I’ve been told “timing” is the best seat in the house. Those words are truth.

My daughter is a swimmer, a sport I knew nothing about three years ago. This is the first season where I feel like I know the sport. I have knowledge of events, strokes, turns, suit brands, goggle styles, how to keep time, scoring (sort of), starts, etc.

But there is so much more.

Last night I sat behind the starting blocks and ran the stop watch for lane five at the swim meet. Being a timer is an entirely different experience than the view from the stands.

What you can not fully see from the bleachers is the true support the swimmers have for each other. They wish each other good luck, high five at the end of the race, lend a hand for a swimmer to get out of the pool, hug for victories, hug for losses. These ladies support each other across lanes, across schools, across all ages. It’s a beautiful thing to witness in a time where life can feel like choas. Parents you ought to be so proud.

The timing of it all couldn’t have been better for me. I went to the swim meet ready to lift up and support the athletes, when in turn they lifted up me. At the end of the meet I felt excited, not because of the team score or fast swims, but because I was motivated to be a swimmer. (not in the literal sense) I was motivated to be more supportive of the people around me. It doesn’t take much to change someones day, in or out of the pool.

I am thankful for the reminder at the perfect time.

It was December 1st twenty-two years ago when I called God out.

In the crisp of Minnesota Winter I boldly said “I am struggling to believe in you God, I need more, I need a sign, like a big ass sign, to know that you are REAL”

Leading up to that day, I had a calm Lutheran upbringing. We attended church on the big days, and I did all the confirmation things required of me to “pass”.  There was just something about my home town church that felt a little off to me, like I had to earn (financially) my way in. I did not have a relationship with Jesus. I had no idea the gravity of what He had done. I just went through the motions required to fit in.

Then I woke up December 1st to receive the awful news of my uncle passing away. He had been my employer, my dice shaking buddy, my friend. I was heart broken. I was pissed off at God. Death sucks. It makes you say crazy things. I demanded a sign from God.

Then He showed up.

The morning of my uncle’s burial, my Brother Jeff was late to the funeral. (pre-cell phone time). While he was driving to Fulda alone, He fell asleep at the wheel and drove off the road. I remember clearly the look on my mom’s face when someone relayed the news to her. After his car entered the ditch- a pole(maybe a mile marker?) crashed through his windshield, narrowly missing his head. He walked away from the accident unharmed.

I am certain someone said,  he was lucky to be alive.

One big ass sign.

I didn’t fall down on my knees and give my life to Christ right there at the family gathering, but it was the day I knowingly took my first step. Day one of a new mindset-
from-what does God do for me—
to what can I do for Him.

I began by giving thanks for my big brother.

Life is still moving

Why do you keep asking it to start again?

Still growing

Still dying

Still coloring outside of the lines.

Why the rush to the great big movement again

To step. run. sprint.

The hustle

The endless marathon

And leave all this slow behind?

Your life is still moving

All the small parts around

Still laughing

Still holding on

Still begging you to grow.

I’m struggling with the push

A crowds call

To go backward, faster

To revert

To rewind

Just stop

please

Stand still for a moment

Be ok with

The pause

And all the less space to move.

The hardest part for me is – not seeing the enemy.
It’s maddening to feel powerless against something I am not even able to touch.
and then-Not able to catch, to conquer, to run from, to tackle, to defeat, to destroy.

I’ve been thinking of Atreyu in The Never Ending Story – when he is refers to the nothing.
Except it’s very much something.

And then I can’t even fully defend the ones I love, the children, the parents, the sisters, the friends, the children of friends, the teachers, the nurses, the sick, the healthy, the ones that don’t live in my home, the ones I’ve waited incredibly too long to visit.

And I just keep feeling sorry for so many people, and their plans, their goals, their accomplishments, their loves, their routines, their moments,  their destinations, their decisions, esp their own loved ones…all then it’s all just taken away, by an enemy we can’t even see. We can not even see.

and then we can,

the nothing is everywhere
on maps, on store fronts, on business closures, on feeds, on our hearts, on the TV, on the phone, in the messages, in the voices cracking on the phone, on the faces of our people, on the expressions of our children, on the brink of taking over, something.

and then nothing changes again.

My mother’s side of the family is huge, like too many cousins to count huge, like she was number 7 of 11 huge.  So many adventures had been done.created.accomplished for the first time before I was even born. It was unlikely to be the first to do anything as our family grew.

But not “first daughter grieving mother” -I was the first. Despite a sizable amount of family we love having passed on, I was the first daughter to loose her mother in our huge family. As I looked to the left and right for family to talk to, to understand, there were (are) many days I felt so breathtakingly alone. Even all of my mother’s sisters were still enjoying their mother (my grandma outlived two daughters and a son).

