In the children’s book, “Do Kangaroos Wear Seatbelts” by Jane Kurtz, a little boy asks his mother a series of questions about different things she would do to keep him safe. If he were a baby kangaroo, he asks his mother if she would make him wear a seatbelt. Should he be a baby hippo, he wonders if his mom would hold his arm and guide him to the pool. The little boy even inquires if his mother would make him wear a helmet in case he took a tumble as a baby monkey. No matter the situation, the mother has a reassuring response about what she would do to make sure no harm ever came to him.

I loved that book. In elementary school, Dalton was able to meet the author when she was a guest speaker at Ewalt. The students from St. James had walked over there to hear her talk about what led to her career of being a writer of children’s books. Jane had been born in Oregon, but spent much of her childhood in Ethiopia climbing mountains, playing in waterfalls, and doing all sorts of outdoor activities. Jane’s family left Ethiopia in the 70’s, but the love of where she grew up stayed with her even after her college years. Now she travels the U.S. speaking to kids at schools about her experiences, often bringing items from Ethiopia for the children to touch, smell, and taste. That day she spoke to the students from Ewalt and St. James, Dalton was surprisingly engaged. He was always a kid of little words whenever I would pick him up from school, aside from “I beat everyone in Knock-Out today,” or “I need a cheeseburger and then take me to Papa’s.” Except that day. He told me several things he remembered Jane saying about her childhood and the fun things she would do. I think he liked relating to the fact that they were both very “outdoorsy” and enjoyed adventure. He pulled her book, “Do Kangaroos Wear Seatbelts” out and opened to the title page. “Look, mom. She wrote me a note. It says For Dalton – play! And then she autographed it.”

“For Dalton – play!” He loved that for some reason. I guess because that’s just what Dalton did. Sometimes a bit too much and in the wrong circumstances, but boy did he love to play. But, now when I look at that book, I feel like I somehow failed the role of the mother who is supposed to keep her baby boy safe. At the end of the book, the mother tells her son “And you, my son, as you climb and spin, as you wobble and balance and wiggle and swim… you’ll know I’m there to hold and hug, to keep you warm and safe and snug.” Those words radiate true for many of us parents. We all want to keep our kids safe from harm. It’s our role. I still struggle (3 years later) about what more could have been done that November day. Mistakes were certainly made on our parts. Instead of allowing Dalton to have his “fun,” we should have been yanking him out of that ranger for driving recklessly. I will beat myself up over that forever. But, more importantly than that, I wished we had taught him more thoroughly how to drive the ranger safely. We knew Colton and Keely were pretty good at driving the ranger, and somehow we overlooked teaching Dalton all the proper procedures for driving one. And, with Dalton being the most careless and wild of all three kids, we should have known way better.

Mistakes are made all the time. You learn from them. I have decided that we will do as much preventative care as possible to keep Dawsyn safe from harm. You can’t put them in a bubble, but you can sure teach them skills to use in dangerous situations. That is why we made the decision to put Dawsyn in ISR lessons at the Wichita Swim Club with Miss Emily. She started when she was a little over 10 months old. Oh man, did she have some lungs! I’m not sure how the students at The Independent School didn’t hear her. She was really ticked about learning to float. Though it was kind of hard to watch as her mother, I saw a much bigger picture in my mind. I saw a little girl who lives at a home where she has easy access to a swimming pool, hot tub, 4 ponds and a creek. I am the momma who is taking no chances. After 6.5 weeks, little Dawsyn took her summer clothes and winter clothes tests and rocked them both. I mean, she’s very good. In the spring, Miss Emily and her will work on the next level of ISR – which is learning to alternate floating  and swimming to find safety. Does this program guarantee 100% that your child will not drown after learning ISR? Of course not. But I’m committed to helping her learn the skills that very well may save her own life one day. Everyone knows accidents happen. Too many of us bereaved parents know that lesson a little too intimately.

