I Will Not Let My Grief Speak Louder Than My Joy

So has it already been more than 3 months since we said goodbye to Bernice?  Seems at once like yesterday and also an eternity ago.  I have buried myself in busyness to try and keep out those creeping feelings of sadness, but try as I might, they still find their way in.  I am blessed with an incredible husband who not only lets me (and encourages me to) hash out how I'm feeling in that messy "stream of consciousness" sort of conversation style, but also allows himself to be vulnerable and hash out how he's feeling with me too.  It's a catharsis neither of us could live without.  I thought coming back out here to Baltimore, away from the places and people that Bernice and I shared...away from the house where she spent her final days, would help.  I thought not having to walk into that studio where she and I spent countless hours together only to feel that physical sting of the realization of her absence would mean less of that palpable grief.  I was oh so wrong!  I have found in these weeks that I've been back in Baltimore that her absence is even more heavy.  I have picked up the phone to call her or text her or send her pictures more times than I can count.  Nearly daily as a matter of fact.  And as the stress and anxiety rises around our house with all things board exam, residency, med school, counseling practicum, money, travel, etc., I find myself longing for my friend.  For my Bernice.  Her sweet spirit and calming nature could always talk me off my ledge.  When I felt overwhelmed, I could call her and she would artfully smooth my rigidity while simultaneously redirecting my attention. She could always put things in perspective.  She would remind me that I'm loved and important and talented and smart.  I'm not sure she was even aware that she could do those things...it was a subconscious super power of hers.  But then again, maybe she knew exactly what she was doing all along...

For the past 4 1/2 years, our lives have followed a pattern.  For every big, amazing moment in this journey, we have experienced an equally profound loss, disappointment, or painful blow to our morale right before.  I won't list them all out, but suffice to say that it has become such a predictable pattern, that we almost anticipate those sucker punches before they happen.  As a matter of fact, when Jonathan's Granddaddy passed away not even a month before we lost Bernice I said, "You know, as we get closer and closer to graduation and residency, we should probably be aware that there's a big probability that things will get much worse before they get better."  Weeks later we lost Bernice.  Weeks after that my friend Rachel lost her mom to pancreatic cancer and I found myself back in OKC wading through another tragic loss and trying desperately to hold my friend up in her loss as she had held me up in mine.  Dear Lord in Heaven I pray that is the last of it for now!  But I'm not naive enough to think there won't be more.  If I let my mind wander off into the possibilities of what could plague us next...it's a bit of a rabbit hole.  And not one I enjoy going down...

Now maybe this all seems doom and gloom.  Maybe you're thinking, "Rachel, sounds like you're depressed.  Sounds like you need some grief counseling."  And maybe I am...I probably do.  But I want to communicate that our anticipation of the BLESSINGS is just as heady as our anticipation of the bad things.  Probably more so.  I refuse to let the things that are depressing suck the joy out of the things that are AMAZING!  It's not fair that we should get this far in this whole thing and hit the finish line with our heads hanging in defeat.  And how mad Bernice would be if she thought her passing was the reason we didn't finish this race with confidence, joy, and pride!  How I wish I could share with her all of our plans.  How I wish I could call her and stumble through a conversation about the places we could find ourselves next summer.  How I wish she and I were still making plans for her and Charlie to come out in October to celebrate Jonathan's last day as a medical student and his first day as Dr. Womack!  But I won't let that sadness and that disappointment squelch the profound joy and pride that both of us deserve to experience in all of this.  She wouldn't want that.  And I sure don't want to disappoint her...

In the 67 days since she left us, I have made a point to allow myself to feel what I feel.  I have made a point to recognize when I'm feeling depressed or angry or guilty or lonely or irritable...to let those feelings slowly burn until I can put them aside...to keep from burying them only to have them well up in me again later.  I have tried to recognize that some of my odd reactions to things are just a product of my grief.  I've given myself grace.  Given Jonathan grace.  Tried (not always successfully) to give others grace in their own grief. Everyone walks this road in a different way and at different paces.  Finding the new normal in this time in our lives where NOTHING is normal is tough.  I have to navigate how I feel and find a way to manage those feelings in a healthy way.  I have to find someone else to call or text at those times when Bernice would be my number one gal.  I have to figure out how to function in a world she no longer exists in.  It's a process...an arduous one, but I'm piecing together my functionality day by day...

