Redeeming Love

*Not written to seek sympathy.

I’ll be honest. Father's Day has never been my favorite holiday. I would stand forever in the Hallmark store, fighting tears as I searched for the right card for my dad and always have to settle for a generic card that simply read ‘Happy Fathers Day’. It was overwhelming to read card after card with sentiments for dads who spent time with their kids or taught them things or were loving examples that they wanted to emulate. 

I can say that my dad did work hard to provide for our family and I  don't remember ever having to go without. And I have a handful of moments that are sacred and precious memories of my dad: a memory of a kiss on my cheek where his beard scraped my skin when I was home sick with a fever, a single time he took me out to a diner as a child for a meal when I had to be picked up early from school which was so special and significant to me as a child I can still remember what I was wearing, jeans with green piping along the sides (is that why my favorite color is green?), and a moment when my younger brother and I were fighting when he made us stop and told us, with the only time I ever remember seeing tears in his eyes, to not turn out like he and his brother did that didn’t speak to each other anymore. 

He could be a funny man with a quick wit that we were able to see around other people on occasion, even though he didn’t share it with us very often. He could also be a hard man and he was definitely an intimidating man. My brothers and I could tell you a million stories but we won’t unless we are very close to you, because our home motto was pretty much stolen from us by Las Vegas somehow: “What happens at home, stays at home”. Just suffice it to say, whatever negative things I do share with you today, is minimal compared to what every day life was like, and there are scars that you can't see that we'll probably always carry with us.

My dad passed away this year. I hadn’t called him in a year and a half. Not because I wasn’t speaking to him, but because it was literally traumatic for me to call him. I would have to psyche myself up for days in advance before I could dial his number. Then in the moment when I was finally ready I would take a deep breath, my heart pounding in my ears and hear his voice over the phone. 

The same voice that had yelled at me on our family vacation as he stood on our tiny travel trailer steps looking down at his 9 year old daughter spitting the words out furiously “I know what you’re thinking! F*** DADDY! F*** DADDY!!”, when it was absolutely nothing at all near what I was thinking. The same voice that told me he’d rather go to a funeral than my wedding when I was 15 years old and one of the few times that I stood up and walked away from him and out of the house and down the street to try and distance myself from the rejection I felt from his words that cut like knives, just like the broken skin I left in my hands from my fingernails piercing my skin to distract myself from the pain of his words. The same voice that screamed curses at me about my angel of a mother over the phone after she finally did what she should have done years and years and YEARS before she did, when she finally filed for divorce. The same voice that raged curses at me for ten minutes on a Father’s Day only a few years before, when I had gotten up the guts to call him on a Sunday morning on the way to lead worship at church with my husband and kids in the car after not being able to bring myself to call him for several months. 

Although our occasional conversations towards the end of his life did become a bit more bearable, I always expected to hear the harsh voice I was accustomed to and after our two to three minute awkward conversations we would say goodbye, I would hang up the phone and cry. And cry. And cry. 

He told me more than once over the years that it’s the child’s responsibility to call the parent. And so he very rarely called me, as I owed it to him to be the attentive one in our relationship. I always felt it should be a two-way street. So one day I decided not to call and I stopped putting myself through days of anxiety and fear and decided to live in peace. And if he wanted to call me, then he could call me and if not then he wouldn’t. - He didn’t.

We knew his health was declining and my older brothers worked diligently the last couple of years to care well for the man that never seemed to care very much for us. They gave their time, their energy and their patience caring for him. I wondered if I would regret not calling him after he passed away and this may sound terrible, but I don’t. The decision I made gave me a lot of peace over the last 2 years. I still loved my dad. I still cared about him and what happened to him and if I was able to, I would have been there right beside my brothers helping them take care of him, but other than that, I don’t have any regrets.

After he died, I was sad and a little emotional but coming from one who has experienced a lot of loss and a lot of grief, I sat on the side of my bed the day he died and wondered why the loss wasn’t as heavy as I thought it would be. That’s when I realized I had been grieving the loss of my father for close to 30 years. I had already gone through an extremely long mourning period for him, albeit mostly while he was still living. 

The absence of my father in my life over the years was difficult and probably one of the most definitive influences that shaped who I was and who I became. I learned to lean heavily on my Heavenly Father who was always there for me in every moment. He was the Father I needed when I felt fatherless. He was my strength and my encourager, He taught me to be brave and strong, He made me feel loved and treasured. But even though I knew I was not alone, Father's Day was still difficult every year, because I longed for my dad to be my father in ways he was not, or maybe could not.