So you had to figure this blog would come full circle eventually lol. And it has. I read “Do Kangaroos Wear Seatbelts?” to Dawsyn about 2-3 weeks ago and she loved it. Of course, anything with animals thrills her. Then I told her that it was DD’s book and I showed her his name written on the title page. Dawsyn knows exactly who Dalton is and we keep a picture of him on her bookshelf in her playroom. She started pointing at the picture and wanted to hold it all of a sudden. I handed it to her. She took my hand and guided me over to the carpet where she sat down with the picture. We propped DD’s picture up on the carpet so she could see him. But, apparently, that wasn’t good enough. Dawsyn grabbed the kangaroo book, plus a stack of others, and set them on the ground beside her. Next, I watched an 11 month old baby “pretend” to read to her older brother.

What a bittersweet sight.

 

 

 

29 months. He’s been gone 29 months now. Nearly 2 ½ years. The thought puts a lump in the back of my throat that feels like it’s never going to leave. To add salt to the gaping wound, my memories are becoming clouded. Without pictures, it is getting harder to remember every detail. I couldn’t recall the other day if his freckle was on the right or the left side of his face. Just typing that makes me sick.

Lately, I have felt the heartache of being torn in between the past and the present. To hold on to the past means that Dalton would still be here and nothing would have changed. I would be asking Traci Payne for the fifth time what the name of that soap was that you scrub the red dirt out of his baseball pants was called. Teachers from Collegiate would be emailing me that Dalton needed to stay after school to catch up on overdue assignments. Piles of junk food trash would be stuffed in my couch cushions. I would single-handedly be making a poster for him to ask a date to prom because 1) he had no artistic ability whatsoever, and 2) it would require effort.

Then I look down at the little girl in my arms and realize she would not be here. There would be no morning giggles, no middle of the night rocking in my arms, and no little pink bows. I consider all of this and my heart hurts. Over the past 5 ½ months, Dawsyn has fit right into our lives perfectly. It’s as if she has always been here. Yet, it’s obvious she wouldn’t be if November 15, 2014 had been different. Hence, I feel trapped between what shouldn’t have happened and what did happen.

I don’t know how to rationalize the two thoughts. Maybe I’m not supposed to know on this side of Heaven. I suppose I will understand in time. There has to be a reason why. Today being Holy Saturday feels like a fitting time to express my feelings of abandonment. In those first few months after Dalton died, I prayed and prayed to God to return Dalton, but it felt like He didn’t hear me. Like He had left me. Much like the disciples must have felt the day after the crucifixion of Christ. Can you imagine their questions? Their doubts? Did they feel like Jesus had turned His back on them? Where had He gone?

Soon those disciples would discover that they were not waiting in vain. Their heartache was about to turn into the biggest victory in all of mankind. Their friend, their teacher, and their leader had returned. The stone guarding the tomb was rolled away and Jesus was no longer there. He had risen. Eventually, Jesus would appear to the 11 disciples and calm all their fears. He had conquered death by taking all the sins of the world upon Himself and nailing them with him on a Roman cross. He paid the price that none of us ever could. And He did it out of love. Love kept Jesus up on that cross for you and me. The disciples finally understood.

I no longer have any feelings of abandonment. Of course, I have questions for God. But I do not believe God ever turned His back on me in my most difficult moments. I do believe He was forming my character for the future – molding me into a stronger, more faith-filled woman and mother.

As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good in order to bring about this present result, to preserve many people alive – Genesis 50:20 NASB

These two pictures below demonstrate exactly what God can do in your life. The first one shows Keely holding her new baby sister, Dawsyn, just minutes after she was born. Keely’s face and body language exemplifies exactly how hard it was to let go of the past – the safety of the only family she has ever known. Opening her heart to our “new normal” (the present) was going to take time.

 

The second picture is of a big sister who can’t get enough of her little sister. Keely makes baby D laugh like crazy and beg for more with her twinkling eyes. Watching the bond grow between these two has been too beautiful to try to explain. There aren’t quite words to describe it. As a side note, it is important to point out that Colton has been Dawsyn’s #1 fan from day 1. He sings to her, bounces her, and takes her on walks whenever he can. As you can expect, she is pretty smitten with her older brother.