In 86 days, Jonathan will be Dr. Womack.  All the board exams will be done, all the applications will be in, everything we've worked for as a couple for 6 1/2 long years of our lives will be seen through to fruition.  It won't matter what crappy things have been hurled our way over those 6 1/2 years...we will be Dr. and Mrs. Jonathan Womack on October 28, 2016 and we couldn't be more excited.  So excuse us while we grapple for that joy that is ours for the taking.  While we gather all the happiness that we can amidst our grief.  While we put blinders on to block out the things that have the potential to diminish even a small part of that blissful feeling of success that we both so thoroughly deserve after all of this.  It's been a team effort.  And Jonathan and I both deserve to revel in the completion of our goals.  We've done it!  Hell AND high water have come, but in 86 days we will prove that we've been unshakeable in our perseverance.  I will not let my grief speak louder than my joy...

So...Where Do You Want To Do Residency?

Jonathan and I get asked this question ALL. THE. TIME.  And while it is an innocent question, it is not a simple answer.  I've been dying to kind of flesh this out here on the blog, so here goes.  Hopefully this makes things a little easier to understand (I say that to myself as much as anyone else... ;)...):

Where Are You Applying?

Well the easy short answer (that I usually give people) is EVERYWHERE.  With a recommendation for International Medical Graduates (which we are) of 150-200 programs to apply to (depending on your board scores), there's no quick answer to that question.  The easier answer is where are we NOT applying.  We are not applying to any programs in California.  Why?  Because there is an additional cost to apply to programs in California and different requirements.  So no programs there.  We are not applying to any programs in Florida.  Why?  Well...because we hated living in Florida.  Period.  End of story.  Not planning on hanging that albatross around my neck again.  Here is the preliminary list according to states.  We will add a few more in the coming weeks, but here's an easier way to paint the picture for you:

Albama-3

Arkansas-1

Arizona-5

Connecticut-5

Georgia-5

Hawaii-2

Kansas-2

Louisiana-2

Massachusetts-10

Maryland-3

Minnesotta-2

Missouri-3

Montana-1

North Carolina-3

North Dakota-1

Nebraska-1

New Hampshire-1

Ohio-8

Oklahoma-2

Pennsylvania-9

Rhode Island-2

Tennessee-4

Texas-14

Virginia-3

Washington-1

Wisconsin-4

Washington, D.C.-2

So clearly there are lots of options and programs all over the country.  If you're wondering why some states have more and some states have less, the quick answer is that some states (like Oklahoma for example) don't have many or even any Internal Medicine residency programs.  Other states (like Texas and Massachusetts) have lots...

Where Do You WANT To Go?

Seems like an easy enough question to answer, but really it's not.  The rule of thumb in applying to residencies is that you should always keep an open mind.  We had friends who matched in 2016 who really REALLY wanted to match somewhere in Georgia.  She even did all of her rotations in Atlanta!  But when it came time for residency interviews, she didn't land a single one in the state of Georgia.  That's not to say that she wasn't "good enough" to match in Georgia.  It probably means that no programs in Georgia were accepting IMGs (International Medical Graduates) or that there weren't enough spots to go around.  They ended up in a program in North Carolina and they were perfectly happy with that!  So for Jonathan and I, we have made a priority list (per the advice of a wise professor).  This way, when the interview invitations start coming in in October-January, we know which ones to put at the top of our list.  So keeping in mind that we could end up matching just about ANYWHERE in the United States, I'll satiate your need to have *some* sort of parameters and give you our top 10 programs in no particular order:

Mercer University in Savannah, GA (I'm secretly loving the idea of living in Savannah)

Union Hospital in Baltimore, MD

St. Agnes Hospital in Baltimore, MD (this is where Jonathan is currently rotating)

