the last one

You never knew one little house to cram in so much family all at once, just to be together and see the contented smiles on Mommom and Poppop's faces.

Ever since I was born we did Easter at my dad's parent's house. My dad was one of seven kids, and there were lots of grandkids too. Every year there was the huge Easter egg hunt for whoever was little enough to still participate. When the grandkids got too old the great grandkids hunted. It was one of the most looked forward to events of my childhood. Somewhere in that great big fenced in backyard there was a silver egg, and a gold egg too. And you knew that at the end of the hunt you'd get to trade in your eggs for all kinds of prizes.... kites and bubbles and sidewalk chalk and beanie babies and sometimes money... and that loaded prize table was just as good as Christmas morning. The uncles would all go hide the eggs, and then we'd all line up by the back porch with our bags, listen to the rules, get our picture taken, and then hear "On your mark, get set, GO!" Because no one can resist the childishness fun of a colored egg poking out of a clump of grass, the aunts and uncles would all wander out into the back yard to "help" us look. When you were done you'd all count your eggs and then whoever got the most would get to choose from the prize table first, and down through the line over and over until everything was chosen. It was all overseen by my Poppop with his list, and he'd call out our names when it was our turn to choose. I can still hear him saying my name.

Well this Easter it rained. I was sick and we weren't there anyway. The hunt got post-poned to this past Monday, just three days ago. I'm so glad we were able to go. It was the last one we'll ever have there.

My Poppop's been fighting cancer since this past fall. He passed away this morning. He couldn't hide eggs this year, he couldn't even come outside to watch, or oversee the prize choosing, but before the hunt started he called all the little great grandkids into the living room and handed them each a special egg with a gold coin in it. He didn't complain, he was just happy to have his family around him. I hugged him goodbye before we left. He asked me if the boys had fun, I told him they did, he smiled at me and said "did they? that's good." And like that I'll never hear his voice or see him smile or give him a hug again.

I know where he is. I know I'll see him again. I know he is with my Jesus, no longer in pain. I know I'll get to hear him tell his stories and opinions and hear his slight southern accent as he talks and see those facial expressions that were so uniquely him. But what we're losing that we won't get back except to keep in our memories is this legacy. That little yellow cape cod is the only place that's still the same from my childhood. Every year, no matter what, you knew that Christmas Eve and Christmas Day there'd be family stopping by their house, the nativity on top of the tv, a big buffet dinner, tons of people squeezed around all the different shaped tables lined up in the family room and covered with Mommom's white lace table clothes, and down at the end of the table would be Mommom and Poppop, side by side, taking it all in. You knew that in the evenings Mommom and Poppop would be side by side in the living room in their recliners, watching tv. You knew that in the spring Poppop would be out working in his garden, growing the best tomatoes you ever had. You knew every evening Mommom would call and talk for a bit and then she'd tell my dad that his dad would wanna talk to him too, and Poppop's voice would come on the phone saying "Hi, son." You knew if you ever stopped in they'd be thrilled to see you, and there'd be cookies and crackers poured on paper plates on the kitchen table and passed around and Mommom would tell stories from when they were younger and Poppop would just chuckle as he remembered.

It's always been Mommom and Poppop. They'd been through hardships, losses, disappointments and trials you wouldn't believe, but together they forged this love and this big family and put down their roots and made this solid, stable, dependable life full of fun memories for us all. Even if Mommom keeps the house, nothing will be the same without Poppop there.

I'll miss his presence. So much.


My dad's tribute to his father:

"Gene Price was not an easy man to get to know yet everyone knew him. He was principled, hard working, determined, steady and rock solid. It was not until later in life he became comfortable with the softer side of life. He was married to my mom for 65 years. Dad loved it when we all got together for crab feasts, Christmas, Thanksgiving, Easter or for any other reason. Dad was a private man regarding his faith. That’s the generations he came from. He served his country in the Navy but rarely talked about it. Dad did not share his feelings easily but when it came to his opinions there was never any doubt about what he believed in or where he stood. He never sought popular opinion or fame regarding those things and He never retreated just because popular opinion thought something different.
While there were many who believed him to be tough and even belligerent; they never doubted his principles or convictions. He was the original McGyver except before duct tape he used electrical tape and he could fix almost anything. 
He expected us to keep our commitments and to see it through to completion regardless of what others might think or say or even how tough it got. He wasn’t perfect but he loved us with a fathers love. He had a big laugh, he wore a “Big” belt and he always had big dreams for us. I am proud to say, I am my Father’s son. Gene Allen Price went to be with the Lord this morning at 8:20am. I love you Dad."

oh, Jesus....

I didn't hear about what happened in Connecticut until almost 4:00 p.m. yesterday.
We were driving home from Christmas shopping, the four of us.

I felt sick to my stomach, like I might throw up. My heart still hurts so badly for those parents.
What is happening in our world??!
I mean, we were out in a public place at the mall, having lunch at the food court with our two babies. What would we have done if someone had come in with a gun??
My first reaction to the whole thing, sadly, is fear. But I am only human. God, help me. I started brainstorming homeschooling ideas to Shaun as we drove home. Dear God, I could not imagine my babies leaving for school in the morning and never coming home to us.

