The Paleo Mama

Homegrown and Handmade

death

City Girl to Farm Girl: The Transformation Within

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Picnic basket in one hand, my son’s hand in the other, we open the rusty gate and head out to find a perfect spot to lay our blanket. The autumn leaves crunch beneath my farm boots – I still snicker when I look down and see rubber boots instead of polished, tan toes that compliment my $1 Old Navy flip-flops. Paleo farm girl runs ahead of us and asks to let the chickens out. Her wavy hair dances in the mountain air and sings a song as the sun flickers off her fading summer highlights.

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Paleo son giggles when the chickens break free from their coop – their eyes eager to find a juicy bug outside the coop walls. Do I know that feeling! Paleo farm girl picks up her favorite chicken, Susie Sunshine, so delicately and gently. This is the second Susie Sunshine. The first Susie Sunshine met her unfortunate fate when Paleo farm girl accidentally stepped on her. I felt the crush and blow with her and we held her fading body as she slipped away from this world. This was our first hard lesson of farm life but we knew the pain of death already.

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My son slips from my hand and brings me back to this moment. I watch as he runs ahead and I know where he is going. He is fascinated with “wish flowers” and they cover our pasture. He counts to three and blows and I watch the white florets surround my son and I watch as his eyes follow the florets up in the air above him. The moment is perfect and I thank God that I am here in it. I remember my life when it was crushed, stepped on…like the first Susie Sunshine. My life was fading away and I felt like I couldn’t breath. My bones were broken and I couldn’t hold my head up. My spirit barely was holding on and I could not get past the pain my body had felt._MG_7785_MG_7798_MG_7788

I stood in the hallway broken and crying out for help, I felt it. I felt someone pick me up and over time He began to, every-so-carefully, put me back together. I watch my children in our new life and think of how my life has so, drastically, changed. But it didn’t happen all at once…it was piece by piece…by piece. And now I walk hand-in-hand with my child whose birth painfully reminds me of the death of my sister. My life has been a life of parallels; plagued with celebrating the life of my son, but burdened, at the same time, with grieving the death of my younger sister. It’s been two years and I’ve walked these parallels and I’ve been burdened with grief and guilt. I’ve been screaming into a pillow and felt trapped in this life. I thought this is how it would feel forever…but here I am…I’m watching the wish flowers surround my son and fly up into the mountain breeze. I’m looking at the mountains that surround us and admiring the way the sun forms shadows on in the crevices of the distant peaks.

I hit my knees and a wave of peace comes over me. I don’t feel God anymore so I don’t know if that is what this is…but it is something so close that it leaves me believing that I will feel Him again. I reach my hand up to grab my sister’s necklace and, for once, I know it’s ok. My sister led me here because I know I wouldn’t be here…in the middle of the mountains of North Carolina…if it wasn’t for what happened. My life wouldn’t have gone through such trauma. I wouldn’t feel like I do now. I wouldn’t be this alive.

Cause now I feel things. I see things I never saw…

like how beautiful the florets of the wish flower are.

Or how my daughter’s hair dances in the air.

Or how beautiful the leaves are as they are changing from green to their autumn color.

I wouldn’t feel peace because to truly feel peace, you have to know what war is. 

I pull the checkered blanket from our picnic basket and we sit down to enjoy this day that was given to us. My daughter says a prayer and thanks the Lord for her chicken. My son throws his little arms in the air and screams, “AMEN.” We break bread together, as a little family that has been through a tough few years but has come out of the storm. I had a feeling this place would help me continue to heal and I’m thankful that it has held up to that expectation.

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My heart has always had a calling for more than what a city could offer me and living in it was like a prison.

I’m thankful to be set free.

I’m blessed to be able to treasure this moment.

…because now I know how fast life is.

…now I know that I can be broken…and happy…and it’s ok.

This crushed and broken city-girl is gone. A vibrant and peaceful farm girl has arrived. 

My soul is…

quenched.