University of Oklahoma in Tulsa, OK

University of Oklahoma in OKC, OK

University of Arizona in Tucson, AZ

University of Kentucky in Lexington, KY (we fell completely in love with Lexington in March)

UTHSC in Houston, TX

Methodist Hospital in Houston, TX

Carillon Clinic in Roanoke, VA

Now keep in mind that these are our top 10 programs *in our minds*.  They have all accepted Ross students in the past, but that doesn't mean any of them will accept Ross students for the 2017 match.  There is absolutely NO telling what could happen this fall.  We could interview at all of those or NONE of those.  And even if we interview there, it doesn't mean we get to go there.  We submit the applications September 15th and then we wait for interview invitations!

So Then What?  What Happens After Interviews?

So after we interview at these places, we get to pick which one we want to go to right??  Wrong.  After we have been invited to, accepted, and attended all the interviews we want (the goal is 10-15, but some people get/take more, some get/take less), we submit a Rank Order List in February.  Basically what that means is that say for instance we take 12 interviews.  We would rank those 12 programs from 1 to 12 in order.  Number 1 would be the program we most want to match with, and number 12 would be the program we are least interested in matching with.  Lots of things must be considered here.  1) How well did you gel with the attendings and other residents in the program when you were there for your interview?, 2) Did you get a request from the program director to "rank them high"?, 3) How is the location? (for us we have to consider how family friendly the area is and what the cost of living is like), 4) How is your opportunity for learning in the program?, 5) How do your board scores stack up among the normal applicants that get accepted?, etc.  Lots to think about!  

Each program then ranks the students they interviewed according to the number of spots they have.  Then both ROL's are submitted to the National Residency Match Program algorithm and the spots are fleshed out from there.  It's kind of like The Draft! Then on March 14th we get an email saying "Congratulations You Matched!".  That will be such a relief!  But we won't know WHERE we matched until the following Friday March 17th.  Then our great adventure begins!  From there we have until July 1st to choose a place to live, move in, and get acquainted with the area.  We are tentatively planning to probably move wherever it is that we match at the beginning of June so that we can get properly acclimated before Jonathan starts his residency on July 2nd...

Jonathan Graduates in October Right?  What Will Y'all Do Between Then and July 2nd?

Good question!  Since October and November are big interview months and then the holidays in December, we will basically be "taking time off" during those months and focusing on residency interviews.  Starting after the first of the year, though, he will be working in some capacity for AllianceHealth Deaconess in OKC.  Probably doing some scribing for doctors or other "scut work" so that we can afford to live in those months leading up to residency!  We will cross that bridge when we come to it. Suffice to say, for now, that we've got it all figured out.  Or as much as we can at this point!  We are both very anxious for this next step in this arduous process. We are ready to make money we don't have to pay back (even *if* a large chunk of it has to go to paying off student loans), we are ready to settle into ONE place for THREE years, we are ready to plug into a church with more permanency, we are ready to SETTLE DOWN!  But in the coming months we could use your prayers, good thoughts, good vibes, whatever ya got!  This process is tedious, stressful, and overwhelming.  There is a lot to be done and only a few weeks to do it (9 weeks to be exact...September 15th is our submit date!).  We will keep you posted on our process as we go along...

I keep telling Jonathan that, even though I know this whole process is super stressful for him, for me it kind of feels like opening a fortune cookie.  We get to consider living anywhere in the country for THREE years of our lives (did you catch the 2 programs in Hawaii??).  It's just as exciting as it is daunting!  We can't wait to see what 2017 brings!

When Grief Speaks, What Does It Say?

It has been nearly 6 weeks since Bernice's passing.  Still seems very surreal that she is no longer here.  In the wake of her death and all that burying a loved one entails, I have stayed too busy, really, to let my real grief speak.  After we laid Bernice to rest, Nicole and I set out cleaning and organizing in the house.  Cleaning out closets, cabinets, junk drawers, storage elements, etc.  It kept our minds busy and occupied.  We would stand back and say, "Oh Bernice would LOVE to see this closet all cleaned out!", or "Man I wish Bernice were here to tell us about all this cool stuff!".  There were times when going through her things made her absence feel heavy for me.  But in all honesty, tackling those projects was a bit of an avoidance for me.  I could pretend that I was just doing these things that were really on HER to-do list so that when she got back she would be so excited!

