November 16, 2014. Troy and I woke up right about the same time. We had both been in this bizarre twilight sleep throughout the night. It wasn’t heavy enough to count as actual sleep, but sufficiently deep to know we were not conscious. Only hours had passed since we closed our eyes out of emotional and physical fatigue. Tormented. Lost. Empty. My thoughts were all over the place as I looked at my husband. I wanted him to make it better. He said nothing, magnifying everything. So there is was. The early morning routine had officially been born where I woke up crying slow, sad tears that nobody could fix.

Ashlie Jack came to visit me in those raw initial days. I want to say it was after Dalton’s funeral, but like so many of my memories from that period of time, it is too murky to remember. I had never met her before and yet there she was in my living room for the first time. Ashlie had lost her only child, a daughter, 6 or 7 years prior. I’m sure she spoke wise, comforting words as only a person who has lost a child can speak to a newly bereaved mother. Ashlie, forgive me for not remembering what they were. Nonetheless, it will never be what she said that made the biggest impression on me.

It was her demeanor. The common denominator between the two of us was that we both had lost children. Where we differed was where we were in that walk. I was defeated. Despondent. I saw nothing other than the here and now. My world was dark. I looked at her and I saw empathy, but I didn’t see any of that. Her eyes didn’t look dead. In fact they were almost irritatingly bright. And that damn smile. It was big enough for both of us.

In the coming weeks, Ashlie would mentor me through the gloomiest days of my life. We talked of Bayleigh and Dalton and wondered if they had met in heaven. I wanted an acceleration through the pain pill and she would tenderly remind they didn’t exist. She taught me patience and grace by personifying those attributes. I would push her and ask her how she knew Bayleigh was in heaven. With that big Ashlie Jack smile, she would say, “You know, I just know.”

November 1, 2023. Keely texts me that Conner’s older brother has passed away. Of course I have 20 questions, but she can’t talk because she’s on the phone with Conner. When she finally is able to visit about it, the details emerge, and all I can think about are the Frankamps. Those first moments. That shock. The denial. Their horror.

I started asking friends to pray for this family who’s world was crumbling. I hadn’t known Kevin all that well. In spite of that, my heart broke first for Conner receiving the news so far away. Next my thoughts turned towards their parents and I felt my own scab being ripped off the wound I thought was mostly healed.

Over the next few days, I felt the physical pain that accompanies grief. And this was SECOND HAND grief. I mean, is that even a thing? My stomach ached and my head would not stop pounding. Even that weird heartburn sensation came back for a short period. With every new wave of discomfort, I thought about what the Frankamps were experiencing. Most specifically, I thought of Conner and Kevin’s mother, Karen.

Kevin’s funeral came and I went to support Keely and the family. My mind rewound to two months prior and worshipping with Kevin at a First Wednesday service and how Keely said he had tears coming out of his eyes. That beautiful thought flooded my mind as I pulled into the parking lot of Chapel Hill. I walked over to where Keely was parked, and we walked in together. Planning on going straight to my seat, I have to admit I panicked a second when Keely said she wanted me to go with her to see the family. Flashbacks of those final seconds before we closed Dalton’s casket came flooding back. That fog. I couldn’t see through the hovering fog that day. Nothing was right about it.

Understanding the intimacy of the moment, I wanted to slink inconspicuously into a corner where the family had gathered in the basement of the church. If heartbroken were a noun, it was that room. Keely found Conner and I did a quick survey for Karen. Locating her was easy because she was already on her way towards me. We held one another. All I could think about while holding her was to say nothing and be there. There’s nothing she needed to hear from me. People say dumb things when trying to comfort a hurting person. Her son was gone and all was wrong.

Nine years ago, I didn’t know how I would survive the loss of my son. My view of the world was behind the blurry lens of my tears. I couldn’t even pray without it culminating in despair. Joy felt so far away.

This is the part where the writer says, “Then God entered the picture.” Only that would be incorrect. To suggest He entered the picture only after my tragedy unfolded would be inaccurate and foolish. He knew I needed the support of believers and He delivered. My family. Ashlie. Traci. Cheryl and Lori. My precious small group. Taryn. I would need 10 more paragraphs to describe how Taryn has impacted my life, but something tells me she already knows. All of these people were put into my life for a purpose and they were the hands and feet of God when I needed them the most. I pray I can be one of those people to others who are hurting.

I just realized how long winded this blog post is and how it needs a good wrapping up.

Here it is.

Jesus.

He gave me what I needed, when I needed it. There were days when He was silent. Those always felt the loudest to me. Some days He felt so close, it was as though I could reach out and touch His finger in our own rendition of a Michelangelo painting. They were my favorite. But most days fell somewhere in the middle. Immersed in that middle were the people that ministered to me, cherry-picked by a God that loved me enough to put them there.

What a gift.

Anniversary #8 is next week. That’s 2,920 days between hearing him say he would be right back until now. I wish I knew how much he was aware of what all has taken place since that day. I start to tell him things out loud but it hurts too bad to finish the sentences. 8 years and still grieving. I just can’t believe it.

I want him to know how bossy his little sister is and how she sings like him. Years younger than two of her nieces and nephews and she has been known to lecture them about showing her more respect. Sounds just like him.

His older brother just had his fourth kid. Something tells me if he knows about that already he is shaking his head. I know, bud, it’s a lot of kids and it’s a lot of curls.

I have to wonder if he has a clue his older sister has turned into a mother herself. What I would give to bargain with God to allow him a special telescopic lens to watch that boy grow up and play ball. It’s kind of in his DNA.

8 years and his dad still can’t talk about him. That’s fine but that is 8 years of having to mostly keep him tucked away inside me too. I spend most of my conversations about him with friends suspended somewhere between not wanting to talk about him because it makes them uncomfortable and wanting to talk about him too much. Both ends of the spectrum are tough.

2,920 days to forget the sound of his voice and it’s working. It becomes more faint with each anniversary. It’s one of the worst parts. Sometimes I have to pull up a picture to remind myself which side of his face had a certain freckle and then I hate myself that I don’t already know. How does a mother forget such things?

Traumatic things I see and read about don’t have the same effect they had upon me 8 years ago. Another side effect. I think it’s because the shock I went through that cold Saturday can never be matched. It is the pain of all pain. Some days I wonder if it would be worse to know your child is terminal and watching them die or for them to die suddenly like Dalton. Then I feel ashamed for wondering something like that.

The grief I will carry my entire life stands as a testament to the love I have for my children. Nothing compares to it. Nothing. I have said it many times, but how on earth would a parent endure this without faith? Knowing my son is in heaven with an almighty God is what allows me to function and thrive. I am healing through the loss because of Him. I don’t cry everyday because of Him. I know I will see Dalton again because of Him. Because of Him, I will carry part of Dalton’s spirit with me until the day we are reunited.

One year closer, DD.

