May the train take you...

I look at your train, my son,
Percy has a permanent smile.
If only he knew what happened to one of his fans,
His fire inside would falter and suffer, as mine has.
The sight of it,
The sound of it,
My son, I can close my eyes and hear you play.
My son, I remember changing all the batteries,
as I performed that small service for you.
Oh how I wish God's train could take you back here,
and let me serve you again.
Percy would certainly rust, crying the tears of our loss.
Nate, I don't always cry with memories of you,
just most of the time.
My son, I cry for myself, for mommy, for Ani, for this world.
Even if it were never to have come to pass,
I ask God to show me how you would have turned out here on Earth.
How tall you would have been,
How loving you would have been,
How many puzzles you would have finished.
My son, the greatest puzzle I think,
is how we affect each other,
how we enrich each other.
As a parent, that puzzle is ever so more complicated.
I don't know how heaven works,
but come to me on the station when my train arrives.
Percy is going to bring me, with a smile.

Parents: Pray

Pray, pray, you parents all.
Pray you keep them,
Pray you hold them,
Pray they grow old.
Listen, talk, you parents all.
You know them,
You've seen them,
But who are they in their own words?
Protect them, release them, you parents all.
Keep them safe,
Let them explore,
Enrich them, let them enrich you, and keep no score.

Beautiful days

Beautiful days, lost
Gone, behind, beloved.
Does the horizon hide beauty from me now?
My heart has trouble seeing a few days or even hours ahead.
At least I had beauty...is that how I should cope?
How should my memories color my future experiences?

The basement can be a scary place

I went to the basement to get Christmas stuff (lights, decorations, etc), and I started seeing all the stuff from the old house.  You just can't stop yourself from saying:  "Look at this, why is this unbroken when my son was taken?", "Why is this just scratched when my daughter is so injured?".  It's paralyzing.  There are no answers to "why", and ultimately the question is useless.  What value are these things?  All of this I would give away to have my daughter speak, or my son to throw me a ball.

Shopping with leaden legs...

I just went shopping for Christy's birthday present, and for presents to celebrate Nate's birthday.  We celebrate Nate's birthday by buying presents, wrapping them, then at the party we all open them to show each other.  After that we donate the toys to Toys for Tots.  It was _SO_ hard to walk into Target.  I had to force myself along.  So hard to think of age relevant toys for Nate's personality.  Nothing within me can accept that my little boy is gone from my sight.

This picture is alive...

I was emptying out a box in the spare bedroom upstairs this past weekend and came across some stuff from before the tornado. I found the documentation we received when Nate was born, and I found some art from Ani. Christy labeled the artwork with what Ani called the pictures. The titles are: "A ghost witch", "A ghost board", "A little fella", "A big little fella", "Mommy", and "Daddy". The "portrait" of me stopped me cold. What I saw was not just a 4 year olds' stick drawing where the eyes are crooked, and my hairline was exaggerated, it is ME. I had seen this drawing before, but hadn't struck me as deeply as it does now. As it is, I can get _reactions_ from Ani on jokes, pain, etc., but I do not have a window into her opinions, her desires, or her imagination. I also have no window into her love for us. Here is a picture where I can truly, and literally see myself through my daughter's mind's eye. This picture literally seems alive to me, as I am alive in this world. When I look at it, I see a representation of myself that no camera could possibly capture. It is priceless, and a treasure. I think I'll frame it.

My poor Ani

As I think about Ani before the tornado, I get so hung up on all the things that she used to do for fun. All those things have been stripped from her. And replaced with what? With pain? Is that to be Ani's future? God, give peace of body to Ani, through your Holy Spirit and/or prompting us and the doctors to figure out the correct meds to eliminate her seizures and calm her muscles. God, she's still an innocent, she really does deserve to have these things. She's done nothing wrong. God, help reduce this anger I feel sometimes and let me just _be_ with Ani. To experience her presence, her warmth. Allow me to express my love to her in a way that she understand, and transcends her inequities and pain.

I bristle against this reality

How wrong is this reality, that I rejoice in the fact that I had a dream about my son.

What have we become...

I am transfixed,
unable to speak, almost unable to breath...
I look at a picture of a 5 year old girl with a smile like Ani's,
and I read.
And I cannot believe.
And I cannot find the answer to my question.
How could someone do this?
To a child?
Intentionally?
My heart stops when it is reported that the mother is complicit.
And I cannot find the words to apologize to God for we humans.
I pray quickly that she be welcomed into the arms of our Savior,
and introduced to Nate so they can play together.
After that, I can allow myself to cry.
Cry for our world that will no longer see that smile.
Cry for our world, that certainly heinous things had been done to her before death.
Cry for us.
Cry for me, who finds it so, so difficult to believe that they should be saved too.

It takes effort.

It takes effort to "live from day to day".
It takes effort to "rejoice in the small things".

It's been difficult, "living from day to day". I would never have expected that trying to live without expectations, without "milestones in life", would be so difficult and stressful. It's a mantra and prayer that you hear, rejoice in all things, live for now, listen to God's words and promptings, and the future will unfold. Just think about that, could you toss out your calendar right now, what with all the upcoming graduations, parties, trips, etc? It's not easy, and perhaps it's my personality that needs to have things to work towards, things to expect.

In memory of...