But now I'm back here in Baltimore.  You'd think being removed from the house, not driving by the place she is buried, not walking into her empty bedroom every morning...you'd think those things would help ease my pain.  But what I'm experiencing right now is different.  My grief is talking to me in a way that I didn't expect.  Or maybe I did.  I'm a perfectionist by nature.  It's in my blood.  So now that I've had a minute to myself...a minute to breathe and to think...my grief sounds like this:

I fell so naturally into the role of caretaker.  When the last thing on earth she wanted was to have her sons or her husband see her in such a state of mind and body, it was me who stepped up.  Not in a "see look what I did" way, but more in a "I was made for this" kind of way.  We came to Oklahoma City late in the evening on Sunday May 15th.  Monday morning rolled around and she was "healthy".  I knew she was in pain, I knew her blood counts weren't normal, I knew that we could hear any day that "there was nothing else that could be done".  But still I didn't think I would be saying goodbye to her less than 2 weeks later.  I had no idea, not even subconsciously, that her body was literally wasting away.  And so I stepped into that role to buy her time until we could find a solution.  I offered what little "wisdom" I had to help her make decisions about her body, about her mobility, about her hygiene, about her treatment.  I helped her to and from the bathroom, in and out of bed, in and out of the shower, in and out of clothes.  I desperately searched for protein shake recipes that would help her retain as much nutrition as she could while her body was refusing to allow her an appetite. I tried my darndest to remember which pills she was supposed to take and when.  I called my Daddy and asked him if he would be willing to fly me back and forth between Baltimore and Oklahoma City to help take care of her while she underwent "heavy treatments" until we could get back in October.  He said he would be happy to, but we never got there.  She died 13 days after we arrived...

As my mind has begun the process of, well...processing, what I'm hearing on loop in my head is "Rachel, what else could you have done?".  Did I feed her the right things?  Did I say the right things?  Did I help her the way she needed me to?  Did I do the right things?  Did I ask the right questions?  Did I do ENOUGH?  And then the minutia begins eating my mind alive.  "Rachel, you left the room to nurse Greysen at 11:15 when she was so restless.  When Patrick came back in to get you  15 minutes later and said, 'I think you really need to just come back in', had she already gone?".  I find myself poring over whether I was there when "her soul" left that tired body.  Was I holding her hand when she left?  Or was she searching for me and I wasn't there?  She drew her last breath at 11:49 PM.  I was by her side when she did.  But was I there when she needed me?  The easy answer is yes, but my grieving mind begs to differ.  The perfectionist in me screams "You could have done it better!"  And while no part of me wanted to see her suffer a minute longer, I find myself frequently asking myself if I did the right things, if I did things right, if my actions caused her to leave us quicker than she should have... 

I wish I had never stepped out to nurse Greysen, even though I was back before she died.  Even though I was right next to her when she drew her last breath, I still wish I had just thrown modesty to the wind and nursed him at her bedside so I could continue pressing her hand to my heart as the life spiraled out of her.  I wish I'd had the guts to tell her "You're dying" when she asked me "Why don't I feel better?".  She needed me to say those words and I couldn't bring myself to say them.  I wish I had taken more pictures of her and me together.  There aren't nearly enough...

So for me, when my grief speaks, it says words like IMPERFECT, GUILTY, REGRET.  At times its excruciating.  Now, am I a puddle on the floor every time those words well up inside me?  No.  I am a Mommy after all, and Greysen needs me to keep it together.  So I will...and I do.  But there is a loop in my mind that will hopefully fade with time.  I expect the play button on it will be pressed more than once in the coming years...probably when I least expect it.  But for now, as I wade through those last weeks I had with her.  As I pick through the happy times we spent together.  As I spend time reading her journals and the letters and emails she wrote to me over the years.  As I learn to function in a world she no longer lives in...

