How are you?

My sweet sister had someone make this silhouette of Lincoln.  I love it.  

I also love that when she asked my 5 year old who it was the response was immediate.

"It's Lincoln".

"How are you doing?"

. . . I get asked this at least 50 times a day.  We all do, it's a habit; a social greeting that comes along with 'hello'.  I'm just now much more aware of the question, because my answer has so much emotional baggage that goes along with it.

Sometimes it's a very genuine question, asked by a friend or family member who really wants to know how I am feeling/doing today. 

Other times it's by an acquaintance or co-worker who greets me and says, "Hey!  How's it going" and hardly realizes they've even asked.  And yet sometimes they do realize because they stop quickly and say, "Oh sorry- I guess I shouldn't have asked that".  But I think what they really mean is: "Sorry I just said that phrase out of habit and I know you're not "doing" ok so I just shouldn't have even asked that; and quite frankly I won't know what to say when you answer honestly so let's just move along because now I feel dumb".

And lastly, I get asked that same question by very innocent grocery store clerks or random people on the phone who have no idea what happened in my life 7 weeks ago, for me to not be doing OK!  (and sometimes quite honestly I really want to respond by saying, "I'm terrible.  And you?" just to see what they say.)

And yet, no matter who is asking this question I cringe when I'm asked, just a little bit, because I go through the same dilemma each time.  If I don't answer honestly, people will think I really am doing ok and this answer, in my mind, would mean that I'm ok with what happened 7 weeks ago.  And I'm obviously not.  And I don't want to lie, because I'd just rather be honest.  And yet if I'm honest and really say what's going through my mind that day or how I'm feeling then the person asking a simple question is stuck scrambling, trying to come up with something more to comfort me or something to say in response.  And really nothing anyone says will make any of this ok.

So . . . to those store clerks who ask, I just don't answer at all.  They say, "Hi, how's it going today" and I say, "hi".

And to those who are acquaintances, I say I'm fine.

And for those who are my friends and family, and genuinely want to know, I will tell you that I'm here.  I'm present.  I'm breathing.  I'm living.  And I'm getting up each day.  My actions are often on autopilot and I sometimes get from point A to point B and don't remember anything in between, but I'm here.  And for now I just try to live hour by hour, not thinking too far ahead, because that is just way too overwhelming.  (Another favorite blog of mine said this very same thing recently.  nieniedialogues)

Grieving

This picture was taken last fall, right before Lincoln went in for a scheduled MRI.  I LOVE this picture.  I love that he's such a happy kid and could truly light up a room with that smile.  I also love that he's holding his lovey 'Raffie', as we named him.  This giraffe still smells like him and helps me remember what it felt like to rock Lincoln to sleep each night.

Grief.  Oh what a tricky word.  What a complicated meaning.  And really it's all such a mystery since all I hear lately is that grief looks different for everyone, and everybody deals with grief differently.  Someone asked me the other day if I was on medication.  I replied with, "NO!  I don't know, should I be?!!  Maybe.  Probably!  I don't know!" And that's the thing, no one can tell me if I'm doing this grieving thing right or wrong because no one knows.  And I guess there isn't a right or wrong "way" at all.  It seems the blind is leading the blind.


In the recent, I have conversed with many who start telling me a story about what's going on in their life and then they stop quickly and say, "Well, it's nothing compared to what you're dealing with right now . . . " and I have to stop them right there, because nothing can ever compare to what we're going through, and so we don't compare.  We just don't.  And no one, except for Shane knows exactly what I'm going through so I would never expect anyone else to understand.


One of the first few years I was a special education teacher I had a student that I fell in love with and who has an incredible family, whom I'm still in contact with.  He has had four brain surgeries and his medical history is about a trillion pages long.  His mom is and always has been an inspiration to me and one thing in particular that she told me when Lincoln was first born has stuck with me ever since.  After Lincoln had his NG tube put in and had been in the hospital for a total of maybe 48 hours I was about going completely crazy sitting in that hospital room.  As we left the hospital I thought of that sweet student of mine and how he had been in the hospital for months at a time throughout his few short years of life.  And then the thought came to me, 'what right did I have to complain about my son being there for 48 hours when that student had spent months in the hospital'?  I wrote his mom an email soon after that, explaining my thoughts and telling her how amazing and strong I thought she was and didn't know how she did it!  Her response was simple.  She wrote, "We don't compare things around here to brain surgery, or else nothing else would seem significant."  (you can read more of his story here)


