Category Archives: greiving

Smaller, Weaker, Loved, Held.

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I never had any reservations about moving back to West Michigan, even though I knew that the ghosts of my life hover more prominently in the curbs and corners of this place.

As I drive the tree lined roads of my hometown, my mind flashes back to the days I when experienced these streets not from the driver’s seat but from the back seat of the mini van.

Back when I was the little one with small control and big questions.

Now I have big control, or at least big responsibility, and the questions have only grown and gained weight.  Losing both my parents so quickly stole all my rights to feel like a kid and left behind the awful realization that I can’t “go home again.”

I know that I’m the parent now and I know that the home I’m cultivating will become my own children’s childhood, with all it’s wonders and perhaps all it’s resentment… but still I want to be the kids sometimes, to go home.

Don’t we all?  Don’t you?

Most of the time I love my motherhood and I love being the woman of the house… but sometimes?  I want to curl up on my mom’s lap and feel her flannel nightgown against my tear-stained cheek.

I long to confess to her that there are moments when I don’t feel like I can do it.  And would she tell me it’s okay?  And would she please run her fingers through my hair, just a little while longer?

I want ask my Dad why our mini van sometimes shimmies when it’s changing gears, I want to know that he’s there with his dolly to check things out should they go awry.  I want to serve him a plate of balsamic pork tenderloin and listen to all the ways he loves his grandchildren.

I’ve moved back home and realized that this Orphaned adult thing is so much harder when you’re constantly driving past the spots where it all fell apart.  The house, the train tracks, the cemetery.

I ache for them as I begin to create some of the same memories we made with my own children.  I can’t bring myself to visit their graveside yet.  Not even on memorial day.  There are other spots where they are no longer alive that I must deal with first.

Sometimes, in the middle of the day, sometimes in the middle of a task I fall onto our bed exhausted and pull my knees up to my chest and I feel way too big and not nearly brave enough.

nesting dolls

Continue reading →

A prayer for the aftermath

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I don’t know about you, but today I find myself once more broken over the state of our world as I weather a day of heavy hearted tears for towns ripped apart by a wave of deadly Tornados.

Something about moments like these cause us to pray “Come Lord Jesus” and “Lord, don’t take us home yet” all in the same breath, wishing to return home and clinging hard to here.

Our heavy hearts find a deep sense of gratitude in the small things that only hours ago seemed so ordinary and everyday.

Dinner dishes in safe homes with hungry mouths still open wide and chattering loudly.

We go for seconds and thirds on bedtime hugs with our children, embraces that would last for hours if it wasn’t for the wills of clean and wriggly little ones.

We wonder why we still hold so much in our hands when others are going to bed wracked and empty.

With each tragedy it all makes less sense to me and I loosen my grip on the reigns realizing that we live in a gorgeous, broken place and serve a loving, gracious God who isn’t pulling the strings on these tragedies but reminding us that he will set it all right someday.

My tears are hot with grief and salty with hope.

I shake my fists at God a little less these days and spent much more time in prayer, 1 part grateful and 5 parts desperately asking for supplication.

We may sing “Where oh death is now your sting?” but in reality even the most faithful feel that sting like a persistent fog.

So I walk through the house, I flip the news on and then off again, I put my heart into basement play time realizing that as much as I think things will never change, they already have in an instant.

How dare I waste a day of this gift?  How do I remember this feeling in a few days when my life goes back to normal so unlike so many families in Moore.

I want to scribble this truth on my arms in sharpie: “You are blessed!  Grieve with those who grieve and delve deeply into your life!”

Because I have life, and I sustain life with the gift of momentary breath.

So Oklahoma, even though I’m newly removed from your soil, I will keep washing and wearing my crimson T-shirt to remind me who I am and what you gave me.

I will turn on News 9 and pray and cry for by the grace of God my Oklahoma children are still here, still making messes and asking for warm milk.

I pray yours are too.

Peace to you, the Peace of Christ to you

What Oklahoma Gave me: A Beginning

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Hello from a laundry basket in the middle of our mostly empty living room floor.

I have a grapefruit sized lump in my throat that makes basic function tricky.