I know my dad had his struggles like any person and I believe that there must be a lot of unknowns to me that went into making him who he was, how he was. I think his dissatisfaction and unhappiness with himself or life or I don't even know what all he dealt with likely consumed him and spilled over onto us. I don't think that the person he became was completely his fault, but I don't think he knew how to change and grow. He had little moments where he tried. I remember. I do.

When I married Donnie and we had children, I received a gift I never expected. Father's Day became special again. Donnie was the father to our children that I always wished I'd had in my dad. He couldn't hold them close enough, he couldn't give them enough hugs and kisses, he couldn't praise them enough with his words. He loved their different personalities and he got a kick out of their quirks and passions. They would walk into the room and his face would go from creased with worry or pain to happy with absolute joy at being in their presence.

He was protective and sheltering, he carried them when they were tired or sick, he laid in bed with them at night to help them fall asleep when they needed him or were scared. He disciplined them fairly and taught them right from wrong with sternness and was forgiving and gave them unconditional love. He loved to spoil them and give them everything they wanted and celebrated them at every opportunity. He showed his love big in every way that was possible and showed his love quietly when he would hold hands with them or snuggle on the sofa.

It was easy to celebrate Father's Day with him, for him. I gave him a card one Father's Day, several years after we'd had Kellan and Emmi. In that card I thanked him for how he loved his children and told him how he had redeemed Father's Day for me. He was a physical reminder for me of God's love to his children, to me. 

When I woke this morning, I looked over facebook briefly and saw the love pouring out from everyone to their fathers. It's beautiful. But I know there are people out there like me who may not have had a trophy winning dad or mom, and who didn't expect perfection but maybe just wanted to feel loved and my heart goes out to them. Or someone who may have lost their dad like my children and my heart cries out for them. 

I guess I just want anyone who may be hurting to know that you're not forgotten. And maybe I'm not a male, I'm not a dad, but I have always had a heart for the broken and the forgotten and I know a Heavenly Father who does too. You're not alone. You're not abandoned. You're not rejected. And you're not forgotten. I hope you know that today. 

Becoming Refined

I’ve been watching my daughter nurse a broken heart over the last few weeks that has left her feeling abandoned, rejected, confused and depressed. And it has left me feeling helpless, worried, concerned and prayerful. It’s not a boy that has broken her heart, but her close knit group of friends, which in some ways I think can be even more painful. I had a very similar experience in Jr High myself and I can still remember how my spirit and my joy was crushed by an insensitive ‘friend’, so I understand the pain my girl is going through.

My mama’s heart wants to fix everything, but I can’t. So I listen to her, love her, hug her, wipe her tears and mourn with her as she deals with the pain of her loss. And I encourage her, pray for her and remind her that her worth is greater than rubies, that she is chosen, holy and dearly loved, that she is above and not beneath, the head and not the tail, blessed and not cursed, remembered and not forgotten.

We’ve had many talks over the last few weeks since she was ostracized by this group of ‘friends’ and I’m so proud of my daughter. She is strong and brave, she takes constructive criticism well, she continually strives to become a better version of herself, and she holds her head up high even when she is feeling overwhelmed and alone. And so I really want to say a sincere thank you to her former friends. (No sarcasm, sincerely sincere.)

Thank you for teaching my daughter to choose her friends more wisely and more carefully. Thank you for helping her learn how to be a better friend to others, to be forgiving, loving, and accepting and how to build up a friend instead of tearing them down. And thank you for presenting a challenge that is refining my daughter and making her a stronger person. Because of you, she is growing into an even more amazing young lady than she already was. It’s sad you’ve chosen to miss out on that.

And to my daughter, I want to remind you that you are gorgeous inside and out and it is always more than okay to be a continual work in progress. It is a good thing to be under construction, to make your foundation stronger and to work on the things in yourself that need refinement. You are growing into a phenomenal young woman and I couldn’t be any prouder of you!

Arriving at Happy.

The first thing on my mind this morning when I woke was my list of To Do’s preparing for tomorrow, Thanksgiving Day. I ate some breakfast, woke the kids, cleaned the kitchen and scrubbed the stove after leaving it a mess during a lazy ‘vacation day’ with the kids yesterday. I prepared the green bean casserole, cleaned more dishes and retreated to my room with some ice water and my list to get the rest of my day planned out. 

Then I pulled up Facebook on my phone to see who else might be preparing for Thanksgiving and came across my sister in law’s post remembering her brother, my late husband, who passed away 5 years ago early this morning. ‘Wow’, I thought, ‘Five years’.

