It has been 2 years since the defining moment where I learned what being a 100% sad and a 100% glad truly meant. One of my best friends looked lovingly into my eyes, took his last breath, and felt no pain.  Who was that friend? That would be my amazing dad. My dad and I had our share, okay years, of fighting, disagreements, and flat out not speaking to each other. But God willing, it didn’t start out that way nor did it end that way.

My dad was laid-off  around my younger  years which caused him to have severe depression. I don’t remember that though. I remember cuddling on the couch, watching TV, and lots of tickle monster appearances. It wasn’t until recently that my mother told me how depressed he had been. I had no idea that my favorite picture, of him and I cuddling on the couch, was during his darkest times. That I, his little cuddle monkey, his little babushka, was his small ray of light.  I remember him singing, off key of course, “You Are My Sunshine'” over and over again.  But here is the thing, a person, no matter how stinking cute they are, can’t fix you.  My dad struggled most of his life feeling like he wasn’t enough. But, over time,  he slowly learned to lean more on God and less on his troubles.

My dad wasn’t perfect by any means but he was mine.

He was happy again, stressed but happy. Working full time and running a church can do that to a man. But, since he was always tired, the tickle monster made less appearance, cuddling on the couch didn’t happen as often, and there was no more singing of his little Sunshine. Our family had found its new stride. Then, cancer hit. The first 2 times, he beat that stupid thing. The 3rd time, well that one left him broken. I would hear him crying at night, wishing for death. It does something to a girl; to hear her dad weep, no wail, for death to come. To see that strong man, the man that is to protect you, wither away. Depression had been lurking in the background. It was like a shadow that could catch you at anytime. Well, it caught him and wouldn’t let go. That is when I lost my dad the first time.

Everything changed. He changed. Our family changed.

Our dad did his best to come back to us after the 3rd conquering. But, this battle left him scarred inside and out; physically and emotionally. After years of getting more depressed and anxious he sought help.  And guess what, the help actually did something. It was like having my dad back. A different version but the closest that I had seen in years.  He was laughing and singing and playing with the grand kids. Being ornery as every.  Enjoying time together and becoming best friends again.  He always knew what to say when I needed advice or to just tell me that I was a good mom. Those years were such a blessing in my life but made his final battle that much harder.

I remember the day that they found those spots like it was yesterday.  Those little dots on the imaging are burned in my mind.  The understanding that my dad just wants to live until he doesn’t. That he had no fight left in him. We all understood but, I had just gotten my dad back.  And now, now I was going to lose him and would never get him back.

Those next 6 months flew by like a blur on a ride. That ride made me feel scared, sick and overwhelmed but was over to fast. I spent almost every lunch, evening, and weekend with my dad. Soaking up as much time with him as I could and taking care of that spoiled man.  The only way I made it through was God. He gave me a supportive husband, an understanding job, and the most well behaved little toddlers.  And then, just as quick as that ride started. It ended.

I remember his homecoming like it was yesterday. He had all his girls sitting around him, singing his favorite worship songs.  Looked at each one of us as if to say goodbye and then, was no longer in pain. I had lost him again. And this time, no help would bring him back. But, there was a peace. A peace in knowing that my dad did not have to fight anymore; that he would be whole again. Then we threw the most epic funeral someone could have. There was live worship, jazz saxophone, and a pint-sized, on fire for God, pastors wife who led the the whole shebang!  Let’s not forget that there was no “funeral food,” only Dickey’s BBQ would do! Yep, that’s my DAD!

There such a difference when your loss becomes heaven’s gain, there is such peace. If you have the realization that death can be new life, it takes the power from that loss. Don’t get me wrong, I miss my dad everyday and writing this totally wrecked me. But, I enjoy remembering him and his crazy ways. Those are the things that I cannot wait to experience again when I also become heaven’s gain.

 

Loss defines a person.  There is no way to escape the effects it has on you. Loss leaves no part untouched.

This post will be raw and not pretty. To be truthful, it might make you feel very uncomfortable. But, loss isn’t pretty. It is ugly, it hurts, and you don’t come out of it the same; it changes you. Your thoughts are now altered, feelings are changed, and in some cases, your body will forever be changed as well. It is what we do with that loss that truly defines us.

My dad was sick most of my childhood with that ugly thing known as cancer. My childhood was taken from me by that evil beast. It was no one’s fault, we all did what we could but my childhood quietly slipped away as fog in the morning. I remember the smell of bleach in the toilets after chemo treatments. The counter top in the kitchen covered in bottles filled with every imaginable herbal supplement. And don’t forget, the Vitamix always spitting out carrot juices and split-pea soup. Every time he got better, months or years later, cancer reared its ugly head again. Through all this, my parents were still amazing parents! They just couldn’t be ‘present’ most days.  This loss should have pushed me closer to daddy God but instead, it  created a void in me. I felt that I was missing something. Instead of getting closer to God, I started searching for someone or something to fill that void.

