Isn’t it funny how we wish for what we can’t have. For me, it’s often time alone. No work. No commitments. No car-pool. No boys… Simply time to decompress.
No boys! What am I thinking? I’m sitting here alone in a quiet house while my husband and youngest son are taking a boys-only vacation to northern California and my oldest son is at basketball camp. I fool myself into thinking how peaceful it will be to lavish myself with a bottle of wine and the remote control. Cable TV with no Sports Center. A chick flick purchased On-Demand. Yet I sit here alone… clearly alone.
And what am I thinking about? I think about my boys…. I think about my husband sitting next to me playing with my hair. I think about my little guy who wants nothing more than to hug me. I think about my teenager who loves to grunt at everything I say to him.
I think about how blessed I am. How I take for granted the three gifts that God has given me. The text I receive from Owen before he signs off for the night makes me smile. The sound of Eli’s voice telling me the intimate details of how Daddy almost drove off the cliff into the ocean. The sound of Jon’s voice so calm and loving when he sighs, “I miss you Bunny.” The man who loves me more than anything in the world. I am blessed. I am so blessed.
Tuesday, July 6, 2010
Sunday, June 6, 2010
The light shined on a rainy day.
It rained yesterday. Fitting for a day of mourning the loss of a young life. The showers continued throughout the funeral, burial and the gathering at the family’s home. Ironic, as the young girl hated rain; a brutal reminder of the deep despair she was holding inside for so long. But although the sky bled its cold, wet tears on those who grieved, glimpses of sunlight abounded throughout the day.
Not surprised by the hundreds, perhaps over a thousand, people that came to pay their respects to the family at the First Baptist Church in downtown Minneapolis. Not surprised by the many young people, mostly high school students who knew and loved the young lady. Not surprised when my oldest son grabbed and hugged his dear friend, the brother of the young lady who took her own life.
The first glimpse of sunlight was apparent while I noticed another friend of my fourteen year old son enter the massive sanctuary, dressed in trousers, an oxford and shiny black shoes. One couldn’t help but smile at this sports-minded young man all dressed up for this sad occasion. But it wasn’t his choice of clothing that touched me; it was that he was alone. This young man chose to attend a funeral of a young lady who took her own life, with no parent or adult to support him. He was dropped off at the church with instructions to call his father when he was ready to be picked up. My first instinct was to be angry at his parents for doing such a thing…but as we spoke to him after the service it dawned on me that he was sent by the Lord as a light of hope.
It was still raining heavily when we arrived at the family’s home to pay our respects to the young ladies father, who had not attended the funeral, customary to tradition of their culture. We slowly entered the large home, finding hundreds of friends and relatives crowding the rooms and hallways. We were greeted by a lovely aunt. She walked us directly to the father sitting on the couch; clearly exhausted and distraught by the death of his lovely daughter. The aunt, still holding my arm, her touch felt like an angel. Her beauty shined from the inside out; so grateful that we were there for her family. My husband placed his hands on the father’s shoulder and prayed for him in front of his loving relatives. My husband, my light, my sunshine, shared his gift of comforting words blessed by the Lord at a time needed most.
But finally, a mother’s heart was touched so deeply, when my son escorted his friend upstairs as he was afraid to enter his own room. He hadn’t been home since the death of his sister. It was too painful. But it was my son that walked with him up the long sprawling staircase to help confront his sadness and fears. Completely unknown to Owen, the Light of the Lord shined through him and gave him this strength.
I’ll never understand the pain of this family, the pain my son’s friend will have for a lifetime. But I saw sunshine on a rainy day, from those that have blessed my life. So I leave you with these words today…as tough as life may seem look for the light in those around you. It is there. And it is remarkable.
Not surprised by the hundreds, perhaps over a thousand, people that came to pay their respects to the family at the First Baptist Church in downtown Minneapolis. Not surprised by the many young people, mostly high school students who knew and loved the young lady. Not surprised when my oldest son grabbed and hugged his dear friend, the brother of the young lady who took her own life.
