Three boys

It still blows my mind that I would have 3 boys, the oldest turning 9 this year. Our Glenn passed away 3 days before Mother's Day in 2004, and we held his memorial service on Mother's Day of that year. I know that seems skewed, going to your baby's funeral on Mother's Day. I wondered, "Am I still a mother even though I lost my only child?" That Mother's Day was a chance for me to celebrate the life of the child I had just lost, and ever since then and after the addition of 2 more phenomenal boys to our family, the meaning of Mother's Day for me is something I just cannot put into words adequately. It is the sadness and grief of losing a child, the peace of knowing he is now healthy and happy and not suffering in a broken body like he was here on earth. It is the comfort of knowing we will see him again one day. It is a feeling of being blessed to have been able to love him and take care of him. It is looking at the 2 beautiful boys we have now and feeling lucky and blessed to have them as well as watching them grow, laugh, play, and be "all boy." How lucky are we to have Glennie, Jeff, and Jack!

There is a Bible verse that has been rolling around in my head for the past several days. It is 1 Corinthians 13:12.

"For now we see in a mirror dimly, but then face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I have been fully known."

We don't know the reason our little Glenn died. We know that it was to make us better in some way or ways and perhaps to help other people who knew him be better. I believe that in the end, everything God does is for good, even though it is sometimes hard to wrap my brain around what could be good about suffering. In the book "One Thousand Gifts," Anne Voskamp writes about Exodus 33:22-23 where God says to Moses, "When my glory passes by, I will put you in a cleft in the rock and cover you with my hand until I have passed by. Then I will remove my hand and you will see my back."

Anne writes, "Is that it? When it gets dark, it's only because God has tucked me in a cleft of the rock and covered me, protected, with His hand? In the pitch, I feel like I'm falling, sense the bridge giving way, God long absent. In the dark, the bridge and my world shake, cracking dreams. But maybe this is true reality: It is in the dark that God is passing by. The bridge and our lives shake not because God has abandoned, but the exact opposite: God is passing by. God is in the tremors. Dark is the holiest ground, the glory passing by. In the blackest, God is closest, at work, forging His perfect and right will. Though it is black and we can't see and our world seems to be free-falling and we feel utterly alone, Christ is most present to us, I-beam supporting in earthquake. Then He will remove His hand. Then we will look. Then we look back and see His back."

I always think of how Glennie would be 8. He probably would have long ago insisted we no longer call him Glennie but Glenn. Then I think, "Would we have had Jeff and Jack if Glennie had been alive?" Who knows. Who knows how life would have turned out if things were different. That's the thing about life. Are there really any "what if's?" Back when Glennie was first diagnosed with Spinal Muscular Atrophy and we were told he wouldn't live to see his 2nd birthday, I would think, "What if he were healthy? Where would we be now, where would we be going, if our sweet baby was not terminally ill?" It wasn't long before I realized that there was no such thing as "what if's." This had always been God's plan, for whatever reasons we may not understand now, that now we may know only "in part." Though I know this had always been His plan, I still wonder what Glennie would be like today and imagine him interacting with his brothers. Despite everything we have been through, I still have trust. I trust that God knows what is best for me, even when life is tumbling down. I trust that He is there when I can't see through the blackness. I trust that someday I will "know fully."

It Is Bug Season

I will start from the beginning.....

This afternoon in the living room, the boys thought it would be a good idea to take off their shirts and throw them up into the air. By the time they responded to my attempts to get them to stop, Jack's shirt had gotten stuck on the nonmoving ceiling fan. I figured I would get it later and went about my business for the afternoon.

