Wake Up.Open Blinds.Brew Coffee-6 Month Update

This won't be cohesive, but it's where I am. I want to get that part out of the way.  Many people ask, "How are you?", and still there is no way to answer that question. So here are a few of my pieces:

It's too quiet. Too quiet. The reverberating voice and hearty laugh is missing and that makes me angry. It makes no sense.

It's too quiet. The bass line is missing. 

Even when it's not quiet, and it's busy...there is the anticipation of the quiet. The weighing in of our person, his opinion and viewpoint - all missing. 

Even with seven kids. Even with their laughter, excitement, silliness and frequent reminiscence; it's too quiet.

I can't remember the actual day, but for the first time ever last month, I woke up and I wasn't "in the hospital" in my head. For the past few months, every single morning I'd be back at the hospital in my mind. I remember trying to make sense of it all; trying to create an alternate ending. Just so many thoughts. So, in order, to push through, I would:

 1)Wake up 

2)Open the Blinds 

3) Brew Coffee.  

If I could just complete those three tasks, in that order, I'd be fairly stable.  I had to follow that cadence in order to float or glide throughout the day and swing from busy thing to busy thing. But, always anticipating the meltdowns, or eight of them. The meltdowns haven't been many, and for that I thank God. I'm grateful to Him for holding us together and giving us bright spots and innumerable beautiful stories. The anticipation of the meltdowns, though, has been the worst.  Or better yet, getting through the day, getting through prayer and right at the very end.... full fallout.  I also realize that this journey is fresh and most days we just look at each other in disbelief.  I usually hate when people say this but, it could be worse. As much as Pat means to us, as tight as our family is- the fact that we are clothed naturally and spiritually and walking upright most days is miraculous and a testament to all of the prayers going up on our behalf.

Saturday June 4, 2022 was six months to the day that we rushed Patrick to the ER. I knew it would be a fight when I woke up,  but especially since Avielle and Christian decided that they wanted to participate in Prayer and Produce for the first time since our loss.  For those newer to the story, Patrick and the oldest four were shopping for food for our outreach ( Prayer and Produce) when he felt the pain in his chest and we took him to the ER. So "triggery" doesn't even explain it, but I was so proud of their bravery. I'll have to process and blog about that experience in a separate post.  

Lately, I've been waking up walking through many chapters of our story. Good memories.  Yet, still bewildered to be in this spot.  All I wanted was to "do life" with my person. That's it. At times, it was messy, hard, and crazy, but it was our life. It was our love. 

God usually shows me a lot. I've learned in the recent past that discernment is one of my spiritual gifts, but how did I not see this coming? This floored me and nothing could have prepared me for it. If Patrick himself would have told me this was coming, I wouldn't have believed him. Did I miss something, or many things?  I'm a sensible person, and nothing about this makes sense.  In one of the updates prior to the blog, I remember writing "God you are The Creator, nothing about this was creative." The most unnecessary plot twist. 

One of my earlier prayer requests to a pastor friend was, "Ask the Lord to show me where to fix my eyes, because I'm flailing right now." 

Every decision, every parenting decision is tough.  The teamwork was unrivaled.  We needed the balance. I'm out here doing my best.  

I've had some days where the love and encouragement from our support system started as early as 6am. It seems like on those days God is "padding" me.  So, if you're reading this and you have sent me a message saying "you were on my heart" or "praying for you today" or "you're an incredible person"-thank you for letting the Lord use you. It helped me to make it through one of the kid's unexpected crashes, or maybe my own.  I read every single message/email and appreciate every single phone call.

I often share with the kids where I am. They comfort me when I cry, Amira sings over me. They encourage me, too. I'm so grateful for that.  I can honestly say I don't live for my kids; I do life with my kids.  Patrick and I always made sure that they understood that. Mom and Dad are not perfect, indestructible, all-knowing beings. Thus, we learn, grow and live together. 

I was strong before this. I didn't need this.  How was THIS the move? Most days I wake up thinking "How can I possibly do this today? Again?"

The kids wanted to watch a movie and so I told them "before you watch the movie, let's write encouraging notes to send to a family in Georgia who also lost their Dad." And without a fuss, the kids sat quietly and made the cards with heartfelt messages and stickers. That's all I know how to do. I am walking in who God has made me: We all are. Which gives me a little comfort- knowing that I'm walking with Him and can still hear Him.