I am having shoulder surgery in the morning. It turns out I have a labrum tear with a paralabral cyst underneath. It’s been scheduled for months. I wanted to wait to do the surgery until after the nice weather was over and (gauging by the current weather) it appears I was spot on. The cooler weather has definitely moved in for now at least, as is always the case it seems with the month of November. Oh November. I refuse to give you much thought until the busyness of October is through. Now that we have celebrated numerous late October birthdays and Halloween, I’ll deal with you. I’ll deal with you because you suck and because the 15th comes every year whether or not I am ready.

Right after Dalton died, a (now) dear friend came and visited our family in an effort to comfort us. She was between six and seven years out from her own daughter’s fatal accident and was there to support me from one grieving mother to another. I don’t remember everything from our initial visit, but I will always recall her demeanor. Later I would contrast it in my head with my own as soon as she left our home. Both of us had lost teenage children and yet she was able to talk to us while she sat smiling and seemingly happy as she shared stories about her daughter. At the time, all I could do was cry in her presence. I remember wanting to fast forward through the pain to be six or seven years past my son’s accident so I could smile again.

And here we are. It will be seven years on the 15th. That will be 2,555 days I haven’t seen him. That 13 year old boy who should be 21. The one I still cry for in the shower. The one I can close my eyes and hear his raspy voice and that weird clicking sound he made with his mouth. His dumb dolphin sound. That annoying way he would say “Mom, Mommy, Momma” 20 times in a row like that kid on the show Family Guy because he loved it when I finally would snap. I think about the fruit snack wrappers and the sunflower seeds I would find under the couches (where no food was ever allowed under any circumstance). And I think about watching that boy play ball. Man he could pitch. It’s taken seven years for the memories to finally make me smile first and cry second. I guess that’s a sign of healing.

My birthday was the 28th. I felt so humbled by all of the birthday wishes people gave me on Facebook. I have got to get better at doing those myself because it sure makes a person feel good when it’s YOUR birthday. I posted that I felt like it was a win-win situation because I got to spend it with the people I love, plus it made me one year closer to seeing my boy. The next day I woke up to a text from one of Dalton’s best friends, Easton. It said, “Happy bday jenny. I, as well, am counting the days.” I smiled so big because a 21 year old took the time to text his buddy’s mom on her birthday. But, not just that, he remembered my boy. That simple line was one of the greatest things I could have ever read.

I want to share a short story about who Dalton was for anyone who didn’t know him: My father-in-law, Tommy, needed a plumber to come work on his kitchen sink yesterday. A young man came instead of the one who usually does work for Tommy. They started talking and (recognizing the last name on the ticket) the young man asked Tommy is he was Dalton’s grandpa. Tommy shared with this young plumber how Dalton was his best friend and spent much time at his house. The young man finally introduced himself as Zack and said he knew Dalton. They were the same age. Zack said he played baseball with Dalton. Tommy asked if it was with the Cubs and Zack smiled and said, “No I wasn’t good enough to play for the Cubs, but I played with your grandson in little league.” After more conversation, Zack looked at Tommy and said, “I want you to know something about Dalton. You see, I wasn’t very popular and I wasn’t that good at sports. I had a hard time growing up. But Dalton always talked to me. He didn’t care. He saw me and I’ll never forget that.”

Smiling. Crying. But mainly smiling. That’s where I’m at 7 years out. I miss that boy. He was your typical 13 year old kid, but he had a big heart.

I don’t know what God allows people in heaven to see, but I secretly hope Dalton got to take in a scene from the communion line at Mass on Sunday. Since Dalton has been gone, no one is here to agitate his older brother (who is now 25 and the father of 3). As a reference point, Colton and Dalton used to whisper all through Mass and would constantly have to be redirected. Typically they would either be arguing or discussing the upcoming NFL games that day. Fast forward to today and now Colton has a 5 year old sister, Dawsyn. So we are all walking towards the alter in the communion line: Carly in front holding Saylor, Kaemyn behind her, Colton and Dawsyn behind them and myself at the back. I see Dawsyn repeatedly tapping Colton on the back of his leg and whispering, “Colton!” He ignored her two or three times before finally turning around (right in front of the alter) sweetly and patiently asking her, “What is it honey?” Dawsyn, proud she got his attention at last, looks at him with a giant grin and hissed, “You’re DUMB.”

Maybe she just needed to purge herself of any evil thoughts before she received her blessing at the alter… or maybe she was channeling her inner, ornery older brother. Either way, as Colton told us all that story at lunch on Sunday, it made us laugh. Laugh and remember a life well lived. A life worth taking time out of my day and writing about so you can get to know a little more of him. I hope some of it makes you smile too.

The scabs have been picked. The wounds open. Two different tragedies in our community in one week. I heard about Emileigh, the high school cheerleader, and Leland, the sixth grade boy, both yesterday. I do not know either one of their families, nor does it matter. What I do know is what those family members are going through. And unless you had lost your own child you do not. You can come close with the loss of a parent or a sibling, but it is not the same.

After Dalton died, I only wanted to see or talk to two people: Ashlie Jack and Donna Hoefgen. Both were mothers to teenage girls that had lost their daughters to accidents. I appreciated the comfort many attempted to offer, but it was not like the support those two women gave me. They served as my mentors through the grief process, day after day, taking late night phone calls and texts without hesitation. They answered question after question I would ask about heaven and what they thought our kids were doing now. God had placed them in my life for a reason. After all, no one can minister to someone as well as a person who has been faced with the same circumstances.

I say this for a reason. If you are the friends or family members of Emileigh or Leland please heed some advice. They are going to need you. Don’t go away. But don’t think you need to say anything either. I have friends I have barely talked to since Dalton died and I think it’s because they don’t know how to act around me now. Do they act sad? Do they not act sad? Should they ever bring him up? Which, by the way, the answer to that question is an overwhelming yes. The worst error in judgment you can make is to never talk about the children we have lost. Rarely does anyone ever say his name to me anymore. That, unequivocally, is the hardest part. I don’t use his name. If you don’t bring him up I never get to talk about him. Does talking about him make me sad? Of course it does. But not talking about him makes me more sad.

One of the kindest things my friends Lori and Cheryl did for me in those immediate days following Dalton‘s accident were to be present. They didn’t say much, they just hung around my house. They came early and stayed late. They cleaned my house and helped with the other kids the best they could. I think about them now and they remind me of Job’s friends who, for the first seven days and nights, said nothing. They mourned with him and that was it. I had another friend, Traci, who would text me every single night for the first two years following the accident asking me the same question, “how are you?” Another friend, Shawn, would text me night after night saying “I love you. Praying for you friend.” Each one played a pivotal role in my healing and I hope they know I will never forget.

Family and friends of Emileigh and Leland, be strong and courageous. Exercise patience and give the parents some grace. Be especially kind to the siblings and grandparents too. Their loss is not minimized in any way. Just remember after the funerals are held and the celebration of life videos have played, the hurt runs deeper. They may not show it, but trust me on this. There comes a time when the out-of-town guests leave, the cards stop pouring in, and that little window of time starts to creep in to peoples minds of how long it should take the parents to “get over it.” Let me let you in on a secret. We don’t. I wanted a bold face answer from Ashlie and Donna about how long it took them to get over the pain of losing their daughters. I will never forget how similar their answers were. They both said it would never happen. Somehow they just learned to live with the grief and with time the pain becomes a little less. I hated those answers. I wanted a quick fix. A pill I could take. Or better yet, I wanted him back.