 

My Rainbow Baby that God Gave Me After the Storm

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I’m breaking my summer blogging sabbatical because I’m feeling very emotional tonight and feel like writing. My son turns 2 tomorrow and my emotions are a whirlwind because of that. I’m not sure why…well, I have a few ideas why. First, he is my baby and 2 marks the end of “babyhood”. Second, as we draw closer to his birthday, we draw closer to the anniversary of my sister’s death.

I asked God so many times why He would take my sister from me at the time I had a newborn baby. It was nearly impossible for me to care for my kids while grieving the loss of my sister and without my husband (who was incredible through it all), I’m pretty sure I would not have endured it.

A friend of mine who also went through a intensely tough storm said it perfectly when she said that she felt like she was living a life of parallels with her newborn. I, too, have felt plagued with the same feelings. It has been 2 years of parallels…2 years of life and 2 years of death. At many times I felt so confused as to how I was supposed to embrace this precious new life that God had given me, while being broken and hurt over the life that I had loss in my sister.

I felt God whisper to me many times that out of death comes life.

He knew before my son, Frankie, was even conceived that my beautiful sister would pass away from this earth around the same time as my son’s birth. There was a purpose to these parallels and what is so beautiful is that I am only beginning to see it.

Frankie brings me so much joy that it is almost unbearable. The first year of his life I dealt with guilt over so many things…our broken breastfeeding relationship…laughing at him when I should be grieving…and, most of all, feeling as if the beginning of his beautiful life was overshadowed by my sister’s tragic death.

Frankie is my rainbow baby. He was conceived shortly after a miscarriage that my husband and I had. He was my promise to God that followed a very difficult season of our lives.

Frankie is my rainbow baby that followed a very difficult storm…a storm that raged so hard that it shook the foundation of my faith and brought me to my knees in desperation. God knew I would need Frankie. God knew what exact moment I would need him. He was there with me and there was a reason for it all.

Frankie suckled at my breast 10 minutes after I found my sister. I held him and gave life to him when death was surrounding me. And in the darkest hours, in the blackness of the night, Frankie was there next to me, wrapped in my body and warmth, reminding me that out of death came a much needed significant life.

When I look at Frankie, I think of the promise God gave Noah. He will always calm the storm.

So, today, and always, I celebrate my Frankie!

Happy Birthday sweet boy!

 

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Frankie, Jr. born beautifully into Mommy's arms.
Frankie, Jr. born beautifully into Mommy’s arms.
Big sister holding him for the first time <3
Big sister holding him for the first time <3
I think this was the first picture I took of Frankie after my sister died. I remember thinking, "how can I be sad when I have this little boy to look at."
I think this was the first picture I took of Frankie after my sister died. I remember thinking, “how can I be sad when I have this little boy to look at.”

frankie 2

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Never Say These Things to a Grieving Person

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Found this note written by Dinah a few months ago.

Before I lost my sister a year ago, I had no idea what to say to someone who was grieving the loss of a loved one. Honestly, I was clueless. I avoided them because I didn’t want to say the wrong thing. No one near me had ever died. My grandparents all died before I was old to enough to remember. I lived a perfect, happy life; free of death and mourning; free of anger or questions for God.

Then September 23, 2011 happened. The darkness that surrounded my family was enormous. Our house sounded like something off a horror movie. Random sounds of weeping, fists banging on walls in anger, and screams from the nightmare that we endured was something that I will never forget. I can’t describe the deep, dark pit that we were in for several weeks.

Confusion.

Self-pity.

Hate.

Where are you, God?

The emotions emerge as I write this.

It’s hard to be around someone who is grieving. You wouldn’t want their sad world to cloud your happy world, right?

“It is better to go to a house of mourning than to go to a house of feasting, for death is the destiny of every man; the living should take this to heart.” – Ecclesiastes 7:2

How can we help? What can we say?

Here’s a list I put together that may help you if you encounter someone who lost of a friend or loved one. These are things you should NEVER say:

1. “Everything happens for a reason.”

This is my favorite one that I just want to sock ’em in the eye for. I mean, really? My sister died for a reason? What reason was that? Oh, it won’t be revealed yet? Blah. My sister’s life LIVING could happen for a reason. She was only 27 when she died, she could have done so much more…FOR A REASON!