I let my grief speak as loudly as it wants to.  Because I know that eventually the acute pain that I feel right now (when I let myself feel it) will soften over time.  Her absence will never not be apparent, but I hope and pray that as the years pass I will be able to look back at those precious final 13 days and KNOW that I have nothing to regret, nothing to feel guilty about, nothing to beat myself up about...

Sometimes I still hear her telling me, "Sweetie, you're doing great.  You're doing everything right.  You're the daughter I prayed for.  I love you so much!"  And when I do hear that in my mind, I like to push the repeat button on it.  It's a much better loop...

Death, Where is Your Sting?

As the dust settles and our little family begins to find its stride within the new normal, I find myself reflective often about the years I was blessed to know Bernice and the weeks, days, and hours leading up to her passing. On the Monday and Tuesday before she left us on that Saturday night, Bernice was in the hospital receiving blood and platelet transfusions in a desperate attempt to reverse her body's decline. Monday was difficult, but it was Tuesday that I think I began my own process of grief. A process that recycles itself as I go along, yes, but the start of it was that Tuesday morning. There was a clear and present difference in that day. She had had some bleeding that was both expected and unexpected that alarmed her and me both. In the hospital room I helped her to and from the bed and tried my darndest to mask how terrified I was and how helpless I felt. The last thing I wanted was for her to feel like I couldn't handle it. I could. I did!  But after I had settled her back in bed, I turned around to see her dear friend Charlotte standing in the doorway. She was like an angel that God sent for me right then and there. She said, "Rachel, I'm here for a couple of hours. Go get some lunch and enjoy some time with Jonathan and I'll take over for a bit."  It was like God himself was saying those words. Like He knew I was at my breaking point. So I burst into tears (though I tried so hard not to), wrapped my arms around her, and then walked over to Bernice's bedside. I held her hand and said, "I don't have to leave, Bernice. I can do this. I'm ok."  To which she responded, with that quintessential sparkle in her eye, "I know you can sweetie. I don't know what I would do without you. But you need some time for yourself too. I'm ok. Charlotte's here!  You go and relax for a minute."

I reluctantly left the room and went downstairs to find Jonathan. When he wasn't where I thought he would be, I plopped down in a waiting room chair and just cried. I cried for the pain I knew she was in, for the helplessness that she must have felt, for my own weakness, for the inevitability of what was happening, in mourning over what my life would look like without her in it, for that defeated feeling that was circulating in her, in me, in all of us. We couldn't do anything to help her, to stop what was happening, to reverse what had already occurred. I wept. Openly and raggedly. Until Jonathan came walking around the corner and knelt in front of me with our sweet Greysen in his arms and wept with me. He listened to me say "There is just so much blood. I can't stand to see her in pain. I would take this all on for her if I could. It's just not right that someone like her has to go through this."  I openly and angrily said, "What is the friggin point of cancer?? Why would there be something that siphons the life of someone else, only to die when they die?  What's the point??? It's like the medical equivalent of a cockroach. Why does it even exist??"  

In my anger I despised her disease. I still do. Cancer is ugly. It's cruel. It is destructive.  It strips you of your dignity. It wrecks your body. And in the end, it literally sucks the life right out of you. It is not at all understanding or merciful. It afflicts even the sweetest and most forgiving people on this earth with no intention of allowing them the long and full life they should have...

But as these days have rolled by. As Bernice's absence is so heavy at times that I can hardly catch my breath. I have had moments of time to consider what really is the point of cancer?  And why did my Bernice have to go through it?  The best answer I can give is this:

Cancer is not something that God "gives you". It is not a trial He places in your life. He did not deem you "worthy of suffering" enough to afflict you with cancer. Cancer is a disease that exists because of the fallenness of our world. It is a reflection of the imperfections that exist on this earth. We may never know what causes any type of cancer with any certainty.  I think that's because there's more at play than a simple or even complicated medical answer. Our world is fallen, it is FALLING, and we are powerless to stop it...