Life will never be fair.

But that first year was the fucking unfairest of them all.

People don’t know what to say to you when you loose your mother, esp if they haven’t lost theirs. I was able to welcome phone calls.hugs.well wishes with love, but grief makes you a shell of a person for a long time, years maybe.

I spent that first year pretty mad at the world, not at any real person, just existence in general, and just mad at the hand I was dealt. It was incredibly hard for me to see mother/daughter relationships struggling, hard for me hear people complain about their mothers- Truth, that may always be.

Life will never be fair.

I am thankful for the new friendships that grew out of that dark first year, the “daughters with no mothers club” the “my mom died way too young club”. Two clubs whose members would love to never be a part of, but embrace you because they are completely in it. They got you.

Today, five years later, I am no longer that mad person I used to be. I have learned to channel life’s unfairness into ways others might not see. For example I rarely miss the chance to photograph a mommy(or grandmother) with her child. one by one. even as they resist.

I have grown grateful for the friends who share photos of themselves with their mothers-or with their children- on vacations, at holidays, holding their grandchildren, crying, laughing, rejoicing. simply living.

Because at the end of that story- life will be unfair to them too.

They just don’t know it yet.

In sixty short days I’ll run face first into the 5th anniversary of my mom’s passing.
In grief there are dark days and light days and many days somewhere in the gray.

She was an artist on so many levels. Creation & recreation were some of the things I most admired about her. In the last years of her life she was painting ceramic figurines (again).

The process began the same with each.
First, a coat of black paint on the entire statue- I can still smell the acrylic paint she used.
Second, she selected the lightest colors, the whites, the skin tones, the yellows covering the black areas with soft brush strokes of color.
She had a technique I can’t copy, softly layering the colors over the black, and leaving parts of the darkness to peer through.
Third, she would select the colors that gave the art piece its character,- the blues, reds, and all things bright, taking that piece from darkness to living color.
Lastly, she would spray a seal coat over the entire thing protecting it from the elements of the world.

I loved to watched the process, secretly guessing in my head what that final outcome would look like, thrilled when she would ask for my input on what color to do next. She took total darkness and made it light again. The recovery took days, sometimes much much longer. It was a dedicated work and she never rushed to the finish.

Some pieces just took longer than others.

It wasn’t until a few nights ago, as I sat painting- bringing old things to newness- that I felt an overwhelming sense of re-connection with my mom. Maybe it was the smell of the paint, or being patient with the step by step process, or even still guessing what the next color will be- But I felt like I was finally going from a dark color to a lighter place.

Olivia has now joined me-Finding things to paint and sitting at my feet while I work. Together we are taking all the gray things about grief and slowly covering them up with color.

& Some pieces are going to take longer than others.

(samples of her work)

The gift of patience is not something I have. There have been times in my life when I’ve prayed for it, worked for it, prayed for it again, but seriously when I see a goal line, I just want to skip the hard race and get to the checkered flag. I hate waiting.

Add into that lack of my patience, someone I love and their decades of addiction. I won’t lie lately I can’t handle it. I don’t understand it. I’ve never lived that lifestyle and I feel at a complete loss waiting for that life to change. So many days I just sit helplessly waiting for that change to come, and for this season of life to pass. I hate waiting.

I know my strengths and in this moment I am completely weak. When someone you love is an addict, the thought of them healing can consume you. You want to help, you do help,. You give your time, your money, your family, your belongings, your energy, your will power, and yet nothing changes. You exhaust yourself and you witness others you love doing to the same, still nothing changes. I hate waiting.

Lately I see how selfish I am in wanting my family member to heal. I thought for years it was the best thing for them, to “get better”. But truthfully it’s about what I want. I want a healthy relationship with that person, I want them back at our family gatherings, I want to share memories and stories and laughter and good times. I even want to share bad times, I just want the addiction to stop. Lord give me strength, I want the addiction to stop. I hate waiting.

I was recently published in Mankato, Minnesota’s Kid-oh Magazine in the “how do you do it” article. In case you didn’t get to read the article, here is what I shared:

Walking out of the grocery store today I noticed my minivan had a flat tire. As frustrating as it could have been, I asked a fireman who was walking by to help. Between his kindness and the gas station clerk nearby, I was able to get to a local tire shop and get it fixed.  Not one time did I use my cell phone to call for help, because I can’t.

