My Forever

The week before Christmas is always a slow time for the type of work I do. After getting my work done this morning I had a bit of free time. Here lately I’ve been using that time to work on writing my books, but today I read one instead. A cheesy, heart warming, and romantic love story. Its the 9th book in a series I have been reading and it was about love at first sight and all that stuff people says only exists in novels like that. Upon finishing that novel on my lunch break I wiped the girly tears from my eyes and texted my husband to remind him of how many times I’ve fallen in love with him.


I was fifteen years old, and some friend and I had just finished up with praise team practice before Wednesday night service. I had seen the handsome 18 year old drummer running around, friendly as all get out and he even cut up with my friends and I from time to time. He drove an old, beat up 88 Thunderbird with no interior but he took pride in his cheap sound system. I didn’t even know that he actually knew I existed until one night after a martial arts demo for the youth, he grabbed the sai from my workout bag and started spinning them around like Raphael from the Ninja Turtles. I remember laughing when he knocked his funny bone on the chrome of the say because they were longer than he had originally thought. 


First picture together after we started dating.

That Wednesday night service was about to get started and that teenage boy sat behind the drums just warming up and enjoying himself. Service started and we sang and when we all got seated we started talking about purpose. The youth leader pointed at that clone drummer and asked him what his purpose was and in a voice of conviction he answered, “I’m gonna be a married math teacher.” It was adorable, funny and at the time he was dead serious. I had actually talked to him for the first time that night about why he thought that was his purpose. He said he was good at math and it was easy to talk to people, it just fit for him. We started to chit chat a lot more often after that and he’d watched as my first love and first heart break occurred. 

I was invited to a prom party, along with the rest of the youth group, to an after prom party at the pastor’s house a few weeks after my first real breakup. My ex would be there with his new girlfriend, who at the time had been my best friend, and I didn’t want to go. A few friends had encouraged me to go and had fun and that drummer that I’d developed such a crush on had shown up. I talked to him for a little while about what was going on, and luckily my ex never showed up. A couple of friends, me and my new crush all sat outside on the swing and he made his goal that night to make me laugh. 

My husband asks me all the time when I fell in love with him, and if you were to ask me that question now, I would tell you it was that night. We weren’t close friends, we weren’t dating, but he still made his purpose that night to put a smile back on my face. And I spent the next few hours laughing and smiling at him being a complete dork just because he was determined to keep meeting that goal. 


                              That special smile.

A week or so later was another warm up for another Wednesday night service. I was with a group of friends and I saw that boy on the drums again even though practice was over. I remember pointing to show my friends who I was looking at and smiled. That same conviction that had laced his voice when he spoke of teaching math was matched in my tone when I told my friends, “I’m gonna marry that boy one day.” And a week later, he left for college in another state. 

Three years later I had moved into a dorm room and on another Wednesday night my sister called me. “You won’t believe who is playing drums at church tonight.” Just like that night at the prom party, he was making me smile and he didn’t even know it. “Give him my number and tell him to call me. I’ve missed him.” Two days later I got a phone call. 


Sometime after midnight on September 10, 2006 my cell phone rang. “You remember me telling you about Rob, the guy who lives across the street from me?” This was an odd way for him to start a conversation since over the last two months every time he called me it was for dating advice. We were like best friends talking at odd hours of the night about some girl he wanted to take out to dinner and how he loved having a girls opinion on the matter. Of course I was still crushing…no I was in love with him at that point already. It hurt so bad listen about how he planned to take a girl out on a date, and I was a horrible person who rejoiced silently on the other end of the phone when he called to tell me he’d gotten stood up, or the girl wasn’t what he thought she was. “I was sitting with Rob and he was telling me how you look so hard for something and most of the time its sitting right in front of you…I want to take you out to dinner tomorrow night.” And just like he gave me my smile back again. 


One year and some months later on another Wednesday afternoon, he came and picked me up from campus to take me to a late lunch since I’d been in classes all day. He took me to my favorite restaurant and when dessert came out, a beautifully simplistic diamond ring sat on top of my favorite dessert….

 On yet another Wednesday night on September 10, 2008, I walked down the aisle with a sister on each arm towards that blonde haired, blue eyed drummer with the beat up 88 Thunderbird and a mouth that talked way too much. 