If you are reading this and you are that parent who has lost a child let me simply say I get you. I get how hard every damn thing is about it. I know what it’s like to pick out that lining in a casket your baby is going to lay in forever. I know how it felt to lay out the clothes to bury them in. I know how surreal it felt seeing their friends walk by them laying in a box. I know how it felt to look at yourself in the mirror the day you get ready for your child’s funeral and think you have aged 20 years when it has only been four days. And I remember thinking I will never ever be able to wait until I get to heaven to see his face again.

Yet here I am. Loyal friends, loving family members, and faith in God has brought me six years past that horrible date in November. My small group Bible study girls are now my rocks. Becky, Mindi, Michelle, Debbie, and Melanie I don’t tell you enough how much you mean to me. Thursday nights are my favorite night of the week because of you girls. You never make it awkward or weird to talk about Dalton.

Thank you for bringing him up. Thank you for letting me say his name.

Emileigh and Leland. Say their names.

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Today is a big day.  Let me rephrase that.  Today is an enormous day.  I have held back talking too much about this situation because I never wanted to say or do anything that might interfere with the process.  To be honest, I just learned the newest term for it. Today is the “Gotcha Day” for my grandbabies, Kaemyn and Kalyssa.  A journey that started nearly five years ago has finally culminated in this long awaited celebration of their adoption into our family.  Oh how we have prayed for this day.  

I first met Kaemyn and Kalyssa in December of 2015.  Colton told me he and Carly were babysitting for a friend of Carly’s mom’s (who happened to be the kid’s maternal grandmother).  Carly’s mother had been a classmate of hers.  Kaemyn had just turned one and Kalyssa was just shy of one month old.  I truly don’t know if I had ever set sight on more beautiful children.  Kaemyn had the most captivating little smile and Kalyssa had the biggest brown eyes I had ever seen.  They were perfect.  

As the kid’s biological mother was struggling to take care of them and their grandmother was preoccupied with working to make ends meet, Colton and Carly began babysitting more and more.  What would start as a “couple hour” babysitting job slowly turned into day long babysitting jobs.  Little by little those crept into week long babysitting jobs.  I was so confused because I couldn’t imagine anyone ever babysitting my own children for those lengths of time.  Bewildered as we were, our entire family quickly fell in love with both of these kids.  

As his mother, watching Colton evolve into the role of a parent was fascinating.  Here I was, one year into grieving the loss of Dalton, and now I was witnessing his 19 year old brother step up into fatherhood.  Neither Kaemyn or Kalyssa had known a male presence.  And now my son, who still had two years before even reaching the legal age to drink, was changing diapers, learning how to mix formula and rocking babies during KU basketball games.  He and Carly were extraordinary.  Those two managed to physically, emotionally, and financially provide for two babies they loved so much as they navigated through their own dating life and (later) wedding engagement.  They learned how to cordially work alongside biological family members and DCF to foster Kaemyn and Kalyssa and to begin the adoption process, all the while attending school and maintaining part and full time jobs.    

There is no doubt in my mind that Kaemyn and Kalyssa healed Colton’s heart after losing his brother.  I know I have said this before, but out of the five of us, Colton was probably the closest one to Dalton.  We all shared a unique relationship with him, but the bond of two brothers is hard to compete with.  Especially two brothers that shared all the same interests, including the same bedroom.  I find it to be no accident that God brought these kids into his and Carly’s lives shortly after the accident.  While Colton’s heart was hurting, God was working.  While Colton was struggling to regain normalcy in his teen years, God was working.  And while I was begging the Lord to help my child come to terms with losing his only brother, God was working.  

How do I know that?  At 4:16PM on November 15th, 2014, Dalton was pronounced dead.  Hours later, that very next day, at Wesley Hospital, God was busy bringing beauty from ashes as a 6 lb 7 oz little boy was born in Wichita, KS.  His name was Kaemyn.  He was born to an extremely courageous young woman.  As much praise as I want to give (and will always give) Colton and Carly for raising him, I will forever be the most grateful to his biological mother.  She chose what many don’t.  She chose life.  Twice.  Had it not been for her, this “Gotcha Day” would not exist and neither would this blog.  Not only did she choose to have two babies as a single mother, she would later do the most unselfish thing a parent can do.  Accepting that her children could have better lives with two people that vowed to love them unconditionally and assume responsibility for them, she gave them up.  I will never pretend to know how hard that was because I have never been in those shoes.  With that being said, I want her to know how proud I am of her.  Over the years, I have watched her mature into a beautiful young adult who has gotten her priorities straight in life, even to the point of raising a precious little girl of her own.  Our God is the author of giving second chances and I know for a fact that is what she is experiencing.  When it comes to Kaemyn and Kalyssa, she was chosen by God to be their biological mother.  My all-time favorite Rick Warren quote is “There are accidental and illegitimate parents, but no accidental or illegitimate children.  Your parents may not have planned you, but God did.”  They were intended by God to be here for a purpose and by His grace they crossed paths with my son and his wife.

So what exactly is the point of this blog, then, you might be asking.  Yes, it is about celebrating Kaemyn and Kalyssa’s new last name of course.  But that’s not entirely it.  If you take anything away from this, let it be how important it is that you trust God is working on your behalf.  He is never going to let you go through the fires and the lion’s dens alone.  Trust him.  Don’t miss your blessing.  When Colton realized Kaemyn was born the day after Dalton died, he accepted his blessing.  That was no coincidence.  All of the circumstances the birth mother faced and the hardships she endured helped form that blessing for Kaemyn and Kalyssa to meet Colton and Carly for that very first babysitting job.  We don’t always feel it or see it, but God is working. The kid’s biological mother is thriving and enjoying being a mother to her little girl. So, as she was saying goodbye to her first two children, God was working for her, rewarding her for two of the most unselfish acts a parent can do for their children.  

To my “official” grandchildren, I hope you always know how much you are loved.  You have felt like ours from the beginning, but now it’s on paper.  I can’t wait to watch you become the people God destined you to be.  What the devil intends for evil, God uses to His unending glory.  

Here is to today.  The story of them.

 

 

 

 

 

This is going to be one of those rare times I deviate from talking about Dalton and share an altogether different subject.  It was simply too good not to blog about… plus I truly believe there is a message in here that someone might need to hear.

 

It started about a month ago when our neighbor down at Grand Lake told us there was a woman he knew that had a restraining order against a guy who has no way to communicate to her except through making YouTube videos.  Well apparently he was trying to impress her by telling her he bought her a house, except that house he was using in the videos was our house.  He was making videos of the outside making it seem like he lived there.  My neighbor told me the guy’s last name but that was about it.  We have a very good security system down there and since I hadn’t seen any unusual activity, I decided to kind of blow it off as a “weird story.”  Weeks went by with nothing out of the ordinary so I didn’t ever think much of it.

