Our Finale Turned Four: The End of an Era

Benjamin started it off. Even at five years old, his heart is tender for his siblings and their grief.  He woke up yesterday morning, and he began to cry. "I don't want the baby to grow up, Mommy." It was so sweet, but also very sad.  That's how we all feel. This is the last Wheeler Baby. The Finale. Up until today, I had never had a four year old without another toddler in tow.  This is an end of an era, and I had no idea it was coming.  Many people were taken aback when they learned how many children we were parenting, but they soon fell in love with them all and understood the gift. 

These kids are so easy to love.  It's  painful to know that there is an ache that I cannot soothe for them. They miss and need their Dad.  Watching them grow, mature and develop without Patrick here feels...I can't quite explain it. What was meant to be the gift of a full quiver, now feels like a giant, heavy cross to bear. How can I keep them healed, whole, and happy by myself? This feels more like a punishment than  a privilege. 

I would cry a billion tears for Patrick, and that seems like it would be easier than trying to solo parent in his shadow.  I love these children. He loved these children. They are indeed the very best of Patrick and I.  But today a chapter ended, and I have no idea what the next one holds. Our last baby. The last of me and Patrick has turned four.  The finale is four. 

Trash Bags

 The whirlwind surrounding  the week that we lost Patrick continues to pop up in my head in fragments.  Like the worst highlight reel; without warning. But when I think back on it, I was like a zombie-robot. Just going. Operating on adrenaline and disbelief. I remember my family scurrying around trying to stock me up with things, but the look of shock and sadness in their eyes I can never forget.   At one point, as I was preparing the kids for an activity, I looked over and my best friend was doubled over.  She had been trying so  hard to be strong for me, but I think it hit her. I didn't even shed a tear, I just asked "you alright?" and kept moving.  I was numb and in manager mode.  

After everyone had left to go home and return to their normal lives, I was grateful to be stocked with all of the things.  About six months later, I pulled out the last of the trash bags and it hit me. I was out of trash bags. I had no more cushion. I had to go back to getting things on my own. Patrick was really not here.  And although one would think that my overflowing tears would be in sadness in response to that devastating realization, the tears were those of gratitude.

Someone loved me enough, to make sure I didn't run out of trash bags. TRASH bags. It wasn't anything fancy or super expensive, it was just the thought that someone looked ahead and knew I may not be in a headspace to remember to buy them.  Someone wanted to make this awfully hard life a little  easier for me. I felt loved and seen during the worst time in my life.  I will never forget that.

"How's Therapy Going?"

    I snapped this picture below of Benjamin today at our family therapy session.  The counseling office was so comfy that both my babies went to sleep right there on the sofa. My four and two-year-old had been up in the wee hours of the morning; they couldn't sleep.  They were triggered and afraid.  So that meant Momma didn't get much sleep either.  We used to share a room with Pat, and they can feel the gaping space. Although it’s been 17 months since we lost him, they still just want their daddy back. They want their world whole again. 

    About a week ago, I posted a video on Instagram that went viral. Before this, I thought that viral meant about 10k views. This particular video, that was uploaded from my ring camera, now has over 426,000 views! I started not to post it, because it was jarring to even me when I watched it back. It was one of my most unguarded, vulnerable moments of grief.  But it blessed many.  The messages of solidary and empathy poured in by he thousands.  But several people asked, "are you in counseling?"

 

    In May of 2020, Patrick and I were looking forward to walking across the stage of Luther Rice College & Seminary to receive our well-earned master's degrees in biblical counseling.  But the pandemic had other plans, so the ceremony was cancelled. But we still had a socially distanced celebration in our caps and gowns.  Yet another crazy milestone in the adventures of Pat N' Keisha.  Over the years, we had been honored to counsel dozens of beautiful, strong, faithful servants during our time together in ministry. In addition, one of the very last projects that Patrick was working on before he went into the hospital, was a mental health initiative at his job.  He not only helped get paid prayer/mediation time approved, but he oversaw the implementation of a mental wellness room on the work site.  

   As a lifelong proponent of mental health, I’ve seen a therapist on several occasions as an adult.  I realize that although I'm a strong person, part of my strength is knowing when to tag in help. Over the past decade, Patrick and I both have gained coping techniques and been provided a safe place to vent with the help of licensed mental health counselors.  But therapists are not magicians. Therapists are not God. The hard, ugly and awful doesn’t go away because you make an appointment, sit on a cozy couch, and pour out your heart.  A counselor cannot solve your problems, break your habits, right your wrongs, or in our case…being our person back.

    Has counseling been helpful? Yes, it helps take the edge off and I wouldn't want to walk this journey without having trusted, equipped counselors in our village.  Since the week after Patrick's Heaven Party, we've been under the care of Christian Therapists.  But some Things you can’t walk around; you can only walk through. What I share here, is what walking through looks like.

Messy Grief: Transitions & Traditions Pt 2

    So I'm realizing that this journey is anything but linear. It's ugly, it's raw, it's random and so many other things.  As the season of Fall descended and the holidays started creeping up,  the messiness of the grief became more obvious.  To be happy/sad/grateful/angry/somber at any given time was a regular occurrence.  A few days ago, we had a conversation that really solidified that things would be different from now on, and forever.  

    The days leading up to a big day always seem to be the worst.  The day between Max's 13th birthday and Thanksgiving, the kids decided to start talking about our Christmas tree tradition.  To my surprise they wanted to go and get a live tree again.  "It's tradition," they said.  I snapped back, "So is having a husband and a father to choose the tree and carry it!" I was angry and the grief was so raw. I was trying my best to hold it together and I just blurted that out.  