That night when we walked into our small one bedroom apartment, my husband turned around and tapped his finger against the tip of my nose and said “Welcome home, Mrs. Jackson.” And there that smile was again.


The last year has been hard for the two of us. Everyone says that the seventh year that a couple is together is the hardest, but if you can just get over that bump you’ll be fine. My husband infuriates me, drives me crazy, aggravates me to no end and there are times when I doubt that things will work out. The words “Marriage is hard work” are no lie, but that is hard work I would rather do with no one else than that blue eyed lunatic who drives me up the wall. Even with the rough times we’ve had over this last year, I know that they are rough times I wouldn’t have made it through with anyone else.

Don’t Blink.

In a little more than a week, I’ll be celebrating my son’s fourth birthday. Another moment of writing struck me and I just couldn’t go on with my day until I’d writing this one out.  

Valentine’s Day 2009, after months of trying to prove doctors wrong and starting a family with my husband, I saw that magical positive sign on a drug store pregnancy test. I remember laying my hand on my stomach and telling my child ‘I already love you.’ I remember sitting on the floor and crying tears of complete happiness and thanking God for finally answering that specific prayer. I remember calling Tim at work and making him almost faint. I remember calling my mom & sisters and thinking I’d have to replace the speaker in my phone because they screamed so loud with excitement. What I remember more than anything is how I immediately began talking to my baby. As soon as I knew he was in there, the most important thing in my life became letting him know how much he was loved. 


In April of 2009, I started to feel those little flutters of movement. My baby was growing and moving. I read him books, I sang him songs (which I still apologize for subjecting him to such torture), I told him about his daddy and Gracie, and I told him how loved he was already. In mid-April we went for our 3D ultrasound. We got there and realized we’d forgotten to stop and get cash to pay for it and the woman didn’t take debit cards. Tim had to run across the street to the gas station before they would start our ultrasound. He was so frustrated, he told the woman, “It better be a boy after all that.” We all laughed and she started the ultrasound. My husband has three sisters, I have two sisters, and no one expected me to be pregnant with a little boy. Tim and one little old lady from the church he grew up in were praying for our child to be a boy. I’ll never forget the moment the tech let Tim know he was getting a son. 


Tech: “Well daddy, I think you got your wish.”

Tim: “What?” *grabs the nearest sturdy piece of furniture to keep from falling*

Tech: “Yep, that’s a boy.”

Tim: “What…? Its-a…its a boy? I-its a boy. Oh my god its a boy…baby its a b–I need to sit down.”


I had always said when I had kids, I wanted my first to be a boy so that any other children I had would have sometime I never did…a big brother. I called my mother as soon as we left the office and told her we were having a boy. “I don’t believe it. I need proof.” So we went to her house to show her the DVD and up until Braiden was born she told Tim that there was a chance it could still be a girl. So every time we got an ultrasound after that Tim would ask the doctor if we were still having a boy. 


We laid in bed that night talking about names. I had two boys in my life growing up. My two cousins who were the closest thing to brothers I ever had. I wanted to name my son after both of them. I suggested ‘Brandon Michael’ and Tim and I both loved it, but I soon remembered our last name and refused to name my child ‘Michael Jackson’. In the name of fairness if I couldn’t use both names I wouldn’t use one over the other. “Well, what about Braiden Mitchel instead?” The name just clicked. It felt right and then Tim made the argument that it was our first son and his dad’s middle name was Dane and so was his. Then our crazy two middle name idea was born. Braiden Dane Mitchel Jackson. Yes I know Mitchel is usually spelled with two l’s but we wanted our son to be different.


In July of 2009 I went into preterm labor. I was at my job at GEICO speaking to a rather unpleasant policy holder. The call was so stressful, I was hormonal, and the next thing I knew I was having contractions. I transferred the call to my supervisor and told him I had to go. I drove myself to ER and had Tim meet me there. I was so scared that I was going to have my baby too early. He wasn’t due for another three months and I knew he wasn’t ready. I spent a week in the hospital with the doctors making sure that I didn’t go into labor and if I did they made sure that Braiden’s lungs were inflated. Thankfully, my son decided to wait. Though he did try several times after that with false labor, and constantly using my ribs as leverage to try and escape.



When we got home from that little scare, daddy started getting things ready, pronto.