BUT...

The victory for us comes the next day. After our weak bodies have experienced the brutal blows of things like cancer, it still doesn't win. Bernice didn't "lose her fight", y'all. She WON!  The cancer that siphoned her very breath is DEAD and our sweet Bernice is ALIVE in Christ. What's the point in cancer? Who knows. Maybe Jesus will enlighten me at some point when I get to walk those golden streets with Him one day. But death has no sting for those who know Christ. Cancer doesn't win. It doesn't go on living after its defeated the body it stole. It dies right along with the flesh. But Bernice's spirit left that tired body and was immediately gathered up in GLORY!

I believe that with my whole being. And it's not some blind faith or some really good "Bible story" that I use as my measuring stick. Bernice told me not even an hour before she died that "He came down". Her exact words. Check out this verse of scripture: 

"For the Lord Himself will come down from Heaven with a commanding shout, with the voice of the archangel, and with the trumpet call of God." -1 Thessalonians 4:16

You will never convince me that the things I heard her say in those final days and hours of her life were simply grumblings cast out of her dying brain. "Did you see the woman with the rosary?",  "I feel different, something has changed", "I see these stories play out in front of my eyes when I'm between sleeping and waking. Sometimes it's people I know, sometimes it's people I don't know but feel like I should", "No, no. Patrick has to see me first", "He came down". She was surround by His angels all week long. His arms were outstretched to her, patiently waiting for her to run into them. And folks, when it came time, she RAN. She went so fast!  I can hardly wrap my mind around how quickly He gathered her up!  What a mercy that she didn't suffer long. What a mercy that He snatched her up so fast that the rest of us were left thinking "How did that happen so quickly?"  Oh, how He loves her...

So death, where is your sting?  Cancer, where is your victory?  That stupid tumor is dead and buried. It will never rise again. But Bernice was caught up in glory. She has a new body free from the earthly chains of cancer and sickness. She closed her eyes on earth and opened them in eternity. And though life without her still seems strange...wrong even...I know that I know that I know that she is rejoicing today. Whole and new and even more beautiful (if that's possible)...

Cancer doesn't win. Faith does. And death is not our defeat. It's our victory. We win every time...

You Are My Naomi...

My Sweet Bernice,


I have struggled to put these words together all week.  I've been considering what I might say in a letter like this for weeks now as the inevitability of your passing became more and more real.  This is the third time I have tried to sit and express my thoughts and my heart, but this is the first attempt I've made to write to you as if your earthly eyes will read this.  It feels more natural for me to speak to you as if you're still here with me.  As a matter of fact, I have spent this whole week speaking to you as if you're still here.  "Bernice, where in the heck did you hide that Pandora bracelet?", "Bernice, which shoes do you want me to bring to Mercer-Adams for you?", "Bernice, how in the world will I ever learn to function in a world you no longer live in?".  In the days that you've been gone, I find myself looking for you often.  When I'm in a room full of people and I want to sit and be quiet or catty, my eyes search for yours.  When I stand in the studio where we spent so many hours whiling away time beading and chatting, your absence is practically palpable.  When I consider that tomorrow we will "say goodbye" to you, my heart can hardly grasp the concept of the finality of your death...


There was a point during the week of your passing that Brenda had come over to help me bathe you and help you get ready for bed.  After I had made you comfortable...rubbed your feet and legs and hands until I knew you were relaxed enough to rest well...I knelt by your bedside with your hand pressed to my heart and told you how precious you are.  How valued you are. How cherished you are to me.  And how deeply and profoundly I love you.  Every night for the last 10 nights you spent with us here on earth I tried to express those things to you as explicitly as I could.  Later that evening, Brenda texted me with this verse:

But Ruth replied, "Don't ask me to leave you and turn back. Wherever you go, I will go; wherever you live, I will live. Your people will be my people, and your God will be my God. - Ruth 1:16

Brenda said "You exude Ruth".  That's when the lightbulb came on for me!  In all these 12 years that I have known and loved you, I have searched for a term that properly describes the unique relationship we share.  It is far more deep than a mother-in-law/daughter-in-law relationship, but it differs from mother/daughter, sister, friend, or simply confidant.  We are kindred souls, in a way, but you are also a mentor and my wise council.  You have been my touchstone.  You have exemplified grace, humility, and forgiveness when I struggled to muster those things in my own life.  Brenda's kind words telling me that I exude Ruth, though, made me realize that the best way to describe our special connection is that you are my Naomi. 