 

Fast forward to last weekend and we have family down at our lakehouse for several days.  Saturday evening rolls around and we are discussing our dinner plans when there is a knock at the door.  Troy answers it and it is a gentleman who says he is interested in buying our house.  He gives Troy his name and tells him his wife is a neurosurgeon who is currently out of town for work.  He says they are new to Grove and have driven by our house numerous times and have fallen in love with it.  Even though our house is not for sale, Troy invites him in.  If you know my husband very well, you would know that most everything he has is for sale for the right price (this is me rolling my eyes).

 

The guy asks to see everything and Troy briefly gives him a tour.  Meanwhile, we are all getting a little impatient to get to dinner somewhere.  After the hurried tour, the gentleman says he would like to take a few pictures of the house to show his wife.  Troy says that is fine.  So while we are growing restless to eat, this guy is taking his sweet time.  He appears to be walking from room to room, inside and out, taking pictures using his Ipad. I can tell Troy is giving him some space and trying not to hover.  After he is through doing that, he casually wants to sit down with Troy and discuss a price.  I am starting to get some bizarre vibes so I decide to walk out to the driveway and take a picture of this man’s license tag just in case.

 

The two men finally wrap up their conversation and we all head out to eat a now very late supper.  Our family is extremely eager to hear what all that guy had to say so Troy filled everyone in on the details.  Apparently the guy said he wanted it all – the house, boats, jetski, furniture… you name it.  All he expected my husband to do was come up with a price.  It was all so weird and felt less believable by the minute.  Shortly before bed and knowing I had taken a picture of that guy’s license tag, Troy decided to pay for an online service to find out who the car was registered to.  And what do you know… it came back with the same last name that our neighbor said belonged to the man pretending to own our house.

 

It turns out you can find out a lot of public information on people if you search hard enough.  We were able to see the name of the woman who had the restraining order against him and decided to send her a facebook message to contact us at her earliest convenience.  That following morning she must have checked her messages and called immediately.  We explained what had happened the previous day and how we found her name.  She thanked us for calling her, apologized for us being involved in this mess, and gave us a short run down on her past relationship with the man.  Without giving too many details she shared that they had been broken up for a few months but he couldn’t get the hint that she was done with him.  I guess he wouldn’t leave her alone so she had to get a restraining order against him.  Then after being ordered not to contact her, he began making these wild YouTube videos where he would attempt to win her back.  He would talk to the camera as if he were talking directly to her and often lie about owning things that didn’t belong to him in an effort to impress her.

 

She asked if we had seen his latest videos.  We inquired about his YouTube channel name and looked him up.  That is when we saw them.  He had posted 6 or 7 videos of the inside of our home where he is walking around pretending that he is giving a tour to this woman he is obsessed with.  He has video of our entire home right down to the dirty clothes laying in the master closet that I had changed out of to go to dinner.  In these videos, he is claiming that he has “a bunch of friends over.”  Somehow he was able to film all of that while we were trying to wait as patient as we could on the back deck – which was the only place he didn’t walk out to.  There were literally 12 of us and no one ever realized what he had been doing.  It honestly appeared to us at the time that he was taking a few photos to presumably send to his wife the “neurosurgeon.”  In these videos, he would talk to this woman and tell her things like, “I knew you wouldn’t believe me, so I had to make these videos to show you what all I have bought for you.  I love you so much.  Come back to me and this all will be yours too.”

 

Uh yeah.  So things have taken a disturbing turn.  We get off the phone with her and Troy quietly asks me if I want to take a walk with him so we can talk.  This was when I knew I was dealing with a different Troy from whom he once was.  The Troy from ten years ago would have been ready to settle this with fists.  Then cops.  Actually maybe fists and cops.  Anyway, I could tell he was processing.  During our walk, he looked at me and said, “I really would prefer we don’t make an enemy out of this guy.  We know nothing about him other than he obviously has a terrible obsession for a woman and likely some sort of mental issue going on.  I don’t want to be scared that he might do something stupid to you guys so I would really prefer to just tell him the gig is up.”  I think about that moment now and wonder how big my eyes must have gotten.  I started to protest and stopped.  I shut my mouth and decided I was simply going to trust that he knew what he was doing.

 

We walked into the house and told the family what we were going to do.  Everyone there had been briefed earlier about what was going on so to say the vibe in the home was uneasy is an understatement.  Our family stood surrounding Troy in the living room as he dialed that guy’s phone number, anxious to hear how this would all play out.  He answered.  Troy told him we knew everything and he needed to stop what he was doing.  That guy ended up not denying a single thing.  He knew he was caught and started apologizing right away.  He went on to give Troy the low-down on the woman he was desperately trying to win back and all the measures he has taken in order to do that.  We watched in amazement as Troy hung on the line letting this stranger go on and on and on.  Casually (and a little comically) we listened as Troy did his best to offer up relationship counseling.  Time went on and he asked Troy if he could come by to apologize to the entire family.  Not all the family members had quite been won over by his repentant, heartfelt story and weren’t exactly comfortable with that.  Sensing that this man truly needed to apologize in person, Troy took his dad and they agreed to meet him in a public place.  Nearly two hours went by.  Two hours Troy drank coffee and listened to this man who just hours earlier had totally duped us talk and talk.  Later I asked what the heck they could have talked about for that long and Troy said he mainly just listened.  He listened to a person who probably hadn’t had someone take that kind of time out for him in years.  Then this guy asked if Troy would appear in one of his videos so he could come clean to the woman he is clearly obsessed with so she might see him as wanting to lead an honest life after all.  Interestingly enough, Troy agreed.

 

We could debate for hours about whether or not we did the “right” thing considering the circumstances.  All I know is I have had almost a week to process what happened and every day I have told this story to someone new and grown prouder and prouder of my husband.  He showed mercy and grace to someone who clearly did not deserve it, all the while maintaining an almost foreign type of calmness under pressure.  Since last weekend, Troy has shared some messages from Pastor Mark at New Spring Church and their current online series, ironically called Restart, with this guy. They have also engaged over the phone in some great conversations about God and getting a second chance in life.  They have discussed how he needs to change his focus off this woman and to start finding a purpose for his life.  Neither Troy or I ever got the impression that guy would hurt anyone, but he does show some tendencies to get pretty down on himself.  Troy even has talked to him about that.  The guy did go on to make a few more YouTubes videos before taking them all down for good where he talks a lot about his new friend he made named Troy lol.  I watched them and they seemed very genuine.

