How Little It Takes

Every now and again, one or more of my precious girls reminds me how little it takes to truly make them happy. I guess all parents experience those moments when we think it will take tremendous amounts of time and effort to satisfy our children's request for play, or to watch them do something they think is truly remarkable. However, the more I journey down this road of Fatherhood, I am finding that their expectations are not as great as I sometimes think.

Last night was a typical hectic night in the life of the Twiggs. Two cars going in different directions. One with Zan on the way to a meeting at church and the other with me and "da gurls". At home, after a nutritious meal served from a drive-thru window, I settled down to read for a few moments before the bed time chaos...I mean routine began. Emma interrupted my reading time. At first I was a little aggravated. You see there is usually no such thing as a "brief" conversation with Emma. But I was surprised at both her brevity and at her comment. She said, "Dad, I don't know why, but it makes me feel good when I see you and Mom reading". Who knew that doing something for myself...something that I was actually feeling guilty about for taking the time to do (and for parking the girls in front of Disney Channel), would make my daughter happy.

Or, when asked what was their best part of the day at the supper table, and they all reply, "Right now...having supper together."

Or like tonight, as we kissed the girls goodnight and left them at a "camp out" with Poppy and the girls all took turns turning flips off my legs while I held their arms....something we have done, oh I don't know, a couple thousand times. Yet you would have thought I had just invented the back flip and was letting them participate in the most wonderful thing a person could do.

I hope I never truly forget how little it takes to make them happy. A little time, a little touch, a little interaction really does go a long way. I wonder what they think or better yet what they feel when we are able to spend an entire day together?

100 Years Goes Faster Than You Think

Well at least that's what Kenny Chessney says. Today I hope it is true. Is that horrible? I don't want to rush through the remaining years I have with Zan, Emma, Lydia, and Corinne, but at the same time I wouldn't mind if today we were all reunited with M.A.

Earlier tonight, Emma asked me if the Bible said exactly when Jesus would be coming back. I gave her my best theological answer, complete with "the Bible actually says, no man knows the day or the hour". Then I switched back to "Daddy" mode and asked her why she was asking. She said, "Sometimes I am just ready to see Jesus...I mean He is this person that I believe in, but it kind of feels like a fairytale and I would just really like to meet him in person." I simply replied, "Me too Kiddo". But all the while I was honestly thinking I also would like to be there to be with M.A. again.

I really miss her and I kind of thought I would have a little more clarity by now regarding the whole "time - space continuum" thing...so to speak. But I don't. It seems like a million years since I last saw her...spoke to her...held her...kissed her. And at the same time it feels like a million years will pass before I get to see her again.

My Compulsion

I still find myself marking time by October 13th. More so than just with comments like, "before Martha Anne died" or "after Martha Anne died". I still have this compulsion...this need to know as precisely as possible how long it has been. I find myself looking at the calendar on my cell phone each morning, to be sure I can say with certainty it has been 10 months, two days, and 23 hours.

Of all of the emotions I have experienced, of all the thoughts I have had, of all of the mannerisms I have expressed since her death, this one bothers me the most. Not because of the act itself. Marking time in such a manner seems to me to be fairly normal for someone walking this path. No, what bothers me the about this ritual, is that it is as near to a true compulsion as anything I have ever known. I have to do this everyday. If I don't, a sense of panic begins to set in.

I don't even know why this act...this precise marking of time is so important to me. I never share the information with anyone. In fact the few times I have been asked how long it has been, I simply reply, "6 months...9 months...10 months" whatever the case may be. Even though truth be known, with a quick glance of my watch I could tell the inquirer down to the hour. I do not even consider this some badge of honor, that I am able to count the hours since her death. In fact, when I am completely honest with myself it is more often something I am ashamed to admit. I guess in part because it seems so strange to me. I have never know anyone to do this before.

I wish I could just let it be what it probably is. A harmless but helpful mechanism for me to in some part cope with the death of my precious daughter. But no...not me. I have to psychoanalyze everything. "What's the meaning of this?" "What's the motivation behind that?" "At what point do we seek clinical help?"