September 26, 2009 at 1:05am my 5lbs, 10.2oz little angel made that first amazing little squeal. His eyes wide open and his nostrils flaring like mine do when I get mad. All I could do was cry and say “Hey Baby.” over and over again. My mother was the first to hold my son. Tim refused to hold the baby before I did because he said I had wanted it for so long he wanted me to hold him first. The doctor wouldn’t let me hold my baby while the went through the medical attention I needed after the birth, so my mother stood there with my wide eyed little boy looking all around wrapped in her arms. 


I’ll never forget the moment that I got to finally hold him. He was so ugly, my little ET baby, but he was also the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. I had waited so long to see him and finally he was in my arms. I could hear Papa’s voice in my head, “Make sure you count those fingers and toes, if he’s missing any we’ll have to return him.” I traced my fingertip over the bridge of his tiny nose, those soft cheeks, his eye brows and over that tiny little mouth. I pulled the swaddle blanket open and counted his fingers and toes, and I laid my hand over his chest to feel his heartbeat. That heart beat that I’d only seen as a blip on a TV monitor or heard over a sonogram. Now I felt it under my palm and I had my son in my arms. 


I’m a very blessed individual, as is my son. When they say ‘its takes a village’ they aren’t kidding. I know that single moms raise amazing kids and do a fantastic job of it all the time. God bless those moms. My son has two parents who love him more than anything in this world, but he also has a godmother/aunt that would give up anything just to spend a few hours with him. He has an aunt who brings home bubble wrap from work and covers her entire living room with the stuff and then asks Braiden to come help her pop all of it. He has a Gammy who will kidnap him just because she can. He has a Nana who likes to take him to Golden Coral just to see him eat a drum stick and get mac n cheese all over the place. He’s got a grandma and grandpa who let him play with goats and chase the poor cat until she’d sick of him. I never have to ask for help with my son because there’s always someone who WANTS to kidnap him. And he’s the happiest kid in the world because he’s got so many people that love him and show it. 


Four years. Four short years have already gone by. My son is near four feet tall, sandy blond hair just like his daddy and I both had at that age, and my blue eyes. Yes MY eyes. *Sigh* I wanted my children to have those Jackson eyes, but my son is the only Jackson NOT to get them. Through that first week in the hospital, speech problems, potty training madness, bumped heads, skinned knees, bug bites, sunburns, day care drama, and countless tears, my son is an unstoppable force. Smarter than I ever could have hoped, and a smile that brings joy to me even in my most stressful moments. There are times when I believe that when God said, “Alright, its time to give her a child.” My Papa overheard and walked up to God, (yes I think my papa would be so brave as to make a suggestion to God himself) and said ‘Please Lord, give her that one.” and pointed at Braiden’s spirit. 


I know the next time I blink, I’ll find myself at the the end of the driveway watching him ride away to his senior prom. Its amazing how fast the time goes, and while I want to freeze every moment and keep him little, I can’t wait for each new moment that he makes as he grows. That little boy is my heart, and being his mother is the greatest honor God could have ever given me. 


Happy Birthday Monkey Man, and thank you for always giving me something to smile about.

Reflective Moments on Our Marriage

On September 10 I will be celebrating five years of marriage with my husband. People often see us together, laughing at and with one another. They see the mushy ‘I love you’s”, they hear him bragging about how much he loves me, see me bragging about how amazing he is to me. Everyone thinks that we just have this perfect relationship and I have been asked how we do it. In all honesty we are far from perfect.


I remember when we first got married how we had been together for two years and had only had one real argument. We even thought we were the perfect couple because we were always open and honest with one another. We never hid things from each other, and we always told each other how the other felt about something. I remember thinking our honeymoon phase would last forever, and we’d never fight and always be madly in love and living the fairy tale.


Life doesn’t work that way. While Tim and I have an amazing relationship, its unnatural for a man and a woman to live in the same house for so long and remain this happily ever after picture perfect facade. I learned quickly the differences between the two of us in that first month of marriage. We both came from completely different worlds where the house got cleaned differently, the TV schedule was different, even the way we sat down to have a meal was different. Tim and I quickly found out that while we were dating and engaged and all that time we spent together, we had never found any common ground except for how crazy we were about each other. To this day the only things Tim and I have in common are we both listen to Linkin Park, our son, our dogs, and we are still crazy about each other. That’s it. Everything else we ever do is a compromise. I love to make home cooked meals, Tim would rather have microwave dinners. (Yes I can cook, he just doesn’t like home cooked meals.) I love to dance, Tim would rather just listen to music. I love the experience, Tim love the materials. I hate horror movies, Tim will only watch a movie if its scary or gory. I love to read and write, Tim would rather pick on me for being a nerd. I love to travel (when its not for work purposes.) Tim would rather sit at home. I like to cuddle, Tim likes his space. I like to save money, Tim likes to spend it. We have nothing in common.