    I ended up just having to tell them that I couldn't do a tree. I could not come home day after day to a tree that Patrick didn't choose, didn't put up, and wasn't going to come home to.  Just typing that really hit me. It just took me back to last year; I just knew I was going to bring him home. I was sure of it.  The kids were disappointed about the tree,  but I came up with an alternative.  I decided they that they could have a few little trees to decorate and honor Jesus and their Dad's tradition if they wanted to. They would have to keep them in their room.  

    So yes there is the big loss. But then, there are so many tiny secondary losses and realities.  The loss of beloved traditions. The realization that I have to make all of these decisions solo. The reality that someone will be disappointed, either myself or them.  I hate making that choice, but I have to.  I just can't do it.

                                                  *Christmas 2020, Keeping the Tradition*

39: Getting Ahead of Pat's Birthday(edited)

I remember it clearly. I was sitting alone downstairs on our gray sofa one night, getting ready to head up to bed. As the YouTube video I was watching ended, the "watch next" suggestion was a preview of  a newsstory: "Chadwick Boseman Dead at age 43." I froze. I was stunned. My eyes were glued to the thumbnail. I didn't want to press play. I couldn't understand what I was reading. I didn't know Mr. Boseman, but like most of us I was a fan.  I appreciated his acting skills and his remarkable ability to bring to life one of my family's favorite superheroes, Black Panther.  Watching him on screen, full of life and vibrance and now gone at thirty-nine years old was unsettling to say the least. 

    Patrick was usually pretty chill about his birthday.  The only time it became a really big deal was in 2018 when we hoped that Benjamin would be born on his birthday but instead, he was born the day before.  On October 17, 2021, less than two months before his passing, Patrick turned 39. Thirty-nine isn't really an eventful age. Perhaps some may celebrate it as the last year of their thirties. But I can't imagine that anyone would think of it as their last year of life on this earth.

     I remember sensing that Patrick needed some encouragement. So, I reached out to some friends and family and asked them to send messages so that I could print them out and present Patrick with a box full of blessings & uplifting notes.  I noticed that as he opened each of them, he smiled.  Reading how much he meant to so many was good for his soul. " Ironically, several weeks later I would be creating another box of blessings for us, his bereaved family, full of notes of encouragement and stories of appreciation for his life.

Yesterday, we all sat down as a family and watched the new trailer for Black Panther 2. When it was over, we all cheered.  Patrick was a huge marvel fan, and the Black Panther movies took it to a new level! As we sat there processing all of the possibilities of the sequel's plot, we realized how hard this must have been for the cast since Chadwick is no longer with us.  So, the tears they cried on screen, were probably real and their hearts must have been heavy as they walked out this reality in real life and in the storyline.  Patrick is not here to enjoy this movie with us.  We can all hear his cheers and excitement in our heads.  His passion and enthusiasm for things came from pure places of appreciation.  Just watching his over-the-top reaction to things was a thrill in itself.  I miss his reactions; We all do. 

I didn't think age thirty-nine would be this significant; Patrick's last year on this side, and my first year as a widow. There, I typed it. I still can't believe it. 

*The Kids named our Black Van "Tchalla" and would do this Wakanda tribute as they entered*

"I thought it would be getting better": Honest & Beautiful Weekend Moments

I talked with a friend yesterday and she confessed, " I thought it would be getting better but it seems to be getting worse." She's a great friend, and very perceptive.  Her kids are also still struggling with this loss, like many of us. They even pray for my littles at night, specifically. I'm so grateful for our village, even the tiniest prayer warriors. I know everyone's grief journey is different but I'm telling you this...it's NOT getting better. It is indeed getting worse. As we are slowly realizing that maybe this is not dream, or a cruel prank. We're not trapped inside some warped video game, this is real. Today, as we headed out for our new tradition "Sundae Sundays", Kendall said to me, "It's the fact that I won't be able to see him in this world, in this life, on this side that really makes me sad." Even typing that, I'm squinting in confusion. How is this so? Like how? 

Max opened up today and he and I have also had several poignant conversations this weekend. One of my favorites was when he told a specific story (I'll let him share) about how his dad was very efficient at maximizing opportunities.  humble his Dad was. "He never said "I'm the greatest Dad in the world" he just was."  I'm extremely grateful for the legacy of humility that Patrick left for us and for the world.  Max was the first to declare that his future kids would refer to Patrick as GrandPat. So, when he talks about the stories he'll tell them, he uses that moniker.  In a time where my son is coming of age, he needs his Dad. I watched him walk onto a playground court and join in on a pick-up basketball game.  He's growing up, but Pat's not here.   

I recalled how Patrick would pray over me every morning. I'd feel his heavy hand land on my shoulder, or my head, as he would silently pray and then I'd hear "Amen." Off to work he would go, or upstairs to pray if he was working from home.  He was so very consistent. We all remember him praying over us. We've also been reflecting this weekend about how he was the "calm". Kendall has some "hypochondriac tendencies", and she was telling me the story of how calmly Patrick would assure her. "He made me feel safe." Even sweet little Amira still asks for her Dad. She is still nursing, and the only child to nurse past the age of 16 months.  Mostly because I've only ever successfully weaned the children with Pat's help. 

Somehow, he managed to be an excellent human being, all while pointing us to the Source.  And even that, makes this harder to grasp.  His humility, kindness, and infectious personality has touched us all. Yet he never made it about him; always about Him. So, we're wrestling this weekend. There have been extreme highs and lows.  There are no platitudes, no scriptures, no number of casseroles that can help.  This just sucks. 