Oh well, at this point I am not sure what choice I have anyway. The compulsion is too strong to fight right now anyway. See, even as I glance at the clock on the computer, the first thought that comes to mind is in 35 minutes it will be 10 months and 3 days.

Home Alone

Zan and the girls have gone to the beach with extended family for their annual "Girls Get Away". So, I am home alone. I enjoy the peace and quite for about half a day and then it starts to drive me crazy. Perhaps the most difficult thing about being alone is the time I have to think about Martha Anne.

It is during these times alone that I realize just how much "stuff" is still up there in my head. I guess that when "real life" is in full swing it is easier to repress some thoughts than when I have time on my hands. But in the long run, I am thankful for the time to deal with these thoughts and feelings. And even though it is tough, it is probably better that I am alone to process this grief in this way.

It will be a good week I am sure. And all is not lost. I have work to keep me busy, a free ticket to the movies, my cell phone (to call Zan if it gets really rough), and an ample supply of boiled peanuts.

Aggression

I would have to say that I have pretty much always been someone who would stand up for himself. Someone who would not back down from conflict or confrontation. Not necessarily someone who went looking for conflict or someone who started trouble, but one who would deal with whatever came my way (perhaps this is where M.A. got her sense of standing up for herself and others).

However, about two months ago Zan and I both started noticing a little more aggression in my demeanor. The first time I noticed it was at a Braves game. This jerk (that is not a reflection of this increased aggression, this guy really was a jerk) was cutting through the parking lot, trying to worm his way into lines of cars that had been waiting patiently in line to leave. I was pleased to see that the cars ahead of us were not going to let him in. However he finally wormed his way in and then started celebrating is victory out his open window. Out of no where, I felt and acted on the urge to roll down the window and shout, "That still doesn't make you a jerk!" Zan was not happy with me. And I must say I really wasn't either.

Then as recently as today, I became impatient with a woman ahead of me in line at the store. She was talking on her cell phone and insisted the cashier, and the rest of us behind her wait until she dug out sixteen pennies from her purse to pay for her merchandise. By the time she got six down on the counter, I had had enough. I reached into my pocket and pulled out a dime and slammed it on the counter and said "For goodness sake, can we get on with this!" The lady just sneered at me...the cashier laughed under her breath. I was instantly embarrassed.

I have been avoiding the thought that this all could be related to Martha Anne's death. I know all too well that an "Anger" phase exists in the grieving process. I really thought I was going to avoid it, and I kind of feel weird excusing my behavior as part of my grieving. But I have no other explanation. I am usually a patient man who makes wise decisions. Well...at least wiser than these two decisions.

Perhaps the worst part is I am not sure what to do with this pent up aggression. I started lifting weights again today after about a five to six week break. Maybe that will help me redirect some of this. I hope so. I really do not like who I am right now. I really, really do not want to embarrass Zan or the girls or tarnish my witness for Christ. Part of me just says, "Suck it up and get past it". But I really think there may be more to this phase than that. So, I'll keep praying and hitting the weights. At least maybe I'll get in better shape!

Vacation

We recently returned from a much needed week at Mexico Beach. I wasn't really sure what to expect as this is our first summer vacation without Martha Anne. As bad as it may sound, it wasn't as bad as I thought it would be. There were moments of tears and longing to have her with us, but there were also happy memories of her as well. She loved the beach and we had made a lot of good memories there.

At some point during the week, I asked each of the girls if they had thought about M.A. Each of them said, "No...not really". However, all of them talked about her incessantly.

Perhaps the highlights for me were having both the Guttensohn's and the Yoder's visit us. Many thanks to them for making the effort to be with us. I am not sure if they knew their presence with us would make the week easier or not...but it did.

Sensations

Sometimes it still seems very surreal. Like it really isn't happening. Like it possibly couldn't have happened. Not to us. Not something so very tragic.

If it were not for the physical "sensations" that accompany my grief, I might be able to convince myself that it did not happen. That I am in some deep sleep, dreaming a parents worse possible nightmare.

But it is always there. The sensation of a basketball sized hole in the middle of my chest. Which in and of it self is bad enough, but this hole...this space feels as if it is filled with frigid air. The only time I am not aware of it is if I am with Zan and the girls. However, the moment I realize it is gone...it returns. If I dwell on it, the frigid air becomes even colder.