The first three years were difficult. Last year I determined I would make an active choice to be happy when faced with moments of sadness. But this year has been different, easier. We’ve transitioned into a new normal. I could not have imagined that I would start this day not thinking of him, but planning the holiday instead. Yesterday and today have typically been the two most difficult days of my year and yet here I am feeling good, pausing, reflecting, smiling and happily preparing for Thanksgiving Day. 

I still think of him every day. I still dream about him fairly often, I still miss him, I still love him, I even still get mad at him. But perhaps within this fifth year, I’ve become accustomed to living without him. That statement almost sounds like a betrayal. I imagine the me from three years ago is glaring at the present day me right now and scoffing at how I could be humming through this day, the date of his death.  I’ve spent hours planning and making a Thanksgiving feast, not because I have to and he’s not here to do it, but because now I want to and I enjoy it.

We hang an ornament with his face beaming at us on each Christmas tree in our house (yes we have three trees). Before this year I hung them out of sight to avoid his face whereas now I find myself smiling softly at the sight of his dimples. I fondly glance at the mistletoe he kissed me under as I walk past it when the sight of it used to crush me with the knowledge I wouldn’t receive any more kisses from him. We have not forgotten him, but the holidays are happy again. 

Life has somehow moved forward, even without him here and I think I’ve finally, for the most part, caught up with it. I can accept that I am both mom and dad, good cop and bad cop, the bread winner and the home maker and I am good with that now instead of feeling overwhelmed and abandoned. The bed doesn’t feel empty anymore. I don’t wake up and sigh with disappointment that a new day has dawned and I am still here. I find myself opening my curtains to let in the sunshine. I can sing songs we sang together without weeping (most of the time). I can watch videos of him with my kids and laugh and smile. Life, is happy again.

The road here wasn’t short or easy and it’s definitely not over. Each morning I smile and say hello to the new day instead of waking and sighing because I’m still here. Each morning I begin again. Each morning I try again. And again, and again. And even though arriving here five years later has been a long, bumpy, painful journey, I am here and I’ve arrived at yet another new beginning. Life isn’t perfect and it’s not pain free. But, I’m alive again. And I’m happy again. 

Four Years Later, Our Family of Three.

Today, I am a widow of four years and my children have grown four years older without their father. We are no longer broken, but some days we are still learning how to live without him. 

I still have some sleepless, lonely nights. My daughter sometimes come to me in tears because she misses how her daddy adored her. My son still keeps a photo of he and his daddy on his dresser and after months of introspective silence, will talk with me about him for hours.

In those moments, my children listen with rapt attention to my stories of our fun dates and silly fights and the life lessons he and I learned together and they retell their favorite, funniest and saddest moments of their dad that fill their memories. Kellan can't remember the day after Donnie passed, it's a complete blur to him. Emmi can recall almost every detail. I try not to remember the day before or the night we lost him and yet I can't help but think about where I was, what I was doing and how I had no idea what was coming. 

Losing your love, your loved one, or your dear friend can be sudden, world shaking and hurt as if you've lost a limb. It takes time to regrow the nerves that were severed, to realize there will be phantom pain, to understand you must work hard to move forward or even re-map your entire life plan. It's a painstaking process that is full of missteps and hesitations, tentatively placing your foot forward and finding yourself falling over and over again until you are finally able to pick yourself up without assistance and start moving forward with a hard fought confidence in each careful step.

I still dream about Donnie sometimes, even as recent as last night, but my dreams aren't as dark as they used to be. ~ In my dream we were planning a wedding vow renewal on a vast lawn under the stars, with lanterns hanging from trees and laughter floating on crisp fall air. ~ Life feels different now versus the last few years; still unknown, but brighter, hopeful and full of new beginnings. 

Today we will decorate our house for Christmas, tomorrow I will start cooking for Thanksgiving and our family of three that used to be four, will see a new year begin in just a few more weeks. We will miss him at each milestone and in the quiet nights. Every birthday, Thanksgiving and Christmas we will experience somber moments. But we will also laugh together, love each other and live each day with the intention of joy. And we will have new stories to tell in the years to come; our family of three. 

Reagan Got Shot and I Got Spanked.

My family always had strong political views and shared them freely in our home. As most children do, I listened to my parents views, soaked them in and I adopted my parents' opinions. During the election between Reagan and Carter in 1980, we were very supportive of Jimmy Carter. My older brother Mark even dressed as Jimmy Carter for Halloween, in a tan corduroy suit with a Jimmy Carter mask on his face and at every door instead of saying the typical 'Trick or Treat' he would exclaim "Vote for me!". It was awesome.

