Francis Christopher and Therese Jules,
our littlest lights,
Breath of life
Beat of heart
Stirings from heaven
Lingering touches of peace
Constant inspiration
exists
Hope
Soulful connections
energize
Faith
Unseen
Grace felt
Tender healing
Eucharistic visit
Love
Saintly community
With me
Holy
Moment
Gifts
Ours
Home
Mary and Jesus
Amen
Francis Christopher and Therese Jules
A Mother's Love Remembers
July and August 2007
Your lives, so brief and sweet. Our hearts welcomed you and broke losing you. Your presence gave way for two lives to come. We know you live in heaven and watch over all your brothers here in this life. My heart is so grateful for you, my arms still wish to hold you, thank you for the light you brought and shine forth now. Trusting in God's loving arms to hold you, Love, Mommy
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Wednesday, July 13, 2011
"Tell me a Story" Moments of Grief
Tumultuous waves of memorial grief are part of my story.
In college I would go into the dorm room of friends and say, "Tell me a story." It was met with eye rolls or smiles at my seemingly silly invitation. (My heart is designed to care sincerely about the stories we live and it was my way of exploring back then). My senior year of college I would be inducted into a new world. Not just beginning a career but the rite of passage to losing my father to metastatic melanoma. Tomorrow would be my parents 38th Wedding Anniversary and on the eve of this lovely union one of those waves of grief is flowing toward me.
Dad listened to all of my stories. He was my inspiration for being present to someone. He never said, "Tell me a story" or even, "What's up?" He was just always there. He didn't go to meetings, have dinners or cocktails after work, or join clubs and organizations. Work, then home to be with us every single day. Sitting with me quietly or getting animated and full of gestures of exuberance after a few beers and discussions of life and dreams with me on the couch while I did homework or told him the latest idea I had for myself are vivid moments to me today. Dad modeled peaceful presence...and after a few Hamms Lights a lot of joyful banter!
Moving toward the hardest parts of his illness he told me a few reflections that never leave my soul. These treasured comments are alive in me so strongly because the conversation between us was taken away bit by bit as his illness grew and affected his brain. It wasn't so much the exact words he would share ; "I have had a great life. I have a beautiful wife and great children." It was the gratitude in his voice that still sings to me when I get sad and wish him here.
Many times since he has moved to Heaven, and when I feel tugging to just be with him and his wisdom, I would go and sit near his chair and imagine him there as I shared my new story. The practice of his quiet presence of not asking a million questions was available to me even in his physical absence. Losing his loving smile in front of my face has stretched me to use my other senses. Dad's example of appreciation in his most pain filled days has made me look at everything as though he has personally had a hand in sending me all the gifts I enjoy here by divine partnership with Heaven instead of in the grumble of "he didn't get to see this." It is as though he is experiencing my story in play by play mode and the distance seems instead like presence moving from inside my heart outward into life.
The last words he said to me when he arrived home by ambulance for hospice have held me together on nights like this when grief, which seemed so tucked away safely in a journal, comes loudly pounding into each heartbeat. Perfectly calming the wild wave, I remember how Dad looked gently at me with that sparkle of grateful light as they lifted him high in the air through the doorway on his cot; his mouth whispering, "I love you. Pray." Simple advice or wisdom? I am comforted for now. He is as close as my next prayer or "I love you" to my children.
In college I would go into the dorm room of friends and say, "Tell me a story." It was met with eye rolls or smiles at my seemingly silly invitation. (My heart is designed to care sincerely about the stories we live and it was my way of exploring back then). My senior year of college I would be inducted into a new world. Not just beginning a career but the rite of passage to losing my father to metastatic melanoma. Tomorrow would be my parents 38th Wedding Anniversary and on the eve of this lovely union one of those waves of grief is flowing toward me.