I do not speak of it to anyone...Zan only. I guess in someways I am afraid if I talk about it will disappear forever. And, as horrible as it makes me feel at times, I truly dread the thought of loosing the sensation. I am afraid it would feel like I am abandoning her memory. Which after all is all I have left. At least on this side of Heaven.

Father's Day

Today was supposed to be a great day. A Father's Day and a Birthday celebration combined. The last time these two days coincided was ten years ago. That was a great day. I remember being thrilled that I got to share Father's Day with my oldest's birthday. But this go around was much different.

There were no presents, no Happy Birthday songs, no celebrations at all. Instead the day was spent fighting back tears and trying to hold off despair. A valiant fight was fought, but at the end of the day I am not sure who really won. I am still here...and she is not. Maybe it was a stalemate.

I have been reminded today that my should have been 12 year old Martha Anne was at the core of her being a fighter for justice and fairness. Yet today I have also been reminded that life is anything but fair.

But despite my sadness and despite my longing to see M.A. again, I know that I know that my Heavenly Father is in control. He loves me and His justice will prevail. His love for me and for Martha Anne will prove fair, as we are reunited one day.

And to my little one. I will miss you terribly, and I will love you forever. Happy Birthday, Martha Anne.

She's Gone

I hope this is a phase. But that is all I can hear in my head lately. She's gone. She is not where she once was. She is not where she belongs (Father please forgive me). She is not where I want her to be. Or maybe I am not where I want to be.

I don't know why I am feeling this way now. I feel like I have been strong and full of faith up until about a month ago. But now I feel my strength slipping away. I fooled myself into thinking this would get easier. It is not. I feel worse than ever. I miss her more than ever. I can't sleep. Every time I close my eyes I just see her lying there .... unresponsive on that hospital bed.

Maybe that is part of it. Just the suddenness of her leaving. I pulled her up under my arm, said "I love you", kissed her on top of her head and then tucked her in. That was it. That was our last encounter. And, I am thankful for that...I truly am. But she is still gone.

"Father help me. Help me to see your purpose. Restore my strength. Help me remember the happy thoughts. Help me please. I need to be there for my family. I need to remember You love me and You will see me through this. I want to honor her memory...honor her life...honor You, Lord. Father, please forgive my doubt...my weakness...my giving into fear and woe."

Mother's Day

It has come and gone. The first Mother's Day without Martha Anne. We played it low key today. We didn't really plan it that way. I just wasn't sure what to do. I am so very grateful for the mother that Zan is. She is hard on herself sometimes, but I am so very blessed to have her as my soulmate and as the mother of my children.

Tonight as I write my heart aches for both of us, but especially for Zan. This still hurts so very much. Sometimes I feel it as strongly as the day she died. My wife should still be raising four girls...not three. We should have watched four girls dance this weekend...not three. We should have swam with four girls today...not three. Zan should have heard four girls saying "Happy Mother's Day" today...not three.

I am so sorry Zanny. I wish we were not walking this road. But I am selfishly thankful to be walking it with you. You are an amazing woman and mother and I love you more than I could ever say.

Communion and a Piano Recital

That's what was on the agenda today. Church, communion, and an afternoon piano recital. At first glance, not a particularly taxing day. I am still amazed at my ability to allow myself to think that. To allow myself to wake up without the forethought of how the days events will be shaped by the absence of Martha Anne.

The first land mine...communion. Although this was the second time we have partaken of the sacrament without her, it was pretty emotional for me. I just kept thinking how grateful I was for the cross. More so than just for the assurance of my salvation, but now also for the assurance I have that I will see my daughter again some day. It was too hard to hold back the tears...something I must confess I have never been really good at anyway. So, I missed her a little more than usual today at church.

The second land mine...a piano recital. Emma and Lydia really did a good job with their pieces, and I had already dealt with and prepared myself as much as possible for the fact that this would be our first recital without M.A. So all in all I was doing pretty good. At least until Dr. Bacon, the girls' piano teacher, gave out awards for the guild performers from last year and this year. He mentioned a student who had received a Superior rating from last year's competition who was no longer with us. Emma and Lydia's sister....my precious Martha Anne. I missed her being there so much I thought I was going to fall to pieces. I held it together as best I could, so as to not freak anybody out, but all I really wanted to do was just sink inside myself and never come out.

