, Sherlock.  Those vehicles didn't exist when you were kids and the ones that did sure as hell didn't go 60 miles an hour.
LEARN from what happened to Mercy and Sam.

Use safety gear.
Take safety classes.
Wear the seatbelts!
Don't let an unlicensed driver operate one.
Follow the rules.
And YES, I understand that all those rules are not super fun, but neither is dealing with dead kids and the shitshow it leaves behind.

Accidents happen and people get hurt.  I get it, I really do.
But.
You wouldn't throw your baby in the pool without teaching her how to swim right?
And you'd teach your kid to drive before taking them to get a license and operate a car?
And you'd make sure they lock all the doors when you leave them at home and know how to dial 911?

Enough said.
Share. our. story.  and ALL the stories you know that might save a life.  Trust me, it'll be worth the words, and the breath, and the time.

Thanks, Kelli.  My heart needed that.

love,
clan mac mama
#Stand4SaMercy
#TheSaMercyFund

23 years-

As Charley pointed out during our gift opening today, Charles and I have been married to each other for almost half of our lives.
Dude.  That is a LONG time.  That means I'm creeping up on FIFTY!

We literally had not one clue what being married meant when we planned that big, beautiful shindig and got all dressed up and said some I Do's 23 years ago.
And when I say not one clue, I am NOT KIDDING.
Sometimes I think we didn't figure it out until kid #5 and deployment #2.  We may have started to get a clue when #3 & 4 were incubating and hubby was deployed...
but seriously.  I don't think we really got it until our kids died.
Because that's when the proverbial "rubber hit the road."
I will NEVER forget the brutally honest conversation we had with close friends just a week after Sam and Mercy ran ahead to Jesus.
My precious friend and fellow loss mom looked right at me and told me a day would come when we'd want to walk away.  That the anger and the grief and the pain would all tie themselves around each other and the enemy would convince me that I'd be better off without him.  Or that he would be better off without me.
I wish I could tell you she was wrong.
But she wasn't.
Marriage under normal circumstances is hard, under the kind of circumstances we've walked in the last 3 1/2 years-I'm not sure there's a word that encompasses that kind of challenge.

Hanging on to your marriage through the devastation we've faced?
Walking through child loss (x2) and coming out with your marriage intact?

That's just about miraculous.
And if I want to be completely transparent, I'm not sure I really believe in miracles.
What I believe in is this-
Holy Spirit led transformation.

That is the ONLY explanation I can truly believe in.  I. KNOW. with all I am, that it is not in my own strength, or my husband's, that we are still standing.  It is the groans of the prayers that we couldn't put into words, the fragrant offering of appeals on our behalf, and the tenacity of a Heavenly Father who strengthens us to persevere when we have nothing left. 
It is an alternating yin and yang of who refuses to give up-when my reserves and my spirit have hit the bottom, Charles will pick up the pieces to push the enemy out of our home and our union.  When he is depleted, it's me who stands in the gap and finds the will to keep fighting for our family.
I promise you, there is no greater victory for evil than the destruction of a family that loves the Lord.

HA!-Guess what?
I'm a sore loser, so losing this battle is not an option.

Charles-I love you, I love all of our children and even with the pain, I really do love our life.  Do I wish it was different and ALL of our babies were celebrating with us today?  Of course I do!  I will never stop yearning for what should have been.  But while we wait for what will be-a glorious reunion at the feet of Jesus-I'll keep loving and living THIS life with you.

Let love and faithfulness never leave you; bind them around your neck, 

write them on the tablet of your heart.  

Proverbs 3:3

All my love,
Always-
clan mac mama

I promised-

and man, this is hard.
Writing every day is no joke.
And, for the love of pete, I'm ONLY ON DAY ONE.

Granted, day one of said writing challenge happened to coincide with the final day of Nutcracker chaos.  For any of you who have been alongside or been through the "Nutcracker Years..."
You TOTALLY get it.
For the rest of you, suffice it to say that it's 90 miles an hour with your hair on fire, while you're juggling flaming bottles of hairspray, glitter and hot glue, smelly costumes, multiple pairs of rancid dance shoes, crowns and crazy headpieces...
I was wearing a TOOLBELT, for crying out loud.  It might have been loaded with bobby pins, hairspray, red lipstick, safety pins, bandaids, headpieces and a headlamp, but a TOOLBELT always makes a mama feel like a rocking superhero.  
And I really needed to feel like a superhero.
Because when you spend copious amounts of mental energy feeling like you've somehow failed because you have dead kids and your living ones are heartbroken, you NEED to feel like you aren't failing sometimes.
And I didn't feel like I failed this time.
I felt...
Good.
Like maybe, just maybe, I AM a good mama.
And, Jesus knows, I NEEDED to feel that way.  I NEEDED to know that I'm doing all I can for my babies, to help them heal, help them grow and lead them-
every single day-
right back to Him.
I pray that who I am and how I love them shows them what Christlike love truly is.  What it means to set all your own crap aside and love your kids-
FIRST.
ALWAYS.
UNCONDITIONALLY.