It's my turn this year to buy the memorial ornament for our tree. Last year it was my turn to donate to a charity in memory of Nate. I wrote "In memory of Nathaniel Prindle" in the memo field of the check. Looking for an ornament brings that difficult time back to me.

"In memory of...", how incredibly difficult it is to get your hand to write those words, followed by the name of someone precious to you.
"In memory of...", doesn't give justice to the fact that your memory is of a laughing, crying, breathing human being, not just a photo snapshot in your heart.
"In memory of...", how the very fibers of your soul fight against writing these words.
"In memory of...", how the thought of doing just one thing differently in your past can give a jolt of excitement, as if the past can be undone with an idea.
"In memory of...", how very odd it feels to have a little boy so alive and active in your head and heart, though forever paused at 2.5 years old.

Pianos

I had a real interesting "conversation" with Ani a week or two ago, and just thought of it again now. I was reading a story, and had Enya's "Watermark" on the iPod in the background. I stopped reading, and told her to listen to the piano playing. I explained how the left hand generally played the lower notes, while the right hand generally played the higher notes. I told her that each hand tells a piece of the "story" that the piano player wants to tell. Maybe the left hand plays "scary" notes, and the right hand plays "exciting" notes, but the combination of the two different stories came together to make one bigger story. While I was telling her this, she had this fascinating wry smile, and was looking up and away like she was thinking about what I was saying, and trying to "actively listen" to the piano. It was so cool. Nothing I said was funny, nor did I speak with a goofy voice, but she smiled nonetheless.

Sometimes I google Annika or Nate

I found an article that described (attempted to, anyway) the events during the tornado. It said that Nate was blown out of my arms. He wasn't. He was maybe 8 feet from me when the tornado hit. This is one of the things I struggle with so much. I picked which child to try to help first (yes, I understand you can't do two things at once). I turned to Ani after I saw the tornado and yelled basement and "shooed" her towards Christy and the basement door. I then turned to go to Nate, and that's when the tornado hit. I never got to him. I'm pretty sure had I gone to Nate first, we both probably would have died, and what happened to Christy and Ani would be the same. Nate and I were side by side at the TV watching the weather news. He was on my right. I turned to my left to look out the back window, then went to my left to go around the couch and look out the front window. Nate turned to his right to go around the couch the other way. How I wish he would have followed me in my direction.

After reading the article, I almost wish he was blown from my arms, because then at least I would have been in the act of protecting him. What haunts me is the last image of both children in my mind before the tornado. My last image of Nate is "over there" looking out the window. My last image of Ani is that of terror. She was terrified, her face was scrunched up, and her arms were tight up against her body and her hands in fists. God, if nothing else, let Ani tell me she feels safe with me now, and she's not scared.

Sometimes, when I hear Mark Shultz's song "He's my son" (about a boy with a fatal disease), I wonder how I would have handled Nate's death differently if he were to have died in a different way or different time. Though I know without a doubt that he loved us, he never got to say it. Would I feel differently if he had died in my arms? If I had a chance to say "I love you, goodbye until we meet again"? I say it every night, and when I'm in the car.

Times during the day.

There are times during the day when my grief over the loss of Nate or the injury to Ani causes me to kind of lose my footing in this life. I look around and wonder what's going on, or what am I supposed to do, and it's scary.

Songs I made up for the kids' birth, to save the memory.

Ani:
Oh Annika, sweet Annika.
Oh, Ani, Ani,
We love Annika.

Nate:
Oh baby Nate,
my baby Nate,
I think it's great,
you're here with us.

Sorry I can't put the melodies here.

Trying to not get frustrated with Ani

Ani had the worst night ever last Saturday night. Her stomach kept her up for a couple hours, then woke her up every hour after that. I get angry and frustrated with what is happening to her, and it spills over into a little frustration with her. Of course, no sleep tends to factor into this frustration. I really, really try to not become frustrated with Ani.
I kept asking "God, with all else that has been denied Ani, and taken away from her, don't let pain be the only thing given _to_ her".
I should really try to cut down on my caffeine intake during the day as well. It doesn't prevent me from getting to sleep, but it can't be doing me any good either.

Right of first refusal

We have the right of first refusal on the 3 cemetery plots next to Nate's. Haven't thought about them, but they are going to put them back "on the market" next year if we haven't purchased them by the end of the year. How do I handle buying plots for Christy, me _and_ Ani? Just not something I want to think about, but I have to. We're going to buy them, of course.

How sad, and how cowardly I am...

I have seen children, and young people who have physical difficulties, or other special needs where I would like to go up to them and tell them that they are beautiful. I wonder, though, how this would seem for a middle-aged bald guy to go up to a young woman and tell her that she's beautiful.

I sit and ask God to tell them for me.

Maybe I'll raise the courage to do it sometime.

Jewels

Jewels they are, God,
the children you give us.
Gems polished with love,
they enrich our lives and
bring out the best and sometimes the
worst in us.
How I strive to love them as you love us.

Notes left behind...

Just read the story of Elena, a 6 year old brain cancer patient (who did not survive), who hid hundreds of notes in her house for her parents and sister to find after she had gone. http://www.notesleftbehind.com/

_I_ have a 6 year old girl. I read part of the story, and as her cancer grew, Elena lost more and more capabilities. The father was blogging, and I understand. I understand every word he wrote, every emotion, every regret. I understand that daddies cuddle and tickle as an expression of love. I understand the amazement when reflecting on your own love, and what our girls go through.