Tomorrow is the most important holiday in church history. Easter is about the resurrection of Christ. He comes back and appears to many people before completing His earthly ministry and returning to His Father in Heaven. As for me, all I have to do is stay faithful during MY “waiting” period and trust that God will work all of this for good in my life. Until then, the feelings of being torn in between the past and the present may subside some, but probably not completely. One day, I will get to ask questions about why things turned out the way they did.  Faithfully believing that God will explain it all, I’m ok with waiting.

Happy Easter.  Go hug your kids.

“Don’t make eye contact,” they say. “If you look her in the eye, she is going to be less likely to fall back asleep.” Those are the tips baby sleep experts give new parents for the middle of the night feedings. I would know since I read NINE books on teaching a baby to sleep through the night prior to Dawsyn’s birth. While I have used several bits of advice  from these “so called experts,” refusing to look my daughter in the eye at 2:30am as I’m nursing her isn’t going to happen. It is hard to describe what it feels like for a mother to gaze into her baby’s eyes as the baby nurses unless you have experienced it yourself. You see directly into their soul it seems. You can see the trust, the gratification, the love. I remember seeing those same looks from the other kids as they nursed as well. But, oh, how we take them for granted when it stops. It took having my child’s eyes close for the last time before I really understood the sanctity of human eye contact. Ironically enough, Dawsyn resembles Dalton so much as a baby, that I often get lost in exactly whose eyes I am looking at. It’s a blessing and a curse.

Dawsyn’s birth was close to picture perfect. She arrived in the middle of the night, one day before my 40^th birthday. We chose not to have any friends be present. Instead, family only gathered in the tiny delivery room at Wesley Hospital. Troy, Colton, Keely, and Carly were present the entire time. I’m sure they got to see way more than they ever bargained for that mild, foggy night. The first thing I noticed about my newest daughter was that she was tiny. I have had two nearly 9 lb. babies and one 10 lb. baby, so weighing in at 7 lbs 8 oz sort of threw me for a loop. She was also very quiet. Dr. Zielke chuckled as he pleaded with her to make some noise to help boost her Apgar score. It never happened. (FYI – she was saving it for home). The next person to hold Dawsyn after her birth was her sister, Keely. Troy did that on purpose thinking it might help precipitate a bond between the two. It did not happen. Overcome with emotion, Keely quickly wanted someone else to hold her. That’s fine, we thought. Let’s not pressure her right away. After Keely, the others took their turns holding the newest Palmer. Since that day, Keely has held Dawsyn twice. Both were very, very difficult times for her. She wants her brother back. And I get that. However, it will not stop me from praying for a conversion of her heart in the meantime.

I can’t put my finger on it, but for whatever reason, post-partum depression decided to side-step me this go around. Is it because she is a good baby? Maybe. Is it because I have more help? That can’t hurt. Or, is it because when I look at her, I see joy? I see hope. I am guessing that is the answer. Day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, this little baby is healing me. And it is not just me. I very aware of the healing she is providing to her brother and his girlfriend, to her father, to her aunts and uncles, and to her grandparents. It is in everyone’s eyes when they hold her and look into hers. They are wise eyes. Eyes that hold your attention and tell stories of their own. Dalton’s eyes used to do that. I miss surveying them and always will. Over and over, I have fantasized about what his eyes saw after they closed here on earth for the last time and opened in Heaven for the first time. I long to experience that myself.

As far as practicing all those little tricks of teaching my baby to sleep through the night, I’ll skip the step about not making eye contact. If it costs me an extra half hour of rocking and cradling Dawsyn, I’ll gladly accept that. No amount of time spent with my children will ever go wasted again. Life is too fleeting. We are here today and gone tomorrow. James 4:14 says, “Yet you do not know what your life will be like tomorrow. You are just a vapor that appears for a little while and then vanishes away.” It is a wonderful verse to help us remember we were not made for this world. We were made for eternity. It is important we live our lives with an eternal perspective. That has probably been the biggest change I have seen in our family –understanding that none of us are going to live forever on this earth. That something far greater is waiting for us beyond this earthly life.  And we look forward to it.