 

I am reading a book for my small group bible study called The Relationship Principles of Jesus.  Chapter 38 is called “Love Your Enemies.” The author is citing a great passage of scripture from Luke.  “If you love those who love you, what credit is that to you?  Even sinners love those who love them.  And if you do good to those who are good to you, what credit is that to you?  Even ‘sinners’ do that.  And if you lend to those from whom you expect repayment, what credit is that to you?  Even ‘sinners’ lend to ‘sinners,’ expecting to be repaid in full.  But love your enemies, do good to them.”  ( Luke 6:32-35)  Also in that same chapter of this book, the author states, “Jesus is showing us that we have a relationship even with an enemy.  He teaches us that the only way to win over our enemy is by doing good – and it’s the only way to keep our spiritual dignity in a difficult situation as well.  Instead of allowing our enemy to take our rights away, we choose to give to them.”  After reading that I wondered what is so wrong about loving a stranger and wanting to help someone who is still a sinner?  After all, isn’t that what Jesus did for all of us? Jesus died while we were all still sinners, rejecting God’s plan for us so we could  live our own selfish lives.

 

Sorry this got so lengthy.  But it likely had to for you to see the full picture.  We can’t predict the future, but we can feel good about how it might turn out.  Because of my husband’s willingness to extend mercy and forgiveness, maybe just maybe, the cycle of hurt in this man’s life can be broken.  Perhaps this guy sees that there are so many better things in life to experience.  This is reaching deep here… but maybe one day he will understand the undeserving gift God has to offer him of eternal life, much like the undeserving gift of friendship he has received from my husband after he went through great lengths to deceive our family.

 

I like to think we all have a highlight reel playing as we stand before God seated at his great white throne in heaven one day.  I say this because I’m absolutely certain this act of kindness is going to be on that reel.  Maybe God walks up to Troy and asks him to start quoting scripture.  Looking downcast, Troy replies, “I never got to where I could memorize a bunch of that stuff.”  Then God smiles, pats him gently on the shoulder and says, “It’s ok.  I’ve got something better than learning all the verses in the bible.  Look up here (as he points to the highlight reel).  Do you see you?  Now, I sure know you love me.  But, here.  Here is where you live out the commandment I have ordered you to do.  You have treated that man there (your neighbor) with the love and respect I commanded you to do.  Well done, my good and faithful servant.

 

If that moment should happen and quite honestly I don’t see how it wouldn’t now after watching in awe as the whole thing played out in real time, I sure hope they allow at least one spectator for the highlight reel presentation.  Because there will be a 13 year boy watching who is going to be proud as heck of his dad.  He will probably saunter over to him afterwards and say, “Wow dad, I didn’t know you had it in you… but I’m sure glad you did.  Now can you come be catcher so I can throw to you?”

So far during this social distancing experiment I have written and completed three separate lengthy “to-do” lists.  I am literally down to picking up sticks in the backyard to make the soon-to-be mowing easier. Part of my stir craziness can likely be chalked up to some form of adult ADHD.  Or maybe it’s the lack of March Madness. Speaking of that, I’m finally over it and quite honestly I wasn’t sure that was going to happen any time soon… especially because it was our year!  

 

Yes, the cat is out of the bag that we are selling our house.  We literally listed it the day the coronavirus mess blew up here in the U.S.  Fantastic timing indeed. Our plan is to sell the house with about 40 acres. The front property that was formerly known as the ranch will not be sold, neither will the acreage west towards the Ford dealership.  In fact, we are planning on building a barndominium on that land to live in. Just don’t bring that part up to Keely, though. She is a little horrified. I think she still pictures horse stalls inside of bedrooms whenever I use the word barndominium.  Regardless, we are hunkered down for the selling and building process to be a bit lengthier than we originally expected considering the whole world is basically on hold right now.

 

 As a very preliminary step towards selling our house, I have decided to use my house-bound time to clean out and organize my storage rooms and closets.  I don’t think most of you understand what a process that was for me. I am married to a hoarder of all things dumb plus I am awful at throwing things in a room because I don’t want to take the time to put them in their proper places.  After two 8 hour days, my step-dad and I had cleaned out two humongous storage rooms. Everything is in Rubbermaid containers, labeled, and stacked. Troy’s nonsense has gone to different charities (FYI he never reads my blogs so unless one of you tells him that he will never know).  Those rooms were time consuming but not tough to clean.  Tough came today.

 

The first item on my list today was to clean out “the” closet.  It’s the closet I haven’t touched in 5 ½ years. It is his stuff.  And, by stuff, I mean everything that was brought home to us after the funeral was over.  You know all the personal things you see at a child’s funeral? That stuff. The pictures, trophies, 1st communion tie, his baby blanket, the bottle that little fart drank out of until he was 6 freaking years old, his baseball glove, his sunglasses.  Shoved in that closet too was a box of the leftover funeral programs, the guestbook that held over 500 signatures, a DVD copy of the funeral itself, and a tiny cloth pouch that held a lock of his hair. I pulled out that hair and rubbed it between my fingers.  Beside me standing there feeling as though a panic attack might come on was Dawsyn demanding my attention because she threw a sticky hand too high on a window and couldn’t reach it. For a second I felt robbed that I couldn’t even have that moment to feel.

 

I eventually got her situated and went back to the task at hand.  There must have been hundreds of cards people sent. They were all opened so I knew I had seen them.  Except it was actually the first time I was really seeing them.  I wished I had replied to people.  I remember reading a few of them after the accident and wanting to reply but lacked the strength.  Behind the cards and handmade gifts was Dalton’s basketball practice bag. I opened it for the very first time.  His belt was still in the inside-out jeans he had taken off before his last practice. His black collared WCS shirt was balled up in there, a pair of socks, two likely unused bottles of deodorant (trust me they looked brand new), and five huge packages of bubble gum.  I was shocked not to find a half eaten bag of cheese puffs. Stuffed into a corner of the closet was another set of clothes all balled up. I felt the pain before I even pulled them out and opened them. It’s like I just knew.  These were the accident clothes.  A pair of grey sweats, one Adidas slider, and three shirts.  It had been so cold that November day. He had been wearing a white Hanes tee, a Butler County Cubs pullover and a grey hoodie.  Each one had been cut down the middle and the right sleeve. I had so many questions about why the EMS workers would have done that, yet I know I couldn’t handle it if knew the answers.  Did he ever feel pain?  Did he ever have just one single second where he had a conscious thought?  Was he watching while we fell apart?  

 

I finished organizing all his things and placed them all in a Rubbermaid container with only his name written on the side, much like you would package up your old clothes or linens you don’t use anymore.  I quietly walked his box into the storage room and stacked it on the others, tracing the letters of his name I had recently written. One of the things I hate the most is how I hardly ever get to write his name, let alone say it.  Walking away, I realized why this social distancing seems to be so hard for me. It reminds me of the last time I felt this isolated. After the funeral, I holed up for weeks moving from the couch to the bedroom to the kitchen counter to the couch.  And repeat. Maybe I’m doing all this ridiculous cleaning right now because I’m scared to just sit still. The sitting still reminds me of that time.  Losing him.  

 

So I get the panic, people.  I get it. You are scared you might lose someone you love.  Of course you are because why wouldn’t you? This virus is real and it is serious.  However, the difference between you I might be that I have assurance of where I am going one day.  I don’t have to live in fear for one second because the ending to my life has already been worked out. One day, maybe near or maybe far, I’ll leave this place and walk into the arms of a brown haired boy with beautiful blue eyes who is going to make an introduction for me to the greatest person that has ever walked this earth, some 2000 plus years ago.  That part is set. Nobody knows exactly when it will be, but I will be ready when the Good Lord calls me.  