I can see the sun coming up through the oval leaded glass window on our front door and it rises on my last moments in this home.  (and it’s all soundtracked by Jamey Johnson’s “In Color“)  

(If it looks like we were scared to death like a couple of kids just trying to save each other… you should have seen it in color)

And suddenly I’m watching a music montage of my own life happening all around me Continue reading →

Suicide As Mercy: a strange and confusing calling home

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(trigger warnings, suicide, depression)

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This past Saturday the news broke that Pastor Rick Warren’s 27 year old son Matthew had taken his life after a life-long battle with depression.

Within a few hours I received several messages from friends online to this effect: “thinking of you as I read this news and praying for their family and yours.”

At first I didn’t know how to feel, coming to mind whenever someone encounters suicide.  But then I realized that people think of me because I have a unique perspective on this devastating type of loss.

As for me, every time I hear of someone taking their life I freeze up and a lump the size of a grapefruit forms in my throat.  My mind drifts off to the family receiving the raw news, their souls smacked with the impossibility of it.  The grasping denial leading to utter confusion.

About a month back I was asked to help with childcare for a funeral at a local church, so we loaded the car with diapers and Gluten Free snacks and headed off to help.  I was chatting lightly with a friend when she was told that we were working a suicide funeral.

I spent the rest of the morning in a shroud of memories and heartache, reliving the moment where I curled up on the bathroom counter, unable to speak or cry after my brother called to deliver the news of my own Mother’s suicide.

My mind flashed back to her funeral, slowly dragging my weary body down the aisle behind my mother’s casket.  Turning around a seeing hundreds of familiar faces, all in shock that she took her life.

We hung on every word the pastor said, hoping he’d give us something to make sense of it all.

I haven’t known all forms of grief, but I think suicide grieving is a rare bird, a hard road, a lifetime of thoughts to be sorted through.

How could they do this?
Why couldn’t life be enough for them?
Didn’t the love we shared matter?
What could we have done differently?
And the hardest one for me:  Why didn’t God send healing?

Scriptures like John 14:14 still make me a little angry.

“You may ask me for anything in my name, and I will do it.”

Inwardly I ask God what fault he found in my prayers for my Mom?  What spiritual blockage was stopping Him from breaking through the crust of her pain and depression?

Why didn’t He send healing and deliverance?  Why didn’t He hear our prayers and set her free, deliver her from that evil pain?

Those who lose loved ones to Mental Illness have an especially cruel burden to carry because many people question the faith of the deceased.  They wonder if their journey with Christ was phony and negated by the manner of their death.

I get it, even I went through a season of questioning my Mother’s faith, it’s hard to figure out what happens to the soul while the mind languishes in pain.

Yet in the end I will tell you that my Mother died from depression, that her mental illness finally ended her life.  Just as breast cancer or heart disease may have stolen someone you love, depression stole my Mother.

Some days, good days, I see her as brave and long suffering.  She fought against her depression for over 30 years, for my entire life and longer.

My mother placed her daughter in a group home and buried her husband on a cold March afternoon and still she fought on.

She lived in her own private, painful world and got up every morning to fight another day for years, until one evening she couldn’t anymore.  On that evening, tragically, depression won the battle.

On the days when I see her as brave, I view her death as the most confusing kind of mercy I’ve ever come across.

Sometimes I wonder if God’s timing was right and he called her home in a way that we on earth cannot mentally process.  It seems like the most heretical thing in the world, suggesting that God uses suicide to call a child home, yet Cancer ends in death and no one questions it.

I’m not sure, even I don’t know what to do with this idea, suicide as mercy.  

But can you imagine going years without feeling joy?  I’m not sure I want to even try.

I found a lot of connection in the letter that Pastor Warren wrote: “Kay and I often Marveled at his courage to keep moving in spite of relentless pain.  I’ll never forget how, many years ago, after another approach had failed to give relief, Matthew said: “Dad I know I’m going to heaven, why can’t I just die and end this pain?”

The Warrens view their son as a courageous man who fought on for years and not as a quitter who took the easy road out.  And I get it, really I do.

There’s no easy answer or black and white perspective when it comes to suicide. But, for those who have seen the long suffering of our loved one, a beatitude that describes depression perfectly, sometimes we wonder if it is a mercy.

A strange and confusing calling home.

Join me in praying for the Warren family as they burry their beloved son this week.  Pray also that we as a church give grace and love and that harsh words and judgement be minimal if not non-existant.  