Sometimes...

Sometimes I stare,
and the world has disappeared.
Sometimes I listen,
and my heartbeat is gone.
Sometimes I'm introspective,
and wonder where I've gone.
Sometimes my world seems so small,
and I am alone.

Book

So I've decided to try writing a book. At the inspiration of Jennifer Silvera, a wonderful woman who has gone through terrible grief and hardship, I will try to get the first few chapters together and submit them to her publisher and see what happens.

Save me...

For I have heard my child wail in agony,
God rescue me from the memory of those sounds.

Ani sometimes has such painful gas bubbles in her tummy and it's excruciating for all of us, her mostly.

Ani's perspective

I miss Ani's perspective on things. It's a world where almost everything has beauty, you can love almost everything, and nothing is complicated.

I think one of the greatest gifts children give back to their parents is their perspective. Take Ani's "snow love" rationalization for example. How simple! How easy! Maybe this is why it feels like so much of me died that day. I lost Nate's perspective forever, and Ani has so few means of expression.

I wish I knew her perspective now. She can still laugh deeply. She can still smile widely. At least I know her _whole_ life isn't pain or frustration.

What I wouldn't give for song prayer or a crayon drawing.

-- Post From My iPhone

Just below the surface

The tears are always there,
below the surface where others can't see them.
They are between me and my world,
they affect my perceptions,
and use any excuse to escape.
There are times when I feel like I'm floating on them,
bobbing on the waves of sadness.

Every day

Every day is a struggle, still, to keep myself intact.
Every day is a journey, inching closer to who knows where.
Every day is an emotional one-foot-in-front-of-the-other rollercoaster.
Every day I’m scared at some point.
Every day I’m sad at some point.
Every day there are moments where I escape.
Every day I search for strength and endurance.

Falling

There are times, when I,
in my human weakness,
lose touch with my faith,
and I feel like I am in free-fall,
no control, my mind, body, emotions, spirit and hope are
left to the wind.
I wonder if there’s a bottom below me,
frightened that there might not be,
and I’ll fall forever.

A flood

I've cried a flood, Lord, enough to cover the land.
I've felt an emptiness, Lord, that tries to collapse my heart.
I've asked questions, Lord, that echo unanswered.
I've felt pain, Lord, in the picture of my little boy.

I've felt warmth, Lord, in my wife's heart.
I've felt joy, Lord, in my daughter's laugh.
I've felt hope, Lord, in my daughter's determination.
I've felt peace, Lord, in prayer.

The best of me

There are times when it feels like the best part of me has been stolen, ripped away violently, My son, my daughter's expressiveness. I watch them on video with me and I wonder if I recognize myself. Would I know myself now? More than ever, I wonder why I am here. Why and how did I survive? How will I find the strength to go on? To serve my daughter? Love is strong, but sometimes it feels like despair wins. Like shadows during the day, I unwittingly let sadness prevail for a time. I let Ani's uncertain future cloud the way I look at her. My love for her is unfailing, it is my application that fails sometimes. How do I allow for myself when she is more important than me? I would still give myself up for her. I don't want to miss Ani's beauty because I find distractions. There are no easy answers, maybe the constant questioning can keep me going, keep me from giving in to her current condition and not expecting more from her. I know she hears me, and I need to keep her belief in herself, it's what I want most of all in this world.


-- Post From My iPhone

Honoring and feeling for Ani

I can grieve for Nate, I really can (and very, very often do). But I’m stumped on how to feel or grieve with the losses that Ani (and we) have suffered. I very keenly feel the loss of Ani’s voice, both through our old conversations and her singing. I grieve the loss of her voice for those things, as well as the fact that she cannot tell us what is wrong with her when she cries. I grieve not hearing “Daddy” or “Mommy”, oh how I grieve for those. She doesn’t seem to be frustrated, or angry at these losses, though I sometimes tell her how I miss her singing, and how much she needs to try and tell us what’s wrong. I want to be angry for her, since she doesn’t express it. I don’t show this anger to her, or to anyone really, but I feel it, and pray about it nonetheless. I am sad, and sometimes cry with her, and I don’t know how this comes across to her. I am so confused sometimes, because I can see Ani’s facial expressions sometimes that are how she looked before the tornado (I _hate_ writing that word). I am torn between “Ani that was”, “Ani that is, and is sometimes Ani that was”, and “What will Ani be?”. My hope teeters on a tightrope and I feel guilty about sometimes looking at her now through “Ani as she was” colored glasses. She deserves to be treated as who she is, now, not who she was or who she will be. However, having said that, I need to motivate her somehow, and I wonder if telling her that I want her to sing to me again helps. This past weekend, I came across a note that Lexie wrote about Ani coloring on the tablecloth, and a lot of the written words sound just like how Ani would speak, and that Ani would apologize to us in the morning. At the bottom, Ani wrote her name. Seeing this, I nearly fell to my knees, oh my precious Ani, how trivial a tablecloth is. I remember the night, and Ani was not asleep when we returned from our concert, she was concerned about how we felt. Once we went up and reassured her that we loved her no matter what (she was genuinely concerned), she fell asleep immediately. Oh my sensitive little girl, I tell you so many times that I love you always. Last night I was pointing out the things on the wall from the kids at her old daycare wishing her well. I was trying to impart my feeling and assessment of the amount of prayer she receives. I kept saying “and this child wants you to get better, and this one, and this one”. It took several minutes to get through them all. She just got this big grin.
I want so much to honor her. Am I honoring her by mourning the loss of her capabilities? Am I shaming her by not fully accepting her as she is at any instant? I tried to do that before the tornado. I kept telling myself that she’s growing and developing and that “she is who she is”, but this is different. I am confused by the balance of “Should I treat her as she was”, “How much do I expect from her in her current condition”, “Telling her that she will talk somehow again”, “Don’t ever give up, all these kids want you to keep fighting”…and on and on. Do I say “I’m sorry for what happened”? When I’ve said this sort of thing before when she’s been sick or hurt, she asked me “Why are you sorry daddy?”. I try so hard, and my human weaknesses get in the way. My desires or distractions get in the way sometimes. When I am away from her, my hope drains. When I’m with her and I want somebody else to see her smile or hear her laugh, I sometimes find it difficult, as if I’m getting Ani to perform somehow. When it’s just me and Ani, just the natural situations, or responding to her cues can get us both laughing, and that feeling is unbelievable.
Maybe this isn’t a whole lot different than normal “how do I relate to my child” issues that parents normally go through, but I think about this a lot.