 

That kind of blessed assurance is what everybody really needs.  That assurance where they don’t have to be so afraid. I can tell you whenever I go meet a family that has lost a child, I always come with my little chicken scratch notes I wrote once while listening to Rick Warren talk about how you can get through anything you’re going through.  To be clear, this advice by Pastor Warren came after the loss of his son to suicide, but I thoroughly believe it can be adapted for this fear-mongering situation we are all finding ourselves in right now. So here are the bullet points of what I say whenever I go make house visits to families who have also suddenly lost children:  

 

1. Accept what cannot be changed.
2. Remember it’s not the end of the story.
3. Take care of yourself.
4. Refocus on God thru worship.
5. Do something productive.
6. Keep on loving despite your pain.

 

Now keep in mind Rick Warren is discussing “loss” here, but I think you could easily adapt that to say “fear,”  When he speaks of loss he says it generally does one of three things to a person:  1) Does it destroy you? 2) Does it define you? Or 3) Does it develop you?  What if you substituted fear for loss?

 

I want you to ask yourselves those things.  You may decide tomorrow that you don’t have to live with man’s use of the word “fear” any more.  Maybe you will wake up with a bit more confidence in an all-powerful God that can calm any doubt or anxiety and replace them with peacefulness and rest.  Listen to these promises!

 

“I will never leave you and I will NEVER abandon you.” Hebrews 13:5

 

“We often suffer, but we’re never crushed.  Even when we don’t know what to do, we never give up.  In times of trouble, God is with us, and when we are knocked down, we get up again…. BECAUSE WE KNOW God raised the Lord back to life.  And just as he raised Jesus, he will also raise us back to life, and will bring us into his presence together.’’ 2 Corinthians 4:8-9,14

 

“So we don’t focus on the troubles we see right now; instead we look forward to what we don’t see yet.  For the troubles we see now are temporary, but the joys to come will last forever.”  2 Corinthians 4:18

 

So stay cautious.  To not would be dismissive and unintelligent.  I’m just urging you to let your confidence in a big God do the work for you.  Continue to do your social distancing and being mindful of healthy habits right now… but don’t forget that trust in Him goes a long, long way.  You will never regret it.

 

And, finally, I would like to take the time to dedicate this blog to Dalton’s dear buddy, Gavin Payne, for including my boy in your very special senior pictures this week.  It is hard to put into words what that meant.  I know how close you two always were. 

Thank you from the bottom of my heart, Jenny.

 

 

 

I, like so many of you, found myself heartbroken yesterday while watching the news about Kobe Bryant’s fatal helicopter crash.  It felt surreal when I first heard.  Then, as the day progressed, more horrendous information would surface as we learned eight others perished along with him, one being his 13 year old daughter.  13.  The second her age was reported I felt the trigger of my own past trauma.  I have found that is common with parents who have lost children.  When we hear of another child the same age as our own child that has died, it resonates a little deeper.  Later in the day, news outlets released the names of the other seven victims, of which two more turned out to be 13 year old girls.

We can debate all day about whether or not Kobe Bryant’s death should be as sensationalized as it is when you consider people die every day and their names go unspoken and their stories, unnoticed.  Where I see the point people are trying to make in that argument, you can’t dismiss the fact that Kobe was a professional athlete and his celebrity-status made him a household name on all parts of the globe.  He was a philanthropist who founded a charitable organization to help homeless youth in LA, was a 20 year veteran of the Make-A-Wish foundation, donated $5 million yuan to launch the Kobe Bryant China Fund, was a spokesperson for Aid Still Required for the war in Darfur, and more.  I would encourage you to look up his “off the court” accomplishments for yourself and then make up your mind on whether the world is justified or not in mourning him on this level.

Regardless, nine people walked out of their homes yesterday morning in California not knowing it was for the last time.  I flashback more times than I care to remember to Dalton walking out of our house for the very last time.  “I just came back to get some gloves for Tyler.”  I hear his voice and see his facial expressions in my mind as I recount it.  Then I wonder what those nine people’s last thoughts might have been as they left their own homes to catch their flight. My mind goes to Kobe’s wife.  I can’t help it.  She will never forget the last time she saw her husband or her daughter for the final time and neither will family members of the other victims.  Right now for some reason she is the one most on my mind.  Here is a woman who stood by her husband’s side through a very difficult time nearly two decades back.  Here is a woman who supported and loved a man through life’s challenges, building a life with him and their four children rooted in their Catholic faith. And here is a woman now making funeral preparations at a time she never expected it.  I wondered if her first night without them went anything like mine.  After falling asleep in sheer exhaustion that first night after Dalton died, I would wake up every couple hours and remember instantly that it wasn’t in fact a bad dream.  The hysteria would repeat itself followed by more broken sleep.  However, unlike me, there would be no spouse for her to cling to.

Death.  It can come like a thief in the night.  If this isn’t a call to tell someone in your life that you love them, I don’t know what is.  Luckily for us, we told each other that alot.  I thank God for that and all of the time we didn’t waste as a family.  The whole “life is so short” phrase sounds so cliché until it’s your life that is cut short and robbed of its length of days.  I am happy most of you do not know what it feels like to go on living without one of your children.  And, to you, you will never know the depth of this pain unless it too becomes your reality.   Make amends now.  Don’t waste precious time that you aren’t guaranteed anyway.  Set aside your pride and rectify whatever is wrong in your life.  You will never look back and say you wished you hadn’t forgiven a person who trespassed against you or loved a person who didn’t deserve your love.  We all fall short of God’s design for our lives in some way or another, but by His grace and mercy we are redeemed.  Let that be the model for how we treat others.

Nine people walked out of their homes for the last time yesterday morning.  But, God willing, nine people walked into paradise hours later.  Like you, I received the news about Kobe Bryant specifically and immediately thought of what the world lost.  It wasn’t until the evening hours that a new idea entered my mind.  Consider all of his fans that have already left this world and are experiencing eternal life right now – whether that be your parent, spouse, sibling, child, etc – now imagine, if you will, that triumphal entry into heaven yesterday.  Picture the rows upon rows of his faithful fans lining that procession into God’s dwelling place.  People standing there with glorious grins on their faces and hands outstretched to give him high five’s as he walks in bearing that million dollar Kobe Bryant smile with his daughter GiGi at his side.  I imagine it exceeded any pre-game experience ever held at Staples Center.  Then, somewhere towards the end of the line, I think of a brown-haired, cocky grinning 13 year old boy who high five’s The Mamba, goes in for a “bro hug,” then turns his attention to a curly-haired beauty, winks and says, “Hey, I’m DD.  Let me show you around.”

So here we are.  1,825 days later.  I didn’t think I would survive the first night without him, much less 1,824 more.  Memories have become slightly clouded, his voice harder to remember.  How I hate that part.  On nights it gets the hardest to remember, I listen to videos of him over and over and over.  And over.  Enunciating each word with him and impersonating his facial expressions, it makes him feel like he’s still here.  But they always leave me aching to hear him say something new, something I haven’t heard before.  Anything to pretend he isn’t gone.