The first glimpse of sunlight was apparent while I noticed another friend of my fourteen year old son enter the massive sanctuary, dressed in trousers, an oxford and shiny black shoes. One couldn’t help but smile at this sports-minded young man all dressed up for this sad occasion. But it wasn’t his choice of clothing that touched me; it was that he was alone. This young man chose to attend a funeral of a young lady who took her own life, with no parent or adult to support him. He was dropped off at the church with instructions to call his father when he was ready to be picked up. My first instinct was to be angry at his parents for doing such a thing…but as we spoke to him after the service it dawned on me that he was sent by the Lord as a light of hope.
It was still raining heavily when we arrived at the family’s home to pay our respects to the young ladies father, who had not attended the funeral, customary to tradition of their culture. We slowly entered the large home, finding hundreds of friends and relatives crowding the rooms and hallways. We were greeted by a lovely aunt. She walked us directly to the father sitting on the couch; clearly exhausted and distraught by the death of his lovely daughter. The aunt, still holding my arm, her touch felt like an angel. Her beauty shined from the inside out; so grateful that we were there for her family. My husband placed his hands on the father’s shoulder and prayed for him in front of his loving relatives. My husband, my light, my sunshine, shared his gift of comforting words blessed by the Lord at a time needed most.
But finally, a mother’s heart was touched so deeply, when my son escorted his friend upstairs as he was afraid to enter his own room. He hadn’t been home since the death of his sister. It was too painful. But it was my son that walked with him up the long sprawling staircase to help confront his sadness and fears. Completely unknown to Owen, the Light of the Lord shined through him and gave him this strength.
I’ll never understand the pain of this family, the pain my son’s friend will have for a lifetime. But I saw sunshine on a rainy day, from those that have blessed my life. So I leave you with these words today…as tough as life may seem look for the light in those around you. It is there. And it is remarkable.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
How do you talk to your 14 year old about suicide?
I know that I’ve said this before…that writing is a form of therapy. But I question tonight what therapy can truly be. How can you explain to your fourteen year old son, the reasons behind suicide? Two of his friends have taken their lives in less than six months. One…just last night.
I look at my children and pray that I can be the best parent to them. God gave them to me as gifts, right? Owen is my “angel sent from heaven” when I never thought I’d have children. Eli is my “Miracle Baby” the second child that I prayed for each night and took so long to have. For so long, I’ve walked on egg shells, just hoping to be a good mom. But tonight, I struggle. I have no words to console them. How can this be? I am supposed to be a writer. God has given me the gift of bull-shit, and trust me…I’ve used this gift to my fullest advantage. But tonight….I have no words. I only have tears.
I think about my friend who lost her son months ago…and lives with the agony every day; while the world around her moves on. Now, I think about my son’s dear friend whose sister is now gone. We will spend the next several weeks, mourning their loss. But with even the worst pain, we’ll move on. While the family will remain in deep sorrow.
For the second time in six months, my husband and I sat our two young children, age 14 and 10, down to discuss the loss of a young life. A life that was taken needlessly. They sat in our living room and we tried to explain to them about choices, expressing their feelings, the gift of life that only God provides. We explained that God placed them on this earth for a reason…and that we need to sometimes dig deep into our soul to determine what that purpose is supposed to be.
So what is the answer? How do you explain these tragedies to your children? I just don’t know. But, I’ll guarantee that there will be a long car ride with the fourteen year old tomorrow. It seems the only place where he truly opens up to speak his feelings. For the ten year old, we’ve already spent hours talking and hugging.
Talk to your kids…even when they don’t speak back to you. Hug them...hold them...every day!
I look at my children and pray that I can be the best parent to them. God gave them to me as gifts, right? Owen is my “angel sent from heaven” when I never thought I’d have children. Eli is my “Miracle Baby” the second child that I prayed for each night and took so long to have. For so long, I’ve walked on egg shells, just hoping to be a good mom. But tonight, I struggle. I have no words to console them. How can this be? I am supposed to be a writer. God has given me the gift of bull-shit, and trust me…I’ve used this gift to my fullest advantage. But tonight….I have no words. I only have tears.
I think about my friend who lost her son months ago…and lives with the agony every day; while the world around her moves on. Now, I think about my son’s dear friend whose sister is now gone. We will spend the next several weeks, mourning their loss. But with even the worst pain, we’ll move on. While the family will remain in deep sorrow.