That night after watching the season premiere of Survivor, we moved on to an episode of MasterChef that we had recorded earlier. During a commercial break, Glenn went outside to smoke, leaving me in charge of pausing the show when it came back on. As I sat and let the commercials play through, the cat caught my eye. She was batting something around on the floor, and I watched as she perched on a case of bottled water, and then in a very Jackie Chan-like manner, rolled smoothly off the case and onto the floor to take another swing at her prey. Now, I HATE bugs, and we have a rash of absolutely huge, disgusting roaches in our house lately because we live in Pensacola, FL. Lucky me, this is what she was batting around. I sat on the couch, terrified and trying not to hyperventilate, with my hands over my mouth and my toes curled up, glancing continuously at the back door to see when Glenn would be coming in. The cat stopped to stare at me as if I was the funniest thing she had ever seen. Glenn came in then, cleaned up the (hopefully) dead monster bug, and we resumed the show. At the next commercial break, Glenn got up to take the dog out and asked if I would put his sneakers away in the front closet. I picked up the shoes and headed towards the closet, flicking the numerous switches by the front door to find the right light. After putting away the shoes and closing the closet door, I turned around in time to see something ENORMOUS fly through the air and land in our large living room chair. I screamed and screamed and flew halfway up the stairs, away from the monster that had flown across our living room. I stood halfway up the steps where I could see the living room but was far enough away from the chair (I hoped), as Glenn ran in the back door, thinking from my screaming that someone was breaking into the house. When I told him it was "merely" a bug, he went back out to finish with the dog before coming in to take care of it. As I stood there on the steps scared out of my wits and looking over the living room, I became aware of 2 things: The living room fan was on, and there was a small shirt crumpled up on the floor in front of the living room chair. What I had seen flying through the air was no roach, it was a little, size 3T shirt that had been thrown off the fan as it reached max speed. As I stood there laughing harder than I have in a while, I wondered how mad Glenn would be over the fact that I had screamed bloody murder over a little red shirt. When he came back in, I still maintained that he look over the chair just to be sure, and sure enough, there was nothing there.

This will serve as a reminder to me in the future to remove all articles of clothing from ceiling fans, especially during bug season.

September 11, 2001

There are basically 2 days in my life where the little details remain in my memory, and the emotions from that day can be experienced again with stark clarity. One is the day our precious Glenn III died, and the other is September 11, 2001. Both were days rife with fear, tragedy, and devastation in similar and in different ways.

For most people, the morning of September 11 was just another ordinary day. The people of Manhattan had no reason to think they would be doing anything other than going to work, clocking in, and carrying on with their day. Little did we all know.....

For Glenn and I, it was a morning of getting up early. We had been visiting his parents for that past week in New Jersey and were due that morning to take the 2-3 hour drive to Baltimore, MD, to catch our flight back to San Diego. Our flight from Baltimore would be connecting in New York first before heading to California. We got up that morning, said our goodbyes to Glenn's mom, and headed out with his father.

At the airport, we approached the lady at the ticketing desk to check our luggage. With tears in her eyes, she told us a plane had hit the World Trade Center. Like many other people I am sure, Glenn and I automatically thought that a small plane had hit the WTC in a tragic and unfortunate accident. We made our way through security and to our gate, where we began watching the news coverage of the events on the TV in the terminal. As we watched the events unfold, two things quickly became very clear: We would not be going anywhere and, more importantly, this was no accident. By now, a second plane had hit the twin towers, and we watched, horrified, as flight 77 hit the Pentagon. The airport was by now a flurry of activity, to say the least, filled with stranded travelers. People were rushing around and frantically talking on cell phones, sharing the horrible news of the attacks and making other travel arrangements. Glenn and I left the gate and were trying to get a hold of family members, with no luck. At this point, there were so many thoughts racing through my mind as we scurried around the airport in addition to the feeling of horrified shock of knowing that a large number of people had just been savagely murdered in an absolutely unimaginable way. I wanted to get out of there badly and felt scared and unsafe. Another thought that was racing through my mind was that I knew that it was an excellent possibility that my Marine was going to be mobilized. I knew as soon he saw the planes hit the towers, he was ready to go. He was ready to fight. We had only been married for months, and I knew I had to be ready.

We were still rushing around the Baltimore airport, trying to figure out how we would get out of there and get back to my in-laws house. We still could not get a hold of anybody. Then, out of the blue as we were making our way through huge crowds of shocked, frantic travelers at the baggage claim, my father-in-law rushed up to us. He had been on the 2-or-so-hour drive back to Jersey when he heard the news reports on the radio. He had stopped at a rest stop called the Maryland House to see for himself what was going on via the TVs at the rest stop. At that point, he got back in the car, turned around, and headed back to the airport to get us. Without us ever having gotten a hold of him, it was a miracle that he found us in the crowds at the airport. I will never forget the relief of seeing my father-in-law at that moment.