In spite of all that, I can’t sleep at night unless he’s next to me. I will sit through an idiotic movie with him just to spend time with him, and then I’ll force him to watch a movie that I like to get back at him. We lay in bed at night and watch Fail Army videos on youtube just to have time at the end of the day to laugh together. We even have a quiet time at some point during the week where we do a devotional of some kind. We have our moments where we find that common ground where we both remember why it is we chose each other. I think without those moments we would fall apart.


Five years ago I remember thinking we would never fight, we would be that happy perfect couple forever. We were planning on adopting a little girl and were already in love with the idea of being parents to a baby that needed to be saved. A few weeks after we got married, we found out about Grace’s mother aborting her and I was broken. What I had seen as being this perfect happily ever after got shattered after only the first few weeks of newlywed bliss. You can ask anyone, the day that I got that phone call, “Are you ready to be a mom?” I was jumping up and down the street in front of my mother’s house in tears, balling like a baby because not only was that baby safe from a horrible fate, but in a few short months I was going to be rocking her to sleep and telling her that I was her mommy. And then a few weeks later I read a blog from the mother on myspace about the details of what she went through during her abortion. She didn’t’ call me, didn’t warn me, in fact I was blocked from reading the blog a family member had seen it and knew that I was still preparing to bring that little one home, she sent me a copy of it so that I knew. That was the first time during our marriage that Tim and I suffered a loss together. When we were first dating he helped me through the loss of my Papa, but this was the first time we’d lost someone together, because even though Tim was terrified of becoming a parent, he was heart broken when we read that blog and found out our little one was taken away in such a horrible way.


I got promoted at work a few months after that and my job became a lot more stressful. I’d come home in snappy moods. His work schedule had changed so he was sleeping while I was working and he was working while I was sleeping. We had lunch together every day, but that was about as much as we saw of each other. That November I was told that I couldn’t have children, and I thought we had lost our chance at being parents after Grace, which led me into another breakdown. I had grown up the big sister of two younger sisters. I had always seen myself as a mother and to find out that I not only would I not be able to have my own children, I’d already lost the child I was going to adopt. It was just a painful experience. That was when Tim said he didn’t care what the doctor’s said, we were still going to try and get pregnant. He had told me time and time again that he didn’t want to have a kid yet, that losing Grace had been God’s way of telling us to wait. But when he saw how bad I wanted to be a mother and then to see it taken away from me, he swallowed that fear. We prayed and prayed and every time the pregnancy test said negative I would have an hour to myself where I just prayed and cried while he was at work so that he wouldn’t see.


On valentine’s day I had gone to the tag office to renew my car tag and there were a lot of issues that came up.  Things that would normally just annoy me to the point of giving up and trying again later, but I ended up crying and calling my mother. She heard how emotional I was over something so simple and told me to take a pregnancy test. I didn’t want to see that negative sign again, on such a rough day the last thing I needed was something else to cry about, but I drove to walmart anyway. In the parking lot I fixed my tear stained face and I prayed. In that moment God gave me these softly whispered words, “You have to prepare your field if you’re going to pray for rain.” I’d heard it before in a movie, but those words laid on my heart as I walked through the store. I grabbed a pregnancy test and then went over to the baby isle. That day I bought a pack of newborn diapers, a package of white onezies, a cheap diaper bag, and a teddy bear along with my pregnancy test. That day I got a positive sign and I cried more than I did any of the times that I saw a negative sign put together.


The next nine months were a struggle. I had a very complicated pregnancy, my job stressed me out so much that I was put on bed rest for the last three months of my pregnancy, and Tim’s income was all we had. Financial burdens are one of the most stressful strains put on a marriage in my opinion. The only time Tim and I ever fought during those days it was always about money. Something that matters so little and so much all at the same time nearly broke us.