The weight, my son.

Your weight on my arm, my son, was uplifting.
The weight on my heart now, my son, is crushing sometimes.
Your tug on my hand to play, my son, was energizing.
Pulling myself through each day without you, my son, is draining.
Your uplifted gaze to me, my son, was entrancing.
My glance at an empty room, my son, is a dull painting.
Your laughter in my ears, my son, was music beyond the orchestras of this world.
The silence now, my son, is discordance in my world.
I look ahead, my son, to be weighed down, tugged, looked at, and laughed with.
That will surely be heaven, my son.

What a gift!

Even though it was a week early for Father's day, what better gift could a daddy (or husband!) receive than these smiles from his two most important girls? How can I not be lifted up by seeing Ani smile like that? How can I not be lifted up by seeing Christy be able to have that happy smile again after all we've been through? Wonderous.

Splintered

I am splintered,
I no longer feel whole.
Once integrated,
I now feel that I switch from one “me” to the other,
depending on the situation.
Still me, they are facets that are sundered from each other,
separated by grief for a little boy,
and concern for my special daughter.

Strengthen me.

Oh God,
Help me with my weakness.
Set in my heart the surety
of your grace,
of Jesus' promise,
of seeing Nate again.
The little doubts are like
shards inside me.
Cutting me whenever I breathe.

Too quiet

I shouldn't be this quiet
I should be interrupted.
For a hug,
To play dolls,
To play trains,
To make a fort,
To kiss an owie.
How difficult it is now,
To "be still and know".
I don't want to be still.

Some arguments

Some arguments don't work...
"Babies shouldn't die"
"I don't want him in heaven, I want him here"
"She deserves more"
"I give myself for her"
"Give all of her pain an iniquity to me instead"

Yelling...

I scream sometimes,
but not aloud.
I pound my fist on the table,
but there's no thump.
I argue with the wind,
but no logic avails me.
I am angry sometimes,
but there's no useful target.
So it burns itself out
without you even knowing.

How long is a year?

How long is a year?
At once it is infinitesimal, fleeting,
but also it is arduous and tortuous.
As you can live a lifetime in minutes,
so it is compounded by months.
A year can seem longer,
when you see so many years to come.
Busy, or quiet, the time passes unevenly,
like your life is stop-and-go traffic.
The escape of activity is followed
by the uneasy introspection of silence.

A year

My boy is gone elsewhere,
He's not been with me for a year now.
I sometimes feel like I've been dismembered.
Unable to move, sometimes unable to feel.
I know there will come a day on this earth,
when he's been gone longer than he was here.
On that day I shall surely weep.

Oh Ani.

Oh Ani,
my love for you is indescribable.
I dedicate myself to your care.
Though difficult and frustrating at times,
I am not frustrated with you. Rather,
I am usually frustrated with my failure to soothe you.
With my failure to determine what hurts.
Never with you, my dear.
I soar with your smile, and warm with your laughter.
I falter with your paIns, and crash with your cries.
As much as I want you to forget parts of this time of your life,
I want you to remember your strength through it all.
Remember my love and my willingness to be what you need me to be.
My way is to try and fix things,
though I've had to learn to let go sometimes,
and tell you I don't know how else to help you but to love you.

I am reminded...

As the one year mark approaches, I am reminded.
Reminded of that evening, in my room at the hospital.
Of the horrific words the sheriff had for us,
and incredible courage, courtesy and composure Todd & Lisa
displayed towards their extended family.
The words cut me, and I bleed.
No parent should ever hear those words.
If you're sure you want to know,
you can ask me.
Don't expect a quick and smooth response though.

How do you say goodbye?

How do you say goodbye to a little boy?
A little boy who said "Mo!" to tickles?
A little boy who loved his teddy.
A little boy who loved so much.
A little boy who came running to you, squealing.
A little boy who kept the house full of sound (his sister too).
A little boy who loved crackers.
A little boy who loved his family.
A little boy.
Maybe I should forget about saying "Goodbye", and focus on "I love you, see you soon".

Author's note: "See you soon" is from Nate's perspective, not mine.

Why does pain/sadness cover over joy?