September 18, 2022

Trips, Trees, and Triggers

 I think growing up Baptist has me inclined to use alliteration every time I get an opportunity to write. Patrick and I would always joke about this because he did the same! But in this blog post, I will share some insight into our lives in each of these three categories: Trips, Trees & Triggers

Trips

I may be overshooting it, but it seems like Patrick, and I spent 70% of our time together in the car. Whether we were carpooling as we did for many years taking him to back and forth to work or hitting the road for a family trip-some of our best memories and conversations were in the car.  One of the most infamous was our first trip as "boyfriend and girlfriend" to Atlanta.  His oldest brother and his family invited me to their home for the holiday while we were in college, and I was happy to meet the big bro whom I had heard so many stories about and Patrick's niece and nephews whom he bragged about all the time.  He later told me that on the drive to Atlanta, he knew that I was the one because he didn't have to turn on the radio once, we talked the entire ride. 

In this season of loss, we have taken two trips. The first one was for Father's Day and even booking it, I was consumed with anxiety. One thing that many people don't tell you about this type of trauma, is that it affects your ability to commit...to press "go" on anything. When we got there, I knew he would have been proud at the place I chose. The fact that it was nice, safe, clean and close to the beach worked out well. But Patrick, was Patrick. So, although we had a good time, the gaping hole seemed to swallow us up.  We spent many quiet moments enjoying all of the things that we had enjoyed together when our family was whole. On the second trip, also about an hour away as I cannot do long road trips, things went well also but the meltdown was on the horizon. We were celebrating the first boy birthday of the year, and I found myself thinking, "Why are we even here? Where is Patrick? What are people thinking when they see me with these million kids, solo?" As the kids enjoyed the water park, I sobbed nearby. I just couldn't believe that my other half, the helicopter dad wasn't with us. 

One of the first things that I thought while driving after our loss was, "How is it that none of these roads, none of these streets will lead me to Patrick?"

Trees

Patrick loved, LOVED mature trees. There would never be a time when we would drive by large, beautiful trees without commenting, "Gosh look at these trees. I just love 'em." I was never really into trees growing up, but I learned to have an appreciation for them when he started to point out their beauty.  A few years ago, I remember going back to our place, the place where we first met: Tallahassee.  What I thought was a familiar corner, no longer seemed recognizable.  I had to check the street signs to confirm that yes, it was Tennessee and White Drive. It was the "we're almost home" intersection. But something about it looked different. What I noticed was that, when we were there over 15 years ago, the trees were tiny little struggly shrubs. On our trip back, more than a decade later, the trees had overtaken the corner. They had come into their own.  For years I've tried to unpack the meaning of that, but even still I cannot.  

One of the first things that I thought after our loss as I pulled up to our home was, "How are these trees still living and moving, and Patrick is not?"

Triggers

In the last eight months, the kids and I have experienced more sickness that we had in the previous decade as a whole! It has been unrelenting, and also very triggering.  It started with Max having to have oral surgery. Up until this, Patrick had been the only person in our family to have to be put under. Then a little later, Elijah and I ended up in urgent care with sinus infections.  However, his heart rate and oxygenation levels were concerning so they repeatedly asked if he had asthma (does not) and sent him home with an albuterol pump. So I spent 12 hours barely sleeping while monitoring his heart rate and oxygenation levels...the same two numbers that I was complete fixated on during Patrick's time in the ICU before his passing.  

Then most recently, as we were in the nursery at church and I noticed Amira seeming to struggle to catch her breath. She had a runny nose a few days before, but nothing major. After battling with myself for about an hour, I reached out to an excellent friend and asked her to help with a breathing treatment. I had called my pediatrician and had enough experience to know that this was the normal go to with the rest of her symptoms. After we gave her the treatment, it didn't improve so nervously I took her to Urgent Care.  The doctor came in, tested her for everything with no positive results. But she was definitely wheezing.  I watched as my two-year-old, held it together until the medical staff left the room, then she said quietly, "Mommy, I want to go to the car." She cooperated with everything they asked her to do, she was even cordial and said, "thank you" and "bye." But even my baby knew that something was off. She didn't' feel good or safe in that space. She sensed something.  Thankfully we were sent home with treatment, and she improved overnight.

In each of these cases I thought, "What if they send me to the hospital? What if I missed something? What if I don't bring them home?" Those thoughts rattled me as I tried to decide whether I was being paranoid or potentially negligent.  I can say that looking back on it, I'm thankful for God's peace.  I handled it like a boss, although I felt like anything but. It was all too reminiscent, even making the call to my friend (who had come over to watch the kids every single day that Pat was in the ICU) to come over to watch them while Max was being put under. I paced and cried in the waiting room while he was having the short procedure done.  When they called me back and said, "we're just waiting on him to wake up", my heart dropped. I sat next to the little cot and waited for him to wake up. As soon as he came to, he motioned for his iPad. I gave it to him, and he typed "Thank you for taking care of me Mommy." 

When we pulled into the driveway following Max's procedure, I walked up to my friend and said, " I brought him home." Without either of us realizing it in that moment, I think we both knew what I was saying. 

Prayers For My Babies

For some reason on today and yesterday, words and yearnings for my kids began to flow.  Although, I 'm still not praying much more than, "Thank you for salvation, thank you for my support system, thank you for provision." But my heart started to overflow, and I was able to put words to my hopes and fears for my children.  I had a short list of prayer warriors whom I had spoken with recently and I sent the requests to them.  So today, on this day....8 months since my world was rocked to the core, I'm sharing these specific requests. I'm hoping that this will give you all insight and guidance on how to continue to petition God on our behalf. You are so appreciated.