I have not only thought of her wisdom many times throughout Lincoln's few short years of life, but especially since his passing.  And the reason is because everyone has trials, big and small, we just must not compare them; we have to just learn as we are suppose to learn.  Neal A. Maxwell said, "Performance is what matters, not the size of the stage."  (you can read his amazing talk here )


9 days before Lincoln passed away the most perfect post was added to one of my very most favorite blogs, thislittlemiggy .  I loved every bit of what she said and related to every single word.  After I read it I wanted to share her thoughts on this blog, yet obviously never got around to it.  And now more then ever, I must remind myself of what she said:


She describes sitting in the waiting room of her daughter's therapist and overhearing a woman talk about her child.  She then writes: 

You wanna talk about problems?  I thought to myself, I'll show you problems... 
And that's where I have to stop myself.  I can't play that game.  Even if the playing field is only in my head. 
It's the game where no one else's kids have problems as hard as my kids' problems.  Or the game that no one ever says the right thing and no one really knows how to relate to our family.  It's a mindset that is within reach if I want it.  A sword to draw at any time to cut someone else to the quick and remind them that Hey, I've got the right to complain.  But I don't.   At least not more than anyone else. 

I allow for feelings of genuine discouragement and heartache.  I have the right to grieve from time to time and even worry about unknown scenarios in unknown futures.  My biggest worries stem from the social aspect of my daughter growing up, and how others will treat her.  Regardless of my belief in a Savior and eventual eternal joy, I have always felt that there is a time for sorrow and tears.  So I don't feel guilty about true feelings of sorrow and grief. 

What I sometimes must guard myself against is the prideful side of comparing and self-pity.  It's a poison I don't want to get caught up in and least of all something I don't want to pass onto my daughters.  From the outside it could be hard to tell the difference between genuine sorrow and prideful sorrow, but on the inside I know which is which.  If I could sum it up I would say genuine sorrow is a part of grief that when addressed may help in the healing process and compel you to keep moving forward.  Prideful sorrow if given root would only continue to fester and boil, stunting growth and progression altogether. 

It's not always easy seeing the cup half full and counting our many blessings.  I am only human afterall.  But I'll keep fighting the good fight of resisting prideful comparisons, and the ease of excuses and pity. 

(You can read Miggy's entire post here:  A Good Fight)

My point of all of this rambling is that we all have our trials and challenges in life.  No one's struggles are any better or worse than anyone else's.  We are all here to learn what we are suppose to learn and of course we all learn things differently.  I believe the Lord knows each of us and understands how we all learn best.  And let me just say for the record: I am no where NEAR perfect.  And yes, there are times when I definitely feel like I for sure have a harder life than anyone else and my trials are far worse than every other person, and for sure I'd win the game of 'whose life is worse'?  But I continue to try and remind myself to grieve with genuine sorrow and resist feeling prideful sorrow and making comparisons about who has a worse life.  And most importantly, remembering that we can't compare everything in life to brain surgery, or nothing would seem of any significance.

Normal

I went into Lincoln's room yesterday, just to remember his smell, as I have done multiple times a day for the past month and his smell was gone.  Just like that.  Gone.  His room doesn't smell like him anymore.  After a small melt down (well ok, really I've been crying about it for 2 days now) I realized that was just the first of many things that had been tied to Lincoln, that would begin fading away or disappearing.  It was a strong and harsh reminder that life goes on, and things resume as "normal".  And yet, it just doesn't seem that our lives should be 'normal' without him here.

Many people have asked how our precious 5 year old, Jezelle, has been doing and the answer is that she is grieving in much the same way we are.  She will be ok, going along, and then all of a sudden she will burst out crying and just sob for a few minutes.  It's like she needs to get that all out and then she can continue on with her day.  I do the same thing.  And although I feel and think the same thoughts she does, she puts everything in such a simple and raw way, that it's all the more heartbreaking to hear her say those exact things that I'm thinking.  The main statement that she says over and over again is, "I just don't feel so good without Lincoln here." Yes, I know honey.  Me neither.

