It's Chri---- Wait!

It's Advent! Which has become one of my favorite seasons.  Even if half the world ignores it.  Even though "wait" is one of the most frustrating responses to my prayers.  Even when I rush through it and forget all sorts of things, or when my plans downshift suddenly and disappear.  There's something... comforting about this kind of hopeful waiting.  All the church-y songs have such a great wellspring of hope in them...


 

This will be our first Christmas without my brother Steve.  Which seems unbelievable, really.  It's amazing how much I miss him, when we didn't *see* each other regularly... but we did talk often.  And he loved Christmas.  A few weeks ago, Kaden asked us, "Remember when Uncle Steve drove his motorcycle to see us for Christmas? (pause as we say yes, and he gets a faraway look in his eyes)   That was nice."   It was, buddy, it really really was.  And the memories are nice, too.

Today I found out a friend of mine lost her younger brother.  He died unexpectedly due to heart failure...  at 34. I didn't know him well, per se, but I knew he was one of the good guys.  My heart goes out to their family... and another person goes on our prayer list.  It's really odd to have so many friends who have lost brothers- at different ages (late 20s to early 60s) and in different circumstances (most accidents or undiagnosed health issues)... none of them were expected.  Not a club I imagined joining.

Today (yesterday, actually 11/30) started the St. Andrew Christmas Novena.  In the past, I've never been big on novena prayers.  But I just finished one for our new-to-us parish namesake, St. Catherine Laboure, and I've missed it the last few days.  So when I heard about this one (again), I thought- this is the perfect one to do for all the brothers who've passed.  (St. Andrew being the brother to St. Peter).  Although, honestly, I'm not aiming for saying the short prayer 15x a day, but rather 3x (at meals) (actually, that might be 5x daily, given my pregnancy habits).  If you have any intentions you'd like me to remember, just send them along (email, fb message, comment below- however :).

For Steve, Rick, Chris, Andy, Vince, Jim S. and Henry...

Heavenly Birthday (not the kind you're thinking of)

Let me start by saying that trying to sneak something past airport security is never a good idea.

You know that.  I know that too, but this morning I somehow thought no one would notice the double boxed cremains of my brother next to an 1800 bottle and hard hat in my carry on luggage.  It wasn't a good plan, but I really didn't think I could explain without crying.   Thankfully, I came to my senses about 90 seconds before sending our stuff down the line.  I caught the attention of a security woman and managed to whisper something about a box, while vaguely waving a certificate toward my suitcase.  The delay, of course, caused a bit of attention I was trying to avoid.  Awkward start to our travels north, eh?

The whole day was a bit awkward and rough.  Instead of celebrating my brother's 50th birthday, I was escorting "him" to Pennsylvania.  It's the first time I've been home in about a month, since we first got the news of his car accident.  There was a week of whirlwind travels and planning and mourning with others.  Then a few weeks where we drifted around Florida visiting friends.  So my house feels... awkward.  There's a huge pile of mail to attend to, as well as figuring out some Louisiana law, and we need to resume settling in here.  But I'm tired and grumpy and sad.  So it can all wait until tomorrow.

What I want to share tonight, though, is two conversations with my 4 yr old.  He's at that age where he understands some things, but things being permanent is still a bit fluid...  

Conversation a few weeks ago:

Kaden: Where are we again?
Me:  Louisiana.

Kaden:  Oh, right.  Where Uncle Steve lives.

Me:  He used to live here, hunny, but he died, remember?

Kaden:  Right, he used to live in Louisiana, but now he lives up in heaven.

Me:  Well, we don't know where heaven is exactly, but wherever it is, that's where Uncle Steve is.

Kaden:  *I know* where heaven is.

Me:  really?  Where?

Kaden:  It's in our hearts.

****

Conversation this morning:

Kaden - Nana, why are you crying? is it because we're leaving?

Nana - Well, a little bit. But mostly because it's Uncle Steve's birthday today.

Kaden - That's right, and he's in heaven.  Well, you could always ask God to tell him that you said happy birthday.

Nana - yes, and I am going to let a birthday balloon go up in the sky later on.

Kaden - That's great, Nana, God will reach down and give it to Uncle Steve.

***

He keeps us honest, that boy.  Happy Birthday, Uncle Steve.  We miss and love you!

No Words.

I've started this post 1,000 times over the past 2 and a half weeks.  There's no good way to tell it.  If you're not in the mood for sadness, you've got to move to another post or blog.