(If you are considering suicide, please seek help immediately, please don’t this as an encouragement to take your life.  Call the national suicide prevention hotline at 1-800-273-8255)

All things for good (on 8 years without my Father)

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Today marks 8 years since I lost my Dad, and I hate it.

I hate everything about it.

I hate looking at the landscape of our lives and not seeing him there.  I see his fingerprints all over the place, but those joyful eyes behind the paint speckled glasses?  They’re nowhere to be found.

Somedays I can’t believe he’s gone and others I struggle to remember what it was like to have a Dad at all, a Dad to call with tears or mortgage questions.

I tell the kids about him sometimes, but mostly they’re too young to understand. I tell Caedmon that he has his Grandpa’s middle name and I tell Noelle that she has a nose just like her Grandma’s.

I tell them: “I had a mommy and daddy too and they’re in heaven with Jesus and they love us all very much.”

Some people may see 8 years of grieving my Father and think: “Wow, she’s still not over it?” To those people I say this: “When you lose a parent, you’re never truly over it, there is always a unfilled gap, which is okay.”

And somedays that void takes the form of a lump in my throat, sometimes it causes my eyes to tear up because I just want my Daddy.  Somedays don’t we all?   And on those days when I need my Dad but can’t have him I ache on a cellular level.

I want to revert back to calling his cell phone and listening to his voice mail message over and over again.

“His this is Dave, please leave a message.” 

I stil remember the inflection of every word.

Somehow, shortly after he died it was put upon me to design and purchase my Dad’s headstone. I knew nothing about headstones, all I knew is that I wanted it to look as little like a headstone as possible.  Nothing grey, no block letters, I just couldn’t go there. Continue reading →

She is incomplete

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This week I forego Mom Hacks because I would be phoning it in.  The mom who started that column seems to have packed a bag and left. 

March marks the 8th anniversary of my Father’s death, March 19th to be exact.  This a huge weight on my chest and when I think about it I can’t breathe.  It cannot, CANNOT have been 8 years since I last spoke to my Dad.

But it has. It’s been nearly 8 years since we chatted on old-school cell phones or shared a raspberry coffee cake after a long Sunday morning of delivering newspapers.

After his funeral I had no idea what grieving looked like for me so I focused on healing and survival. I napped a lot and threw all the funeral flowers off the balcony of my apartment to get rid of “that funeral home smell.”

I refused to drink alcohol, I didn’t want to rely on it to see me through, no matter what.  I feared dependency. I refused antidepressants and sleeping pills as well, there was something within me that needed to prove to myself that I could make it on blood sweat and tears alone, that God could heal even this au natural.

I talked about my loss, wrote about it and went to counseling for the first time in years, I knew I needed a guide for the grieving journey.

I distinctly remember a session of therapy a few months after my Father’s funeral that will forever haunt me. I sat across the room from my trusted therapist of 2 months and listened as she explained to me her opinion that I suffered from moderate bipolar disorder.  She suggested I see a psychiatrist and get on a lifelong med regimen to counteract my seasons of mania and depression. This come out of nowhere for me, I wasn’t even aware I was living in such a cycle, I thought I was just grieving.

I was beyond crushed, I was looking for help with grief, not a lifelong diagnosis.   Continue reading →

What Mama Did: The Song and The Dance

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I’ve been spending the week reading LisaJo Baker’s series, “What Mama Did.”  Lisa invited some friends to share their stories of what their mothers did that left a mark on them.

What are we doing as mothers that will leave a mark upon our kids? Perhaps it’s not what we think.  Tell me all about what your mama did that made her yours…. 

It’s been bittersweet for my heart to read through these this week, an odd mix of joy and jealousy.  So many of the lovely memories my Mom endeavored to make for us were marred by her mental illness and eventual suicide.

Yet the longer I spend on my own motherhood journey, the deeper I understand my own mother, it this this is a universal experience for all parents.

The more I reflect on our memories together, the more I uncover the truth of who she really was.

As I dig into my past I emerge with pearls, moments where she was exactly the woman God created her to be, nearly free from the depression that gnawed too often on her heart.

I’ve already told you about the warmth of enjoying her muffins on the rug and the way she would curl up and read books with me, both of the memories are precious to me.