Even after the wonderful thing that Ani did last night,
the pain on her face with her gassy stomach almost overshadowed her accomplishment.
Why is this?
Why should I allow my empathetic feelings for her sour tummy blot out something great?
That's sad, in and of itself.
I have a (even more so) new found appreciation of care-givers. Their love and service
comes, even though they see pain, sadness and sorrow. They can see through this, they
can see the potential, and not get themselves down. I envy them for this.

How important is it?

Communication,
a way to express your ideas, opinions, and wants.
Last night, Ani made a choce.
Lullaby first, or stories first.
How would she go about communicating it to me?
She opened her mouth wide like she was singing...
I (thank God) picked up on this and asked her if she was singing, and if that meant she wanted the song first. She smiled widely when I asked.
How wonderful! When I've written that I want to hear her, hear her needs, I heard her loud and clear last night. Perhaps not with my ears, but I heard her nonetheless.
How wonderful.

Hero

I told Ani last night that I thought she was a hero, for being brave and strong, and not giving up. She gave me a really big smile. I cannot tell her adequately how much I love her, though I keep trying.

I remember

Oh Nate, as I look at your picture,
I remember how your hair feels, when I would stroke your head.
I remember how your skin feels, when I would scrub your back.
I remember your voice, when you would ask for more crackers.
I remember your love, when you would squeeze me and kiss me before putting you in bed.
I remember your smile, oh I remember your smile, when you would lift my heart above the clouds.
I remember choo-choos whose motors would run constantly.
I remember your kiss on Ani's head before bedtime.
I remember your puzzle skills.
I remember the sound of your "stampy walk", and how I could tell you and Ani apart, though my back was turned.
I remember "hot!".
I've forgotten nothing, my son, you're still here with me, though tears accompany my memories now.
I love you and I miss you, my Nate-Nate.

A little better

No surgery necessary for Ani!!! Some bigger antibiotic, and her infection is better after two doses!


-- Post From My iPhone

Ani's infection

Ani will likely need some sort of minor surgical procedure to help stop the infections she us getting around her tube site. I am pleased that she has been more aware even though the tube site must hurt terribly.


-- Post From My iPhone

Thinking about Nate...

When I look at a picture of Nate, one thing I can't suppress thinking about is what happened to him. As if that small moment of terror, or whatever, somehow has some effect on when I think of his whole life to that point. Like it's difficult to remember his first steps without thinking of his experience. I pray that someday, on this earth, I can remember his life without that moment of his death casting a shadow over happy memories. When I watch the video of us dancing in the kitchen, I wonder now how I could have missed (or at least not fully appreciated) the width of their smiles, how much fun and joy they felt. I can still "light Ani up" now, and that helps when I think about her, but when I see Nate's smile in a photograph, why is it so hard to _just_ see the happy little boy, and not think about whether he was afraid, whether he felt any pain. I wish we all had that that "honesty of emotion" that children have.

Beauty

A month or so ago, I saw a young woman walking into church. She evidently had some form of cerebral palsy, or some condition that caused her to need to use walking canes. The first thought that came to my mind was that she was beautiful. I’m sorry that I did not go to her and tell her this. Her beauty, to me, seems to have been from the “I’ve overcome my limitations, see me walk”, or “I am who I am”. It was something in the way she held herself. I thought that she was beautiful, and that I prayed that Ani would be capable of that kind of mobility some day. I saw her walk, not as some gangly stumbling movement, but a grace in motion that she was able to control her body.

In other ways, I’ve come to wonder what “beauty” means. I’ve seen beauty in people’s hearts, souls, and servitude. Beauty is not simply a physical characteristic. Beauty is in a serving heart, a caring heart. It’s in a mother’s hand held out to help a child who has stumbled. It’s in an action that brings joy to somebody else. Beauty is in the eyes of a child who has not yet learned to see the world through cynical eyes. Beauty is in the importance of a worn out teddy bear that a little boy carried everywhere. I miss that little bear. Beauty is in the stream-of-consciousness chatter of a 5 year old. Beauty is not hiding how you feel. Beauty can be in the order you find in chaos, or the chaos you find in order. Love is beauty.

Strength

Strength

What is it? Where does it come from? Is it purely a physical aspect to a person?
As I consider the things people have done for us, I find that the measure of strength is not an easy assessment.

I don’t think many would argue against the notion that the strongest person ever to walk this earth was Jesus. However, even with all of God’s might, he showed strength not in physical aspects like lifting animals or some brute-force act like that, but in strength of character, of love. He showed it in his ability to love those that were hard for others to love, to ultimately lay down his life for us, who are deeply flawed in many ways, undeserving of the gift of grace. He wasn’t afraid to allow himself to be made vulnerable, to ridicule, to torture, and even to death. But, for us, showing your honest emotions to others leaves you open and vulnerable also. Why is it really considered weak for males to show emotion? Shouldn’t that be what you expect from a “Daddy”? Shouldn’t it be strength that is observed in men that make themselves vulnerable by being honest in all that they do, whether in act or emotion? When you need to help somebody who is in need, a lot of times it’s not physical strength that is needed, it’s emotional strength. Loyalty is strength also, as is a commitment to one’s beliefs. However, what someone else believes is not necessarily a threat to your strength. Consider the parable of the Good Samaritan, who, though the man on the side of the road was a hated enemy, showed love and compassion and (gasp) spent money.