Dad listened to all of my stories. He was my inspiration for being present to someone. He never said, "Tell me a story" or even, "What's up?" He was just always there. He didn't go to meetings, have dinners or cocktails after work, or join clubs and organizations. Work, then home to be with us every single day. Sitting with me quietly or getting animated and full of gestures of exuberance after a few beers and discussions of life and dreams with me on the couch while I did homework or told him the latest idea I had for myself are vivid moments to me today. Dad modeled peaceful presence...and after a few Hamms Lights a lot of joyful banter!
Moving toward the hardest parts of his illness he told me a few reflections that never leave my soul. These treasured comments are alive in me so strongly because the conversation between us was taken away bit by bit as his illness grew and affected his brain. It wasn't so much the exact words he would share ; "I have had a great life. I have a beautiful wife and great children." It was the gratitude in his voice that still sings to me when I get sad and wish him here.
Many times since he has moved to Heaven, and when I feel tugging to just be with him and his wisdom, I would go and sit near his chair and imagine him there as I shared my new story. The practice of his quiet presence of not asking a million questions was available to me even in his physical absence. Losing his loving smile in front of my face has stretched me to use my other senses. Dad's example of appreciation in his most pain filled days has made me look at everything as though he has personally had a hand in sending me all the gifts I enjoy here by divine partnership with Heaven instead of in the grumble of "he didn't get to see this." It is as though he is experiencing my story in play by play mode and the distance seems instead like presence moving from inside my heart outward into life.
The last words he said to me when he arrived home by ambulance for hospice have held me together on nights like this when grief, which seemed so tucked away safely in a journal, comes loudly pounding into each heartbeat. Perfectly calming the wild wave, I remember how Dad looked gently at me with that sparkle of grateful light as they lifted him high in the air through the doorway on his cot; his mouth whispering, "I love you. Pray." Simple advice or wisdom? I am comforted for now. He is as close as my next prayer or "I love you" to my children.
Thursday, July 7, 2011
Motherhood and Love: (Inspired by Kate)
Many people inspire me and one special person believes in me so here I am writing.
I extend loving arms full of gratitude to my cousin Kate for her faith in my voice.
Writing has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. Today I jump off into the unknown and begin writing outside my safe home of journals and letters to loved ones. Here I go!
My Loving Arms
Knowing I have loving arms made hoping for children easy; but getting to fill them up with children did not come in a straight line. Years of waiting gave me unwelcome time to mold my plan and unlayer what I dreamed of experiencing.
My first dream was t0 create this atmosphere of unconditional love, peace, and harmony for as many children as I could produce! Cultivating that was easy with my amazing, faith filled husband. Waiting was downright uncomfortable. As irritating as an itch so far out of reach no corner I leaned against could satisfy the frustration.
Knowing so strongly and deeply my love was meant to flow through children was agony. My most written in journal was black with a beet red heart in the middle encircled with thorns. The words and tears that sewed together my longings were sacred and comforting.
Only God could hold my head in his lap and help me as this ardent love filled my soul. Waiting and hoping with every breath, I prayed and waited. And God sent me angels to help me prepare my loving arms.
I extend loving arms full of gratitude to my cousin Kate for her faith in my voice.
Writing has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. Today I jump off into the unknown and begin writing outside my safe home of journals and letters to loved ones. Here I go!
My Loving Arms
Knowing I have loving arms made hoping for children easy; but getting to fill them up with children did not come in a straight line. Years of waiting gave me unwelcome time to mold my plan and unlayer what I dreamed of experiencing.
My first dream was t0 create this atmosphere of unconditional love, peace, and harmony for as many children as I could produce! Cultivating that was easy with my amazing, faith filled husband. Waiting was downright uncomfortable. As irritating as an itch so far out of reach no corner I leaned against could satisfy the frustration.
Knowing so strongly and deeply my love was meant to flow through children was agony. My most written in journal was black with a beet red heart in the middle encircled with thorns. The words and tears that sewed together my longings were sacred and comforting.
Only God could hold my head in his lap and help me as this ardent love filled my soul. Waiting and hoping with every breath, I prayed and waited. And God sent me angels to help me prepare my loving arms.
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