 

39.5 weeks pregnant and we are still cooking. I’m not really surprised. Keely and DD each overcooked by four days. I won’t be shocked if our baby girl hasn’t made her appearance by the 28^th. 40 weeks ending on or about my 40^th birthday. Crazy. What is even crazier is when strangers ask me if this is my first baby. I look them over good before I decide whether or not I want to share that my oldest is 20. My reply is often met with people making a face that reminds me of the big-eyed emoji, followed by a “God bless you.”

All in all, the pregnancy has been amazing. I can’t complain about much. Yes, I’m huge. Yes, my hands are so swollen I’m having difficulty typing this. And, yes, I average about 8-10 bathroom trips during the night right now. But that is about it. I feel very, very good and trust the OB care I am under. Every week, Dr. Zielke does a series of testing to make sure baby girl is healthy and strong. I love seeing her practice breathing on the ultrasound. Her little mouth opens and closes as she takes in the amniotic fluid, often followed by a bout of the hiccups. However, nothing brings a smile quicker to my face than watching her heart beat. I dream about putting my hand on her chest and feeling it beat for myself. It always takes me back to pressing on Dalton’s chest while he laid so still in the hospital, begging God to make his heart start again.

Our lives have been very busy lately. I think it has honestly helped to pass the time. Colton works full-time at Global Parts, takes online classes at WATC, and often (with Carly) babysits two precious babies for a friend on the weekends. Keely is enrolled full-time at WSU while cheering, spends countless hours working on drawings for her art classes, photographs individuals, couples and families in her free time, then volunteers on Fridays at St. James helping the kids grow closer to God in children’s adoration. I couldn’t be more proud of both of my children. This is also a hectic time of year for the aircraft industry with the National Business Aviation Association convention starting November 1^st. Troy is supposed to fly down to Florida to attend that event on October 31^st. Obviously, I feel a little pressure to deliver before then lol… as if I have much of a say in that area.

I will admit that I pray our baby girl comes before November. That month haunts me. It is the month I lost my boy and I dread its name even popping up on the calendar. The fact that the 2^nd anniversary of Dalton’s accident is almost here gives me horrible anxiety. Coupling that anniversary with the fear of post-partum depression emerging after the baby’s birth is enough to make me want to run and hide. Maybe it will be different this time. Maybe PPD won’t rear its ugly head after all. All I know is that if any new mom has battled it before, they know exactly what I’m talking about. We can look happy in public and want to crawl in a ball in private. The idea of an anniversary of losing a child coming only 2 weeks after I give birth to another child gives me a formidable feeling that I keep trying to push out of my mind.

As I have done for the past two years, I will not lose my trust in God. He remains in me through it all… the good times and the bad. I would not be here if it weren’t for His unending love for me. How can I not seek him over the next several days and weeks? As our family prepares for the huge change we are about to undergo in the near future, we will call on Him and let Him direct our paths. God has worked to heal us in our brokenness so far, and I am confident He will continue to do so after I give birth to this sweet baby and face the reality of another year come and gone without my third child here with me. Though it doesn’t feel like it gets any easier, I believe we find comfort in our faith along the way. With that being said, I still long for it all to be well with my soul completely. Maybe that is asking the impossible for a mother. Maybe I’ll never get there 100%. Maybe that is the cost of loving someone so deeply. As Saint Paul would say, “Keep running the race.” I can do that.

“It Is Well” by Bethel Music (One of my very favorite songs)

 Grander earth has quaked before

Moved by the sound of His voice

Seas that are shaken and stirred

Can be calmed and broken for my regard

Chorus

And through it all, through it all

My eyes are on You

And through it all, through it all

It is well

And through it all, through it all

My eyes are on You

It is well with me.

Verse 2

Far be it from me to not believe

Even when my eyes can’t see

And this mountain that’s in front of me

Will be thrown into the midst of the sea

Repeat Chorus

So let go my soul and trust in Him

The waves and wind still know His name

It is well with my soul (x5)

Through it all, through it all

My eyes are on You

Through it all, through it all

It is well with me.