As we know, Reagan won the presidency, was sworn in and took office in 1981 and just two months later there was an assassination attempt on his life. At the time, I was nine years old and my younger brother Gerald had just turned eight. When we heard the news, we ran outside and began dancing around our willow tree together, rejoicing and singing "Reagan got shot! Reagan got shot!" with blissful grins on our innocent faces.

I think it was our neighbor that overheard us and told our parents what Gerald and I were doing. And let me just say, we definitely received a proper scolding and sported some red bottoms that afternoon. Our laughter turned to tears and not because we were worried about our President, but because of our punishment. I remember feeling so confused and also quite ashamed. We were told it was not right to rejoice in anyone's demise and that we must respect the office of the President, even if we did not value or agree with the person in that office. 

That afternoon helped shape my current outlook. Since that time, I've understood that the President is the President. I may not like him, I may not agree with him, I may not have voted for him, but he is my President. And because he is my President of the nation that I live in and love, I pray for him and I respect the office that he holds. 

Today I have seen so many posts on Facebook from unhappy or angry people, from ecstatic or even gloating people, from people that have mixed emotions and from people that just don't seem to care. I have my opinions. They might follow after my family's or they might not. They might be different from yours or they might be the same as yours. They might be more grey than black or white. They might not be completely formed. They might be ignorant opinions or they might be researched opinions. 

But they are my opinions. We have the right and the freedom to express ourselves. I rarely express myself when it comes to politics and related hot topics. And that's my right as well. Here's what I will say. We live in a country that gives us the freedom to vote, for some of us that was more hard earned than others. I don't take that lightly and any time I am able to vote, I do so. I mark my vote, my opinion on who should be president and I do my part. 

My vote joins millions of others and they are then counted and we are given a result and it is what it is. We don't have to be thrilled about it. We can even be disappointed. We can be ambivalent or delighted. We can express those feelings, that is our right. 

What makes me sad, so very sad, is the hatred I am seeing. The absolute unbending hatred. And people, it is coming from both sides. My oldest brother Phil's best friend who is without a doubt pro-Clinton, had a Facebook friend in the pro-Trump camp post "Now, I want to go out and start shooting Muslims." This breaks my heart. And I've seen plenty of posts from the pro-Clinton/anti-Trump side too that I won't go into right now, but I'm sure you've seen at least a few negative posts as well, from both sides. 

I'm not going to tell you who I voted for yesterday. It might be who you think I would vote for and then again, it may not. It's my right to keep that private. All I'm saying is I'm sad today. I'd like to see us be 'Stronger Together' and 'Make America Great Again'. I'd like to see if we can be civil and kind to one another and see how we can work together because this is our America. This is our country. This is our very opinionated nation made up of very different people who are all very passionate about our country's future. 

We are an amazing country that has come a long way and still has a long way to go. We are not perfect. There will always be disappointments and failures to face; personally, privately, publicly, nationally. I still hope for our future. And I know you do too. I think it would benefit ALL of us to learn to be kinder to one another, to sometimes hold our tongue, or soften our words, to treat one another the way we would like to be treated. 

We're going to disagree at times. Let's love our nation. Let's be kind to one another. And let's work hard together to make a difference. And to both sides I want to remind you that bullying gets us nowhere. Hatred gets us nowhere. Kindness goes a long way in expressing your opinions and makes a huge difference in delivery and reception. 

Play nice people. 

11:57 pm.

This post was written by Kellan. It's a memoir, an assignment given to him for his English class this year. Posting with his permission. (I'm a proud mommy!)

11:57 pm

By, Kellan Thibodaux

It was the night before Thanksgiving when everything changed. My mom had let my little sister and I stay up late and we were watching TV when I paused the DVR to check the time. It was 11:57 pm. “Hey! Why’d you pause it?!” my sister Emmi belched out. “Checking the time.” I replied boredly. Then from the other side of the house, we heard loud whispers; panting. We walked with unease towards our parents’ bedroom to see our mother pushing repeatedly on our father’s chest, as he laid unconscious on the bed. 

“Mom? What’s wrong?” I said with tears rolling down my face. She turned and saw us and yelled, “Go sit on the porch with some toilet paper!” We ran to the bathroom and grabbed a roll of toilet paper to dry our tears with and sat on the porch waiting for our Pastors and an ambulance.

A few minutes later our pastor’s mom (whom we didn’t know at all) showed up and took us to her house and tried to distract us with basic conversation like “Sooooo, how’s school?” and “Sooooo, what’s your favorite color?”. My sister and I snuck glances at each other silently saying ‘Why is she trying to distract us? It isn’t going to work!’. Then she tried to distract us further by playing a Jackie Chan movie which we watched for all of two minutes before my Pastor’s wife Mrs. Cyndee saved us by walking in the front door to take us to the hospital to be with our mom.