Dancing-Feet-300x225 Yet this week I’ve been reflecting on my Mother’s singing and dancing.

I remember vividly the gray plastic CD player that sat on our kitchen counter, and the cassette boom-box that preceded it.  Both of these devices were usually playing Celine Dion or Cynthia Clawson… a bit of Josh Groban in her later years.

They rarely played “kids music” because when mom sang and danced it was because something in the song freed her heavy spirit to do so.

Something in weaving of THOSE words set to THAT music left her no choice but to dance with us across the linoleum flooring.

She never sang without dancing, even if only with her hands.

I remember a childhood vacation that is completely soundtracked with my mother singingly “Earnestly, tenderly Jesus is calling.  Calling to you and to me, come home, come home all you are weary, come home!”

Or a car ride with her in college when she hijacked my Disney Hercules CD soundtrack and belted “Go the distance” over and over again.  ”I will find my way, I can do the distance! I’ll be there someday, if I can be strong.  I know every mile, will be worth my while…” 

When I re-read those lyrics, they tell me more now than they did at the time.  She needed to believe that Christ was calling her, that she could go on another day.

My Mom showed us the vulnerability of her soul through the lyrics of songs and the freedom of soul dancing, she taught us that words set to music can set you free.

She modeled the need to resonate with things, and to allow ourselves to become overwhelmed as our souls connected with something essential, eternal.

The freedom of the soul moving to words set to music, that’s what mama did.

 PS I did not know this was supposed to be a 5 minute friday when I started writing it Monday.  I should have.  Forgive me, I’ve been sussing through it all week.

Sudden Cemetery Wondering

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photo copy 7 Some people think of this as a grief blog, and sometimes it is.

That’s because I believe in grieving, it’s for read, a long road that must be traversed and not ignored.

I’m thankful to be a part of people’s grief journey and lately I’ve been wondering how I can best do that.

Should I do a grief related post, once a week?  Because it’s not the only reason I write now but it IS a big part of the reason I started writing.

So I guess I could do a day week devoted to grieving.  I could ask other writers to chime in, If you’re a regular here, what are you thoughts?

For today though, it’s a grief related day…

For past month I’ve found myself thinking on the same question: Why do we go to the cemetery?  

This thought process started when we were in Michigan for Christmas.  I was out running some errands for my family (by myself!) and I found myself driving down the street that houses the cemetery where all my family is buried.

As I wound down the street I felt a sudden, pressing need to visit my parent’s gravesite. Continue reading →

Kuyper Coffee Dates- Friday (Grief Edition)

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Another day, another coffee date.   I don’t know about you but I’m feeling pretty blessed on this end.

Today I want to cluster some of the grief-specific student questions and put them into one post so that those who need them can access them easily.  I know that this topic was peppered throughout the other questions, but I want to dig into this specifically.  

“I would ask her what the hardest thing for her was through the accident of her sister and the loss of her parents, and how did she make it through?  I know the answer is ultimately God, but there are everyday moments in which the strength seems to deplete … and that is where I want to hear what she has to say”

The hardest thing for me about death is the unwavering permanence of it. There is no bargaining that will change it, no medical staff that can un-do it.  We cannot go back in time and save those we have lost, they we are left with a brand new life, with a huge gaping hole.

I can tell you some of the little things that I did to make it through: I was worried about forgetting things, so I wrote down memories and collected pictures and items that were very important to me in my relationship with my parents. 

I took a lot of baths because the tub was the only place where I was still and alone with my deep and painful thoughts, naked before God in every way.  

After about a week I went back to a modified version of my usual routine whether it was work, school or my family schedule.  I found that it wasn’t helpful to sit and dwell on things, that the processing and healing would come in the midst of daily living.  When it did I stopped and gave it priority and I was blessed by others who gave me space for this.

I went to counseling, every time, because I wanted to be sure that I was moving through each season with as much mental health as I could muster.

I can sum it up by imploring you to be intentional about grieving.  Telling your story in trusted settings be open about your aching.  There is no quick fix, there will always be an empty chair, but there is a better place ahead, when the wound becomes a scar and the breathing comes easier.  Continue reading →

Kuyper Coffee Dates- Thursday

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KuyperCoffeeDates_zpse49f9fa2 Hello and welcome to our Thursday coffee date, what are you drinking?  Me?  French Press house blend with a splash of almond milk, cheers.

