My Talk-stimony

I'm still not entirely sure what to call it, but a few weeks ago, I was one of the speakers at my church's women's retreat. I had two months to prepare; it was a rather open-ended assignment that was supposed to focus on my experience with Logan's battle and being real with God. The morning of the event, I had a handful of bullet points outlining my takeaways from the experience, but no real... plan.

And this is what I wound up saying. I can't speak for how good or bad it may be, but I CAN say that it was pretty much entirely God giving me the words.

869th

I'm a fiercely competitive person. When I was a student, I hated earning anything less than a strong A. In fact, a B warranted a bitter round of mental self-flagellation. And a C... well, the horrors of that particular scenario are too upsetting to rehash.

Like all humans, I seek out activities that will allow me to shine. I know I'm a good writer so I write. When I was a kid, I knew I was a good dancer, so I danced.

But life isn't all about adhering to the straight and narrow and doing what we know we're good at doing. Sometimes, maybe more often than we'd like to think, conquering a challenge --a real, bona fide challenge-- is more meaningful than earning fifty As in a row.

When it comes to running, I will never win a race. I'm self-aware enough to realize that someone else on the road will always be faster than me --a whole lot faster!

But that doesn't mean I should torch my tennis shoes.

This morning, I ran my first-ever complete 5K. To this moment, I'm not sure how I did it, because I'm not in great shape and my knees are creaky and my lungs were burning by the time I crossed the finish line. But I finished. And I finished 869th out of 1855 participants, right smack in the middle of the pack. A solid 'C', if you will.

And I am so pleased.

So I got a C in 5K running. The me of my youth would probably be annoyed over the time and would be kicking me for not trying harder. But the truth is, I tried as hard as I could. When I crossed that finish line, I knew with 100% certainty that I had done my absolute best. I laid every bit of what I had to offer out on the table.

And it was good enough for 869th place.

Because here's the thing. If I'd said 'aw, naw, I'm not doing THAT because I suck at running,' I never would've been out on that road, utterly alone amid that pack of joggers. And I never would've had the morning to run and remember and focus on Logan and all he went through just to live a few extra months with us. And I never would've called out to God to ask for help when I wasn't sure I could make it. If I'd stayed in my comfort zone, I never would've been in the position to need help. And believe me, after not training at all for the past year, it's a miracle I managed to jog 3.1 miles straight without stopping! A true miracle. Had I remained tucked into my happy zone, I would've missed seeing that prayer for help be answered. The whole 'You are strong in my weakness' thing? Totally true.

So, open yourself up to miracles. Put yourself in uncomfortable situations. And then ask for help.

And you'll get it.

The Weight

A few weeks ago, Abby and I started taking walks together after dinner, while Adam puts the Little Boys to bed. We had a particularly poignant exchange a few days back that's really stayed with me.

As we strolled through the park, I asked her why she's mean to Isaac and Brady. Why she excludes them. Why she'll be nice one moment and then horribly unkind the next.

She released a great sigh. I thought she was going to say something snotty or dramatic; I thought she would, for the upteenth time, accuse me of loving her less than the others, or even worse, of not loving her at all.

But she didn't. And what did come out of her mouth shocked me.

With a sad sort of reticence in her eyes, she looked up at me, swatted a hair out of her eyes, and said I included Logan. I loved Logan. And he died..

The words were like a slap to the face. She's scared that if she loves them like she loved Logan, they'll leave her.

I wasn't sure what to say. I cleared my throat, but my 36 years on this planet haven't given me the right words to respond. So instead, I told her to never fear loving someone else. I told her to love as well as she could; to embrace others for who they are and to look for shades of God in everyone she meets.

And then we got home and she went up to bed and I sat alone in the dark, ruminating over how unfair it is that my 9-year old has to shoulder such an impossibly heavy burden.

Two Years

I wish I had the words to express how it feels to be sitting in this moment, two years removed from Logan's passing, but I don't. And that's because I'm not sure the words exist. The feeling is more of a set of musical notes, thrown together by a tone deaf composer struggling to compose a morceau. They're frantic and sad and tired and hopeful... but those words are too weak for the reality of the emotion. They're much too weak and imperfect and base. But since I can neither sing nor compose, words are what I have.

I feel old. When I think about the past several years, I realize how good I had it back in the summer of 2010. I was pregnant with Brady, and Abby and Logan and Isaac had fun playing together, splashing in the plastic baby pool in the yard and reading books and using their imaginations to become kings and queens and dogs and cats and knights and damsels in distress.

And then the mirror that showed the reflection of Heaven in my house cracked and the darkness came; it crept slowly into my heart like darkness does, enveloping me in fear and anxiety and overwhelming worry that said it's going to be bad. He's going to die and you know it. He's going to die. And I struggled to shut out the doubts and worries and to "just have faith" as well-meaning folks liked to say.

And I did my best. I get angry because I tried harder than anyone I know to rally the troops and to plead and beg for his life.

And then... February 11, 2012 came. And it all ended. And my heart, which had been on a roller coaster for a year and a half, broke in two.

Why? Why him? Why not someone else instead? Why anyone at all?

I'd like to say that it's been mended in the two years that have passed, but that would be a lie. It's still very much broken. I've gotten exceptionally good at compartmentalizing my feelings; I cry, but only when I have the time or when it won't be embarrassing or when it won't upset the other kids or cause their doe-eyes to grow yet wider with concern.