Benjamin

That he would continue to feel loved and accepted and that the anger will subside.  That God will soothe him and that we may support him in his healing. Also, that he would continue to be a light, a comforter, and a calming force.

Avielle

That God will put a hedge of protection around her and her gifting. That she will always feel her father near, and that she will not give in to the temptation and just give up. That she will believe in the goodness of the Lord. That God would place good people alongside her so that she will never feel alone or isolated in her calling. That she will find and rest in her true identity in Him, alone.

Elijah

That he would not quit. That he would tap into the calling and gifting that God has given him.  That he will press through and press on in honor of how Patrick raised him. That he would have things in life to look forward to and be comforted by the Most High God in a unique, almost smothering way! That he would believe in the goodness of the Lord again and wouldn’t be sidelined by fear of disappointment. That he will always feel close to Jesus and Patrick.

Christian

That God will draw him closer than ever before. That he would walk in his calling confidently and boldly. That he will understand that no amount of hard work or perfection will change God ‘s plan for his life, or God’s sovereignty. That he will learn to process through his grief in healthy ways and know that he is uniquely created, purposed, an amazing for whose he is. That God would put people in our lives to be role models for him and that he will know without a shadow of a doubt that he bears Patrick’s image in many ways. That he never feels alone.

     Kendall

That Christ would comfort her and remind her who she is in Him. That she  will have motivation to use her many gifts and talents to be a blessing to this world. That she will connect hard work and determination to good stewardship. That she will never lose the ability to wake up every morning expecting to see the goodness of the Lord in that day: walking in the light of the Lord and the legacy of her Dad. 

Joy

Joy is uber angry and confused.  Pray that God would do a thing and that she would hope again. That she would accept good things without fear of them being snatched away. And that God will just take her to new heights in healing and living in her Dad’s legacy. He’s the ONLY one who can. 

Amira 

That Patrick’s imprint along with the Holy spirit will always make sure that she feels “fathered." That He would soothe her in a supernatural way and keep all doubts, fears, and attacks of inadequacy out of her head. That she will continue to be a strong leader and lover of people. 

Hail! Mary! - Storytime

 A few months ago, I got to a place where I was reliving every moment of Patrick's six days in the hospital.  Although I have no medical experience, I was grateful to have my best friend, a respiratory therapist, nearby to help me work through it.  One night, I got that feeling, "Did they do everything? Did they do their best to save Patrick?"  I'm sure this is common, but I remember feeling God's grace in that moment.  Looking back, I know it was Him keeping those thoughts at bay. Because honestly, regardless... here we are and I'm sure those questions at that time could have driven me into a dark, dark place making daily functionality impossible.  Nevertheless, I had to confront them and work through it. I sent my best friend a video message babbling, it was late.  I remember asking, "At the hospital, when you lose someone, is there a meeting? How does everyone know that they did everything they could have to save the person?" I did not get an answer back that night.  

The next morning, a close friend had come over to do some handyman work for us. It was quite a busy day and I was running! It started out rocky because Elijah was struggling and, in his grief, he was being snappy.  We both raised our voices, and I declared a full time out. After I cooled off, I came back and told him that I understood how he was feeling and asked if there was anything he wanted to ask me.  He blurted out, "Yeah, Mom what happened? On that day, what happened?" I told him that I was glad he asked and that I waiting for the right time to tell him.  I assured him that I was an open book and when he felt his heart could take it, I'd share whatever I could.  I began telling him about the day and about one part in particular. 

 "When I walked into the hospital that morning, one of the head nurses, Mary, hugged me.  She didn't strike me as the affectionate type but since we had spent several days together, I figured I was growing on her.  But she didn't let go, she hugged me tightly and that sent off an alarm.  Even then I remember thinking "You don't have to hold me that tight lady, he's going to be fine."

After I told Elijah the details as best as I could, he seemed to feel a little lighter. We all got in the car to drop him off to PE at the local school for his forty-five-minute class.  For some reason I asked the kids, "Do you want to go to the park on Parsons?" We never go to the park on Parsons, especially when Elijah is at PE.  The park is right near the hospital. It's where we dropped Patrick off for the last time.  To my surprise they agreed to go, so I started up the road.  I know this town like the back of my hand, after being in the area for over a decade. But oddly on this day, I got turned around. I realized I wasn't on the right street. So, after making a few turns, I ended up on Parsons. For the first time, I felt super anxious driving past the hospital. As I got past it, I saw a little lady in full scrubs walking along the lake between the hospital parking garage and the playground. It was Nurse Mary; I would recognize her anywhere.

When I saw her my face flooded with tears.  I immediately pulled over in a dirt parking lot across from where she was walking. The kids were slightly alarmed trying to figure out what I had seen and why I was frantically pulling over.  I jumped out of the van, clad in Pat's Preservation Church t-shirt and oversized flip flops, and ran over to her waving my arms. I now realize how maniacal I may have appeared, but I couldn't stop myself. As I ran toward her yelling "Mary, Mary", she stopped, looked around and pulled up her mask.  I was across the street, running to her full speed.  She was an elderly woman, so I'm sure all kinds of things ran through her head, but she braced herself as she realized that she had technically no other option.  

When I got to her, I told her that I was Patrick Wheeler's wife and that I wanted to thank her for taking good care of my Baby. She truly was an excellent nurse; she gave me all of the reports and she cared for him in an "overprotective grandma" sort of way.  Mary replied in a quivering voice, "We loved him, and we love you. Keep taking good care of those babies." Then, I got the answer to the question that God heard me ask the night before. "Mary, but did y'all do everything? Did you do everything you could for him, are you sure?", I asked desperately. She replied "Baby, we did. We absolutely did."