Knowing this five year anniversary was approaching, I have been reflecting for a couple weeks over what all I have experienced in that time.  Grieving someone close to you wrecks havoc on your entire being.  It has affected me physically, emotionally, socially and spiritually.  I had days where I wouldn’t eat at all and days I would eat it all.  There were mornings I woke up and felt like I had finally figured out how to live again, only later that night to die a hundred deaths in my closet begging God to bring him back.  I lost friends and gained better ones.  And I got to know Jesus on a whole new level.

It’s been five years and still the sound of an ambulance going by gives me a degree of PTSD. I’ll never forget following the one Dalton was in. There were people that took forever to pull over for whatever reason. I remember thinking time was of the essence and I knew my child needed to be at the hospital fast. There is not an EMS vehicle that goes by today that I don’t say a prayer to God to heal whoever is in there. And may God bless the people who do that work. I sometimes wonder how often they have a case like Dalton – a person who most likely isn’t going to be resuscitated without some sort of miracle. Yet they do it anyway knowing they would want a first responder to do the same thing for them if it were their son, daughter, mother, father, brother or sister in the back of that vehicle.

One of the other things these last five years have taught me was a deeper sense of empathy for the people around me. Those of us that have suffered immeasurable loses like we have don’t necessarily stand out in a crowd. We can, but we don’t always. We put on our “going out” faces and have mastered the art of looking normal. I remember the very first time I went to Dillons after Dalton died and I couldn’t believe everyone around me acted like the world hadn’t recently shifted on its axis. Apparently “My 13 year old son just died” wasn’t actually written on my forehead. I felt hurt. Unnoticed. It has made me today look at everyone I see through a different lens. An empathy lens. Empathy for the widow, the person who has lost their elderly parent, the mother who miscarried her child, the parents of a son or daughter who has taken their own life, the sibling who is growing up with only memories of their brother or sister, as well as the children lost in childbirth or shortly thereafter. They all hurt, they just don’t always show it. I used to be one of those people who was satisfied with small talk with strangers. Now, when I sense a heartache, I ask. I’ve talked to parents who have told me it was the first time they have said the name of their child aloud in months.

I can tell you that this cup of suffering has been arduous, but it wasn’t for nothing.  Everyone experiences a drink from this cup.  My taste came on that cold November afternoon.  And this is what I have discovered it basically comes down to:  you can let it change you for good or for the worst.  You can let it make you bitter or you can allow it to make you better.  Don’t get me wrong, I did my time wallowing in self-pity and anguish in the beginning  But I didn’t stay there.  Going down those rabbit holes of asking “why me” didn’t get me far.  They just lead to more questions and more non-answers.  Eventually the “why me’s” turned to “why not me’s?”

That took some time, believe me.  But until I started trusting God with my life, I was hopeless.  I had to come to terms that He was in control and not me.  That’s tough for a girl who uses a by-the-hour daily agenda.  Setting the schedule and planning the activities had always been what I did.  November 15, 2014 changed that.  That is the day that has set the course for every single second of my life since. With that being said, the last five years have simply come down to me learning to trust God with every part of my life.  That includes suffering.  I must trust God’s promises when He says He wishes to bless my post-Dalton life.  I believe it possible that the greatest gifts I will receive in my life will have also entailed the greatest suffering.

Months went by after Dalton passed before I began to understand that God wasn’t telling me everything was going to be fine (like how you and I might define “fine”) and that He was going to bring Dalton back to me.  Not quite.  But what He was trying to tell me what that He loved me and He would still be with me.  In the Gospel of Matthew, Jesus gives us the Eight Beatitudes in the Sermon on the Mount and the second one reads “Blessed are they who mourn, for they will be comforted.”  And since I believe everything written in the bible is true, I cling on to that promise. I believe God will comfort the faithful who mourn.  He is fully aware of how hard Dalton’s absence has been on me and wants me to be comforted, to be blessed.  Perhaps that blessing is here on earth, or possibly that blessing is in heaven.  Regardless Jesus proclaimed that day on the Mount that people such as mourners, the meek, those hungry for righteousness, the merciful, and peacemakers will be blessed because theirs is the kingdom of God.

As I learned to put my absolute complete trust in the Lord, I discovered my faith had to be founded on the character of God Himself.  It can feel a bit contradictory when I think about how God loves me but he also allows terrible things to happen to me.  As much as I want to ask God, “Why?” I will simply leave it in His quite capable hands and say, “Okay, Lord.  I don’t understand this and I don’t like it.”  But I really only have two choices – He is either God or He’s not.  I am either held in His Everlasting Arms or I deny Him.  I don’t see that there is any middle ground.  So I trust who He claims to be and accept this cup that has been handed to me. Because it doesn’t matter what’s in that cup anymore – be it pain, sorrow, suffering, grief, along with great joy and happiness as well – I am willing to take it because I trust Him.

A couple of days ago, Dawsyn and I lay in her bed snuggling. I mentioned that Dalton used to watch tv and lay on the couch exactly where her bed is located today.  She looked pretty confused and asked how that was possible.  I told her it was a long time ago.  That’s when her eyebrows furrowed, her eyes narrowed as if she was trying to process the thought as best as she could, and as she tilted her little head, she asked inquisitively, “Where was me, mommy?”  It shouldn’t necessarily have, but that innocent question got me thinking about so much. Like at what age will she put two and two together and figure out that if Dalton hadn’t died, she would never be here?  And how will she process that information once she is old enough to understand?

I suppose it all goes back to this idea of the cup of suffering and its counterpart, blessing.  We will have to teach her in a sensitive manner about how we never, ever wanted her brother to die.  But since we can’t change that, we had to place our trust in God and remember that He is still in control.  And because of our unwavering faith in Him, He has blessed us with her. Which leads me to this thought I have everytime my mind tries to wrap itself around it all.  I often fantasize about what it will be like when I get to look Jesus in the eye and let Him hold me on my first day in eternity.  Just recently, though, another idea keeps invading my post-earthly life thought process.  Imagine that day that Dawsyn goes to heaven and looks into the eyes of the brother that died so she could live.  I hope Jesus gives them plenty of alone time for that first meeting because I have a feeling they are going to need it.  I picture Dalton grinning, patting her and saying thank you to his sister for saving the lives of his family after he left.  And I can see Dawsyn (hopefully a Dawsyn that has lived a long, fulfilled life) standing there overcome with emotions as she thanks him for being the catalyst that allowed God to work her into our lives as a blessing for our family after that fateful November day in 2014.

Ugo Bassi, a Roman Catholic priest from the early 1800’s, once said, “Measure your life by loss and not by gain, not by the wine drunk, but by the wine poured forth.  For love’s strength standeth in love’s sacrifice, and he that suffereth most hath most to give.”  I love you, Dalton, and I miss you.  I’m 1,825 days closer to seeing you.