The truth is that I miss him every single day. Every single day I think about who he would be if he were here; if he hadn't been dealt such a horrible hand. I wonder what he'd be doing in school and who his friends would be. I mourn the relationships that I never got to have with the moms of the kids he never met. Every day I do those things. And I wonder how I'll get through the rest of my days missing him, though I suppose I'll get through them like I've gotten through the past 731: I'll get up and take care of his siblings and go through the motions. And I'll look for God and for signs that He's still there, even though most of the time, I don't really feel Him at all.

And I'll be positive, because though by nature I'm a glass-half-empty kind of woman, Logan was not. And the positivity that earmarked his time on this earth deserves to live on.

Winter

Isaac keeps asking me if it's winter yet. Though we're not anywhere near the depths of freeze that my midwestern and far northern friends will enjoy, it's been below freezing overnight. And for us that's a huge deal. I, of course, keep saying no, since technically, it's still fall.

But in a way, he's right because it's been winter for me for quite a long while.

As an aside before I get to the meat of my entry, there's really no way that this will be anything but cheesy and cliche, but hey, it's all the truth so Cheez Whiz aside, I hope it'll serve some sort of purpose for someone.

So, yes. Winter. I do indeed feel like I've been in a cold, icy place for quite a while. A few years, really, since August of 2010 when everything first started to fall apart. It's almost like my head has been free while my arms and legs have been encased in ice.

But here's the irony. Lately, I've felt the ice begin to melt just a wee bit. Yes, just as we're literally heading into winter, the coldest time of the year, the chill feels a little less intense. There are, of course, pains that come along with moving parts that haven't moved in a long while; the creaking of joints underused. I say the wrong things more often than I want to admit.

I miss my Logan every single day. There probably isn't an hour that goes by that doesn't feature him dancing through my thoughts. But the sadness feels a little less... crippling. I'm loving watching Abby as she becomes a young woman. I'm loving watching Isaac thrive in kindergarten. I'm loving watching Brady talk and walk and shake his booty just like his biggest brother used to do. That prolonged winter tried to take all of that away from me. But at some point, without realizing it, I told the winter that it couldn't do that anymore.

None of this is to say that I'm over it all, because I'm not. You don't get over losing your child, ever. At least not in this life. And there are moments that come along that make me feel like I've been stabbed. Really. I'll be completely fine, and then something completely random or otherwise insignificant will happen and bam, I completely lose my stuffing.

But for now, looking objectively at myself and putting the bad moments aside, I can say that it's all a little better. And I can't ask for more than that.

Mid-November

I keep thinking I should write something here. But I'm never really sure what to say. Y'all know I'm big on being honest, but honesty can lead to alienation. And I neither need nor want more of that in my life.

The holiday season is hard for me. I haven't spent a lot of time discussing it with Adam, but I'm guessing it's hard for him, too. We've already had our second Halloween without Logan, and a second Thanksgiving looms. And then a second birthday for Brady and a second Christmas and a second birthday for me... and then bam, it'll be February again. It really never ends. The misery of this kind of loss never ends, at least not on this plane. I guess it gets better, if better is even the kind of word I can use... but it's always there. I don't get to live like most people. And that's hard. Beyond hard, really.

The whole BatKid thing yesterday really got to me. I may sound like a heartless person for saying this, but it ripped my heart into millions of pieces. I hid post after post after post on Facebook; every single one I saw. It's just not fair, I thought. It's not fair that they get to keep their little boy and he got to have a very public wish fulfilled. It's just NOT FAIR.

I wanted the entire world to know how awesome Logan was. I wanted the world to know about his sunny disposition and his fighting spirit. He deserved to be a bona fide celebrity of sorts. But it didn't happen. And no matter how many people insist otherwise, I'll always feel like I failed because that didn't happen. He didn't get his wish (which was to visit Cars Land). I was never able to get his name out there.

I know that kind of stuff shouldn't matter. And in the very long run, I know it won't. But I so want his legacy to live on.

And I really, really want there to be a Logan car in the last Cars movie!

But of course, I'm not holding my breath on that one.

Anyway, if I sound low, it's because I am. Like I said, the holidays are hard. I can't make anyone else understand how hard, because it's not the kind of thing you can just close your eyes and imagine. And even if you could, you probably wouldn't because you'd probably keep your eyes closed for five seconds, imagine for five seconds, feel one-hundredth of the horror, and then flip them open, thanking God that it's not your reality.

But it IS mine. I can't flip my eyes open and thank God it's not.

So if you know me in real life and I'm kind of cold or snarky or unpleasant in the weeks to come, I ask you to cut me some slack. Or don't; it's really up to you.

Another Day

I don't cry much these days.

It's not that I don't feel anything. On the contrary, I feel a lot. Probably more than I want to feel. But tears? They don't typically come.

I've been tired. No one tells you what dealing with what we dealt with will do to your body. I feel like I've been torn apart, bathed in acid, blow dried and set out in the sun. And then blasted with cold air. I guess that sounds extreme, but I'm so disconnected that some days, it's hard to make any sense of anything at all. Including my own thoughts.

I missed Logan a lot today. I'm not sure why. I miss him every single day. Every single hour. But today, for whatever reason, the wound felt very raw.

Maybe it was because Adam's cousin got married last night. And Logan wasn't there with us to celebrate and boogie with his brothers and sister at the reception. Or maybe it was because the Team Logan Bake Sale was last weekend and we're fresh off a family trip to attend.

Or maybe it's nothing more complicated than a mom missing her little lamb, wishing he were here with her.

I don't really know. And I guess it doesn't matter much: it is, after all, what it is.