There are countless reasons I can give for choosing to marry your Jonathan.  There have been things revealed to me over the years that have only further solidified our super human connection...the purpose God had in mind for our union.  But YOU are one of the most precious gifts I received as a fringe benefit of committing my life and my love to your son.  And in these final days of your life, it has become so glaringly apparent that I was created as much for YOU as I was for him.  I was always supposed to be this person for you.  It was always supposed to be me who cradled your head in my hands to ease your pain.  It was always supposed to be me that preserved your dignity until the bitter end.  I was always supposed to be the one you passed your torch to.  And those responsibilities...they were never a burden...they were and are my gift!  It was ME who was so richly blessed by those quiet moments just you and me in your final days...when I needed God's strength and you needed mine.  My body was always supposed to be the one that took over for yours when the life inside of you began to drain.  And I so gladly and willingly gave it all to you...I would do it all again!  


I promised you I would take care of your boys, of your Charlie, of your sweet baby Greysen.  You told me how much comfort that brought you, and so, as your final hours ticked so quickly by, I tried to make sure that I continually reminded you of that promise.  In the hour of your passing before all of us knelt beside you, you drew a deep breath in and whispered to me "He came down".  It was then that I knew that it was almost time for you to step into the arms of Jesus.  That I could no longer offer you the help and comfort that you needed...you needed Help beyond my power...


Watching the life quickly yet ever so slowly leave your body...leave your eyes...was one of the most difficult things I've ever had to do.  There was a helplessness there...for you and for us...that could not be avoided.  But Bernice, you have to know that watching that scene while your sweet grand baby was held in the crook of my arm nursing and my hands rested on your arm...while your husband patted your legs and said "You're beautiful, you're radiant, you're strong, you're courageous"...while your hands were each filled with the lives you carried in your own womb...your sweet sons whispering to you that it was ok and that they love you...  


Words cannot express the sweetness of that moment.  The organic nature of your passing will quickly be forgotten, but I will never forget thinking that when my time comes, I want it to be while I'm surrounded by the ones I hold most dear...


I hope when I get to wrap my arms around you again in Heaven that you will tell me, "Rachel, you honored me in the end."  I hope you feel as though I gave you my best...gave you everything I had in me...I hope that I have made you proud.  I will spend my life upholding your legacy of peace, forgiveness, kindness, and gentleness.  I will raise my children to know you well.  I will take on your matriarchal role in this family.  Though I know I can never fill your shoes...I will never come close to replacing you...I hope that I can take a cue from the life that you lived and the example you set in such a way that your memory and your legacy lives on...


My sweet and precious Bernice, this world is dimmer without you in it.  But Heaven is sweeter and more brilliant!  Soon and very soon we will sit once again and spend endless hours together like we did here on earth.  I long for those days to come quickly!  I pray for your nearness in these days, weeks, months, and years to come.  I see little bits of you in each of the people who love you.  I see your sweet spirit in Sandy, I see your initiative and drive in Brenda, I see your candidness and your uncanny ability to make people smile in Charlotte, I see your giving and nurturing nature in Elaine, I see your wisdom in Jonathan, I see your gentleness in Patrick, I see your unconditional love in Charlie.  I can only hope that in my life, I can exude your spirit...your likeness...as it was such a beautiful reflection of Christ in you...


I love you with a love I cannot express in words, my Bernice.  I know you are dancing those golden streets and embracing your Jesus right now.  Though my heart is heavy with your absence, it is simultaneously rejoicing in your newness.  Because HE lives, I can face tomorrow...and every day beyond that...