My husband and I decided to go cell phone free sometime in 2013. Initially we dropped the two cell plans to save money and get out of debt. Now five years into the disconnect, It’s hard to foresee us ever owning cell phones again. Crazy, right?

We get asked all the time, by wide eyed strangers, “Wait, what, so how do you do it? Live life without a smart cell phone?” I reassure them it can be done. It was only a couple decades ago that everyone did.

Organization and communication is key. As a mom of three kids and a small business owner, I am always checking calendars and timelines to remind everyone where they need to be. Throughout the day my husband and I check in with each other on google chat or by using our landline phone. My close friends know they can use messenger to reach me on my computer most times of the day. Living cell phone free has greatly improved our communication skills. We leave hand written notes, put important things on a dry erase board and email big to do’s to our spouse.

What has been a fun change is the ability to adjust to any situation. When I used to have a cell phone, I found myself asking for help all the time. I would call my parents, my spouse or my bff for silly little things. I would text people a random thought about which item on sale I should purchase. Now I make more decisions on my own, and save big questions for when I have the chance to talk to my family face to face.

What I love most about not carrying a device with me, is the freedom I get in the disconnect. When I am hanging out with friends we are able to focus on our conversations and not the dinging of my phone. When my family goes out to eat, we play games like I spy or tic-tac-toe while waiting for our food.  And while waiting in line anywhere, I strike up a conversation with a stranger and enjoy the fellowship of another person. I love the ability to focus on the present moment and not the interruptions of a device.

One of the challenges is the world’s assumption that everyone everywhere has a cell phone. There are only 6% of us in the nation that do not. (I can’t help but wonder what that nationwide bill looks like)  At least twice a day someone tells me “Just text me when you get here, or text me the photo, or send me the address to my phone, or if you get lost on your way just text me”. I usually just nod and smile rather then explain why I can’t.

The biggest struggle for me is traveling alone without the cell phone. It is probably the only time I wish I still owned the security blanket of one. Instead I make sure my van is in running order, plan a safe well traveled route, pray for great weather and carry important phone numbers with me at all time.  I trust that if I were to need a good samaritan someday, one will show up to lend me a hand.

Despite many people telling me there is no way they could live without a cell phone plan, I want to assure them that they can. Try a day or go a weekend without it. Start small and you may be surprised how great it feels to be completely disconnected. I know we all have busy lives full of places to be and things to see. I know there are many apps that claim to make our lives easier and less stressful, but I’ve never used any of them. Instead I buy post-it’s in bulk and write letters as often as I can.  Living cell phone free has changed our family’s life and there’s no app for that.

Maybe it was because I was driving and thinking of too many things, but I couldn’t for a minute remember how many years it had been. For the first year I could tell you, down to the minute, how long it’s been since my mother had passed. Then suddenly I had a blank moment on main street.

So right there on a major road I pulled over the mini van into a parking lot and got angry that I couldn’t remember the year my mom had passed away. Was is three years? four years? How could I be here? How can I not remember?

How can I FORGET?

I don’t know exactly where I am in the stages of grief, but I know I don’t want to be in the stage of forgetting.

So I sat on the roadside alone in my Honda Oddessy thinking about how my mom never even seen this van, or it filled with three car seats. How she has missed so much, a birth, many birthdays, hugs, games, laughter, campfires, emails, photos, phone calls….four years has gone so fast. How could I forget that timeline. Why could I not remember that year?

I’ve spent a lot of time since my mom passed away rearranging my memories. I know how much she didn’t like sadness or for people to see her in pain. Its not how she would want to be remembered. So I’ve spent a lot of time, trying to remember less of the hurt and more of the Joy

I am sad that I didn’t spend her last Thanksgiving with her, somethings I know I won’t forgive myself for. Each Thanksgiving I remember. After you loose someone it easy to go to the place of would of, could of’s, should of Those thoughts come heavily with grief.

What doesn’t come easily is finding those new moments of New Joy, or living Joy. I think we all struggle with the guilt that new happiness can bring. Its not that we are forgetting our loved ones that have passed. It’s that we are honoring their memory by living our life with joy.

I’ve concluded I’ll probably forget it again, December 10, 2014, but there’s so much I long to remember. Lotto tickets, Well done bacon cheese burgers, card games, lawn jarts, pepsi, holiday de-lights, birthday parties, her love to sing while cleaning the house, sweatshirts and jeans, painting, her laugh, her humor, her strong willed-ness, her passion for party planning, her love for her kids, and her grandchildren, her happy marriage, her always warm and welcoming home.

So now when I am driving in my mini van, I am not sad if I have forgotten her death. What really brings me joy is that I remember her life.