Christlike love was all over the place this weekend in our little world.
Precious and thoughtful gifts to remember my sweet Mercy from other mamas.
Hugs and whispered words of encouragement.
Unexpected Sammy memories shared-and, I really needed that!
The gift of friends who aren't simply friends, but family, who took the time to come out and love on my sweet girl and all of us with their presence.  

This mama is once again-
so. very. blessed.

love,
clan mac mama

Every day-

I'm going to write something, every. single. day. 
and guess what?!-you're all going to be my accountability peeps.
You. Are. Welcome.

I needed a good laugh today...

I spend all day writing in my head.  Telling stories and storing up memories, cataloging the moments, composing the words that I want to share.
And then I forget them all.
Because I don't write them down.
And I don't take the time because the sheer weight of living with ever present grief and pain, coupled with painful circumstances that have separated us from those we love, has short-circuited so much of how I used to deal with life.  And revealed with startling clarity the flaws in how I do now.  

As I was looking for pictures recently to put in frames for the past 3 Christmases, I was shocked at how few pictures I take now.  How often I let the moments slip by, because taking pictures that don't have all of my people in them sometimes feel like a betrayal.  It takes a tremendous amount of emotional effort to keep myself together, so the fluff of life tends to get overlooked.  A LOT.

Last night, when Eva and I rolled in from performance #1 of Nutcracker weekend, the freight train of emotions that I've held (mostly) in check through the last few months slammed into my heart and spirit.  As I watched Eva dance in her first queen role in 8 years of Nutcracker seasons, the pain of knowing I'd never see Mercy do the same or watch Sammy's eyes light up watching them both took my breath away. And all over again, I'm on my proverbial knees trying desperately to catch my breath and not literally die from grief.
Eva's Lead Maid too-and this year, Mercy would have been just the right age to play Clara.  Maybe they would have been on that stage together. No-I know they would have.  Because Mercy would have been the perfect Clara.  Bright and beautiful, graceful and elegant, eyes filled with wonder and joy.  She probably would have convinced her brothers to get on that stage with her.  Maybe even Charley, although that would have been a miracle in and of itself.

My Eva should be dancing with her sister, dazzling with their bright smiles and sweet sister love.  

Yesterday, as we drove to Nutcracker, both a little dreary from hurting hearts, we started listening to music for Eva's solo this year.  Every year since Mercy and Sam left us, Eva has poured her heart into dancing for them at recital.  Some years it's flawless, other years it's painful and stilted as she tries to dance through the weight of grief and teenage angst.  But-it takes my breath away, every. single. time.  She doesn't speak her grief the way I do.  She dances it.  She processes it through music that touches her spirit and speaks for the holes in her soul.  And she always surprises me with the depth of her thoughts and how she remembers them.

My life is hard.  and painful and exhausting.
But-
it's also SO. VERY. BLESSED.

And NO-not, #blessed because I just got a free coffee or my outfit is just right.
Blessed because I am a child of God, a God who loves and cares for each member of my family by using the Holy Spirit to speak love, grace and fellowship into our lives through others.
Blessed by the family and friends, fellow bereaved parents, and even complete strangers who seek to find ways to love on us.
Blessed by my steady as a rock husband and my incredible children.
Blessed by the abundance of "gifts" He continues to give, even when I doubt, when I'm angry and when I push Him away.
Blessed.

Every good and perfect gift is from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights, who does not change like shifting shadows. 

James 1:17 

love,
clan mac mama

Mean girls-

always suck.
I am FORTY-SEVEN years old.  You'd think the mean girls days would be oh-so-far behind in my rearview mirror.  Seriously.
And yet, apparently, they aren't.
In a few recent social situations, I've found myself to be the target of some behind the back whispering and some very clear "turn the back" snubbing.