I know I will see her again...I don't doubt that at all. I know she is in a better place. I believe she knows joy and happiness that I can only imagine. I know that I am still so very blessed with what is still a beautiful family. But as much as I know all of this, I also know that losing her hurts more than anything I could have ever imagined.

God's Provision

This has been an interesting week.

As indicated in previous posts, I have been feeling more vulnerable and weak than usual lately. I know that there is ample prayer cover being lavished upon our family. So this week I have been praying that God would make the strength that comes from intercessory prayer so evident to me and my family that we would all feel just a bit stronger in the days ahead.

No surprise...God's provision was more than I expected. Not only have I felt a bit stronger this week, I have been contacted by 5 friends from the past...no let me rephrase. I have been contacted by 5 Prayer Warriors who have committed themselves to prayer on behalf of our family. Three of these dear friends are serving in leadership positions in their church and have also shared our story with them so that they may join in prayer for us as well.

My eyes are filled with tears as I type this. My Redeemer is Faithful and True. He continues to hold me in the palm of His hand. In His providence, He knew I would need this encouragement at this particular time...and once again He provided. I feel so unworthy and yet so very thankful.

Tonight I praise God for those who have been steadfast in lifting us up since October 13th and I am so thankful for those who just this week have come along side us to help us continue this painful journey. Father, thank you for Jim, Kevin, Chris, Lori, and Shannon. Please bless them and their families.

Fragile - Please Handle With Care

I feel like this should be my moniker this week. For some inexplicable reason I have felt extremely fragile this week. There are no particular milestones to deal with. Mother's Day and Father's Day are still a ways away, so I don't think that's it. M.A.'s birthday is on Father's Day this year (how cruel is that?). I have really struggled to understand my feelings of frailty.

I wish I could say that as I write this I have figured it out. Not yet I'm afraid.

I'm not sure if it is just coincidence or if my family is feeding off my feelings, but several of us seem to be in the same place this week. Zan shared with me tonight that she has felt the same way this week. Like she could just ship the girls off to the grands, close the shutters, lock the doors, pull the covers over her head and never come out. As we were watching a video I made for Zan last Mother's Day, she asked me..."How does someone just disappear?" All I could say was "I don't know". Lydia wrote M.A.'s initials in the condensation on the passenger window of my car...unbeknown to me. I didn't notice it until driving home from work on Monday. You should have seen the look on my face when I looked over and noticed a large MAT on my window. When I called Zan to find out who may have written it, she told me that Lydia has been writing M.A.'s initials on a variety of mediums...walls, table tops, notebooks, etc. My heart broke for her. She misses her sister so much that I guess she is trying to find some comfort in just writing her initials. And finally, Emma and I had a good cry in the car this week as she told me she struggles with remembering the sound of Martha Anne's voice and what her smile looked like. She is afraid that as time passes she will just forget her altogether. I assured her I did not think that would be the case...but deep down inside, I really don't know. We are all strangers in this land of grief and I am not sure what promises to make to my children.

So as I wind up this entry I am assuming the feelings we are all experiencing are just a part of this roller coaster ride we will be on for the rest of our lives. I want to close this entry with a profound quote given to me during a grief group this week.

A wife who loses a husband is called a widow. A husband who loses a wife is called a widower. A child who loses his parents is called an orphan. But...there is no word for a parent who loses a child, that's how awful the loss is! - Neugeboren 1976.

We Are Not Alone

I have been re-reading John Eldredge's Wild at Heart. I read it for the first time a couple of years ago and was really impacted by it. I don't know what compelled me to pick it up again. I was looking for something to read the other day and it just sort of stood out there in our bookcase. It wasn't in a particularly conspicuous place, but I seemed to keep glancing back by it, so I decided it was time for a re-read.

Last night I was reading the section towards the end where John Eldredge writes about battling the enemy. He writes, "Has it ever crossed your mind that not every thought that crosses your mind comes from you?...We are being lied to all the time. Yet we never stop to say, "Wait a minute...who else is speaking here? Where are these ideas coming from? Where are those feeling coming from?"

