Each Fall, I…

Each Fall, I feel a little sad that the camping and swimming season has come to an end, but it is hard to contain my excitement for what is to come.

I am very fortunate to live in a part of the world that has four very distinct seasons; and fall is one of my favorites. I love warming up with a cup of coffee on cool mornings when the ground smells of fresh rain from the morning dew.  I love the afternoon sun shining in the windows and the quiet way the days start slipping into night without even realizing it. I love the colors of the trees when they start to turn and the fluffy piles of leaves meticulously raked, waiting to be jumped in. There is something magical about the fall and its beautiful.

Each fall, I dig out the bins of holiday decorations and prepare for the day when its “not too early” to put out my pumpkins and scarecrows. These fall decorations are like a gateway drug that lead to Christmas. My MOST favorite time of the year. The hot days of summer are a welcome break from the rain and snow of seasons past, but the fall brings a time of traditions and memories shared with family. Times spent running carelessly through a corn maze or riding on a bumpy hay wagon through the pumpkin patch, searching for the perfect jack-o-lantern face are memories I hope my children will one day share with their own family.

Even the food is better in the fall. Chunky stews, creamy soups and freshly baked pies make my heart happy and mouth salivate.  This girl loves to eat and there is never a shortage of comfort food just a casserole dish away!

This has been a Finish the Sentence Friday post, where writers gather together to share their versions of a completed sentence. This week’s prompt was “”Each Fall, I…” is hosted by Kristi Rieger Campbell from Finding Ninee, Julie Martinka Severson from Carvings on a Desk and ME!  This is my first time hosting a link up and I’ve really enjoyed reading the responses.Thank you Kristi for the opportunity 🙂

If We Were Having Coffee… Vol 2.

If we were having coffee right now, I would look up from my steaming white chocolate mocha and smile.  I have missed having quiet moments in cozy coffee shops with you. I am so glad you are here.

I would laugh and tell you about the kids and their new quirks.  I would tell you how Brooklynn loves to sing and tries so hard to encourage everyone to follow along as she belts out Row Row Row Your Boat but her words are mostly mush right now and she often can’t communicate without a mommy translator.  Her hair is getting longer but she refuses to let me tie it back in a ponytail. Sometimes, if I exaggerate the whimsy of wearing a barrette she will let me clip her bangs up, but it never lasts. My little girl always looks like a lost boy.  I would tell you in utter disbelief, that Lincoln is learning geography. He happily runs to you holding the puzzle pieces of each province, declaring their new name. “Kebec! (Quebec), Toweh! (Ontario) Nanny House Sosha (Nova Scotia) Whapeg! (Manitoba)” I try to get him excited about riding his new tricycle or catching a ball, but he always winds up back on his bedroom floor with a puzzle.

If we were having coffee, I’d offer you half of my cheese croissant and tell you that I’m nervous. I am excited, but nervous. Next week the kids are going for their first sleepover at Grandpa’s.  I have left them before, but they have always stayed home and had the comfort of their own beds.  This time, I am staying home.  They will be eight hours away for five days. I would tell you how much I am going to miss them, but the excitement of having a quiet house and ample drinking time is splashed across my face. I’m not one to hide my emotions well, and you my friend know that. You will probably laugh at me and assure me that the kids will be great and I will agree. It’s an exciting time, but nerve-wracking when I really think about it.

From the splatters of paint that seem to be glued to my hands, you would know that I am, once again, elbows deep in a house project.  Where there once was a tattoo on my forearm is now covered in spots of primer with cottage white sprinkles on top.  I would tell you that the horrible concrete grey walls that made our basement feel like a cave have been given new life with a much brighter and inviting color. I love making our house a home even when my husband thinks I’m crazy.

Before we leave, we would plan our next coffee date. You would laugh at me and think that for someone with no job, you sure have a busy schedule. And you would be right.  Between visits from family, training for a new volunteer position, house projects and Alain’s last 2 weeks of holidays, we have the next few months nearly booked solid. So how does mid December sound? We are staying home for Christmas this year, maybe you can come over and help wrap some gifts.  You bring the scotch tape, I’ll have the Baileys ready. 🙂

Check in at Part Time Monster and see what other people may share with you over coffee.