I think that too many of us (myself included at times in my life) confuse power, wealth, and even winning (in many ways, sports, even just getting in front of the next driver in traffic) with strength. While at times these goals may or may not be acceptable, don’t confuse them as strength. I have concluded that some of the most powerful “leaders” are truly weak, while many who serve each other in small ways are truly strong.

Joy

Joy is difficult for me these days.

That’s not to say I’m not pleased with certain things, or that I’m not amused with things from time to time. But the pure happiness or elation of a moment is sometimes few and far between for me. When my wife holds me and says she loves me, I am transported away. I feel no weight, for a time, on my shoulders or soul. When my little girl laughs with me, at something we both find humorous, I’m lost in her smile, her eyes. Other things are fun, but they are at once obvious to me as a diversion, an escape. Those things are necessary too, you must indulge yourself once in a while. I’m not depressed, or sad, all the time, but sometimes I feel like I’m just swimming towards the future, swimming through a swamp. I recognize the need and placement for feelings of sadness. When I think of salvation, seeing Nate again, seeing Ani WHOLE again, I don’t know if I can describe it as joy. It’s kind of like a warm safe place, a place that I’m travelling to, a place to finally rest. It’s a foundation, I guess, on which to really live the rest of my life here on earth. It’s like I feel it’s “my real home”, and though our stay here is temporary, it can really feel like a long time on earth.

What do I want? It’s hard.

I want to hold my son, and tell him I love him, though soon enough, I’ll get to do this. It’s hard to wait.
I want my daughter to talk to me, tell me what hurts so I can help. It’s hard to hear her wail.
I want to be the best father I can be, the best husband I can be. It’s hard to do, when you’re a fallible human being, you must always strive.
As an engineer, I want to fix Ani’s problems. It’s hard, because they’re not intellectually based.
I want to hold on to my self and identity. It’s hard, because God calls me to serve Christy and Ani.
I want to plan. It’s hard, because I don’t know the variables.
I want to live in the now. It’s hard, because I want to plan.
I want to change the past, I want to have grabbed my son and tossed him to Christy, I want to have tried harder to save him. I want Nate to have walked around the couch the other way. It’s hard, because it’s the past. It’s hard because it’s burned in my memory and I must see it every day. It’s so hard.

God help me just live.

Beautiful,
You're so beautiful, Ani.
When you look at me,
When you laugh,
When you sleep,
When you're in my arms,
When you eat some real food,
When you enjoy your walk,
When you vocalize for "ah-ah game".

Last night's devotion

So, yesterday I was feeling quite overwhelmed with how beautiful and perfect Ani is on the outside, but it hides this horrible injury on the inside.
Anyway, later on, when I was doing devotions with her, her devotion was about God knowing our path and having plans. Here's what I had her say (I move her mouth, she smiles while I do this): "God, I don't know what I will be, I just know you'll be with me". Amazing how that happened to be the devotion for last night. I so desparately want her to have a fuller life, and I pray for this all the time.

Blessings, please

Oh God,
bless us and bless Ani with the ability to speak again.
To tell us what she wants, or what hurts.
Let us serve her better.
Bless us with an expansion to our family.
We have so much love to give,
it hurts to not be able to express it.
Give us more strength to be able to persevere,
though we know there are more heartaches remaining
in our time on this world.
Give us another example, even small, of Ani's healing,
a glimpse to allow us to plan for her future care.

A dream

Oh God,
I cry until no more tears fall,
and still, so deep is my sorrow,
so much do I miss my son.
I had a dream last night,
where my son was taken from me
for some reason.
He was held behind some food court counter,
when he saw me, he knew me, and ran to me.
My tears fall freely again when I think of his hug.

How beautiful...

How beautiful, in dance, is a child.
Where bouncing hair is the essence of joy.
How interesting, in voice, is a child.
Where a squeal can never be expressed with words.
How endearing, in hugs, is a child.
Where a bear hug is an expression of love, not strength.
How humbling, in a look, is a child.
Where their gaze is of complete confidence in you.
How graceful, in spirit, is a child.
Where "I do" is the norm, not "I can't".
How undeserved, as a gift, is a child.
When God gives you this incredible package.

I'm weak, help me.

Oh God, help me be strong.
Please let there be more words from Ani.
Please let her healing be more obvious.
I'm weak, I want bigger, more noticable advances.
Show me more of her will, her spirit.
Show me her volition, not just her responses.
Thank you for her laughter.
Show me her anger, I can handle it. I welcome it.
I see her strength, make sure she knows it.
We are small, but lift her up.
Oh God, show me a glimpse of her future.
I will serve her all my days, but I want her to be able to tell me what to do.

How is it possible?

How is it possible,
That you should be taken from us,
By a simple force,
By a random occurance,
By something I felt coming, but couldn't interpret,
By something malevolent.
You're still here!
You breath marks time with my heart.
Your voice resonates within my own.
My actions are still affected by your earthly needs.
You've never left, though I can't feel you like I want,
Can't hear you like I want,
Can't touch you like I want,
Can't make you laugh like I want,
Can't play with you,
Can't teach you,
My heart bursts with unfulfilled expression,
It comes out in glances heavenward,
In aches,
In prayers,
In conversations with Ani,
In tears, so many tears.
In loving prayers for health for other infants and toddlers I see.
In hopes and dreams for another sibling for my children.