For some reason those words struck a cord with me last night, even though I read them years before, and actually remembered reading them. I was so moved by them, that I actually found Zan in another part of the house and read them to her. She said, "Yeah that's cool", and kind of gave me this look. I told her how the concept applied to something that had happened at work that day, but there was still something different about the passage. I couldn't put my finger on it at that particular point in time.

Then today, as I was on my long one hour trek to work, I began to think about Martha Anne (as I usually do). I was thinking back upon how she died, and in trying to keep my faith strong I was thinking how much worse things could have been. A long drawn out battle with cancer. Watching her lose her hair. Holding her as her body would be racked with pain. Then...it happened! Just like John Eldredge had written. This voice inside my head said, "Yeah but who are you to think that you deserve such grace?" "What have you ever done to merit such favor?" "What makes you more special than all the other parents who have to watch their children suffer with cancer?"
As the guilt was beginning to sink in, I had no idea that the toughest blow was yet to come. The voice spoke again. "Your faith means nothing." "Aren't you just thinking these things to avoid the horrible reality that your daughter is dead?"

I was devastated. Then in an instance I remembered the words of John Eldredge. I literally said out loud, "I know who you are and I know what you are trying to do." "I may be smaller than you and I may be vulnerable right now, but my God kicked your butt once and He will do it again." "I will not let you rob me of the joy of my salvation." "I will not let you use my daughter's death against me."

I called Zan and told her that maybe God's delivering Martha Anne from a horrible battle with cancer, that she could have wound up losing anyway wasn't favor on us. Maybe it was grace lavished on her. Zan reminded me how Martha Anne would be devastated by her sin. How she would literally cry and genuinely want to do better. I remembered how both of us would go in at night to check on her as she slept. We both at times would lean down to kiss her softly, and she would be startled. When asked what she was doing, she would say, "I wasn't asleep...I was praying".

I don't need to or ever want to forget that Martha Anne had her own personal relationship with God. And I am ashamed to say, I think it may have been even more sincere than my own. Perhaps God answered a prayer of hers. Perhaps He saved her a second time because of her heart. Not because of mine or Zan's.

I turned the radio up and sang praise songs the rest of the way to work, praising and thanking God for giving such a powerful reminder to me. We are not alone...Martha Anne was not alone...and we are not helpless.

I Choose Strength

Today I have been home all day with Zan and the girls. It has been a really good day. A day filled with bike rides, lots of time outside, making a tent out of bed sheets, a trip to a park, picking out and watching a movie...just a really good day.

However on these types of days, it seems we all miss Martha Anne a little bit more than usual. I guess it may be in part due to the fact that we are all together and it is very obvious she is not with us. On days like today, we don't get distracted by school or work or dance classes or piano lessons or board meetings. It's just family time. It seems to me that on days like today even Corinne is aware of the void left by M.A.

In the midst of all that was going on today, I mentioned to Zan that it is times like these that I feel most fragile. It feels like that at any moment I could find myself in a corner somewhere, wrapped up in a fetal position, totally consumed by my grief. Zan shared with me that she totally felt the same way from time to time. She added that she really isn't sure why either of us have not found ourselves there. My response was that I fear it may be coming...at least for me. What if the worst is yet to come. What if there comes a day when something snaps and I inexplicably find myself at the mercy of my pain....lost in some world of despair.

Then it hit me. It's my choice. It's always been my choice. When as a child it was a fear of the dark, it was choice to not be afraid. As a young boy, I had to choose to not be afraid of the ball and to swing away. As an adolescent, I had to choose to not let the fear of failure keep me from tyring. And now in this stage of my life, I have to choose strength again.

Strength is a funny thing to me. To me being strong doesn't mean not being afraid. It doesn't mean never shedding a tear. It doesn't mean being happy with the way things have turned out. It does mean that no matter how long the road...you travel it. No matter how wide and deep the ravine...you cross it. No matter how dark the night...you shine the light.

So, everyday and especially on days like today I will choose strength. I know that I and my family will be all the stronger and all the better for it. There will still be tears and there will still be feelings of despair but we will persevere....we will be strong. Strong and thankful for our source of strength.