Amira keeps singing "He is for you; He is for you." But I don't always feel like God is "for me".  I know enough bible to know better, but I'm being brutally honest here. 

This still feels like the cruelest of pranks. The past tense-es are excruciating.  People say "time heals", but only Jesus...only the All Mighty God can heal this. 

What's Helpful: Talking About Our Person

Big Hugs. Big Laughs. Big Voice. Big Love. The space that he filled is...expansive.  So please, when you see us, talk about our person.  It's okay. Tell us about the gaffes, the memories, the things you miss about him. Share pictures of fun times of you and him had together.  It doesn't have to be forced, but when you are able to share, please do. I can only imagine how tough it is just mustering the courage and the strength to reach out to talk, check in, or hang out with us.  It's awkward.  You love us, and don't want to make us sad. You don't want to trigger us. You don't want to cue a meltdown. You don't want to meltdown, yourself!  Unfortunately, the gaping hole in our lives right now is unavoidable from the moment we wake, to the moment we finally drift off to sleep. One of the ways that we are making it through, is by continuing to regularly tell our family jokes and stories.  We talk about Patrick all the time.  We can't help it, and we don't want to.  

Although most words, platitudes and phrases of comfort bounce right off of me, there are two things that stuck with me, early on. First, having a bunch of still, framed photos is really unhelpful. It feels cold, harsh, and final. It was never our norm.  So, I bought a digital photo frame and loaded it with some of our favorite pictures. I add to it daily, because the legacy is a living thing. So, we have to live with it and through it, I guess.  He is woven into the fabric of each of our stories and I see him every day in the faces and personalities of these children.  They have his sense of humor, compassion, wit, and eyebrows for sure!  

Next, I had to come to terms with the fact that yes, the December 10th 2021 chapter of Patrick's life SUCKED, but there are so many more chapters that were beautiful and good. Some chapters were hard and tough, but all of them are a part of his story; a great story. So I had to force myself to visit all of the spaces, places, times, and travels. They all happened.  They all matter. They are all real. And despite the ending, the book of his life is definitely worth the read.

Back in February, a kind friend brought Avielle a Memory Book for her birthday.  When it was given to her, we all had a shared perplexed reaction, due to the fresh and unrelenting shock of our reality. "What is this?" Why do we need a memory book? This does not apply to us." A couple months later after a hard, hard night of grief, Avielle picked up the book and begin to read & write in it.  She showed me a question that asked her to name one thing that she feared.  She told me, "Mom, one thing I'm afraid of is that I'll forget Daddy and I never want to do that."  Then she snuggled up in his jersey and went to sleep.

*We would love to keep a collection of stories and memories for our family all in one place.  If you have something to share, now or in the future, please email to : pwheelslegacy@gmail.com*

Pat's Baby Momma- Storytime

Patrick and I affectionally called each other "Baby Momma" and "Baby Daddy." When he would call my phone and his photo would appear with that caption, it would always get a chuckle from whomever was in our company at the time.  I proudly wear the banner of Mom of his Seven Exceptional Children who all bear the image of their earthly and heavenly Fathers. I am honored to have been consistently lauded, appreciated, and admonished as a great mom.   Below are a few memorable stories of some of my best Mother's Days past.

One of the things that Patrick learned is that I loved the gift of quiet, which had been a rarity for the last thirteen plus years. So, one Mother's Day, he loaded up all of the kids told me to "stream church online" and he took them all with him to service. I cranked up my Gospel rap, danced and sang until they got back home. I couldn't remember the last time before that, when I had a Sunday morning to myself to praise and worship with BOTH hands raised. 

 Another time, he rented me a white mustang so that I could ride in stylish silence for the entire weekend! Being able to jump in the car and hear nothing for miles was music to my ears.  But one of my favorite Mother's Days, was when he and my sister Kandace joined together to get me a night away from it all. I slept, ate, took several showers and binged Grey's Anatomy with not a single interruption. It was awesome.

He always took the kids out to buy my favorite things the night before, and their faces would light up the morning of during the presentation. Candles, Journals, and makeup...they knew me well.  Patrick always affirmed me as a mother and taught and modeled that appreciation for the kids. I'm grateful today for having had him as my Baby Daddy and partner on this parenting journey.

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.