 

 

 

Yesterday felt a little surreal as Colton began his 2^nd year at Wichita Area Technical College and Keely started her first day as a freshman at Wichita State University. While I am excited for both of them, it still doesn’t feel quite right not to be making a sack lunch for DD and reminding him to stay out of trouble. If Dalton were here, his first day as a sophomore at Collegiate wouldn’t be for a little while longer. Yet the new school year jitters were in full effect. I wonder how many more Augusts I will feel like this.

The home stretch of my pregnancy is upon us. We have nine weeks until our baby girl will be here. I spent the last couple months feeling excited. Now I sense my emotions turning more towards nervousness as we near the end. She is really coming. Fifteen years after doing it for what I thought was the last time, here I am about to start over. At forty years old. I wonder if the delivery will be like the others. I fantasize if she will have Dalton and Keely’s eyes or Colton’s curls. What scares me the most is what I fought after each of my children’s births. Horrible post-partum depression. Couple post-partum depression with a person who has already lost a child and it sounds like a recipe for disaster. A perfect storm of sorts. I never understood how depression can attack a person like myself who has a naturally happy disposition, but I guess it doesn’t play fair. Anyone can be a victim to it at any time. Throw in pregnancy hormones and depression seems to soar to a whole different dimension.

I know I haven’t blogged for a couple months. Things always seem so much busier in the summer. Although, lately, I have found I’m trying to settle down more. For me that basically means more reading, walking, napping (better enjoy that now I know) and less TV watching and social media scrolling. I am sick of the election already. I feel like I did my part and bought a few “Hillary for Prison 2016” signs from Amazon and stuck them out by the highway. Now I’m done. The media is so biased I can barely stomach my newsfeed on Facebook. Speaking of the media, a few recent news stories have completely turned my stomach. Yesterday I noticed about three or four news outlets report on the “new details” that have emerged regarding the little boy in Florida who died from an alligator attack. Apparently these news stations feel like it is our business to now know that the little boy was bit in the head by the alligator as he was taken underwater. Immediately in my mind, I equated that piece of information with how it would have been none of the public’s business to know the details of my own son’s death. What I would have felt if the information detailing how fractured Dalton’s skull was after his accident had been made public months after the fact. Or take the little boy who died on the waterslide in Kansas City. I tortured myself by reading thread after thread from “keyboard warriors” who argued back and forth with complete strangers over how they interpreted the term “decapitation” to mean. People probably hundreds of miles away from one another spoke of their “credentials and personal knowledge of decapitation” and offered what they felt was the most likely way the 10 year old boy had his head severed while riding the world’s tallest water slide. Meanwhile, they are totally oblivious to a family left to grieve over a loss they couldn’t ever imagine unless experiencing the horror personally.

I actually don’t believe most people even realize what they are saying and doing that feels so insensitive to those of us who have walked this journey of losing a child. If you only get one thing from reading my blogs, I would hope it would be to raise awareness to what you say and how you say it. Don’t think I’m all caught up in political correctness, because I assure you I am not. No one should walk on eggshells around us. Yet you can be cautious in tongue. Last Friday is a good example. I called the business Frontgate to order my Ridgebacks a couple of ridiculously large, plush dog beds. After several minutes of chit-chat with the sales associate, she started telling me about the dog she had to put down last year. I guess her dog was her everything. Went with her everywhere. At 11 years old, she had to put her precious dog down. Describing it to me, she went on to say that “putting down her dog was just like losing a child.” Little did she know she was talking to someone who had actually lost a child. I politely finished up my order with her and hung up the phone. I didn’t feel sad. I felt pissed. I felt pissed that a person can equate losing an animal with losing a human being. Maybe I once said something like that before Dalton died… I don’t know. And let me preface what I’m about to say with first sharing that there is no dog owner in this world more in love with her dogs than me. I literally have 3 shadows with me everywhere I go, inside and outside of my home. However, never ever fool yourself into thinking that their life is equal to the life of a child. No animal’s life is. And, yes, that includes Harambe and the safari animals America is so obsessed to protect when a hunter legally shoots and kills them. Please, please think of this blog the next time you feel the urge to share that losing your pet is just like losing a child. It most certainly is not.