Pat N' Keisha (Spring 2017)

Family Updates For May

May kind of zoomed by, which I'm not sure is a good thing or a bad thing. There were days, moments that were almost unbearable.  We had one of the worst nights we've had since December. It all boils down to this: we just want our person back. I know that sounds crazy. I know the experts will say we're circling through the stages of grief and are back at denial, but we want our person back. We do. Be that as it may, the outpouring of support, stories and shared grief has helped us muster the strength to make it through May.

So here are the wins:

A List of Beautiful Things

• A friend gifted Joy and I a "Mommy and Me" decorating class and we enjoyed our time together
• The kids played the piano and sang on stage at our church for the first time in 2022 and since our loss.  Thanks to everyone who showed up physically and virtually to support my babies at the recital. They did the hard thing, and my heart was proud.
• We survived Mother's Day. A day that Patrick and the kids made me feel so special. The community showed UP and covered me in a way that was completely overwhelming. I was even able to walk into a bible study group and thank some of the prayer warriors in person. That was a first.  
• My sister went to Mexico for work and brought us back the coolest gifts and authentic treats to try. The kids felt rich with their pesos and custom-made purses and wallets. 
• My brother -in -law got to attend Family Night with us at Kids' grief group. It was an unforgettable experience.
• A couple of friends joined us for our new "Sundae Sundays" tradition, where we get ice cream or frozen yogurt in this case in honor of Patrick. 
• One of our closest friends graduated, and we had family fun celebrating at her party.
• The.Book.Was.FINISHED! The Kindle edition was published as we await the first hardcopy. That project in itself was...I felt like I was floating. There was no way I was "there" while doing all of the things that needed to be completed and turned in to the publisher for this work. 

Family Updates

Joy is starting to enjoy her Sunday Class more and more. She is opening up in karate and even earned a yellow belt! The girl is making moves and looking forward to first grade.  When I see her interacting with friends and coming into her own, it makes my heart happy because I know how hard it must be to press through.  She is aptly named, and although I can tell when she needs extra hugs, I appreciate all of your prayers for my baby. God hears. 

Avielle has had a better month than the last. She is growing so much, reading a lot and expressing her feelings well. She even wrote a blog post that we will share within the coming weeks. Avielle is wise beyond her years.  However, she is still taking this very hard. She is the feeler of the group, the biggest empath of us all. Her heart is tender and her love for others runs deep. She also got promoted again in karate and is one step closer to earning her orange belt. I've noticed that she does better when she has one on one time with friends, and a few crazy schedules made that less possible this month.  Since grief group is ending, she will be seeing the therapist specializing and play/art therapy who works with Ben and Joy.  One thing that made her elated was being able to search and buy Daddy's book. She also loves when we get to go to the pool.

Benjamin is such a sweet kid. He is always the first to want to start the compliment circle that we do at bedtime.  He wants to hug everyone all the time, and he is truly a giver.  Benji is super lovable and is enjoying Sunday class at church.  He was disappointed when Wednesday Night church ended. That was hard for him as routines are crucial during this time. Thankfully, we picked up and started gymnastics at the Y and is loving it.  He finished his soccer season by scoring a winning goal! He received a medal and a certificate and was very proud of himself. He is still struggling with regulating his emotions and having several meltdowns but that's to be expected. Benji prays every night "Lord we just need your help; we need our Daddy back."  Overall, he is a strong, smart, kind, and fun-loving toddler. 

Elijah is really enjoying and excelling in Karate and still our little mathematician and maintains a high A Average.  He LOVES the water, so any time we can get to swim he enjoys it and seems to be refreshed. It's been a struggly month for him, lots of somber days. But he communicates well and even wrote a blog post to share soon.  Many times, I've noticed him go upstairs and start to play piano. I think it calms him down, and also helps him to fine tune his craft. He's a very gifted kid, and I get angry along with him when he yells "I just want my Dad!" I feel him, and he deserves his Dad.

Christian is continuing to excel at karate and in school, particularly math.  He got invited to an in-person audition in for a local film June so he's looking forward to that. Christian also got his first opportunity to volunteer for a vacation bible school in the area. Next month, he will be leading worship for the kindergarteners, which I know he will love.  Rough month for my sonny boy, though. More somber days coupled with a lot of confusion and sadness. He doesn't talk about it much, so his blog post was really a big deal.  I make sure to check on his heart often, and he does the same for me.   I know he is trying to make sense of his faith right now, but I'm so glad he is pressing in to it. As he put it "I love Jesus, I know God is real, but I'm mad." 

Amira has had a few more days this month where she has cried out for Daddy, and I wasn't expecting that. Mostly though, she is happy, bright and kind of bossy.  This month she started going to each person saying "Go 'head, PRAY!" And because she is who she is, we stop whatever we are doing and eek out whatever prayer we can.  God is still using this little therapy baby.  I was having a brutally hard moment and she just started singing "He is FOR you, He is FOR you" from the song The Blessing. She sang it over and over and over again. My one year old , unprompted, sang over me in my despair.  I've witnessed God use her before, and this time was no exception. Amira is very independent and has mastered speaking in full, complete sentences. My favorite thing to hear her say is, "I love you so much mommy, K?"