When Braiden was born, we fought because neither of us were getting enough sleep. As he got older we fought about how to raise him; if we’d spank, if he’d believe in santa claus, would we do day care or would I stay at home, how would I go to school. All things we should’ve thought about before we’d got pregnant I know, but we’re different. We brought those problems on ourselves by not planning ahead, but we made it through every single one. We still fight but its never in front of Braiden. Even when we’re fuming and ready to scream and holler at one another, we always take it outside, to our room or wait until Braiden is asleep if we know there’s no way either of us are going to be calm. We don’t fight in front other people, we don’t even talk to other people about our problems. We agreed a long time ago that if we had an issue that it was our issue and no one else’s. Yes we each have someone that we can vent to when we don’t want to vent to each other, but we trust those people not to judge us or butt in, they’re just there for us like we’re there for them. That’s where that happy, perfect, just right for one another picture comes from, because I don’t like people to witness my failings or our failings as a couple.

When Tim’s grandparents passes away about a year apart from each other, I saw my husband broken for the first time. When we lost Gracie he’s been upset, and to this day he still has nights where he lets a few tears fall for the daughter we never knew. But when his grandpa passed away Tim barely spoke to me for a week. The day of Grandpa’s funeral I felt how Tim had felt when my Papa died. There was nothing in the world I could do to make it better for him. I knew that. I remember Tim holding me while I cried at Papa’s grave a month after he’d passed away. A few weeks after Grandpa passed Tim called me in tears because he couldn’t find Grandpa’s grave. He’d been walking through the cemetery for hours and hadn’t found Billy and he was devastated. I drove out there with Braiden and helped Tim find the gravesite where I watched my husband crumble in emotion, something I had only seen twice and that was that day and the day Braiden was born. The day Pat died Tim disappeared. He wouldn’t answer his phone. I was at home with Braiden and Tim had just left after we’d gotten the phone call. I heard the truck crank up and then he was gone. After a couple of hours I got even more worried and Braiden and I went riding around. We went to Pat’s house, Tim wasn’t there. Drove all over town and couldn’t find him or get him to answer his phone. He came home later that night, and the raw emotion on my husband’s face broke me. He said he’d gone out to Grandpa’s grave and then went for a walk along the river to clear his head. As stupid as it sounds we fought that day, because I felt so hurt that he would disappear like that and leave me at home to worry about if he were coming home or not. It was a petty reason to fight and I felt awful for it, but we did and for another week we knew nothing but silence and the ‘I love you’ before we went to sleep.


In the last seven years I’ve learned that I’m in love with one of the most aggravating men on the planet. A man who will make a joke about absolutely anything. A man who would rather me buy him a video game than give him a hug. A man who will teach my son to love frogs and bring them to mommy because she will run out of the house screaming like a lunatic. A man who will buy my son nerf guns and teach him to practice shoot foam darts at mommy because its fun. A man who will pick on my about the way I breathe just to get on my nerves because he likes the way my nose flares when I get mad. A man who won’t even read this blog that’s completely about him because its too long and he doesn’t like to read even when I’ve poured my heart into it. A man who won’t read the sweet things I post on Facebook about him because he hates Facebook. A man who calls me beautiful when I’m in boxers and a tank top with my hair pulled up in some weird looking bun and my glasses on my face. A man who will say ‘hey gorgeous’ and time he answers the phone for me. A man who will stand toe to toe with my mother (Who is the scariest person I know). A man who will go get my name, our wedding date, our wedding vows, and our ‘forever and a day’ phrase tattooed on his body just because he couldn’t think of anything he wanted with him more permanently than me.

So, five years of being married to someone who makes me shake my head more than I could ever imagine…its not perfect. Its not a fairy tale. Its not always fun or easy. There are tears. There is screaming. There is anger. There is sadness. There are bad days. So many imperfections, and yet I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. I love my husband and all our many screw ups because while love and trust are the foundation of our relationship, those flaws and arguments….they are the cracks in the walls, the stains on the carpets, the broken shutters on the windows that give our story charm and appeal. Who wants perfection? Perfection is boring. Happily ever after is unexciting. Normal is stupid. What we have is so much better than the fairy tales, because its real and its going to last forever.