Adding a bit more salt to the wound...
my daughter, the one who would literally lay herself down in front of an oncoming train to save another soul, has been the intended target of some teenage nastiness specifically intended to hurt.

What the hell is wrong with these people?

Hold on-  I almost forgot to mention the intentional hurt that was shoved into my face for the second year in a row on my birthday.

WHO does that?
And WHY?

Does it make you feel better about yourself to spew nastiness and gossip?
Is your heart "healed" when you hurt others?
What hole are you trying to fill when you intentionally exclude someone or say things to tear them down?

Did you ever stop, for just one moment, to ask yourself if the target of your spite might need grace, or a smile or just a kind word?  Did you take just one minute to think, to REALLY think, about whatever perceived slight caused you to react the way you did and maybe consider offering a moment of mercy?  Do you understand that the person you are hurting may be hurting enough already?

Of course not.  Because if you did, you wouldn't be a mean girl.
You wouldn't spend your time finding ways to intentionally inflict your ill will AND spread it around like a nasty fungus.

I may be a lot of things that aren't easy to handle.
Angry, sad, impatient, and quite frankly, extremely emotional.
Impulsive at times and often, incredibly forgetful.
But one thing I AM NOT-
intentionally mean.  Ever.
If anything, I am overly sympathetic/empathetic, too quick to find the good when sometimes I need to be aware that there isn't good to be found.  I'm a bleeding heart for the underdog and always willing to give the benefit of the doubt.
NEVER, EVER, am I intentionally mean or hurtful.  And for my daughter and myself to be the target of someone else's nastiness?  It just makes my blood boil.

But, at the end of the day, the only thing I can do is slap a smile on it, be graceful and know that at the core of the need to hurt others is the brokenness in the heart of the one who inflicts the hurt.

So, pay attention, mean girls.  I'm gonna slap a smile on it when I see you, I'm going to pray for your hearts and the hurt that lives in them.  And I'm going to rest in the fact that YOU and YOUR ugliness don't define me or my daughter in any way, shape or form.
Christ defines me.
He defines my daughter.
And He is my strength, my shield and my armor.  

You can take your nasty and shove it where the sun don't shine.

love,
clan mac mama


 

Ripping open-

soaking wet boxes of my dead child's things.
Ripping open wounds I bury under layers of pretending.
Surrounded by destruction and devastation in my community, my senses feel like they are on fire.  Little exposed wires that constantly get zapped and pinged.
Every morning this week, when I wake, I'm back in that "in between" after they first left us.  There is that moment as I drift awake when I have to realize that I'm not at home in Swansboro and they aren't out in the kitchen raiding the pantry and sneaking TV shows on the iPad.  My brain has to kick into gear and acknowledge that I'm in THIS house, with Eva, Charley and Max.  Mercy and Sam are in their boxes and THEY. ARE. NOT. ALIVE.
It's like a little piece of hell on earth to be back in that place.  The one where my disbelief at what has happened feels so fresh, so raw and so completely consuming.
It was the boxes.
They contained the pieces of her life, the reminders of the way she loved to sit on her floor and read her favorite books-the bags and purses she'd pack with a crazy array of little girl things-the dolls she cared for like her own little babies, that she'd tuck into her doll bed each and every night-the fuzzy socks that covered her long, skinny little feet, -the snow baby costume she treasured from her one and only Nutcracker season,-the lip gloss she constantly covered her lovely little rosebud lips in-the pillow pet she laid her head on every night and hid her binkies under, the towel I wrapped her in when she was freshly washed and ready for nighttime snuggles...
SO MANY THINGS.  And she touched every one of them.  They hold her DNA, her touch, maybe little pieces of her hair, a smudge of lipgloss or a pen mark from her insatiable desire to write her beautiful name on every surface she could find.
It was the boxes.
And they are still there.  Because we couldn't go home and we chose to live somewhere they didn't fit.  Probably because somewhere in the back of our minds, we didn't want a house big enough to remind us that we weren't that big family anymore.  We didn't need all those rooms and all those closets and all that open space for crazy little people to march around, dress up, play hide and seek, build forts and train tracks and puppet theaters....
We didn't need a house like that anymore.

But.
maybe, just maybe, we do.  Because they are still my children and I still need to feel like they are with me, even if it's just because I've unpacked the damn boxes and set up a freaking shrine.  And Charles, Eva, Charley and Max need to feel it too.