Enough negativity. I don’t write these to share pessimism with you all. In fact, I write because I want to offer the message of hope. There certainly is hope after tragedy. And we are nine weeks away from having our little miracle of hope arrive. She will not replace what we have lost in any way. Nobody could ever do that. Instead, she will bring light into darkness. Hope to the hopeless. And good out of evil. We have picked out her name. Originally, when we “assumed” God would give us another son, we were set on the name Dawson. It means “son of David.” After learning we were having a baby girl, we couldn’t stop thinking of our boy name. Adapting the name to be more feminine, we settled on Dawsyn. She can be a “daughter of David.” Struggling for months on a middle name, Troy chose one recently. I was sick of giving him suggestions, so I was up for about anything. Out of the blue one day, he sent me an email. The subject line said one word. Faith. I opened it and read what he had to say. He was sitting at work and suddenly realized that her middle name had to be Faith. It was faith that had led us to this point. Our trust in God’s plan for us had never wavered since Dalton’s accident. Our faith was rewarded the day we found out we were about to be parents for the fourth time. We are proud to announce that Dawsyn Faith will be here very, very soon.

 

 

“And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who are called according to His purpose.” (Romans 8:28)

 

“I will not cause pain without allowing something new to be born.” (Isaiah 66:9)

 You read that right. We are expecting. And, yes, it even seems a little crazy to us too. Like no child ever conceived, this was not an accident. Along with God, we planned her life. Troy and I feel over the moon to be chosen to be her parents. Due on my birthday, our little girl’s anticipated arrival is October 28, 2016.

About six months after Dalton’s accident, I felt truly inspired by God to consider the idea of having another baby. It took some time to discern whether it was the Holy Spirit talking to me or my own selfish desire. I prayed for days before ever bringing it up to Troy. His reaction was mixed with apprehension and amusement. I think he thought I was crazy. Our kids were nearly grown. One is in college and one is about to begin college this fall.

I can’t say exactly what made us decide to take this particular leap of faith. One thing is certain – neither one of us was ready to be done being a parent to a smaller child. Other than losing our youngest child, nothing was lacking in any way with our living children. Colton and Keely were sufficient in every sense of the word. And replacing Dalton was never in the discussion.

We brought the subject up to the kids. Colton thought it was a little wild, but being the ever so compliant young man he is, he supported whatever we wanted to do. Baby fever picked up steam pretty quickly with Colton and his girlfriend, Carly, and we were quite pleased. Keely was another story. Still struggling daily with the loss of her little brother, the idea of a “replacement child” in her mind wasn’t setting well. I would be lying if I said her adamant reluctance to accept any new possible sibling didn’t hurt me. I had never thought of a new baby as being a replacement to Dalton. Just the thought of that seemed absurd, knowing no human being would ever take the place of DD. That ornery little boy was one of a kind. I’m confident there is no one like him, nor will there ever be.

Moving forward, it took us about eight months to be successful. I received the news back in February that we were pregnant. There were many emotions that day. Part of me wanted Dalton to be the last baby to be in my womb. Even though we planned this new baby, the reality of a positive blood test still rattled me. I was thrilled and shocked and scared at the same time. Immediately I knew I wanted a boy. I wanted the baseball games and dirty socks on my floor. However, my dreams spoke otherwise. Night after night, I dreamt about holding something in a pink blanket. Dismissing them, I prayed for a boy.

Dr. Zielke asked me if I wanted to take a blood test at the ten week mark to screen for abnormalities. Knowing it wouldn’t matter even if the baby wasn’t genetically “perfect,” I agreed. He informed me that the test would also reveal the gender with a 99% accuracy. Whoa. I remember having to wait until the 18^th week or so to find that out with the other three kids. Five days after taking the test, a nurse called me to tell me that no abnormalities showed up in the results. Then she asked me if I wanted to know the gender of the baby. Imagining army guys and sunflower seeds scattered across my kitchen floor, I listened as she told me I was having a little girl.