Please don’t ever say this to someone. It doesn’t help. It doesn’t comfort. It only pisses ’em off.

2. “God has everything under control.”

You may or may not believe in God. I do; so when people said this to me, I wanted to look at them and say,

“Really? How is THIS under control? Come to my house at night and tell me if it sounds like everything is under control!”

3. “_________ is in a much better place.”

Are you God? Do you stand at judgement with the Book of Life and know where our souls are going? What if I don’t even believe in heaven? How does that comfort my aching soul? 

What if ___________ didn’t even believe in Jesus Christ? You don’t know the destination of ANYONE’S soul.

Just avoid this all-together. It may make YOU feel better to think that __________ is in heaven, but it may not do anything for the grieving person. So keep it to yourself.

4. I know what you are going through.

Really? NO YOU DON’T. Who do you know that took their own life? What’s that you say? Your grandma died a year ago? Ummm, she lived a full life…you cannot compare that.

Truth is, even if you have been there, don’t say this. You, truly, don’t know what someone is going through; only they do.  Saying this can evoke many angry emotions to the grieving person.

5. You’re a strong person. I know you will get through this.

I don’t want to be strong. I am NOT strong.

Don’t pressure someone to live up to this. In the despair and grief of losing someone so dear, you don’t want to be strong. You want to cry, weep, scream, and do all the things that people classify as weak. Let them do this. Let them grieve in whatever way they need to. Don’t pressure them to be anything that they don’t want to be.

6. It’s been a year. You really need to move on.

Don’t you think we know life has to move on? That’s THE MAIN thing we are grieving about. Life is moving on without my sister. She is stuck at 27 years old for the rest of MY life. I’ll never raise my kids with her kids. I’ll never grow old with her and see how her face wrinkles. We know this!

Just don’t say that. It hurts enough already knowing life is moving on without ________.

7. God is going to be glorified in all this.

How about if I slap you upside the head? Is God glorified in that too?

Usually when people say this they are referring to the death of the person. They say that ______ death is going to touch many people in the same circumstance.

Couldn’t their LIFE do the same thing? Couldn’t them being ALIVE touch many people? Please refrain from saying this, even if you really do believe it.

All these things evoke a response of anger, confusion, questions for the grieving person. Take it from me, it doesn’t absolutely no good to say any of these 7 things to someone who lost a friend or loved one.

There are much better things to say. Let me help you out:

1. I’m so sorry. I don’t know what to say.

2. Words fall short but I’m here.

3. ________’s life was beautiful.

4. My deepest thoughts and prayers are with you.

5. I brought you a hot meal.

6. I’m here for you. Call me ANYTIME.

7. I’m here for you. Even if it’s to just sit next to you at your house so you’re not alone.

8. Tell me about ________’s life.

9. How are you doing? No, REALLY, how are you doing?

10. I brought you some groceries.

The grieving person is still a person. They don’t have cooties or a scarlet letter. They are you…they are me…they are one of us. They don’t want you to avoid talking about it. They don’t want you to think it’s a sore subject.

When someone would ask me, “How are you?…no really, how are you?” I knew they really cared. And sometimes it opened up a can of worms depending on how my emotions were on that day. Sometimes, I talked about Dinah. I shared stories from our past. I relived moments we shared together in time.

Moments like these bring healing.

This is my story…

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I can sometimes close my eyes and smell my childhood. It smells like freshly raked leaves, chlorine on my bathing suit, sweat that lingers on my skin, and freshly popped cheesy popcorn.

It tastes like Oatmeal Cream Pies, tacos on a Saturday night, and hose water.

I treasure the childhood I had. I spent summer days riding bikes with my sister, Dinah, to faraway lands and magical “secret” places that only we knew about. My sister treasured it too. Five days before the worst day of my life, she wrote a short story for college about a time when we were playing hide-and-seek as kids. She must have treasured it as much as me, for no one can ever take these moments in time away.