While this sweet little house has held us close for the last 3 years, I realized something when those boxes were ripped open. I have to find a way for my life and my home to hold ALL of my children.  I don't know what that looks like, but I'm going to pray every single day that I can figure it out.
I KNOW that not one of those things will bring my children back, but I can't live like this anymore.  I can't abide each and every day with this fractured and disjointed place in my soul.  And the feeling that I've failed them because I simply can't make myself deal with those things, those pieces, those memories. 

And I know that the only true peace I'll ever find will be in the presence and the arms of my Savior.  Sometimes it's just so exhausting to know that I'll live with this pain and this fractured family for so very long on this earth.  

Show me, Lord, how to honor You, 

how to honor them, 

and quite simply, 

how to survive.  

One thing I ask from the Lord,

    this only do I seek:

that I may dwell in the house of the Lord

    all the days of my life,

to gaze on the beauty of the Lord

    and to seek him in his temple. 

                                              Psalm 27:4

love, 

clan mac mama

Unspoken fears...

in the loss community, there are a million different ways we cope with our fears about our living children.  Some talk it about it all the time, others never at all, and many fall somewhere in between.  I'm in the never category.  I almost never mention that persistent and powerful terror that lies just below the surface of my soul, the needling sensation that something will happen to one of the precious children I still have on earth.
Last night, my dreams were filled with the most awful images and sounds, the true stuff of nightmares about my Max.
And I truly believe it was the lies and deception of the enemy, the crafty and cruel way he torments us when he senses we are drawing nearer to God.
Because so often in this awful journey, I've withdrawn from God.  I've cut Him off and shut Him out.  Because I simply couldn't wrap my brain around how or why He would allow not just me, but my husband and my children to suffer so greatly.  To bear such pain and live with this immense grief.
BUT.
Because the God who loves us and never leaves us has always been by my side even when I refused to acknowledge it, my heart has once again softened and sought Him.  I find myself seeking Him in prayer all day, every day.  Waking with Him on my mind and drifting to sleep as I confide in Him.
And the enemy sees this and hates it.
So he attacks me in the place I am so vulnerable that it causes me physical pain to even consider the what-if.
What if another of my children leaves me?
Lately, Max wakes in the night often.  He wanders in to our room, just needing a little hug and to be tucked back in.  He's never done that before, always sleeping soundly and waking like a chipper little bird by 7 am at the latest.
But do you know what?
In the 6 months before they left us, Sam and Mercy constantly woke in night seeking our hugs, our snuggles, our prayers- and just wanting to be tucked back in.
It feels like groundhog day around here, only now I have the worst. fears. realized. aspect to add to my plate.
Today, I'm going to have to choose again.
Do I let the fear win and the enemy triumph?
Or do I trust the One who, even when I push, shove and curse,  never leaves my side?
You might think it's a simple choice-even an easy one.
I promise you, it's not.  It's BEYOND not easy.
I want to go back to bed.  Curl up under my covers and hide.  Cry my eyes out and shut everyone out.  I'm so tired, so very tired.  Mama grief and all it's parts are simply eviscerating-because it feels like my heart has literally been ripped and removed from my body.  And I'm left with these pieces of pain that slowly stitch back together into a jagged little heart that pumps its fear and longing all through my soul every single day.
And the enemy knows this.
...SO. DO. I.
I'm choosing trust today.
But-I need my army of prayer warriors to cover that little man of mine and my sweet girls with so many prayers. And I need prayers-ones that will shield my soul a little from these attacks and give me some peace and some rest.
I desperately need that rest.

For thus said the Lord God, the Holy One of Israel, “In returning and rest you shall be saved; in quietness and in trust shall be your strength.” Isaiah 30:15 