Kendall is definitely is a bright spot in this situation.  She inherited many things from her dad, and one of my favorites is, her ability to start each day afresh believing that she will see the goodness of the Lord.  She prays every night for everyone who was at "Dad's heaven party." Every single night. We were going to start her in a leadership program at the Y but it got postponed. So we will be signing her up for various volunteer opportunities and then volleyball camp in the late summer. She did get an opportunity to take some classes at the Y and go shopping with a friend and enjoyed it.  She is always finding the light and sharing fun stories about her Dad, hopefully she will blog more this summer as well. 

Me: This month started out with me doing one of the hardest of things: Going back to our church and sharing the instructions that Patrick gave me regarding our ministry, before his passing.  (I will post that story and the speech at another time.) But this month there were several bright spots.  I can honestly say that I have felt God wipe away my tears and hold the pieces of my heart together on many occasions. At other times, I've fallen completely apart in disbelief. Like "what.just.happened?" One of the good things was receiving my first direct client as a loan signing agent. Not only was the closing successful, but I received my first five-star rating.  It felt like God personally set up a much-needed win...and I'll take all of them that I can get.

                                     

                                                  *All Photos used with permission

The Man Test-by Christian

Hello, my name is Christian, and the title today is, “The Man Test”.

One thing I always found myself waiting for was… manhood! Yes, I know that sounds strange, but I was counting the years, impatiently waiting to become a man.  I remember I was eight years old, I ran to my dad and said “Dad! I’m growing a mustache!” So, he pulled out his flashlight and said, “that’s peach fuzz!”  I refused to believe I was not growing up, so Elijah and I would take Dad’s man test every now and then.  I failed the test every time, but it was fun trying. The test consisted of:

1. Not laughing when being tickled

2. Being able to hit Dad's hand before he closed it

3. Not reacting to being thumped or pinched

Back then I couldn’t wait to grow up, but not anymore.  I would like adulthood to come slowly, VERY SLOWLY. I would not like to rush the years anymore because right now, I have been without my dad for a few months, and it makes me sad thinking about looking back as a grown man knowing that I lost my dad at twelve. Even though they were very full years, there should have been more. That’s what makes this situation so stupid to me. Why could there not have been more years?  Y’all I am stumped.  Dad planned to have a big ranch and use it as a getaway for pastors looking for a break. He would say, “We’re going to have horses, canoes and lots of acres for our whole family to live on.” It pains me to think of all the plans we made and did not get to do together. 

But then I think of all that Dad has done. He started a church, a family, brought Jesus Christ to the people in dark places, he did a lot.  Was it all he was supposed to do? We won’t know until the other side.  But, he helped a lot of people and I am proud of him. I am upset, but he is perfect now and we are still struggling.  Yes, hurting and that’s okay. The Bible says "weep with those who weep", and God understands. He does not expect us to be joyful all the way. He wants us to express our grief through tears, it’s okay. Dad always said, “Son, if you need to cry, cry.”  And even though that comforts me a little bit, it doesn’t bring him back.  As sad as that is, it’s true. So, I want to take life one step at a time, grieve as a kid, and then I will worry about the rest when the time comes. To all who are reading this, take your time and grieve too. Love you guys.

Celebrating the Wins; Every Single One

Yesterday was a rainy, dreary day. The kind of day that lends no light to our struggly situation. But I woke with a burden to share the wins with all of the prayer warriors. I am so humbled by the creative ways people have found to bless us during this season. But for those who ask, "What do you need?" I reply, "Please don't stop praying. I don't want to know how this feels without the covering of the prayers of God's people." So, here are those wins and answered prayers:

• THE BABIES ARE SINGING!!!

If you read the very first blog post, you will know exactly why that statement above is bolded and in all caps. A young lady who is a super talented, music aficionado has a music studio and teaches my littles. The way she seems to show up in the nick of time to be a blessing is why I've often dubbed her our "manifested angel." Elijah and Joy will be playing their piano pieces and the other kiddos will be singing. We hope to stream it live from our ministry's Facebook page or record and post it afterwards.  

• Being Honored in the Community 

 A community partner reached out to me to create and organize an award and dedication in Patrick's honor.  A few months ago, I was not ready to even discuss it. She was very gracious, and this week I was able to do a hard thing by finalizing the details.  I pressed on and assisted with the planning and found it to be mildly therapeutic. It felt like a part of my "old normal."  We truly love the community, and he was always looking forward to every opportunity to share love, laughs and an encouraging word with others.  So, to know that someone wanted to honor his legacy in this way truly blessed me at a time that I needed all of the beautiful things. 

• The Book is Ready
  

Today I received word from our publisher that Patrick's book of devotions is ready for print! The team has been a godsend and very encouraging throughout this process.  Their patience and professionalism have been a bright spot during this time of confounding darkness.  I will post later on the backstory of this work.  Just to see something new springing forth from this...I don't even know what to call it...brings me measured joy. To see his words, stories and admonitions is life-giving. 

The Symbolism of the Pot-by Kendall

Hey everyone, It's Kendall here!

I thought I would share with you an experience we had this past Thursday in grief group. It was family night, so we were all grouped together, and our little siblings, mom and Uncle Leon got to join in. For the activity, they gave us a clay pot which symbolized our life before the loss. They took us outside and asked us to drop it on the concrete symbolizing our now broken life. Next, we headed back inside and were instructed to take the pieces and write on the inside our feelings about the loss, and on the outside, what helped us to cope.  Now here comes the tricky part, they wanted us to piece the pot back together. We tried the entire time, and we could not put it all together again. People even came by to help, but we couldn’t figure it out.  Every other family’s pot was put together nicely but some of our pieces were dust at that point; making it nearly impossible to put back together. Our pot was dropped very hard, just like our life. It didn't take me long to say without knowing the depth of my words “I don’t think we will ever be able to put this pot back the way it was’’. Then it hit me, I was correct. The pot had reassured what we thought. Dad was a very crucial part in all of our lives, and without him our lives will never be the same. I have never seen a human love people as much as my dad, and I want to model him in that and in many other ways.  He loved everyone, no matter where you came from or your situation. Thank you all for taking the time to read this. I love each and everyone of you.