Waves

I ride waves, all day long.
I bob and float, directionless.
I try to keep my head above water, but sometimes I choke.
I’m powerless to smooth out the depths or heights of the ebb and flow.
If I did have power, would I be able to curb the sadness but still free the joy?
Sometimes they’re confused, and I am lost, unable to feel straight.
Oddly, both the troughs and the peaks block my sight of what’s coming next.
My center, my gaze heavenward, seems like the only real refuge.
But sometimes it’s obscured as well by my weaknesses.

Odd

It's odd that when I look at a picture of Nate,
I feel like I'm looking inwards more than outwards.

Nate

I see Nate’s smile in a picture,
all at once I’m transported.
To a warm embrace,
To a wet, smacky kiss,
To a rocking chair with a book,
To a tickle wrestle,
To a squealing chase around the couch,
To a nite-nite kiss on Ani’s head,
To his weight in my arms,
To my apology to the skies for not protecting him.
To my conflict between wanting him here, and glad that he’s there.
My boy, forever you’ll be “Nate-Nate”, forever I’ll hear “Nite-nite Da-Da”.

Bleed

I bleed,
from two wounds, I bleed.
Yet do not die.
I shrink,
my confidence wanes,
yet I fight on.
My eyes dim,
I see the future as cloudy,
but I see the Now so clearly.

Other times

Other times in my life,
I've felt I'm not who I want to be,
without knowing who I'm to be.
Now I konw, but cannot completely get there,
but I remember being him for a few years.

Weary

I am weary.
I wait to dream,
I wait to rest,
I wait to heal,
I wait to fly,
I wait to regain what I've lost.
I wait to wait.
Waiting's OK,
but needing to wait sucks.

Darkness

Darkness,
It doesn't encroach,
but it's there.
Intimidating.
It blocks my sight past a few days.
Beyond that, all is uncertainty, fear.
Maybe I'll just acknowledge it, and keep it at bay.

Little guy who knew Nate.

So, we went to the kids' daycare to say hi to everybody and have Ani visit. While there, one of the teachers told Christy that a little boy, Nate's age, who played with Nate and was his friend will still, even now, every day or two, just look over to an empty space and say "Hi Nate.". I can't help but cry over this.

At once

At once, it's too hard, too ironic
for my heart to handle.
In the middle of our new house,
where we're accepting the start of our new life,
struggling to let go of our old, wonderful one,
I am forced to throw away things that remind me.
Remind me of our play, remind me of our laughing.
I'm not throwing Ani or Nate away, just physical things.
But all at once, it hits me how it feels like
I'm tossing things out.
My memory and love must persist,
I cling to them with all my might.
I will see them again, restored,
Nate in heaven,
Ani maybe here, certainly in heaven.
1000 years may seem like a day in heaven,
but a day seems like 1000 years without
your child.

Where does this love come from?

Where does this depth of love come from? How am I so connected to Ani? Why do we experience so much grief? It's seems unheard of in the rest of the animals on earth. I think it really comes from God, why would natural selection give parents the extended grief that comes from losing an offspring? What would it really matter if a calf or a baby bird died? Does it really affect their parents survival? I think that we, in God's image, have a hint of his love, and we continue to remember our lost children until we can see them when we pass on. I only pray that we could more easily draw upon and understand this depth of love for each other, and let it drive us.

I know this

I am much more than I've been, but less than I was.

Enough?

Ani,
If I love you enough, will you shine?
If I love you enough, will you dance?
If I love you enough, will you sing?
If I love you enough, will you fly?
I try every day, and I get a little more from above, but can I love you enough?
If I love you enough, will I earn the way you look into my eyes?

To Nate

Nate,

Your name stirs my heart, both joy and sadness.
Your image in my mind evokes our games, and your casket.
Your voice in my memories reminds me of pure happiness, and pitiful silence.
Your smell brings back tickling, and flowers.
Your eyes draw me in, and beckon me heavenward.
Your soul, your soul, I don’t need to remember, it’s with me.

Prayer for Ani

Oh God,

Instead of a stiff body, let it be flexible and right feeling.
Instead of a pukey tummy, let there be good tasting food and a full feeling.
Instead of cold toesies, let her warm them by dancing.
Instead of clenched fists, let her hold our hands.
Instead of a wandering eye, let her point out colors in the sunset.

Hollow

I am hollow, my grief echoes inside of me. Instead of diminishing, it grows louder, until I answer it, then it fades to an ache.

I am hollow, my love for a son rattles around, seeking an expressive avenue, until I send it heavenward, but it brings little physical comfort.

I am hollow, my hopes for a daughter’s future feel cloudy and insubstantial, until I give them up and tell her I love her.

I am hollow, my charge as a protector feels empty, like I have failed, until I hold my wife or make my daughter laugh.

I am hollow, like my heart is separated from me, until I am reminded of a eternity with my lost loved ones.

I am hollow, please remind me that I am solid.

Spiritual words...

Before I had children, the words "Son" or "Daughter" had a very "externalized" feel to them, they really didn't touch me inside. Of course, I didn't have children, and those words applied to others. Since I became a father, those words carry so much more meaning and feeling than simply expressing a simple relationship. They refer to something within me as much as they refer to the two people with whom I share the relationship. When I speak the words now, they stand out so much more than the other words in my sentences. I don't know if anyone else can sense the weight they carry, but every time I speak those words, they seem to come up from my heart and not simply from my vocal cords (or vocal folds, to you SLPs). Like my previous post about how pictures have depths beyond those of sight, these words carry depth like no other I speak.