Where is Your God Now?

I was sitting with my aunt last weekend reminiscing about Bobby and we started talking about believing in God and the afterlife.  She asked “how can a loving God take away your children?” and I had no response.  I sat there, knowing in my heart that I truly believe in Him and His purpose for my life, but in that moment, I had nothing.  I am certainly not trained as a grief counselor and everything I could think of to say, wasn’t going to help.  It’s in His plan. Really?  His plan was to have her bury her child? How gracious!  He is a fair and just God. So this is some sort of payback to level the playing field again? No way.

It really got me thinking about why I believe what I do.  Where does my eternal hope come from? My life has certainly not been easy and I have lived through much more pain than I should have, and yet, I still believe. I still have hope, no matter what life has thrown at us. My faith has been rock solid.  But why?

After years of trying to conceive, in early May 2012, we found out we were finally pregnant. My dream had come true; I was going to be a mommy.  Upon hearing those words “well, I am happy to confirm that you are definitely pregnant” my heart broke.  So much joy and relief flooded into me and I began to sob.  Not only were we going to be parents, but the fear of never being physically able to conceive was thrown right out the window.  My body had not failed me. After all these years, after all the needles, biopsies and failed attempts, it really was possible that I could carry my own child. I was not a failure. That moment of complete euphoria and pride will stay with me forever.

We were on our way to my in-laws for Mother’s Day and even though it was a little premature to announce, we decided to have a friend bake some cupcakes and frost them pink and blue. She even went as far as making tiny little babies from fondant and had them nestled in the butter cream icing. They were perfect.  When we arrived for dinner, I immediately gave my mother-in-law the box and made her open it.  Her exact words were “Oh, cupcakes! Pink and blue ones. With…is that…a baby?  A baby?  ARE YOU HAVING A BABY?” and tears began to roll down her cheeks.  I cried and we all hugged. We were just so happy. It was a relief and a celebration for everyone.

But then it wasn’t. Two short days later, I left our doctor’s office after a routine exam and was on my way home to start picking out nursery colors.  I was laying in bed, perusing Pinterest when my phone rang. Hearing the news that our baby was in distress and would likely not make it, made me numb.  I’d had it. For a very short time, I was a mom. I’d had my dream finally come true and then it was ripped away as quickly as it came. Why?  Why after everything we’d been through, was I not allowed to be a mom!  Why was my body failing me? Why were we not allowed to be happy? I just didn’t get it. There was no explanation. It was a fluke. It just happens sometimes.

I shut down for several days. I refused all phone calls, never left my bed and listened to horribly depressing songs on repeat while Al paced around not having any idea how to help.  In my darkest moment, when I hated everything and everyone, there was a part of my heart that knew I needed to be strong.  I was once again reminded that God was with me. As a human, I felt the worst possible pain I could imagine and yet something inside of me kept me looking up. Faith and Hope.

That was the feeling I had while sitting across from my aunt.  I had no words that would help, but I knew in my heart, we need to be strong and keep going. Perhaps we will one day find out that Bobby had a genetic heart condition, we all get tested and several family members are saved from experiencing the same untimely death.  Would it be fair then to say God had a bigger plan?  Probably not. I am not sure you will ever be able to justify the death of a child to their mother.

When there are no answers and logic plays no part, there has to be something else.  For me, believing in God is that something else. Something bigger than me and someone who has all those answers that I will probably never know. I have to hope that there is more or I might become cynical and jaded. Losing my child will never compare to the loss my aunt feels. After all, she had 32 years to love him…I had less than 32 days. We can be angry and frustrated but we can’t ever lose hope. Hope that one day the pain wont hurt so bad and that our children are at peace. We must have faith that we will find our happy again and that one day, those sweet angels will look down on us and be proud that we continued to live our life without ever for a second forgetting them.