Until We Meet Again on that Beautiful Heavenly Shore,


Rach




Happy Birthday, Sweet Greysen...

Dear My Sweet One Year Old Greysen,

Today you are one year old.  Today we celebrate the day that you so urgently yet gracefully entered this world.  Today I find myself reminiscing about that morning that I woke up and just knew something was different.  I remember laying in bed with mild contractions thinking "Am I crazy, or is this the real deal?".  I remember the flurry of activity that happened inside of an hour later that afternoon as your Daddy helped me shower, Bebe helped us gather up our things, and we were out the door and down the street to the hospital.  I still didn't believe it was time.  Even when they checked me and said I was 4 centimeters and 70% effaced.  Not even when Dr. Velarde came in and admitted me and I started feeling those contractions intensify.  Still not when she broke my water 2 hours later.  It didn't even feel real when she said "Ok, Mom...it's time to push!".  I would argue that it still didn't feel real even when she laid you up on my chest as I squealed "That's my baby!  Hi sweetheart!  I'm your Mommy!"  Several hours after your birth I even asked the nurse if it was normal to "feel like I was walking in a dream".  I really felt that way!  And now today...a whole year later...I feel the same way...

How is it that after years of wondering whether God had forgotten about me...after countless tears of anger and sorrow and disappointment...how is it that I sit here today writing about your first birthday with tears in my eyes feeling like I'm overwhelmingly more blessed than I could ever deserve?  How could I ever express my gratitude to God for allowing me to be your Mommy?  How did I get so lucky as to have a son so precociously empathetic, so incredibly handsome, so delightfully silly, and such a perfect blend of your Daddy and me as you are?  I will never know how I won the lottery on not only getting to know you, but getting to MOTHER you.  Wow.  My cup runs over...

In a year's time, your infancy has slowly melted away.  The softness of the top of your head is slowly going away, but the softness of your heart grows each day.  People tell me all the time, random people on the street whom I've never met, that there's something so inviting about you.  On more than one occasion I've had people tell me "something about those eyes makes you want to just tell him everything"...  I know you are going to do big things in this world.  I know you are destined for greatness...

You don't stay still very much these days.  You are constantly on the move exploring your world!  But I'm lucky enough that you still want to climb up in my lap and let me wrap you in my arms.  You sit still while I snuffle your hair, kiss your cheeks and toes and fingertips, and tell you how much I love you.  It's more than I can express.  You have learned to give kisses not only upon request, but any time you feel like you want to express your love.  You lean right in with those adorable lips and drooly mouth and I can't help but gather as many of those sugars as you're willing to give...

Watching you grow is like witnessing the formation of the Grand Canyon.  Bit by bit, little by little, day by day you are growing and changing and learning.  Seeing things through your eyes makes my world seem so fresh and new even though I've been here for 31 years longer than you have.  All of a sudden the flowers are spectacular, birds singing is exciting, rain on the windows is fascinating, everything is novel again!  My world changed the minute God breathed life into your body, and it hasn't stopped changing since...

I am a different person than I was this day last year.  I am changed.  You have changed me.  I am a better, more whole version of myself.  You remind me to slow down and savor the important things.  You remind me to be patient.  Your life gives my life new purpose...new meaning...new LIFE!  You will forever be the one who made me a Mommy.  You will forever be the one who came crashing into this world 2 weeks early...the one who surprised us then and surprises us now.  You will always be my first born.  You will always be enough. You will always be important.  And you will always, ALWAYS be loved, my sweet boy...

So on this day...the day we celebrate your grandiose arrival...we thank God for knitting you together in my womb.  For giving you life.  For giving us purpose.  For reminding us of the fragility of life, but also the glorious wholeness, and fulness, and joyfulness of it too.  I will never be worthy of the gift I have been given in you, but I promise I will never stop being grateful for you, my son.  My sweet baby Greysen.  Happy Birthday baby boy!  Keep changing this world for the better...

Love Beyond Words,

Mommy