If I had know the last time was the last time…

Dear Papa,

Two days from now will be exactly 6 years since the last time I heard your raspy voice. The last time I was able to look into your eyes and see your love and pride toward me. The last time you gave me life lessons, heart-felt talks, and chided me for skipping class to spend time with you at the hospital. The last time I heard those words, the words you spoke to me, my sisters, and many of our friends everyday around 5:00pm. The last time I saw your scruffy smile, patted your bald head, and the last time I got a big bear hug with your whiskers scratching my cheek. The last time you told me how proud you were of me.

There were so many lasts on that day Papa, and had I known they were going to be lasts I would have never left that room. I would have held your hand all day and night. I’d have skipped class for the rest of the week just to have you talking to me for a little bit longer. I would have told so many more times how much you meant to all of us, and how much we all loved you. I would’ve watched Judge Judy with you until we were both sick of her. I would’ve listened to story after story that I knew were tall tales, but would’ve laughed with you nonetheless.

I wish I’d known that day what I knew today. I could come up with a million and one things to say to you, and then if you give me another 30 seconds I could think of a million and one more.

Megan’s wedding is getting so close, and I wish the same for her as I did for myself. That you could be there to see it. Papa, I’ve been collecting pictures of them for a slide show she wants and I wish you could see how happy she is now. She’s still your little Mean-Mi, but when Josh makes her smile she just glows. I wish could see your reaction to how much she’s changed in the last two years.

We all miss you so much. As soon as February comes around we all think about you a little more than we do every other day, because honestly we always think about you…We just get a little more sad around this time, because the memory of losing you still hurts so much.

I really wish I could forget the sound of the machines in the hospital, or how cold the floors were when I fell to the ground in tears, or the sound of the hospital chaplain as he read your last rights, or the look on Mama’s face as she held your hand while you slipped away from us. What I wish I could forget most, is watching those lines on the heart monitor going from reassuring spikes to a long flat green line…I wish I could forget watching your heart stop beating, because that heart was one that was so full of love, and I know it had so much more to give.

I know you would hate all of us still crying over you, but you really have no idea what you were to all of us. I just wish my phone would ring again, and your voice be at the other end…I know I wouldn’t want to hang up, but to hear “I love you baby, bye” again…there are no words.

I love you Papa, Bye.

To my dear sweet baby girl

My dearest Hannah Grace,

I wrote to Papa the last time I updated this blog, but last night your daddy and I got to talking about you, so I thought I’d write to you this time.

My sweet girl how we still love, miss, and think about you.

You probably joined all those kids from CT, along with the family members we all have up in Heaven with you to greet your baby cousin Kyle at the gates. Your Aunt Kim and Uncle Chris have been so strong ever since they found out about little Kyle’s condition. Its heartbreaking to lose such a precious gift, but that little baby gave such a gift to so many people, its amazing.

Your daddy and I were talking about him, and it got us to talking about you. There’s very few times I’ve seen your daddy cry, but every time we talk about you, it brings tears to his eyes. He was so excited that he was going to have a daughter. When we talk about you, I call you Gracie. I think of you with brunette hair in pig tails wearing a frilly pink dress that one of your grandmother’s bought or made you. He calls you Hannah. We know that you went to Heaven because God needed Braiden. Your brother, oh your brother. Hannah he’s such a little joy. He’s got this beautiful smile, and his laugh is such an uplifting melody. He’s been sick this week, but is doing much better.

As much as I love you, I don’t know what I would do without your brother, and if you had come to us, we would have put off having another child, and I wouldn’t have that baby boy. I know that you are in him somewhere though. Maybe its you he talks to early in the mornings, listening to you impart big sister wisdom on him. That would explain why he thinks he’s so sneaky. Or how he knows who’s wrapped around his little finger and who isn’t.

My dear sweet Gracie. We haven’t forgotten you sweet girl. We still shed tears over your loss, but we also smile because we know one day we’ll get to see your precious little face.

Now go back to running around Heaven’s front porch with your cousins and all those sweet children from CT. I know all your great grand parents, and other family members up there are watching and smiling at the carefree spirits of angelic children.

I love you sweet heart.

Your Mommy

Needing someone to talk to…

Dear Papa,

I created this blog thinking that I’d use it for maybe sharing recipes, or maybe parts of the book I’m writing (and currently taking a break from), or just venting to the world about stuff, but I think I do enough of that on Facebook, so today I decided that I’m using it to write letters to you. I know people reading these will probably think that I’ve lost my mind, but honestly talking to you always made me feel better about things when you were here, so even though I can’t sit next to you and tell you things that are on my mind, I think I’ll still get the same feeling of talking to you.