It Was Just Gettin' Good!

One of the things that I never knew I would be so grateful for, was the fact that our kids feel free to speak openly about all of the things.  Even for my sons, it doesn't take much prodding before they realize that I am a safe person for them to trust with their most intimate thoughts, fears, and struggles. Elijah and I have always had a unique relationship. He was the transition child in many ways. Several life changes transpired when I became pregnant and gave birth to him. One of those changes was the start of my journey as a Stay at Home Mom.  This would eventually morph into a few other roles including master's student mom, work from home mom, homeschool mom , boss mom , etc.  

One day last week, I'm not sure what sparked the conversation, but Elijah and I were sitting down reminiscing about how 2021 came for the jugular and was an unexpectedly crazy year.  We had all survived 2020, which was a complete miracle in itself . With the face coverings, lockdowns, and live streaming and the birth of our beautiful seventh baby,  it was a year of historic proportions.

I remember posting on Facebook something to the effect of:

               "2021, I need you to come in, sit down, shut up, and don't touch nothin!" 

I believe we were all cruising into the year with some hope that normalcy would return.   The year started out for us with our first family pet, Ali the turtle.  Elijah wanted it so badly, and although Patrick and I joked about the kids misplacing the turtle somewhere in the house and waking in a panic; he gave in.  A couple months later, Patrick wanted to up the ante and get a dog, so we got a cute little pit puppy named "Blue". The kids lost it, they were so excited, but of course I couldn't believe that I had another "kid" to look after.  Patrick understood and did his best to teach the kids to be responsible and take care of Blue.  In addition, we had decided to get our house ready to take advantage of the seller's market.  We had built the house from the ground up, and our kids had called it home for almost seven years.  We didn't realize at the time how this move would affect us all, emotionally.  

As Elijah put it, "we had just survived a lot of changes, started to settle down, and even bought our Christmas tree.  And then WHAM!" He was right. There was no way that this was on our radar at all. I can't even explain it. What we thought would be a normal Saturday of shopping for and ministering to our neighbors in the mobile home park, turned into something beyond our imagination.  Christmas was his favorite holiday.  I was so grateful that we had been able to follow our tradition of picking a tree together and decorating it with the kids while drinking hot cocoa. 

                                                                                                                                                               

This entire thing feels like a gut punch, or in Elijah's words "it feels like an airplane landed on me."

I'm sorry, but I can't commit

One of the things that I loved most about my relationship with Patrick, was that we willingly CHOSE to do life together.  Neither one of us felt like we were missing anything before, but once we met, we were inseparable.  It was a God thing.  We had our own visions for how our lives would play out. For instance, he told me, "Before you, I never really saw myself being married. I was just going to be that cool uncle with the really good job that came home for Christmas with lots of presents."  Even in the emergency room, I reminded him "It was either you or no one. If I was going to experience love, it would have only been with the fullness in which you loved me, or not at all." (There will be another post on how we met)

With that being said, each and every day in this current reality is...beyond belief. No part of this mission was meant to be done solo. We were better together. Our lives were so intertwined that we could practically be blindfolded with one hand tied behind our backs and would get the task accomplished with synchronized movements and motions. The teamwork truly made the dream work.  So, trying to plan anything, even a doctor's appointment means that I'm committing to knowing and accepting that Patrick won't be there to meet me.  I won't have to send him a note to put it on his calendar.  Even typing that, I know someone reading this just broke down, and I'm sorry.  I can't even comprehend why I would have even typed that, but I did. 

So, no I won't be able to commit to that. Thank you for the invite, thank you for thinking of us, we appreciate the offer we just cannot commit to much other than getting up and allowing God to comfort us and show us His love and supernatural comfort each day. This is just where I am. 

This Sweet Baby

One of the ways that God has answered prayers for Supernatural comfort, has been with this sweet baby..number 7, Amira. Shortly after everything happened, she seemed to become a big girl overnight.  In the first couple of weeks during our nighttime meltdowns, she would rub our backs and say "It's okay" or "I know, I know" in her endearing little voice.  We knew she didn't understand exactly what was happening, but that God was using her to be a light.  The morning that he went into the hospital, it was like every other morning. Amira woke up and gave me and her Dad a fist bump. As a pandemic baby, this was her normal greeting, and it always brought a big smile to his face. Up until then, hearing "mama " was a rarity. She would wake up and go to sleep with a chorus of "Da-da”.

Shortly after Christmas, a very close family friend came see us before she flew back overseas. The previous time she visited it was a hard day.  But on this day at this moment, I was feeling peace and joy as I reminisced about some of our family's amazing adventures. We’d had so many people at the house, but I never felt compelled to ask anyone to pray for us, but on this day I did. Truthfully, even now prayer is touchy. Some nights the baby would wake up and ask for Daddy and then say to me "Mama, pray." Those nights were hard.  As we formed a circle, Baby Amira was excited to join, and grabbed hands with her siblings.  As our friend began to pray, she was completely overwhelmed with tears and became silent.  When she had no words, Amira chimed in with her baby language at the perfect time, with her eyes shut and ended with “May-man”. (Amen) We all looked up and knew that the Holy Spirit was truly in the midst.