So last night I took my treasured stack of Kuyper student letters to bed with me and devoured them like they were a black forest brownie sundae.  I only read them in short bursts because I always want to save some for later, I don’t want them to run out!

I’m always flattered, touched and blown over by what these students picked up on.  I’m so giddy to be sharing it with you guys, Squeeeee!  So giddy!

Can I share two non-questions first?  I hope the students don’t mind….

First of all this gem makes me do a happy dance cha-cha, read on and you’ll see why:

“I better understand my own mother’s point of view on life.  The busyness of trying to get three small children fed and ready for church and school, how tired she much have felt everyday, how even when everyone else could sit and rest she stayed on her feet to make sure had clean clothes to wear and hot food to eat.  I have always appreciated my mom but now I see her with more understanding.  For that, I am grateful.”

I love you student!  Go give your mom a hug, maybe bring her a latte?  I am so glad that you picked up on this because I had no clue how much my mom (and Dad) went through until I was in the thick of it: doling out snacks and matching up tiny socks, dead on my feet.  Reading this made me ridiculously happy, gold star for you!

And then this:

“most of the time Leanne plays the part of a witty, spunky, sage minister”

Ah!  That may be one of the best compliments I’ve received in my life and no lie, I am adding it into my twitter bio immediately, I may get it tattooed on my arm too, you know, for good measure.

Okay, now that those two amazing student quotes are out of the way onto the questions.

“I would ask Leanne about her own view on parenting because she seems to have had a hard childhood with two very different parents, how has this changed her view of what it means to be a parent? What sides will she draw from, or not draw from?”

Okay so for starters this isn’t an easy question to answer but it’s a great one. I honestly believe that I was blessed with two amazing parents who were struggling through some hard circumstances and illnesses.  I thank God for them on a daily basis and I no longer hold their struggles against them.

There are definitely positives from my childhood that we’re recycling in the here and now.  Kel and I are very intentional about surrounding discipline with a lot of conversation and these moments look a lot more like discipling than discipline.  We also work on intentionally lifting our children up verbally, especially in the areas where they have shortcomings. 

We spend a lot of time together as a unit and want our children to feel a sense of belonging within our family.  We want to be a close knit group and create a strong foundation of memories for them to build upon, they are our loved children and each other’s dear friends.  

Now onto the things I’m mimicking.  My mom was deliberate about reading to me when I was little and when I sit with my kids and read I feel her spirit rejoicing.  As for my Dad?  He was really good at championing our passions, if we were truly into something he was all about fostering that.  He was the lead band booster for my brother and never missed a single one of my choir concerts.  This is something Kel and I are intentional about repeating with our own kids.

“If I could sit down with her and talk, I would ask her how she is able to be so open with such a public audience.”

For as long as I can remember I have worn my emotions on the outside, for everyone to see, sometimes this bit me in the butt.  I don’t discuss my heart with just anyone but when I feel comfortable I don’t hold back on what’s really going in my heart.

I’ll be honest with you, I don’t share everything on this blog, because some emotions aren’t helpful and some stories aren’t mine to share.  Yet, when it comes to my personal questions on faith and the grittiness of the journey I believe that God has called me to share what’s on my heart.  He gives me the words and then does what he wants with them.  

“I would ask her how she describes the God she serves, even though she has been through so much joy and pain.”

Wow, this is a really good question and one that I would have never thought to ask.  It really gets to the heart of who I think God is and how I see his fingerprints on my life. You could learn a lot about someone by hearing them answer this question.

To me God is the genius of creation, with limitless wisdom and creative energy that I can’t begin to comprehend. He is the author of all that I am and the giver of all that I have.  He put me right here, on purpose, for a purpose.

To top it all off he loves me so much that he send his most precious son to be reunited with me.  His greatest joy is to see my heart close to him, fully alive.  

Although, how I would describe him doesn’t always line up with my emotions. Sometimes I’m angry and I let bitterness come between us.  But still he’s always my Father, in my mind there is no other option, no where else to place my faith.

Wow that wraps up another great coffee date.  Pencil me in tomorrow and we will chat further.  If you have questions to add to those of the students, toss them in the comments and I’ll do my best.