On a more positive note, I'm trying my best to see some of the tender mercies from the Lord and keeping track of those, to remember them when I'm feeling down.  One of those arrived in the mail last week: hours and hours of Lincoln being videotaped during a language communication study which he was enrolled in for the past year.  Oh what a blessing that we not only have quite a few sessions video taped of the wonderful therapist working with him but also of me with him!!!  Watching those videos make me smile and cry all at the same time.  I want to reach inside the TV and pick him up.

The new crazy around here is self-serve frozen yogurt shops.  And oh how our 5 year old loves the control over that one!  She not only gets to pick her favorite flavor of frozen yogurt, but also the toppings.  What a dream!  It's her new favorite thing to do and there just happened to be one right near one of Lincoln's therapy clinics.  Lincoln was beginning to love frozen yogurt as well! . . . except when he'd get brain freeze from eating too much COLD all at once.

1 month

Today it's been one month since Lincoln passed away.  ONLY one month.  It seems like it's already been at least a million years.  Seriously.  I'm not even exaggerating.  It feels like forever since I last held him, cuddled with him, smelled him, and heard him laugh.  However, I guess I also look back and think to myself, 'wow, I've somehow made it one month.  Just keep putting one foot in front of the other . . . Now only 60+ years to go.'

It's not uncommon for us to come home lately and find flowers on our doorstep.  They usually do not have a note or a card with them.  They are just there.  And they truly shed a little (and often times a LOT of) light on our day.  It's always nice to know that someone is thinking of us.  It gives me strength to go on, to take another breath, to go another day.  This weekend has been emotional.  Not only does it mark one month since Lincoln' death, but it's also Easter.  And it's hard not to reflect back on last year and what we were doing one year ago on Easter, and what we would be doing with him this year to celebrate.  Jezelle has even been exceptionally emotional and keeps saying that it just doesn't feel good to not have Lincoln here.  I tell her that I agree.  And then, without fail, we came home today and found two beautiful planted flower pots on our door step, and of course the most perfect metal pinwheels were stuck in them as well.  They totally brightened our day.

For those who have missed the significance of the pinwheel, here is the story behind it:

Lincoln loved things that spun!  And he really loved his spin toys- anything at all that spun he would find it!  One of the first skills that come naturally to most children is the ability to spin things.  They are able to reach out their arm and swipe something, causing it to spin.  This is why many toys include something that spins.  But for Lincoln this was a big skill that he had to work on and he definitely worked hard to achieve it.  Once he learned how to spin things he loved anything that spun.  It became him mission to search out anything that would spin.  So, at his funeral we handed out pinwheels to everyone (which many of our loving friends and family helped make!), to remember Lincoln by.  And now, every time I see a pinwheel, I think of our sweet Lincoln.  Below are the pinwheels we gave out at the funeral.

And on Lincoln's birthday we came home to this:

Someone had once again thought of us and did another act of kindness by lining the pathway to our front door with pinwheels.  And the list goes on and on and on.  We continue to receive incredibly thoughtful cards and notes in the mail, along with many sweet little packages that make us feel so loved.

And so we go on.  And feel so incredibly blessed to have such amazing people in our lives who continue to lift us up and carry us through the dark.

Happy Birthday

After Lincoln's funeral we had a luncheon for close family and friends.  My amazing friends put together an absolutely perfect birthday celebration for him, since his 2nd birthday was two days after the funeral.  My sweet friend Melissa documented the entire day for us and someday when I have the courage I'll look at the pictures and post some of them on here because it truly was an amazing luncheon and something I will hold so close to my heart forever.  (see more of Melissa's photography here: melissahancockphotography )

Yet another very talented friend made a birthday cake for Lincoln, which was displayed at the luncheon We decided to keep the cake and cut it on his birthday.  This cake will again always mean so much to me.  It was so special.  Thank you Tonya!  So, on Lincoln's 2nd birthday this year we sang happy birthday to him and cut his most adorable cake.  We then wrote messages to him on balloons and sent them off to heaven for him.  Jezelle loved this idea and had a very specific message to write on her balloon.  It was a really nice way to honor and remember our sweet Lincoln boy.