I met a man. He seemed amazing, sweet and thoughtful. But best of all, he noticed me, Me! At the beginning, I noticed he was a little possessive of me but I thought that must be normal.  One night the possessiveness became too much, a choice that forever changed me. A choice that would effect so many things about who I was. He told me he was doing this because he loved me, that this was making love. In that moment of extreme, gut-wrenching loss, I not only lost my innocence but I lost myself. I lost something, no, something was stolen from me. The very definition of who I was changed in a instant. I remember looking at a tear streaked face in the mirror, not recognizing who was staring back at me.

Instead of reaching out for help, I ignored the loss. But here is the thing about loss, it is something you can’t run from. It catches up to you and at some point, you have to deal with it. So,  I started looking to something else to heal me. To fix me, numb the pain. Drugs and booze helped with the numbing part pretty well. I became a person I am not proud of. Someone that now, I don’t even recognize. In the haze of denial, I met another man. I was broken but he picked me up. Said all the right things and made me feel safe. But then, his true colors began to show. After being told “You are worthless.” “You are lucky you have me because, no one else will love you.” You start to believe it. I lost my self-worth. I stayed with someone I was terrified of because I felt worthless. Outside, I looked happy but inside I was a raw, ugly, broken mess. What led me to flee? I don’t know. All I knew was that I would rather me alone forever that with a man like that. As gross and broken as I was, someone already loved me. God was there the whole time, loving me, holding me, weeping for my loss.

I made multiple bad choices after that but, in those times of bad choices, I started remembering that God was there. He was waiting for me with open loving arms. Waiting for me to come back; to turn my loss into a choice to come home. Now, I am not saying that I was miraculously fixed when I finally decided to to turn my life around. But, it was a start. Psalms 71:1-2 says, “I run for dear life to God, I’ll never live to regret it. Do what you do so well: get me out of this mess and up on my feet.” God helped me get up but guess what, I was still standing in the mess that I had created.

It has taken me years to heal from my losses, the right way. I had a hard time finding my self-worth and accepting real love. But God is so good. Even in my partially cleaned up mess, He brought the most amazing, loving man into my life. Someone that doesn’t just say the right thing but a man that loves and respects me. A man that loves this scarred and still  healing woman. There are still times where that little voice comes back and says I am worthless. I have to make a conscious effort to remember that God finds worth in me. Messed up, imperfect me!

Writing this post was vary hard for me. Every time I tell of my losses, I experience them again. But God has healed those areas of loss. It doesn’t mean the memory is not painful or that it didn’t change who I am. I am a women that has been through loss and has found herself after the fact.  I didn’t write this post so you could feel bad for me but, so that you can see hope in the losses in your life. That you can take comfort knowing there is life and love amidst the wreckage, whatever that may be.  God is there!

 

I have been putting off my first post now for a few days. Why? Because in all honesty, I have no CLUE what I am doing. You might ask why I even started this.

Well, my days lately have been more Work centered then Family centered. I wake up, leave before my girls are awake and, when I pick them up from Pre-K/Daycare, we head home for me to work some more. Some nights, I work through dinner, brushing of teeth, bedtime stories…..  And then, the cycle starts all over again in the morning. So there I am, in bed, exhausted after working a 55+ hour work week. Feeling like an absent parent and unable to sleep. But, in that moment of complete self-inflicted judgement, I felt God say, “So what! You’re imperfect. Get over it. Your kids don’t see the imperfections when they look at you. They see a mom that loves them. Stop buying into the idea of the ‘Perfect Mom.’ There is no such thing. You are imperfect but more Precious than you will ever know.” And then He planted a thought, that turned into an idea, and here we are.

Everywhere you look, especially on PINTEREST, there is this underlying ideal of the perfect mom. The mom that can do everything. You know, the one that makes her own food coloring from some random things she grows in her perfect garden. To be used in her homemade frosting, for her homemade cookies, for some kindergartners snack. Wait, WHAT!! Why do I feel bad because I can’t do that. I mean come on, June Cleaver or not, who has time for that and, those kids don’t care that those are handcrafted perfection. They are stinking cookies! Now, don’t get me wrong, I love to cook! It is my love language. But there is a difference between cooking to feed people you love and cooking some crazy piece of perfection because you need to look like you have it all together.

Back to why I am doing this. I am an imperfect human. Thus leading to an imperfect mom, wife, and follower of an awesome, loving God. I know I am not alone in feeling like a failure most days but often, it feels like I am failing way worse than that chick over there. And you know what, I might be but that is okay. I am trying aren’t I?  We need to stop comparing ourselves to everyone else and share in the fact that we are all imperfect. So, here is to a new journey of being open, honest, and real.

Ready? I don’t know if I am, but here we go!