Because there really are no words that adequately explain how my pregnant sister in law could be induced a week after her due date, and not go home with a babe.   What was God thinking?  Eden Hope was born, and for a few minutes the family rejoiced... and then the medical folks said something about her not being pink enough.  I can't even write out the details, so I'll give you the facts (in a much more direct manner than the 6 hour ordeal unfolded).  It turns out that our neice had a rare lung disorder, where the lungs look okay on ultrasounds- but aren't formed.  There's nothing to be done.  And so she came, and six agonizing hours later, she went back home.

There are no words.  Plenty of tears, but no words.  

You know the saying, a picture is worth a thousand words?   I have two images in my head from our recent visit.   Her parents showed us a few pictures- imagine the standard 'newborn baby with the family in a hospital' - mom holding baby, dads arms around them both.  Or grandparents looking down at the tiny one.  But in all of these, our babe doesn't have a healthy pink color, and no one is smiling.  Not even close- you can see everyone's heartache on their faces.  It is the saddest, surrealist thing I've ever seen.

Jim had made it up for the funeral (it's his brother who's the dad).   The uncles were pallbearers, and all he could say to me after was, "The coffin was so tiny, it weighed *nothing*."  Later, he'd just repeat himself, "it weighed nothing."  A few days later, he told me, "There shouldn't be something made so small."  I knew what he meant, but the reality of the tragedy hit me when we visited her grave last week.  The fresh mound of dirt was... so tiny.  So small.  There shouldn't be a need for a grave that barely fits two flower arrangements.

Even now as I type, I know that I could write another thousand pages, and there would be no words that capture this.  No words that would ease her parent's suffering.  No words that would explain the mystery to her siblings or cousins.  No words to calm the dragons of doubt, the "if only" saboteurs.

Perhaps her name can be the only word that gets the family through this darkness:  Eden Hope.  Once, God revealed the Divine Self as "I am who am" - a name that makes no sense.   And when the angels announced the Messiah, they named him Emmanuel, "God with us."  There is no theology that can make sense of how a loving God allows such tragedy.  But perhaps we can find Hope in the Presence of God, revealed in so many ways by so many people "with us".  Perhaps those names- Hope, Presence- are the only words that matter.

Favorite

I love this photo.  The concentration on his face, the hand gripping the root, the careful placement of his foot, the light and leaves above... a totally perfect moment in a completely imperfect life.

------------
Unrelated, please pray for one of Jim's uncles, who died Monday morning.  It was quite unexpected, and the family is understandably reeling.  "May the angels lead him into paradise, may the martyrs receive you at your coming and lead you into the holy city. May the choir of angels receive you and with Lazarus, who was once poor, may you have everlasting rest. Amen"

A long time ago... and right now too

The pictures in this post are from a while ago. We took Kaden to his first real "carnival" - a local night time fair with expensive rides and crazy eats and new! things! everywhere! We went with some friends (his age and ours!) and had a blast. He was totally blown away by every ride, and only a little apprehensive at times. Otherwise, a real pro at adapting his reality to this new, fast and furious life.



So tonight, some relatives arrived for a visit. As I type, there's six kids sleeping all over the floor in one bedroom, 2 parentals with a one year old babe in the other, and Jim snoring on the air mattress. We have plans to go to the beach, to church, to find wild alligators. I imagine this weekend will be just like that fair: a lot of noise, a lot of excitement, a lot of fun, and passing by in a blur, over way too soon.



And isn't that Holy Week, too? Things that aren't that different somehow seem exciting because of the light we shine on them, the attention we give to symbol and detail, the way we dive to the bottom of our own personal and communal suffering barrels... all to have it end in a mad rush of excitement and celebration on Sunday. It's a blur, but it only feels right, makes any sense or is any fun if our friends are nearby. And then we go back to normal life, except sometimes we have to adjust 'normal' to somehow include an understanding of this latest stuff.

But maybe that's not it at all, and maybe it's just where my head is right now. A very close friend of ours lost her mom last week. I can't stop praying for her. Thinking about everything- palm sunday, old fair visits- and trying to make it fit her new reality. How the life of our relationships are stretched and gathered and let loose... it may be that everyone else has or will someday go through this... but we are caught up in the newness of it all, along for the ride in the dark of night, looking for friends to help us through the apprehension.

another anniversary

Well, here I was, thinking of a blog entry on spring... when the clock hit midnight and now, it's an anniversary. Not just another one, and not really a happy one... it was ten years ago that Dad died. Today, I wonder how it could be a decade? I can remember so many things about his last days... when the date "March 26" comes up, they flood back. This post couldn't begin to hold them all.