Amira now greets every visitor with hugs, calls each sibling by name and has perfected her imitating skills. She loves to laugh, play outdoors, rap, and has an early obsession with shoes and beef jerky. The mornings have been almost too much to bear, but when she wakes up and says, “good morning mommy”, I have no choice but to thank God for placing a little angel by my bedside.

Counting the wins, well trying

I want to start out this post by giving a huge shout out to each and every one of the prayer warriors and our "village." There is not a day that goes by without several people checking on us, calling our names in prayer, and physically showing up to be hands-on to help our family. I am eternally grateful.  This week was crazy, unexpectedly busy, and the support of our community made all the difference.  Playdates, handyman help, meals, and short babysitting stints for overdue self-care.

This week was hellish. I'm not sure exactly why, but it was super busy and unexpectedly so.  Meetings, doctor appointments, hard things paired with the sheer fact that THIS MAKES NO SENSE really created a cyclone of cray cray.   Grief and triggers showed up in new ways. I'm sure that was part of it. Alas, here are some wins:

Joy learned to read music this week! She's only 5, but she is not only teaching herself to read, but she is also learning to read and play notes.

I interviewed a therapist specializing in art/play therapy with toddlers. She sent a proposed plan for Benji & Joy starting next week and I'm relieved to have found her. That search alone took almost every ounce of energy I had. 

We toured the local YMCA to see if the programs would benefit our family.  We got a special tour from the executive director who had a similar story of loss when he was only 11. So, his compassion and understanding for my kiddos was truly appreciated.  

One of our family/community advocates recommended a specialized kids grief group back in December. We were on a wait list and were told we couldn't start until March. We got a call on Thursday that we were moved up and could start that night. Elijah, Avielle, and Joy had an amazing time. It was exactly what they needed. I was glad that something worked.

Kendall, Max, and I are signed up for GriefShare at one of our partner churches which is similar to the kids' group but for adults and teens.  This will be a delicate situation in the fact that, the three of us are empaths. I'm wondering how we will function in a group setting, feeling safe to share but also resisting the compulsion to take on the stories and sadness of others.  

Max, Elijah, Avielle & Joy just joined a local Martial Arts Class at the Homeschool Co-op.  I think it would be great to get out some of that "big energy" that builds up during this season.  The instructor is very skilled and also gave a short bible study in the beginning of class.   This is a double win, because last week I took the girls to try the same class. It was the first time they'd driven past the hospital where we dropped Daddy off when he first felt the pain in his chest. Seeing it again triggered them and they couldn't even participate. They were so shaken up. So this week, we tried again, took the brothers along and it was a success.

Here it goes, I'm starting

 Today is the day I'm starting. This won't be pretty, or witty but it will be raw and authentic. A while ago, the kids wanted to start a vlog or a youtube channel. And although we agreed that our family has a pretty interesting life, we wanted to live it instead of film it.  However, Patrick would always joke that mid filming I'd yell some outrageous threat at the kids, and we'd have to cut and start over. He was right.  Serving with Seven was his idea for a title, so this is our attempt.  Due to the outpouring of love, support, and prayers going up on our behalf, I felt that a blog may be a more efficient way of updating all of the beautiful people who think of us.  

I will try my best to update as often as I can, but it may or may not go in order.  Please feel free to share this link and thanks in advance for praying.

Yesterday, we had check ups for Avielle and Benjamin.  I woke up that morning feeling as “Struggly” as I did going to sleep the night before.  I try to make it a point to get out of the house by 10:30am for my mental health . So I got up, got everyone out of the house and headed to the doctor. When we got in the car, we cued up “Keys for Kids” our devotional.  We’ve done our very best to keep doing the things that we usually do including devotional, and nightly prayer, in spite of the fact that we are truly just….devastated.  We put on the devotional, and it was about how it feels when someone pays your debt, or takes your punishment. Specifically, in the event of Jesus Christ taking on our sins. It was a good one.  We pulled up to the doctor in record time. Usually when we would go to the doctor, we would all go in as a group no matter who was being seen.  To pass the time and to prepare for possible vaccinations, we would sing worship songs.  The staff had gotten used to it, and would sometimes stand and listen at the door and wait for us to finish before coming in.  After everything happened, we just didn’t have it in us. As I pulled up to the doctor, I looked back at the kids and said “I need you all to come in with me, I feel like we need to sing.” Max specifically looked at me like “No, not gonna do that.” I then told them, “I don’t want to do it either, I just feel like we have to. We must be who we are called to be. We have to minister to the people in the doctor’s office.” This was the Holy Spirit, nothing in me wants to sing songs. They all sound very different without Patrick, to be very honest. (Another Blog for another day)

Once we got there, I had already determined that I was going to forgo any shots because my heart was already hurting, and I couldn’t take any more crying babies. Medical things have been extremely touchy with me/us as of late.    After everyone got their vitals checked, I asked the kids to sing with me.  Again, most of them were reluctant. The tears started to flow as I explained to them, that I didn’t want to do it, but I felt that we needed to.  So Avielle chose to start singing “Your promise still stands, great is your faithfulness….” (Elevation Worship , Do it Again) I began to weep.  I sang that song to Patrick in the hospital, and God did not “Move the Mountain” as I pleaded.  All of the other kids joined in, Max being the loudest.  I joined when I could, and then cried some more.  I knew God was faithful, even though I was angry, shocked and sad.  After we sang, I felt God’s comfort and peace.  We got shots and labs drawn, with little tears.  The doctor came in and she’s been seeing us for 7 years, so I feel very comfortable and safe with her.  I let her know that it had been a rough morning, but that God was gracious. 

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