God had been trying to tell me she was a girl for weeks. I hadn’t been listening. And of course she was. This was all part of His plan. A girl would less likely be compared to DD. She can be her own person and not feel like she is living up to anyone’s expectations. This little girl can grow to be who she was meant to be from the start. It is true that without Dalton’s passing, we probably would never have gone down this path. We are also well aware that without the Lord’s blessing, we wouldn’t be making this announcement. His hands are in everything. It is up to us to put our trust in His design for our lives. As in our case, sometimes it feels like He isn’t listening or isn’t present. It takes a spiritual maturity to understand how big our God is. He can make something out of nothing. Our pink little miracle is evidence of that. She is here because we believed.

Using the money that was set aside for Dalton’s college fund, we bought his headstone. We only drug our feet on this decision for seventeen months. Knowing that her father and I couldn’t bring ourselves to pick it out, Keely took charge. Making it her senior project, our courageous daughter designed the entire thing. She worked alongside two wonderful people at SI Memorials in Wichita for months creating the perfect piece of art to represent her little brother. Would I have had that kind of courage at 17 to do such a thing for my brother or sister? I doubted it.

Approaching SI Memorials, I paused. Looking over my shoulder, Wesley Hospital towered over all the other buildings from across the street. How ironic. I was about to pay for the headstone of a boy I gave birth to only a couple hundred feet away from there. Close to fifteen years earlier, I had whined to Dr. Zielke about the new birthing suites not being finished in time for me to deliver there. Now enough time has passed that they are being remodeled. Forcing myself not to get back in my car, I took a deep breath and walked in.

A kind man named Luke greeted me and sat me down at his desk. Respectfully, he went through all the details of Dalton’s headstone with me one more time. Knowing that space was going to be an issue at the gravesite to accommodate mine, Troy’s and Dalton’s plots, Keely chose a design where our three headstones would be set upon one base. I will be on the left, Dalton in the middle, and Troy on the right. Just like we slept for the first 8 or 9 years of DD’s life. Before the accident, I would have been VERY creeped out by seeing my own name on a headstone while I was still alive. While it still doesn’t feel quite natural, now it doesn’t bother me a bit. After all, isn’t the cemetery more of a way to remember the lives of people passed? I don’t actually PLAN on being there. The day they bury my physical body in the ground, my spiritual body will be in heaven squeezing a 13 year old boy.

Luke explained that because of the complexity of the design, it would take close to nine months to complete the headstone. The granite has to be imported and the marble statue must be created from scratch. Keely’s design turned out to be quite impressive. She had been so willing to learn the art of headstone design and put her own creative skills to work. Because of that, Troy and I did not want to change any part of her original creation. It was made out of the love she felt for her brother. Something that will remain hopefully for a long time to commemorate the life of a person gone too soon. Her signature will be etched on the back to give her the credit she deserves. I wrote the check, thanked Luke for taking time to be a mentor to my daughter, and left.

Expecting to fall apart in my car, I was taken back by my own sense of peace. It was done. The thing I dreaded the most was finally done. My daughter had taken the sting out of the project for her dad and me. I wondered how heavy of a weight it put on her during the design process. Was it emotional for her or did it seem more like an assignment? Regardless, I no longer have to dread the headstone topic. Soon I’ll be visiting my son’s grave and marveling at what an unselfish act it was for his sister to create such a beautiful piece of art. Maybe the pain will diminish some after the headstone is in place. Or maybe it will be worse. I suppose time will tell. That is grief for you. It is relentless, torturous sorrow sandwiched between moments of joy.

We are three weeks away from our daughter’s high school graduation. Troy and I can’t be more proud of the young lady she has become. Enduring a difficult time like losing a brother can wreak havoc on a teenager’s life. I can’t say enough how much I appreciate the friends that have supported her and stayed by her side through all the good times and bad. A walk in her shoes is probably nothing her former friends would ever care to do. But, maybe one day things will change. Keely Cheri Palmer, we are so proud of you and love you unconditionally. Your dad and I are very excited that you have decided to enter the graphic design department at Wichita State University. It is the perfect fit for our baby girl.