We got in the car and headed back to my in-laws house. We spent the rest of the day in a state of shock and despair, watching news coverage and discussing how and when we would get back home to San Diego. Glenn and I both called work to tell them we would not be there for a while and didn't know exactly when we would be back.

That night, we attended an impromptu prayer meeting at our church that had been called together that day. I distinctly remember the sense of fear, anger, and insecurity I carried around that day and for the days afterwards. Any sense of safety and security I had previously felt had been shattered. Would we ever be safe again? Where would we go from here?

About 5 days later, Glenn and I rented a car and started the 4-day trip back home to San Diego. Air travel, I believe, was still shut down, and at that point we didn't want to fly, anyway. It was a different time, and life as I had known it would never be the same. The American people had been attacked, almost 3,000 people were murdered, and how many more family members and loved ones affected by death. I knew we had not been directly involved in the attacks on our country, and we did not know anyone who had died as a result, but life was still different and would never be the same. Although, the coming together, strength, and resolve of the American people in the weeks and months after September 11, 2001, was uplifting and encouraging.

Nine years later, the shock of that day is still there when I watch footage of the attacks, as well as the devastation and anger. I don't think that will ever change. I don't need to watch footage to remember the blueness of that September sky, or the thick, black smoke drifting into the sky. I don't need footage to remember the images of the bright orange flames powered by jet fuel, of people jumping to their deaths from 78+ floors, of the incomprehensible, immense clouds of gray dust and debris overpowering the streets of Manhattan as the towers collapsed, or of the smoldering crater in a Pennsylvania field. I hope that we will always be shocked and angered at the evil that invaded our lives that day, and for the sake of the 2,977 Americans that violently perished that day, I hope that we will never, ever forget. It started as just an ordinary day......

In the Blink of an Eye

I recently read somewhere that as a child of God, death is a promotion. That is a perfect way to put it, in my opinion. However, to those of us left behind when a loved one dies, it is so difficult to see anything but the heart-wrenching pain and hopelessness. I know when Glennie died, I had so many questions. "Why?" "What am I going to do now?" "How do I live with this?" Suddenly, life was not just different, it was changed forever, never to go back to the way it was, not even a little bit. It was new, unfamiliar and, unwanted. We were happy that Glennie had been "promoted," was no longer suffering, no longer had to struggle to breathe, and never had to feel pain or fear again. However, as those left behind, we knew we were embarking on a lifelong struggle with the pain and sorrow of losing him.

Last week, the world lost a great man. He was taken suddenly, and many, many lives were changed in the blink of an eye. From what I have seen and heard about him, I know that he was a hard-working young man of God with a happy spirit, who was a loving and devoted husband, father, son, friend, and teacher. He was killed in a car accident last week that left his family, friends, students, and a church family reeling. I am sorry to say I did not really know him, but I still find myself shocked that this happened, and my heart still breaks for those who love him. I know the pain of being left behind after the death of someone I love, but I am still shaking my head in disbelief, not being able to comprehend the pain of a young woman who has just lost her husband. I know the pain of preparing for the funeral of someone I never thought I would ever have to bury, but like so many others, I just struggle to comprehend this. He also leaves behind a young daughter and an unborn child. He had so much life ahead of him, and so much to look forward to. It is so easy to forget that God has his own plans that oftentimes are quite different from our own. I learned this through Glennie's illness and through his death, but at times like these, there are so many questions that go left unanswered. I know, though, that the key to this is faith. It brings to mind Romans 8:28, which says, "And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love Him, who have been called according to His purpose." Yet, through the devastating, world-altering pain of being left behind, it is hard to see anything good about it. Dr. James Dobson says,

"First, it must be noted from this Scripture that Paul didn't say all things were good. He wasn't claiming that death, sickness, and sorrow were really positives in disguise. But he did tell us that God has promised to take these hardships and bring good from them. As long as what happens to me is within the perfect will of the Father, I have no reason to fear — even if it costs me my life. It is an article of our faith that we can trust Him to do what is best, even if it appears contrary to our own wishes or the prevailing attitudes of the day."