For the second time in six months, my husband and I sat our two young children, age 14 and 10, down to discuss the loss of a young life. A life that was taken needlessly. They sat in our living room and we tried to explain to them about choices, expressing their feelings, the gift of life that only God provides. We explained that God placed them on this earth for a reason…and that we need to sometimes dig deep into our soul to determine what that purpose is supposed to be.
So what is the answer? How do you explain these tragedies to your children? I just don’t know. But, I’ll guarantee that there will be a long car ride with the fourteen year old tomorrow. It seems the only place where he truly opens up to speak his feelings. For the ten year old, we’ve already spent hours talking and hugging.
Talk to your kids…even when they don’t speak back to you. Hug them...hold them...every day!
Friday, May 28, 2010
Venice
Guest writer continues....Jon Grayson
We left Rome and off to Venice
**************************************************
The Ryan Airlines waiting area was pretty nondescript, evidence of the dirt cheap fares. We were touched by a son who accompanied his elderly parents to the gate, and waited until they were safely through security before he left (we hope both our boys are as loyal). We decided to adopt them and stood by them when we rushed into the long line to board another bus that would take us to the plane (we wondered just what else low overhead might mean in the way of safety or pilot inexperience). The crowds of Italians are not polite in any fashion, even toward elderly people with canes, and I caught my adopted mom as she was nearly pushed out of the bus.
Arriving in the tiny airport in Treviso, we walked all the way past security and the baggage claim, and had to sneak back in just to get our luggage.
The bus ride to Venice was relaxing, but I was nervous that nightfall would mean a tougher maze to the hotel (but still determined to take public transportation). The vaporetto (water taxi) ticket salesman was another big grump, and then I asked about our stop, thought he flipped me the Italian bird (the big #1), but I called the hotel and they did confirm it was indeed stop #1. Still, the dark night was confounded by a misty fog, which I remember in Shakespeare’s description of many nights in both Othello and The Merchant of Venice. Not to mention, it was eerily quiet and few had departed at stop #1. There are few lighted signs in Venice and it was too dark to decipher any of the other signage, which was minimal. We found a hotel near the stop, and thank goodness, the smiling clerk looked Scandinavian and gave us some easy directions to the Foscari Palace. I have never been more relieved, and wondered if our hotel was any better. And boy were we surprised. It blew me away, and I welcomed they bell boy to carry my bags and appreciated the orientation to our room (with two balconies, no less, and a full fruit basket compliments of the manager—hotel snobbery does have its privileges). The next evening, we were invited to the wine/cheese party, which included a harpist.
There were so many wonderful things about Venice and our hotel, but the best was a nearly quiet street with just the bump of a gondola, but no blaring police cars. The morning was a great awakening to everything we imagined, and more. The only complaint I can think of is that so many people smoke, but it is not allowed inside stores/restaurants.
Leaving Venice was a bit easier, but I wanted to take a different route and we had time to kill. So we took the train, despite Kristy’s grumbling (I told her to cheer up, that the Italian scowl was growing on her). I should have listened, as the conductor chewed me out for not validating the ticket on the time machine. Now I was glad we were leaving Italy. The only restaurant open in Treviso was McDonald’s and that suited us well. The town was shut down as most towns are on Sunday, so we went to the airport and read our books. It was another long, pushy line into the waiting area, followed by another pushy line into the bus which took us out to the plane. But we survived.
We left Rome and off to Venice
**************************************************
The Ryan Airlines waiting area was pretty nondescript, evidence of the dirt cheap fares. We were touched by a son who accompanied his elderly parents to the gate, and waited until they were safely through security before he left (we hope both our boys are as loyal). We decided to adopt them and stood by them when we rushed into the long line to board another bus that would take us to the plane (we wondered just what else low overhead might mean in the way of safety or pilot inexperience). The crowds of Italians are not polite in any fashion, even toward elderly people with canes, and I caught my adopted mom as she was nearly pushed out of the bus.
Arriving in the tiny airport in Treviso, we walked all the way past security and the baggage claim, and had to sneak back in just to get our luggage.