It was a muggy morning in August of 2002 when Troy dropped Colton off at the old St. James Catholic School on State Street to start his first day of kindergarten.  It broke my heart not to be there, but I had my own kindergartners waiting to meet me, their teacher at St. Thomas Aquinas School in Wichita.  I had kissed him earlier that morning and promised him he would be just fine.  We had read a hundred books about school leading up to this big day and I assured him over and over that he would love his teacher and he would make lots of friends.  He still insisted that “school was for other kids, but not for him” and he hated the idea of “being somewhere for so many hours in the day.”  Side note:  I’m pretty certain we had that conversation every first day of school for the next twelve years.

This pint-sized woman named Donna Hoefgen would turn out to be Colton’s teacher.  Mrs. Hoefgen is the closest person to a saint I have likely ever met on this side of heaven.  She picked up on Colton’s shyness and insecurities immediately and showered him with the type of love and affection every parent dreams their child’s teacher would do for their own.  Mrs. Hoefgen had this intuition about her that let her know whenever Colton needed a “little extra loving” as she would call it.  If you asked Colton’s St. James classmates now, some might roll their eyes as it was not uncommon to see Colton curled up on Mrs. Hoefgen’s lap for storytime or his hand in hers walking down the hallway.

Enter into the picture a little blonde girl with tight pigtails and a missing front tooth.  Unlike Colton (our oldest), Carly was the third of three girls and a little more secure in herself.  She had already watched her two older sisters go off to school so kindergarten wasn’t quite as traumatic to her as Colton seemed to think it was.  That’s not to say she was outspoken because that wasn’t the case.  Carly simply exhibited a quiet confidence about herself.  If you ask her if she remembers Colton always sitting on Mrs. Hoefgen’s lap, she will laugh and say, “oh yeah – we all do.”  

Colton and Carly shared the same teachers for the next five years and then, finally, in 2007, they would both be in my classroom.  By that time I had moved to St. James and was teaching 5th grade.  It was interesting teaching my own son, but not bad.  I would say it was actually rather uneventful as Colton was always pretty quiet and respectful to me as his teacher.  Not lost on me, though, was the way Carly looked at him.  You see, Carly has been a nurturer for as long as I can remember and she always took care of Colton in the classroom.  Maybe she was just irritated with how he worked at a sloth’s pace.  Who knows?  By way of illustration, I would tell the students to get out a piece of paper for a spelling test and Carly would have this quiet, agitated look about her as she would watch Colton struggle for five minutes to find some paper in his desk to use.  And that generally was followed by watching him struggle to locate a pencil for another five.  By the second month of 5th grade, every time I announced we were about to take a spelling test, Carly would snatch two pieces of paper out of her notepad with lightning speed, write her name and date in the right corner of one page and Colton’s on the other.  She would number them both to ten.  After that she would smoothly slide Colton’s paper over to him on his desk (along with one of her pencils to borrow) as he would give her this shy look of gratitude, mixed with a little envy over how a human being could move so fast.

Fast forward to seventeen years after these two people met in kindergarten at their little catholic school in Augusta, KS and here we are days away from watching them vow before God, family, and friends that they are willing to love, protect, and cherish each other all the days of their lives.  Along with Carly’s parents, Troy and I can’t express how proud we are of them.   Colton and Carly are two of the most unselfish people I know.  About 3 ½ – 4 years ago, God brought two beautiful children into their lives, quite unexpectedly, and now they are only months away from officially adopting them.  Which means the four of them will be experiencing the concept of being an instant family from the get-go.  None of us could imagine it any other way though.  Kaemyn and Kalyssa may not share our DNA, but they are 100% our family.  We are the ones blessed to know them.

Speaking directly to you both, Colton and Carly, I don’t feel necessarily qualified to give you a mouthful of marital advice.  So I will try my best to keep this short.

1. Make God the head of your marriage and your family. A person or couple may experience “happy” times, but they will not fully know what true love is without God as the cornerstone.  And while we are on this topic, never stop going to church.  Don’t make excuses.  You just go.
2. Forgive each other when you make mistakes and then don’t forget to forgive yourself in the process.
3. Remember what is was that drew you to the other person when you first met.
4. Don’t lie.
5. Selflessness is one of the greatest attributes a married person can possess.  Once you are joined before God, it’s not all about you anymore.
6. Humor is imperative.  Did you know that by laughing you release endorphins, which can actually help ease pain?  I promise, it’s science.
7. Don’t stop communicating.  A marriage can plunge quickly as soon as the husband and wife stop talking to one another like they used to.
8. Even though we live in a culture today that seems to focus more on what is good for YOU and not what might be good for OTHERS, it’s still okay to stay together for the sake of your children (assuming there is no evidence of something like physical abuse).  And if you don’t believe me, do your own research on children with divorced parents.  I will not dwell on this point long, but let me say I’ve seen my share of marriages fail because one or both parties have changed their minds.  If at all possible, do the work to save your marriage in the seasons of trouble. Because you will have those.
9. Try this during a disagreement- when one of you suggests something that YOU KNOW is just outrageous or downright stupid, don’t speak for a full 5-10 seconds and pretend like it is the absolute best advice you have ever heard in your life before you respond.  I said pretend.  Chances are you will find that it isn’t quite as bad as you thought it was before you gave them the benefit of the doubt.  Trust me on this one because I have to practice this on Troy all of the time.  He says a plethora of dumb stuff every day of his life.
10. . Finally, I will tell you now that material things do not automatically equal happiness.  Happiness, to me, is looking at a $450 wedding ring that has rarely been taken off my finger in 23 years.  Troy has tried to upgrade it and even replace it more times than I can count. You know why no one is ever going to touch that little ¼ carat diamond ring of mine?  Because it reminds me of when times were simple.  I was 18 years old when I first put that ring on and it was the most beautiful piece of jewelry I had ever seen.  I felt so proud to wear it and what it represented.  Material things… stuff… they can certainly be nice, but they also have a danger in them.  When you start enjoying all the “stuff” more and “each other” less, it’s time to refocus and get back to the basics of being simply Colton and Carly.  Newlyweds.

Yeah so that was way longer than I thought it would be.  Sorry.  Truth be told, I primarily want to say enjoy these next couple days.  Try to enjoy as many little moments as you can before Saturday at 2:30pm rolls around.  You are about to come before God and marry your best friend.  Your pal since kindergarten.  I mean, come on, how many couples get to say they married their actual childhood sweetheart?  The person they have known since they were six years old?  This is truly an amazing thing and Troy and I could not have picked a better daughter-in-law than you, Carly Zoe.  You had our blessing many years ago.

And let’s not forget a certain someone else who may be watching this union take place here in a couple days.  Colton, the decision you made to honor Dalton as your best man had to be a challenging one.  You were each bound to be one other’s best man at both of your weddings, respectively.   You showed a lot of maturity by following through with that decision.  And I would be surprised if he didn’t show you some sort of a sign as if to say, “I’m here bud.  I never left you.”  Then perhaps followed by an, “Oh and how long do these things last?  Do you think they would let me have a snack up here?”