Fortunately for us, and even more so for Dad (!), it was a mostly peaceful journey, even a happy one. He had resigned himself to dying. Not like resigning from a job you'd rather keep, but like resigning to refresh yourself before taking on a new, better opportunity. Even when you don't know what that better thing is, exactly.

One day around our last Christmas together, I mentioned something about us going to Arizona for one of his life dreams. He said, "No, I'm not going to see the Grand Canyon." I started that talk, the one most family-members-of-a-cancer-patient start: Don't talk that way. Be positive. If we... maybe.. He interuppted me. "No, Kristi, it's okay. I'm okay with it. I had my talk with Jesus, and we're good. I'm ready."

He was. He might've been the only one in the family truly ready. I know I was taken by suprise a few months later. Our spring break visit didn't include the beach and a wedding, but hospitals and hospice. He spent the last few weeks at home, acting more and more like a little kid. In the joyful, carefree way of a child who only wants to be surrounded by people who love him. Just to... love. To... be.

Every morning, he'd ask Mom where each family member was: Steve. Mark, Theresa. Kristi, Jim. He couldn't nap until he knew where each of us was, what we were doing. He included friends who were like family, asking to see them.

~~~

These days, Kaden reminds has a similar routine: Nana? Daddy? Mama? Nick? Lexi?

I wonder, of course, what my dad would be like as his grandpa. I know he would love him, as surely and quietly as he loved the Dodson boys. But what about the specifics? Would he want to be called Grandpa? or Pop? Would he be hands off, or down on the floor? How would he talk to him about football? let him take part in gardening? learn woodworking in the garage?

Ten years later, I still wonder. When things are new, or "especially special", I think of him. I wonder, and remember. And today, I'll tell Kaden stories over pancakes that spell out c.a.r.l... maybe drive down to swing through the Arby's near the airport... and if we're lucky, visit the island lighthouse where we thought we said our last goodbye.

"Saints of God, come to his aid! Come to meet him, angels of the Lord!

May Christ call you to himself... Grant him eternal rest, O Lord,

and may your light shine on him forever."

Lent

Yeah, you knew it was coming sooner or later, right? The whole Lent thing. Actually, this'll be a short post because I'm way tired, trying to cram all my computer use into one evening each week.

I'm trying to give up personal computing for Lent- not counting Sundays of course. It's a fairly interesting experiment. I decided to do it before I heard about Italian bishops asking folks to give up texting or other techie stuff... which is good or I probably wouldn't have chosen it. But that's another post.

Anyway, I chose "personal weekday computing" because it felt like I was wasting a LOT of time sitting at the screen. The clincher was the day Kade woke up from a nap on Nana's lap in the living room and see him look to the computer first to see if I'm around. Hmm. If a SEVEN MONTH OLD thinks I'm glued to the seat... yeah, it's time to re-evaluate.

Here's the thing though-- it's not as much useless stuff as I thought. Yes, there are the time sucking games and never-ending facebook posts... but there's also eggplant recipes, and how-to-sooth-infant-ear-pain, and checking in for flights, and googling directions to a new house, and... well, you get the idea. I'm actually encouraged that it wasn't as mindless as I thought.

So now the challenge is to figure out how to prioritize so I still get in the cleaning and walking and other good stuff. But that's for the Easter season. For now, I'm journaling in my head, trying to focus on relationships and God and not going crazy with the work schedule that juggles three programs in one weekend. Or spaces events so that I work every day, even if it's just 4 hours.

In babe news--- he'll turn "8 months" on St Patty's day, so we'll have some fun pics next time. He's also recovering fairly well from the ear infection, and has slept thru the night (mostly) the last two days. We had a rough day today, out of our house for 12 hours, though we did hang at Nana's and some friends' in the evening, so that was fairly relaxing. For us, anyway, I hope for him too!!

Finally, please pray for my friend Jess, whose Dad died recently, and her mom Carola. It kinda sucks to welcome a friend into the "had-dads-funeral" group... but sometimes the shared experience makes prayers easier. Thanks to all.