 

 

 

To Catholics, celebrating the Easter Triduum is probably the most important part of the liturgical calendar. Once upon a time it was part of Lent, but ever since 1956 the Triduum has been regarded as its own liturgical season. Formed from the Latin prefix tri – (meaning “three”) and the Latin word dies – (“day”), a triduum was originally any prayer recited over the course of three days. It begins with the Mass of the Lord’s Supper on the evening of Holy Thursday and continues until the evening prayer on Easter Sunday.

I listened to an extraordinary sermon recently about those three days of Jesus’ life and how we experience them in our own lives over and over again. Sometimes those three days will be more excruciating than others, as in our case. Burying a child most likely tops all lists of “hard days.” The point, this pastor was stressing, was that often we can’t do anything to stop the days from coming. If you haven’t experienced the Friday’s, Saturday’s, and Sunday’s of real life, don’t get too comfortable. Because they are coming. The key is following the model of Jesus Christ when they hit. I did not expect mine when it happened in November of 2014. Without any special training in this model, I had to figure out my own answers to the following questions: “What do I do in my days of pain?” “How do I get through my days of doubt and confusion?” “How do I get to my days of victory?”

Good Friday is a day where we recall the crucifixion of Jesus. It was a day of pain, suffering, and agony. Jesus endured extreme physical and emotional pain. My own Good Friday was the day my son died in an ATV accident. While I did not suffer any injuries of my own, the emotional pain made it very physical. If only the shock of the news could have lasted longer. If only it could have kept me feeling numb. It didn’t and the feelings of brokenness and heartbreak felt like I was suffering my own death. I can imagine how Mary and the disciples felt at the foot of that Roman cross, unable to change what was inevitable. Their son and friend was gone.

Holy Saturday is the day we reflect on the burial of Christ. It was a time of loss, grief, confusion, and misery. For me, Saturday lasted the longest. Maybe I’m still partially in Saturday. Often I seem to tiptoe between Saturday and Sunday, unsure of how exactly I feel. When you don’t know what to do and you don’t know where to turn, you are in the Saturdays of life. During my 16 month Saturday, I wondered a litany of things. Why did it happen? What if I could have prevented it? My life was perfect… what do I do now? My guess is the disciples had to have pondered similar thoughts. Their messiah was gone. He had said he would return, but what did that mean really? Was he who he said he was? Had they been duped? I hated that I doubted that Dalton was in heaven at first. I was so disillusioned with grief, I couldn’t help wondering. I craved the reassurance that he was. Very slowly, the affirmation would come. While on my knees weeping at the accident site many months into my Saturday, I offered my trust to God, telling Him that I wanted His will to be done, not mine.

I am on the verge of my own Easter Sunday (figuratively as well as literally). During the time of Jesus Christ, Easter Sunday was the day Jesus kept a very important promise. He resurrected himself from the dead. It was a time of joy, celebration, victory, and hope. Death was not the end of his story. Much more was to come. Can you fathom the faces of the people who saw the Risen Jesus after watching him be crucified with their very own eyes? Though I have not touched Dalton’s face with my own fingers since he has left us, I trust that I will. I have no reason to think I won’t. Jesus made 7000+ promises in his life. Is he not capable of keeping them? Can you trust a man who foreshadows his own death, assures his followers that he will see them again, and then does exactly that? I believe you can.

Inevitably, you will one day experience your own Friday, Saturday, and Sunday. You may even get several. Nobody gets through life without any hardships, disappointments, and suffering. The Good News is God specializes in turning hurt into joy. He gave us His own son as a model for it.

“I am the resurrection and the life; he who believed in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?” (John 11:25-26)

Happy Easter, DD. We wish you were here to watch you do your cut-throat Easter egg hunting. It’s just not the same without seeing you push aside your four year old cousin, Brooke, to take the Easter egg her heart was set on.