Holy Week

I have a Holy Week tradition that my wife thinks is a form of self torture. I usually make myself sit down and watch The Passion of the Christ. It's not that I particularly enjoy this ritual, as it is extremely painful to watch. However it seems to me to be as real a portrayal as what Jesus endured as anything I have ever seen.

Watching His flogging and crucifixion and the pure agony He endured for me straightens my perspective of Easter. We will enjoy this weekend. We will decorate and hunt Easter eggs, we will make Easter baskets and eat way too much candy. We will enjoy time off from work and time spent with family. But in my heart, I can't let it be about just that. I want to be reminded of the pain He suffered for me. The sacrifice that was made so that I could be redeemed. In my warped mind, I don't feel right about just jumping to the fun and celebration without first revisiting the Cross.

So, I have spent this afternoon doing just that. It was different this year. As a parent who has lost a child, I find myself this year wanting to relate with Mary more so than in years past. There is a scene in the Passion where she is flashing back to scenes of Jesus' childhood as He is being flogged and crucified. I guess the freshness of my own wound has me thinking that in addition to being the Saviour of the World, Jesus was also Mary's son. And she had to watch Him die. Not just die, but she watched His torture and humiliation as well.

Very often over the past five months, people have commented that they can't even imagine the pain I must be going through. Today I find myself realizing that I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and loss Mary must have felt. I find myself once again thankful for grace that passes all of my ability to understand. A grace that saved my daughter's soul before she died. A grace that kept her from suffering the physical pain of a long and drawn out illness. A grace that kept her from knowing the fear of dying. A grace that allows me to cherish every moment I spent with her. A grace that allowed me to see her come to know the joy of serving others. A grace that gives me the complete assurance that I will see her again. A grace that must have been the same for Mary.

A Dream Worth Remembering

I have been chastised for not writing in such a long time. I promise it was not intentional. I have allowed myself to get caught up in the business of work. Things have been quite crazy there since the start of the new year. I hope (more like pray) things are regaining some normalcy.

So, I could rattle on about what all has been happening since my last post, but at the risk of boring those who may still be stopping by, I will just stick to the latest.

We still haven't found a support group. I am a little less concerned about that since finding out Marta Anne died from Acute Leukemia. I knew in my heart it would be helpful finding out the exact cause, and I was right. At least for season. A season which now appears to be over I might add.

I have been really melancholy lately. I read about a technique for dealing with negative thoughts by simply telling yourself to replace the negative one with a positive one. This worked for a while, but not so much now. It seems even the positive thoughts become a source of sadness as they make me miss M.A. even more. Or, a new twist...the positive thoughts sometimes make me miss the "what could have beens". As I write this I realize I may well be recycling previous issues. Oh well, here we go again I guess.

On a particularly difficult day last week, I prayed as hard as I ever have that God would allow me to have a peaceful night's rest and that I would either have happy memories fill my dreams, or that I would not remember my dreams at all. I am so thankful that once again my Redeemer was faithful and true.

I will share my dream and then I am going to bed and try the same tactic again.

I dreamed I was in a very large room. This room was extremely large... high white walls, cathedral ceilings, etc. No windows, only a large mahogany door at the end of the farthest wall. I walked to the door and grasped the large shinny brass handle. The door opened towards me with what seemed to be a little aid from the other side. As I moved in to peer inside the door, Martha Anne stepped into the doorway. She appeared to be about eighteen or nineteen years old. She seemed surprised to see me there as she said, "Oh!, Hi Daddy". "Are you okay?" My eyes filled with tears as I replied, "No baby, I haven't been okay for sometime now". She smiled the sweetest smile, just as she always did and said, "Don't worry...you will be." Then she touched my face and said, "I have to go now, but I will see you again soon...I promise."

As I have stated in here before, I really have not been one who believes our loved ones who have gone on before us actually see us, or come to us, or watch over us. I mean after all, what good would it do for her to see me struggling? Wouldn't that take away from the splendor of Heaven, wouldn't that cause her to worry about me?

Then it hit me. I don't need to understand how things work on the other side. I prayed for a peaceful dream and God the Father heard my plea and honored my request. So I will simply say, "Thank You, Father", and cherish the memory of my dream. A dream worth remembering.