I am the middle child. I am the free spirt. My mom sings, “I Hope You Dance” over me because she says the words remind her of me. I’m my Daddy’s little girl. I hold his hand in mine even when my teenage friends could see. I walk with pride standing next to my big brother. He’s huge. Standing at over 6’6″, he stares into the eyes of boys and frightens them away. I smile at him because I’d rather hang out with him, then stupid boys. My sister was always my best friend. We loved hard and we fought even harder. Yet, at the end of the day when we layed down in our beds that shared a room, we always said:

“I’m sorry if I’ve done anything wrong.”

“I forgive you.”

” I’m sorry if I’ve done anything wrong too.”

Every. Single. Night. We didn’t want to die and go to hell for unforgiven sins.

Sometimes we had a line dividing up our bedroom. Other times we slept in the same bed when outside terrors scared us.

Eventually we grew up.

I started college, then became involved in church ministry. Soon, I left for Australia, then to Thailand for a year of missionary work. My passion became showing women how beautiful they are. Thailand changed me forever. I talked to prostitutes and taught them English. I helped a center that gave them a chance to come out of prostitution by choosing to learn a trade. I bought them out of bars for a night of fun and feasting.

Life became hard there by myself. I came home.

I went to massage school and became a licensed massage therapist and worked on completing my bachelors degree.

During this time I met and married the man of my dreams who I met in the most unique way…online! He, since, has given me two beautiful children and fulfilled my greatest purpose in life of being a mother.

Now I am reliving my childhood through my two children. Nothing could be better than the life I have now. Don’t get me wrong, it hasn’t been easy. Some of you know the missing part of my testimony. One year ago I lost my best friend, my sister. She made the impulsive decision to end her life the day after her boyfriend was killed in an automobile accident. By just admitting this, I feel like I have to defend her honor. I wonder when that will go away?

Her death shattered my perfect, little world and questioned all I believed in God.

It’s been a year since her death and life is changing once again. We are eagerly anticipating getting out of the military and moving back home to establish our roots close to our families. Life is good for my little family. With each boo-boo that I kiss, each diaper that I change, and each word that I speak to my children, I remember how critical the present is.

I remember to kiss my husband deeply everyday.

I remember to tell my parents how much I love them.

I remember that life is too short to have fake friends.

I remember that no matter what God is still good and still my God.

I remember that if my kids adore me, then I have successfully been the mother that my mother was.

For this life is my story.

Dear Suicide

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You took another this week. You must be proud. Well, guess what, I hate you. I hate you with every bone and ounce of blood in my body. You destroy. You rip lives apart. You steal truth and implant lies. You’re a coward. You’re scum. I hate what you do. I hate everything about you.

You wait; you linger; you hunt. I know your game. I know your way. I know what you do when you whisper, tempt and lead them astray. You make them think that death will ease their pain and that this is the only way. You creep right in, and then make your play.

You sit in the background and articulate your scheme. You choose the hopeless, the depressed, and those with low self-esteem. You choose the waiter, the plumber, the stay-at-home-mom.  You take the preacher, the truck driver, the rich and the poor. You take them all with you with your bite and your sting.

You laugh at their weakness. You thrive on their pain. You ruin so many lives that this has just become a game. How do you think this will end? Do you think that you can get them all? Do you think that all of us are going to take your fall?

You see, you took my sister and for that you are going to pay. It doesn’t end pretty. It doesn’t end today. Let me tell you something, this “game” that you play, won’t go on forever. No, you won’t get them all. You won’t win. I’ve got the Eight ball.

Your lies, deception, depression will end. You think you’re on a roll. You think you can snag every soul with your snare. I know you don’t want to hear this, but this doesn’t end well for you. You see, there is Someone stronger, Someone smarter, Someone more powerful than you.

He tells me He will save us from your snare, from your pestilence, from your death. He tells me He will cover us with His feathers. He will protect us, shield us, and save us. He promises life. He promises hope. He promises to save us from your hanging rope.

I hate you, suicide. I hate you, I do.  I’ll hate you forever…till the day that you are through and my King stomps all over you.

Memoirs of a Sister: Day 2

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Today, my husband and I are packing up our house. We sold our home and are, temporarily, moving into a rental home till we finish out the next few months with the Army.

I found this as I was packing.

My sister wrote this letter to me when I was serving a year in Thailand.

Chokes me up reading it. I miss you my best friend.