Its been a while since I broke down from missing you. I haven’t been able to stop by your gravesite and talk to you. I haven’t really focused on anything except work, school, parenthood, and being a wife here lately. Those things seem to consume all of my time. Its not that I haven’t thought about you, or wished that were still here, I just haven’t let myself dwell on it, because when I do it hurts to realize after almost 6 years how much I still miss you.

Yesterday Tim and I were cleaning out the guest room. We’re trying to get the house completely organized so when Christmas comes it’ll be easier to put away the umpteen million presents your spoiled rotten great grandson will get this year. I went through boxes of photos, clothes, toys, sorting them all out between good will, attic storage, what needs to be put somewhere else in the house, and things for my sister in law. I was going through a box of winter clothes and I came to this sweater that I’ve worn once. I worn it on a cold day in February. I went home and took it off and put it in a box. That box moved to my apartment, back to my mama’s, to Tim’s parents house, and then to our house. That sweater has not only my tears soaked into the sleeves, but Mama’s, Nana’s, Katie’s and Megan’s tears all soaked into the shoulders. I saw this sweater in this box and I picked it up and held it to my chest. I heard the songs I was barely able to sing, felt the tears I tried to hold back and look strong for mama and the girls, could see the smiles I smiled thinking about the good times, and I saw you….dressed in camo overall’s with a green shirt covered in bucks, your eyes closed, pictures of your girls in your hand, your hands over your mid section with your “monkey bitten” index fingers showing :) and I’m sorry Papa, but I cried. I stopped unpacking clothes and I just held that sweater and cried. I only wore it that day I was forced to say good bye to you. That day all of those people told me that it would be ok, you were in a better place, you would never leave me, and you wouldn’t want me to be sad. The fact is it was impossible to not be sad. One of the people I loved most in the world was gone, and I selfishly wanted you to come back. When I got home from the funeral that sweater went in a box and until yesterday it stayed there. It soaked in a few more of my tears while I sat on the guest room floor hugging it tight remembering you and how much I miss you. Tim sat on the floor and just held me, because he knew without me saying a word why I was crying. Then, like the little light of life that he is that amazing great grandson of yours came and hugged my neck and patted my head and said “Its ok, Mama”

Papa I wish you had met him before you left. He’s amazing. He’s so happy. His smile will light up the whole world. He’s finally starting to talk, and is so smart. Papa you would love him so so much. I now he’d be even more spoiled than he already is if you were here. I wish you were here to bounce him on your knee, or to walk to power line pointing out deer, rabbits, birds, flowers, and showing him the different animal tracks. He’s probably already have his own deer stand by now and a special tree where he could put it. In a couple of years I’m gonna start teaching him how to shoot, just like you taught me. I’ll probably cry when he hits hit first bullseye, just because I’ll remember how happy you were when I did. Those are times I miss with you the most. When it was just you and me at my gun competitions. If I shot the ring next to the center and it didn’t break the bullseye, I’d get so mad at myself, and you as patient with me as you were, would tell me how to calm down and get it the next time. You made me the girl who outshot all the boys. You’d be proud to know that it eats my father in law up when I outshoot him no matter what gun I’m aiming :) (My husband too)

I graduate College in May. Six months away, and I graduate college with a Criminal Justice Degree. Remember how proud you were when I graduated High School? I wish you could be there to hug me like you did when I got that diploma, because this one is so much more important, and I’ve worked so hard. I have a 4.0 in college! Can you believe that? Of course you can, you believed any of us could do anything no matter what.

Megan’s getting married in June. You’d love Josh. He’s the guy Megan needed to be her soul mate. He’s calmed her down just enough to where she’s not completely wild…but we’re all still scared to be the one who wakes her up in the mornings :)

Katie misses you and we cry together a lot. I know you wouldn’t want us crying over you, but it shows how much you mean to us. We don’t know what else to do sometimes, but cry. She’s been teaching Braiden a lot. She’s the reason he’s learning so much at such a young age.

Mama I think misses you more than any of us. She gets lost sometimes. When she talks to me I feel like no one could really make her feel better except for you. I know there are times when she just wants her daddy’s arms around her. Just like there are times when I just need my Papa’s arms around me.