Some Relief?

I have struggled with how to write this post. Earlier this week I received a call from the Montgomery Forensics office. I was told Martha Anne's autopsy was complete and the official cause of death was Acute Leukemia.

I hope it doesn't sound callus to say that I was relieved. Relieved to finally have a definite cause of death. Relieved that the initial diagnosis of Juvenile Diabetes was incorrect. Zan and I both, Zan more than me, have been racking our memories looking for signs or symptoms of Diabetes that we may have missed or worse...just overlooked. I was so glad that I could tell Zan it was a silent disease. One that often doesn't show it's signs until it is too late.

As I write this I feel extremely selfish. Is it wrong to have a peace about this? After all, she died. And that in and of it self is horrible enough, regardless of the cause. But selfish or not, that is what I am feeling.

Again, I am probably more relieved for Zan than myself. She told me that she feels like she can finally move on in her grieving. I gathered from her comments she was kind of stuck in a guilt phase, thinking she could have or should have seen or done something more. I have been aware of her feelings, but I did not realize she was stuck. She told me that for the first time since Martha Anne died, she can see her smiling face as she nuzzled into her chest before she died. And selfish or not for that I am grateful beyond words. I would carry all of her burden if I only could. But alas, I know that is not God's design.

So, where do we go from here. We are still looking into a group or some sort of grief counseling. I will be looking for some opportunities to volunteer and donate time and money to Leukemia research. And I will continue to miss her. I am sure I will continue to cry daily....to miss her with every breath. But at least now I can put a face on what took her from me.

Disappointments and Highlights

I am writing this post and then I am going to get in the bed and try to numb my mind with television until I fall asleep.

Today has turned out to be a disappointing day. I have been looking forward to today for weeks. First of all it is Lydia's Birthday today. She turned the big 8 today. Before she went to bed last night, she told me that when I left for work today I would have to give her two kisses instead of one like I usually do. She quickly elaborated. One would be my normal good-bye kiss that I give her every morning while she is sleeping and I am leaving while it is still dark. And the other would obviously be for her Birthday. Much to my surprise, she was awake this morning when I left for work, so she was able to verify and count two kisses for herself. So, in that regard my day started of wonderfully.

Another reason I was looking forward to this day is that it was to be our first time attending a local support group for parents who have suffered the death of a child. I was telling folks just today that my expectations were pretty low. For now, I was just hoping to be able to look into the faces of people who are a year or two into their grieving, so I could get some assurance that they are okay. I was hoping to see and possibly hear about improvements.

So, where do the disappointments come in? Well first of all, nothing went well at work today. Everything seemed to be more challenging than it should be. Which led to me leaving late from work. Which meant missing my workout with Zan and rushing to get ready for the meeting. But at least we were getting to go to the meeting! The day could still be salvaged.

And although my expectations of the group were pretty low, I did expect them to actually meet. You know to actually be at the place they advertised they would be, at the time they said they were going to be there. No such luck. Zan and I managed to arrive early, to a pretty desolate church parking lot I might add. We found the correct building and even found the room where the meeting was to be held. And we waited, and waited, and waited. We finally gave up and went to eat at our favorite Mexican restaurant.

During a painful discussion over dinner and during our subsequent trip to Wal-Mart, I was reminded that I need to be careful about wallowing in despair. So in light of that here are my highlights for today:

• Lydia...for being awake when I left for work.
• Safe travel to and from work.
• Ralph...for lending me his ear.
• Dad...for the same reason as Ralph.
• Corrine...for leaning out of Zan's arms and wanting me to hold her when I did get home.
• Emma...for asking me if I was okay, and then giving me a hug when she realized I wasn't.
• Martha...for taking care of the girls so Zan and I could attend the meeting that didn't take place.
• Gary and John...for giving me the confidence to leave things in their capable hands.
• Zan for packing my gym bag, even though I didn't make it in time for our work out.
• Zan for loving me through my "funks".
• Zan for being brave enough to have the "tough" discussions with me.
• Did I mention Zan.
• And most of all...my Father God, who loves me and catches every tear I cry in the palm of His hand. I honestly don't know how people navigate life without Him.