The bus ride to Venice was relaxing, but I was nervous that nightfall would mean a tougher maze to the hotel (but still determined to take public transportation). The vaporetto (water taxi) ticket salesman was another big grump, and then I asked about our stop, thought he flipped me the Italian bird (the big #1), but I called the hotel and they did confirm it was indeed stop #1. Still, the dark night was confounded by a misty fog, which I remember in Shakespeare’s description of many nights in both Othello and The Merchant of Venice. Not to mention, it was eerily quiet and few had departed at stop #1. There are few lighted signs in Venice and it was too dark to decipher any of the other signage, which was minimal. We found a hotel near the stop, and thank goodness, the smiling clerk looked Scandinavian and gave us some easy directions to the Foscari Palace. I have never been more relieved, and wondered if our hotel was any better. And boy were we surprised. It blew me away, and I welcomed they bell boy to carry my bags and appreciated the orientation to our room (with two balconies, no less, and a full fruit basket compliments of the manager—hotel snobbery does have its privileges). The next evening, we were invited to the wine/cheese party, which included a harpist.
There were so many wonderful things about Venice and our hotel, but the best was a nearly quiet street with just the bump of a gondola, but no blaring police cars. The morning was a great awakening to everything we imagined, and more. The only complaint I can think of is that so many people smoke, but it is not allowed inside stores/restaurants.
Leaving Venice was a bit easier, but I wanted to take a different route and we had time to kill. So we took the train, despite Kristy’s grumbling (I told her to cheer up, that the Italian scowl was growing on her). I should have listened, as the conductor chewed me out for not validating the ticket on the time machine. Now I was glad we were leaving Italy. The only restaurant open in Treviso was McDonald’s and that suited us well. The town was shut down as most towns are on Sunday, so we went to the airport and read our books. It was another long, pushy line into the waiting area, followed by another pushy line into the bus which took us out to the plane. But we survived.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
Novel is Complete
I have some great news to share. Tonight, I’ve FINALLY finished my novel. Each one of you has touched my life in a special way. Whether you are aware or not, you’ve been an inspiration to me. Thank you!
For those of you that have painstakingly endured this long journey with me, I give you great thanks. As you know, my life during the past eighteen months has had a series of ups and downs that cannot be explained. My writing was therapy; and you’ve touched my soul.
For those of you that I’ve inadvertently hurt with my words on paper, please forgive me. Even though in so many ways you’ve influenced my writing, my words are fiction…a complete figment of my imagination. And trust me….sometimes my imagination has pushed me close to the edge, often slipping into character. I’ve heard this is a sign of a good writer…but none the less, it’s very scary.
All that said, I’ll be editing for awhile. Then searching for a good agent.
I love you all!
For those of you that have painstakingly endured this long journey with me, I give you great thanks. As you know, my life during the past eighteen months has had a series of ups and downs that cannot be explained. My writing was therapy; and you’ve touched my soul.
For those of you that I’ve inadvertently hurt with my words on paper, please forgive me. Even though in so many ways you’ve influenced my writing, my words are fiction…a complete figment of my imagination. And trust me….sometimes my imagination has pushed me close to the edge, often slipping into character. I’ve heard this is a sign of a good writer…but none the less, it’s very scary.
All that said, I’ll be editing for awhile. Then searching for a good agent.
I love you all!
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Who has touched a star?
By Eli Grayson
Who has touched a star?
Neither I nor you.
But when you look up in the sky
They sparkle white and blue.
Who has touched a star?
Neither you nor I.
But when they look so beautiful
I wish they all were mine.
Who has touched a star?
Neither I nor you.
But when you look up in the sky
They sparkle white and blue.
Who has touched a star?
Neither you nor I.
But when they look so beautiful
I wish they all were mine.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Mother's Day Poems by Eli
Haiku
Platinum, Silver, Gold.
All the moms enjoy their day!
They all shout "Hooray!"
Cinquain
Mother
best in the world
couldn't ask for more, Mom!
nobody compares to you, Mom!
Kristy!
Free Verse
This is my mother
she is very nice.
She doesn't like it
when there is mice!
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