I want people to know...

I want people to know, as they walk into the new house, that it's an investment.
An investment in Ani's future.
This thought is foremost in my mind most of the day. If she never recovers enough to be able to take care of herself in some fashion, or is able to get some sort of vocation, then somebody has to take care of her and keep her interested in something. Let's see, if Christy and I live to 80, Ani will be about 40. If she lives to 80, that's another 40 years of somebody taking care of Ani. How much will that cost? 40 years. Think of that. I've already said that the nursing home placement of Ani scares me, so I need to make sure there's money available to take care of Ani in a stimulating environment. Sure, the house is big, sure it's got nice features, sure it's got a heated garage, but I don't see those $'s as a right-now-I-want-to-live-big, I see it as a savings account. Hopefully one that will appreciate greatly, since it was bought at the bottom of the housing crash. I see the house as somebody talking to Ani, somebody holding her hand, somebody trying to understand what she says, somebody really, really caring for her. I don't see the house as just a huge look-at-me statement. Of course, having said all that, I do plan on enjoying our new house as much as I possibly can.

Poem to Nate

Oh Nate,
When I see a picture of you, it’s not flat.
It has depth, but a depth that is multi-dimensional.
It extends within me, to where you are in my heart.
It extends through the paper, like you were real, and there to touch.
It extends through time, and I apply all the memories of your life up to the point of that picture.
It extends beyond where I can see, like you’re near me, but still somewhere else.
It extends beyond touch, like you fill me and surround me, but I can’t feel you.

How do I give them the best?

I want to give the best of me, at every turn, to Ani and Christy.
There are times where I look back and think that the best times of my life are gone now. How do I not let that affect my relationships? It's so hard sometimes to be hopeful. I look at Ani's past pictures, I hear people talking about birthday parties with their child and I think that Ani may never have another birthday party like that again. Sometimes it feels like I spend so much time planning for Ani's future just in case she doesn't get drastically better that I start thinking she might not get better and I lose hope. I do NOT want Ani to end up in a nursing home when she's 50, not being able to get around and experience relationships, even if they're pretty much single ended. I want to know the future. I want to know that Ani won't just get parked in front of a TV all day, and not have somebody talk to her presuming that she understands. I want to know that somebody will "converse" with her, tell her that they believe in her, and that they love her.
Back to my point, I find it difficult sometimes to leave any negative presumptions or attitudes in the car and bring all the positive features I can possibly bring to Ani and Christy.

The look

They look up at you,
you are everything.
How do you live up to that look?
You can't explain to them that you're flawed,
you make mistakes, you want take-backs.
They don't care,
they look up at you anyway.

Ani, I want you to know.

I tried to explain to you tonight, but you're only 5.
I am serving you the best I can, and I am happy to do it.
It's frustrating sometimes, but even if you don't give me feedback, I know I'm helping.
This is what it means to be a daddy.

Oh my girl,

Oh my girl,
I see you.
I see you beneath that layer that separates us,
that your laughter so easily penetrates.
I hear you.
I hear your determination in a voice
that doesn't always work.
I feel you.
I feel your soul on your cheek
when I kiss you.
I know you.
I catch the twinkle in your eye,
even when your head won't turn towards me.
I love you.
I know you love me,
your whole being tells me.

Finding my way

I find that if I don't focus on a course through life, or even through the day, I kinda get stuck. No longer can I just coast between the things or events of the day. If I don't have something in mind, I can get a little lost. I don't always digress into being sad, but often that's what happens. That's not to say that when I have my course set and in mind that I don't get sad, I do. But without somewhere to go that's planned (at least a little), I can get stuck in the "how can I go on" problem.

I live with two questions...

Two questions I live with...I want to know the answer to both of them. One answer will be slowly revealed to me as I grow older, and the other answer I won't totally understand until after I die.

The answer to be revealed is "How far will Ani heal?", which is the more important of the two questions. There is nothing I wouldn't give to have Ani healed. Short of that, I want to know how to plan for Ani's future, and provide an interesting and challenging life that is appropriate to her condition at any time. I suffer when I think that she might be bored, trapped in this body, unable to express herself. Self expression was a defining characteristic of Ani before the accident. Of all things in this world, I want to hear Ani's opinions, complaints, jokes, arguments, etc.

The other answer that I won't totally understand is the answer to the question, "Why?". Rationally, intellectually, even spiritually, I believe that it was random chance. However, when I look at Ani, or suffer at the absence of Nate in my life, rationality goes out the window. Why Ani? Certainly she never deserved it. The answer will more likely be in the form that the question "Why?" just doesn't even make sense to ask in this situation. However, even given all that, it still doesn't help.

What joy

I was just looking through some pictures on my laptop and I came across some pictures I took of Ani, Nate and I. My laptop has a webcam in the lid, and there's an application called photo booth that lets you take pictures, like, well, a photo booth. The two kids and I were obviously enjoying it. Then there's the 4 pictures of me kissing each child and each child kissing me. What joy to see these pictures again. Every night, I called my children "precious", and never did I take it lightly. What joy to remember the feel of each child's kiss on my cheek.