I am not sure I understand how people get by without this knowledge and the faith that God knows best. I am not sure how we get through dealing with death without the knowledge that God loves us and knows what is best for us. The pain of suffering will probably last for a long time, but not forever. God's wisdom and extreme love for us, however, is indefinite.

I know this young man, Jon, is in Heaven, and it is so easy to see the positive effect he had in the lives of so many people. If you are reading this, please join me in praying for those left behind; his wife Amy, their young daughter and unborn child, his parents, brothers, in-laws, and countless friends.

In Honor of my Glennie

Right and Wrong

As some of you reading this may know, our firstborn son, Glenn III, was diagnosed at the age of 6 months with a terminal genetic disease called Spinal Muscular Atrophy type 1, also known as Werdnig-Hoffmann disease. Children with Werdnig-Hoffmann typically do not make it to the age of 2. This disease affects voluntary muscle movement, and because it is a progressive disease with no cure, the muscles continue to get weaker and weaker. Children with this disease cannot lift up there head, roll over, sit up, or walk, and as the disease progresses, they lose the ability to swallow and the respiratory muscles get weaker, eventually leading to respiratory arrest. Our precious Glennie passed away when he was 20 months old, and our time with him on this earth was exceptionally short. As I said above, children with SMA type 1 typically do not make it to the age of 2, but there are exceptions. There are children who have beaten the odds and are now 4 or 10 or even 22 years old.

My sister-in-law, Sarah, has stage III brain cancer. She is a beautfiul and all-around amazing woman, wife, and mother of 3.

It makes me livid and sick that under Obama"care," people like Glennie and Sarah as well as anyone with a disease classified as "terminal" will not get the care they need. They will have no hope, as they are "doomed" anyway. I am so extremely thankful beyond words that we did not have this plan while Glennie was alive and that we were able to get him the medical care that he so badly needed. I am exceptionally thankful for the already-too-short time we had with him, and that that time was not cut shorter than it was. I am thankful that we did not have to sit and watch him starve to death because we would have been unable to get him into surgery for a gastric tube when he became unable to eat by mouth. According to this "kill bill," he would have been expendable just like anyone else with a termianl disease, and just like our elderly with health issues that have gone beyond a certain point. And how about the funding for abortions? We can pay to kill our unborn, and to save money on healthcare we can kill those who are supposedly beyond hope.

I honestly can say that I have never been so angry at something in all my life. This bill is as un-American as it gets. I will admit that I do not understand much about politics, even though I have been married to a staunch conservative for the past 8 years who amazes me everyday with how much he knows. But in my politically-limited mind, I know that this kill bill is a bunch of bunk, to put it lightly, and is completely and utterly wrong. It is moral-less and thoughtless. To quote Glenn Beck, this health care plan is not about health or caring. This shouldn't be about right or left, Democrat or Conservative. To me, no matter who you are it is simply about right and wrong, and we need to do whatever we can to make sure this bill does not pass. Babies will die, and our loved ones who need good medical care will not get it.

And one last thing: I wonder what would happen if President Obama ever was diagnosed with one of the many "hopeless" diseases. Would he be able to get treatment? I think so, as he is apparently not as expendable as the rest of us are. You better not get sick, people, or you become a liability to society and will lose your right to life.

Knock, knock

Our two year old has starting telling knock knock jokes. He learned them from Jeff, and it is the funniest thing to watch Jack tell his "jokes." This is how it goes:

Jack: Gock, gock (pushing his fist out in front of him as if he is banging on a door).
Me: Who's there?
Jack: Appow (apple).
Me: Apple who?
(a pause)
Jack: Gock, gock.
Me: Who's there?
Jack: Appow.
Me: Apple who?
(another pause)
Jack: Gock, gock.
Me: Who's there?
Jack: 'Ana (banana).
Me: Banana who?

And so on and so forth.. He learned the joke from Jeff, but actually it is Jack's version of the old "orange and banana" knock knock joke. The other day, I asked Jack if he wanted orange juice with his breakfast, and he paused for a moment and then said, "Gock, gock!" ready to launch into the joke at the sound of the word "orange." The boy never fails to amuse us.