Nana talks about you a lot. Danny’s living at home now, and I know you would love to be there for that. Even though you would have to sleep on the couch or with Nana and all her snoring glory :) I know you would love having him at home with you though. He loves Braiden and asks Nana “Where’s baby?” when he’s not there.

You’d be so proud of all of us. We all stick together and help each other financially, emotionally, and in every other way possible. We’re there for each other no matter what just like family is supposed to be.

I think what I miss most are your hugs. The ones where you squeezed too tight, and rubbed your whiskers against my cheek and you said “MMMMMMMMMMMMMMMHMMMMMM I love you” I always felt loved, safe, and cherished when you did that.

If my phone rings at 5pm I always wish I could look at the caller ID and see your number come up. Just to hear your voice….to hear you say “I love you baby, Bye” again. I took those phone calls for granted. I got used to them and just always thought they’d keep coming. After almost 6 years of missing that phone call I realize how stupid I was not to record every single one.

All of this because I found the sweater I wore at your funeral. I love you so much. I miss you even more than that.

I love you Papa,


Forgiveness is so hard to do when you’ve been hurt….

So the past week has been a pretty rough one on me emotionally. While I had a great weekend spending time with friends (and even made a couple of new ones) My weekdays have been full of tears and heart break. 


My father sent me a text, as he randomly has since he told me I and my sisters we were no longer a priority in his life, that his new family came first and we would have to grow up and get over it. The text he sent me said “I love you and miss you very much”


For the last few weeks God has been working on my heart and telliing me to forgive. He’s been telling me to let go and be free of the pain. With that in mind I replied to my father’s text telling him that I love him and miss having a father in my life. I said “I forgive you for the things you said and did, but I’m not ready to put me or my son in the position to be hurt again. Just know that I love and forgive you.”


He said “What hurt would you be setting yourself up for? Me or Marie have never done anything to intentionally hurt you” I told him I didn’t want to fight, and I just wanted him to know he was forgiven and I have to give my heart time to make the decision to be in his life again. I’ve heard nothing else from him.


The pain of knowing that I’m not even good enough for my own father eats away at me all the time. It kills me to know that he’d rather be a father to his new kids, and a faithful husband to his new wife…What was wrong with us that he had to find something new and disgard us the way he did? And then why does he try to make us feel like its our fault that he did it? I thought by forgiving him I would feel so much better, but in the end it just felt like it hurt me more than holding onto my anger. The new hurt has caused reason for new forgiveness, and now I’m not sure I can give it to him.


Another heartbreak I’m facing is watching the woman who aborted the daughter I was going to adopt post pictures of her new born son…Saying how in love she is with her little boy, and how happy she is to be a mother. This woman who gave up her first daughter she had, aborted the second who had parents ready to love her when she came into the world, and now her third baby is a son and she loves him more than life itself. Almost exactly 4 years ago she was posting the graphic details of what the doctors did while they vaccummed that little girl’s fetal body out of her mothers womb. She posting a blog about the pain she went through and how alone she felt. I had to find out I wasn’t getting my daughter through a myspace blog that I was blocked from that a family member sent to me the minute she saw it posted. 


Now my newsfeed has pictures of her new born son that she loves so much, and I can’t help but think “How long before she gets tired of this one?” “What’s so different about him that he gets your love and the daughter who’s living with someone else, and the one who went to Heaven far too soon are no more than mistakes you say you made?” 


I’ve prayed, I’ve cried, I’ve completely broken down and I still don’t know how I’m going to forgive these two people. One walked out on me, the other gave me a precious gift and then took it from me in the most horrible way. 


There are people with bigger problems in the world I know. There’s wives sitting at home while their husbands fight a war. There’s people out of work who cannot feed their families. There’s mothers praying their babies are born healthy and happy. There’s children praying that their parents will remember they need them. There’s so many things I have to be thankful for, and I am so blessed for that. Even in all these blessings I can still feel the hurt that these two people caused, and without knowing it they keep rubbing salt in the wounds. 


I’m not asking for your prayers, because I know there are people who need them far more than I do. I can make a list of people I’m praying for instead of myself because their needs are far greater than this. I’m not asking for anything from anyone, I needed to get this out because there’s someone out there who knows what to say to me. I don’t know who it is but someone knows what to say to me, and there’s someone who needs to know they aren’t the only one with the problem of forgiving old hurts.