The Illusion of Control

If you were to ask my wife and those closest to me, they might would say I have "issues" with control. Soon after my feet hit the floor, I like to set my itinerary for the day. I like to know where I am going, when we will be going, what we will be doing when we get there, how long we will be there, and what's next after we leave there. Even if we are staying around the house on a weekend, I still like to have even a loose plan. Up by a certain time...breakfast...cutting the grass...showering...eating lunch...trip to town to by groceries...etc., etc., etc.

However, for some time I have recognized and am fully aware that control is an illusion. In fact, one of my favorite sayings is Robert Burn's, "The best laid schemes of mice and men often go astray". I am fully aware that at anytime the most unexpected...unplanned events can take place in our lives. Despite this knowledge and understanding, I still find myself trying to apply the Pareto Principle to life. If I can control 80%, I figure I can handle the other 20% that may "go astray".

Or at least that's what I thought. I now find myself feeling a bit like Alice plummeting down the rabbit hole. To be honest, I arrogantly felt like I had "given at the office" when it came to pain in this life. And quite frankly, my life up to October 13, 2007 added to my assurance that the rest of this journey would be mostly joyful. I mean just look at the milestones. A full scholarship to college when there was absolutely no money for school. A wonderful education at a Baptist college where my faith and relationship with Christ grew as much as my intellect. Finding Zan after college, and somehow convincing her to marry me (I am still waiting for her to come to her senses and kick me to the curb). Great jobs...even career changes that went really smoothly. Four beautiful girls brought into this world without even the slightest hitch. I mean, not to sound arrogant or anything...my life was great.

And then the unthinkable happened. We lost her. She died. Suddenly...without warning or symptoms. She was here and then in a matter of hours she was gone. I remember being at Zan's parents once and loosing track of one of the girls. I am sure most parents have felt that panic. I now feel that panic all the time. I know in my heart I will never be the same again. I will forever be different in some way.

I know that I am still a very, very blessed man. And, I am most thankful for that. I truly am. I just still miss Martha Anne so very much. I will continue to push myself along. I will continue to be there for my family and those who need me most. But ever present will be the loss of my precious daughter.

So, I have been painfully reminded how little control we have over this journey called life. Therefore, I will continue to try to be more Christ-like. I endeavor to be the best husband and father I can. I will attempt to leave a legacy for my children that will help them navigate life after I am gone.

And lastly, I will miss Martha Anne every day of my life, and I will love her forever!

A New Year...So Far

So far the New Year has been pretty stressful. I hope this is not an indication of things to come. Upon returning to work after the Holidays, my crew and I were met with a fire in one of our warehouses. We spent the next several days wetting down and removing 500 tons of peanut hull pellets from a warehouse into huge mounds just outside the warehouse.

In the midst of my fire fighting efforts we helped some of our closest friends pack for their move to Florida. I sure hated to see them go, but at the same time I am cannot deny seeing God's hand leading them on a new adventure. Good luck Yoders! I know we will stay in touch and will visit often.

On top of all of this, there is the ever present pain and grieving that is still ongoing in our family. Lydia finally opened up to Zan last night. She has not talked about Martha Anne's death much at all since she died. I have been worried that she was stuffing a lot of feelings and emotions inside of her. Turns out she was. I am so very thankful she finally started talking and working through some of her feelings. I hope this is just the beginning, and that she will feel even more comfortable talking about her feelings in the future.

As for myself, I have felt closer to true depression lately than I ever have in my whole life. I am hoping these feelings have more to do with the extra stress lately than truly being a real full blown state of depression. I have begun to question if some of the things I am doing are actually more harmful than helpful. I have been writing down how many weeks it has been since Martha Anne died on my calendar. I am not really sure why? It's not as if I think I will ever forget. I still linger in front pictures. I don't really turn away, until I notice myself crying. I am not sure if things like this are helpful, or if I should just make myself stop. Even as I type these words, I am not really sure I could bring myself to not do those things...at least for now.

One bright spot has emerged. Or I should say one potentially bright spot. Zan and I have located a local support group for parents who have lost children. We are planning on attending our first meeting this coming Thursday. I am optimistic, and only hope that I have not set my expectations too high. I guess time will tell.