love,
clan mac mama

Grieving was so much easier in the beginning-

when it was expected.  When it looked the way you thought it should.  When it fit the mold and had a response you knew how to give.
Before enough time passed for the expectation that the broken pieces of our souls would somehow be rearranged into a whole being again.  The person you knew before.  And one whose happiness could supposedly be proven with a collection of smiling photos or an afternoon with laughing children.
It was easier because it was "allowed."  The expectation that I'd be fragile, might burst into tears or have to leave/avoid situations that were too painful was accepted.  Grace was mostly abundant and we were given the berth to be shattered.
Then time began to pass and we had to find a way to start functioning in the life we're left with.  As my fellow wounded and lonely mama Melanie DeSimone says on her blog-in "the life I didn't choose."  I didn't choose this.  Charles didn't choose it.  Eva, Charley and Max didn't choose it.  And yet, here we are, living it.
Every. single. day.
I've noticed that we tend to disconnect ourselves a lot.  We retreat to our corners and hide in our books, our tv shows, legos, computers, anything we can find to avoid the "stuff" we don't want to see/feel/hear/know.
And because we disconnect, we fade in the background, becoming a footnote in the lives of those we once held so dear.  And it's never because we don't love them, want to be part of their lives or share new or old memories, it's because we are simply surviving.  And when you're holding on by a string, oftentimes anything that doesn't involve grasping desperately to that lifeline falls to the side.  And you don't even know it or realize it until one day, months have passed and you have no idea how your friends are, what's going on in their lives and if they might need you too.
Because over here, in this broken circle, we're still just holding on by a string and trying, and probably failing miserably, to figure out how to live again.  Really live.  Find passion, see God in all we do, seek to serve, teach each other how to love as Christ did.
Mostly I feel like I'm tired.  So tired that words to communicate it seem to fall short and scrambled.  And when I try, bless the hearts of so many that listen, I simply do not have the ability to make you see.  That the hole you feel when your child moves out, goes to college, leaves home or goes to camp doesn't even give you one shred of the soul shearing agony that grieving mamas and daddy's walk though every minute of every day.
I know that it looks from the outside like we're not always sad.  Of course not.  I'd have thrown myself off the nearest bridge by now if I could't figure out how to find some joy.  Trust me, I find it.  I just wish it was the joy of before.  The one unfettered by the pain of death, fear, trauma, nightmares, loneliness and broken dreams in my incomplete family.  My "unfull" heart.
Grieving was easier when we were allowed to be a disaster.
The harder grieving comes when we are learning one painful step at a time that most of those we love don't have the patience, the empathy or the commitment to not take our awkward social status and crappy communication personally.
We're still, 3 years later, climbing uphill in an ice storm in our underwear.  Every situation that was Marine Corps related has brought trial, stress and heartache for my incredible Marine husband.  My health has been a constant challenge and source of tremendous frustration that most don't understand and have little patience for.  Our children continue to fight tense, spiritual battles that are grounded deeply in what they saw/expreienced that awful day, how they have been learning to live with it, folding in what the world tells them is acceptable now and trying to find their place in a fractured family that doesn't know what the right way to grieve/mend/grow is.
I've realized recently that I may have hurt some people as I navigate this shitty ass path I trudge every day.
I've also realized I'm not always a great friend/aunt/sister/daughter/cousin/niece/mom or wife.
But I am doing the very best I can.  That may not look like what you need it to look like, but I promise, I'm trying.
And truthfully, its not about you.  Your kids aren't dead.  Mine are.  Sadly, this crap really is about me, as much as I desperately don't want it to be.
I've spent copious amounts of hours and time praying, worrying, discussing and hoping that the precious souls whose hearts were shattered when Mercy and Sam left us have found some measure of healing.  I don't forget them, not one of them.  I'm blessed beyond measure for all the love we knew before the accident and after.  Our children were and are loved, for that I am thankful and joy-filled.
Perhaps I failed in the graceful grieving I should have been doing after.
Should I have been sending thank you notes?
Should I blow up Facebook with constant posts and thank you?
Should I pretend we are more ok than we are to make all those who stepped into the gap feel better?  So that we can be a redemption story?
Should I blast all over social media and news outlets how forgiving I am and how it's all ok now?
Would that make everyone feel better and allow me to just live the way I need to when I wake up every single morning to 2 empty beds, 2 empty chairs, and 5 broken hearts?  When I wake up every morning not knowing what condition my PTSD/nightmare wracked child will be in today?
If you want the old Tiffany, you're going to be sorely disappointed.  If you want what's left of her and how she hoped God will redeem her, then please don't give up.
But please don't take it personally that I forgot to call, forget stuff I said, forgot your birthday or missed our lunch date.  I forget a lot and I'm working on it, but it may take a while.

It's your birthday, Sammy...