At the hospital, we waited inside a small waiting room that held only two tables with magazines, a box of tissues, a potted plant and a few chairs. We sat impatiently while the doctor shared the news down the hall from the waiting room with my mother, Pastor Nathan and Mrs. Cyndee.  My sister and I decided to peek out the door to see what was going on but nothing was happening and we couldn’t hear anything so we went back in and shut the door to keep waiting.

Finally, they came back into the room. My mom sat down and said “Kids… I have something to tell you.” When she said that I looked backwards and Mrs. Cyndee was covering her face with both hands. I couldn’t tell if her reaction meant my dad was okay or not. I turned back to my mom and she said “Your dad… he’s gone.” I cried on and off while my sister cried hysterically and mom held us both in her arms.

The next few days were mostly a blur. I still can’t remember much of anything. I don’t remember Thanksgiving day which was the day after or even my sister’s eighth birthday which was the day after that. It’s a total memory fog.

This Thanksgiving will be four years without my dad. My fourteenth birthday is less than a month away. I’ve had to learn some essential things like riding a bike, mowing the lawn, and checking the oil on the car without him here to teach me. Sometimes it’s hard for me to talk to my mom instead of my dad about personal things as I’ve grown up the last few years.

Since I lost my dad, a lot has changed. Once in a while I cry myself to sleep at night and it’s still difficult for me to say the words “My dad died”. But I’ve come a long way in my grief and I’m so thankful I had such a great dad for the 10 years I had him. He was amazing. He loved me, my sister and my mom with everything he had in him. He was talented in so many ways. He was handsome, funny, smart, caring and giving. As I grow older, I find many of these pieces of him in me. And that makes me really happy.

#ichoosehappy

Some of you in my facebook world may have noticed a hashtag I've been throwing around since day one of 2016. Instead of making a resolution, I pondered on what I wanted to see happen in my life this year and it is simply one thing. To be happy. So I chose this motto for myself in the form of a hashtag: #ichoosehappy

The first year after I lost my husband was such a dark year for me. I struggled to survive minute by minute, day by day. I hid in my room, I ate my feelings, I cried, I slept, I was numb and I won the title of Miss Dreary Non-Personality.

The second year it was as if I was climbing out of heavy waters, draggy myself out of a pool after spending all day in the burning hot sun. I was working full time again, moving from an apartment to a house, trying to do everything on my own, re-disciplining my kids (because for the past year I just didn't have it in me), learning to cook more than just 5 meals and basically becoming human again.

The third year was a bit easier. A little less anxiety and depression, giving more of my time trying to do fun things with my kids, trying to be build friendships, enjoying holidays and cooking my first Thanksgiving all by myself, and trying to figure out who I am, what I want in life and what I want to be when I grow up. Honestly, I'm still trying to figure that one out.

But this year, as I work my way through our fourth year since Donnie passed away, I've approached every day looking for the joy in each moment, seeking the silver lining when the inevitable tough times arrive, being positive and joyful instead of staying dismal and depressed. Choosing happy has made a huge difference for me when bills are looming overhead and one income has been a challenge. It's made me grin and bear it when I'm feeling grumpy or my kids have been stinkers. Choosing happy has made me laugh when I locked my keys inside my house and had to sit in the car waiting for a locksmith. 

Choosing happy has made me say yes more often to my kids' requests and surprise them with new privileges AND responsibilities as they grow older. It's caused me to live in and appreciate tangible moments that are now fantastic memories. Choosing happy has brought more peace to my heart and helps me sleep better at night. And when I look back through the first five months of this year, I realize they have been a very happy, happy five months.

The year 2016 is approaching its halfway point and here I am still choosing happy. It doesn't mean that hard days don't come. I just had three days in a row that were the toughest I've had in quite some time. Anxiety attacks and depression showed up out of nowhere, bad dreams and sad memories overwhelmed me and stopped me in my tracks, made me breathe deeply, stand still and even stay in bed for almost a full day. 

But even in the thickest, heaviest, most wearisome moment of those days I knew that it would pass. I knew I would come out of it. I knew I would feel the sunshine of happy again. 

I love the power I hold in choosing happy. I may not have all the answers, I might not know what tomorrow holds, how I'm going to cross the next to do off my list or even when the next dark cloud might try to cover me, but I know I can purpose to choose happy in the face of those uncertainties. I don't need to have the answers. I just need to choose happy.