You'd be 8 today.  Oh my, I can just imagine how excited you'd be.  You LOVED your birthday.  The last one we celebrated was the best of all of them.  You spent the whole day with your sibling tribe, surrounded by gifts and love-and ended the day the best pool party ever with all your pals.  I remember looking at you that day and realizing that my little boy wasn't so little anymore.  Your face had "grown up" in that last year of your life.  Your pudgy baby cheeks were thinner and, while it broke my heart a little, it truly just made me so excited to see you grow, all at the same time.
You were such a study in contrasts, my son.  One minute you'd be tough as nails and ready to duke it out over whatever you were currently mired in and the next you'd be a bundle of crocodile tears, searching for mama.  You had one short little fuse and very little patience for giving up your way, but you also had the biggest heart for your brother and sisters-Heaven help anyone who might have offended or hurt one of them-the wrath of Sammy was a force to be reckoned with.  Who knew one day I'd miss hearing your fat little feet stomp like an elephant on the way to slam the door to your room, where you'd wail like a 2 year old until mama came in to make it all better.  (Which I mostly didn't do, you little turkey.  You knew I wasn't playing that game!  So you'd wail a while and just when my patience was almost depleted, you'd stop and crack the door open with a little whimper, saucer like tear-stained eyes blinking, and you'd whisper..."mama?")
You gave the BEST hugs.  You'd wrap your arms all the way around my neck and bury your face in my shoulder, your legs gripping my waist for dear life.  It's the way I held you the last birthday of your life when you asked me, "what was it like when I was born, mama?"  To this day, I think the Holy Spirit prompted you to ask me that question, to cement the beauty of that moment in my brain for when I couldn't hold your precious, living body in my arms ever again.
I forget things now, you know.  And watching your videos and looking at your pictures is still just so incredibly painful.  But it makes me remember and I so desperately want to remember- every. single. moment.  And when other people bless me and send me their memories and photos, it soothes the rough edges and brings me joy to see you carried in the hearts of others who loved you.
I completely lost it last night.  Snot and tears and sobbing and aching words pouring from my lips, probably making not a lick of sense.  And just like Miss Tolly rescued you from that pool on Charley's 7th birthday, she rescued me from my tears and let me cry all over her.  Because she loved you and she loves me and all of us.  It's beyond comprehension to me how I have been blessed with so many who love us unconditionally in the midst of all this pain and all the hard things that go with it.
I know it would break your heart to see mama cry.  But I also know that these tears and this pain and this sorrow is all the love that has nowhere to go now.  You & Mercy's earthly absence has left a hole nothing can ever fill.  Not a single thing.
So today, on your special day, a day that I never thought would be so filled with sorrow and pain, I will try for each moment of the day, to remember with joy all the love you filled my life for the years I was blessed to have you in my arms.
Happy Birthday Sammy-
I love you more than to the moon and back.
I love you forever, for always and for eternity.
mama

Mother's Day posted by Charles

Mother’s Day
Celebrating the woman who is always there for her children, her husband, her mother and father, her brother and sister, her family, and her friends; all those she loves so much! How do you let the most important woman in your life know that she is loved, cherished, adored, respected, honored, important, beautiful, sexy, desirable, on just this one day of the year? Just as our other holidays have been hijacked by commercialization so has this wonderful day of honoring and cherishing mothers.

Celebrate the Woman, not the day!

All too often on Mother’s Day the focus is spent on the commercialization, the stuff that we buy these precious women in our lives. The focus of the day, and actually every day of the year, needs to be on that special woman in your life. For me it is the mother of my children, Tiffany. She deserves my love and attention on this day most of all. But honestly, the sacrifices that my wife gives of herself for me, our children, her family, and her friends throughout the year truly deserve my utmost love, respect, warmth, compassion, passion, and giving of myself to her each and every day of the year. It is not possible to show this amazing woman, this true beautiful gift of God, how much she is loved, adored, admired, respected, cherished on one “special” day of the year deemed Mother’s Day! Of course I will try, I will shower her with love, kisses, hugs, flowers, and yes gifts. But all of this fluff on Mother’s Day would hold so much more in her heart if I did it throughout the year, each and every day. I am not saying, flowers and gifts everyday. I vow to show the love of my life, this gorgeous woman who has walked by my side through our life, through our peaks and valleys along our 23 year journey thus far. We have had our bumps, fell into some deep pits, and been floating in the clouds so high in happiness. Tiffany has always been there for me, her children, her family, and friends; she always gives so much of herself. I vow to be there for her the same, not just today on this commercial holiday but each day of our lives. I want her to feel my love, to know that she is cherished, appreciated, respected each and every day.

I Love You!

Charles