Those mamas. They had no idea they were hugging their babies goodbye for the last time. I think I would die if I could never feel my boys little arms around my neck again. They are the world that makes up my heart, and how could my heart continue beating without them?

So as I clean up my boys breakfast dishes, as I strap their little bodies into their car seats, kiss their tiny lips, or as they climb all over me, pulling my hair, tugging my clothes, snuggling in my arms, I will close my eyes and thank God for these moments.

Oh, Jesus, help me to live aware.

Part 3

I wrote the following the morning after Ian's memorial service:

I thought maybe going to the memorial service last night for Ian would give me some kind of closure. Instead I sat there a few rows from the front, all the way to the right side of the church, looking at the front side door and thinking at any minute Ian was going to come running through the doors and tell us to stop, that it was all a really bad joke, and that he was definitely not gone. The only thing last night made me want to do was to see him and talk to him again. Thank you Jesus that one day I will.

If I would've gone up front and shared my memories I would've said that I both loved and hated to play with Ian as a little kid simultaneously. I hated it because I liked to quote movie lines, but he could always quote them better. When we played tag I could never catch him. When we played monopoly he always won. But I loved it because he was so funny, never boring, obnxious and hilarious at the same time, full of fun ideas. I would've said how he was always doing the unexpected, crazy thing that no one else could do. When Shaun first met him at my parents house we were swimming, and all the sudden Shaun was like "where'd Ian go?" And we started looking, and there he was down at the very bottom of the deep end doing sit ups. He could just do stuff like that. Somewhere along the line, we both grew up, and we went from cousins who played together and got on each others nerves, past the awkward stage where you're not really kids anymore and don't know how to relate, and into a real appreciative sort of friendship with each other. I remember a thanksgiving at my parents, after we hadn't seen each other for a while, and before my aunts and uncles and cousins all left Ian hugged me. He was way too macho too tell any of us how much he cared about us, but I suddenly knew he did very much. He hugged us all every time he saw us after that. And I would've ended by saying I wish I would've hugged him a little longer the last time I saw him.

~

I've spent my life up to now in the innocence of "childhood." Where bad things come close but they never strike in quite so much finality. I lost my Poppop in 2007, and I still miss him very much, but it was a natural part of life. He laid down to take a nap and woke up in heaven. Though it was unexpected and things will never be the same without him, I can take comfort in the fact that he lived a full life, loved Jesus, watched his grandkids grow up, touched many, and went home peacefully.

There have been several very scary close calls in my own family, things that opened my eyes and made me want to love more and savor the moment and never take life for granted. But thank God I didn't have to say goodbye.

Over the past 6 months Tragedy has touched people very, very close to me, and I've found myself thinking back to when I was little and assumed life would go on sort of like a fairy tale, where you don't lose people until they've had a chance to live out their life to a nice old age, and it's hard then, but at least not so tragic, and doesn't make you question the safety of everyone around you at any time. I really don't want to go to anymore funerals for a long, long time.

And it is at this point that I have a decision to make. Do I become fearful? Do I allow my heart to ache over the possibility of potential devastation that can come without a moments notice? Or do I continue to live a life abandoned to love and hope and trust that God's plans for me will never be more than I can handle, and that in the midst of my heart breaking He will hold me together.

Perfect love CASTS OUT FEAR. I know that Jesus loves me. I am held in the palm of His hand. Therefore, fear has NO place in my life. When it threatens to overtake me, I run to Him. I have a new rule in my life that when I find myself becoming emotional/fearful etc., I ask myself if what I am emotional about is a reality or a possibility. If it's not a current reality, I can't let myself react. The unknown can be scary if we dwell on it. Instead, I want to stay in the "known" or, in other words, in the actual moment I am in and love others much while I am in it.

I have jokingly told my mom and my best friend that recently I've been making a deal with God. I told Him that I'm just gonna stay so close to Him that He is going to be constantly tripping over me, like, I'm just gonna pretend I'm his little shadow, and I'm gonna spend so much time with Him He's going to be sick of me (not that he ever actually gets sick of us, thank goodness!) and that way He doesn't need to allow any situations in my life that are hard to make me come close to Him, cause I'm just gonna stay that close when life is good.... Obviously this is just my silly way of saying I just need Him and want to be close to Him whether life is good or bad...

I could keep writing and writing of the revelations that have been coming to me in 2012 of how big a deal fear is, and ways to keep it from over taking our lives. Every time I think I can conquer it in my own strength it becomes a problem again and I have to ask Jesus to kick it out for me. But that's the wonderful thing: We can take the same problem to Him over and over and over again and He will always lovingly take our burdens and give us rest, and LOVE us through our difficulties.

[click here to read part 2]

In Loving Memory Part 2

Part 1 will never be shared, it was my immediate reaction after finding out my cousin, Ian, was in heaven. The emotions are too raw, the understanding still very limited. After a week of processing, there are still so many emotions, and they are just below the surface, coming out when I least expect it. The understanding is still limited, but instead of all the questioning, I am trusting that God is still sovereign, and that he is a God of restoration and redemption. Although I do not believe for a second that He caused this to happen, I do believe that He will bring as much good as possible from the broken pieces of lives and relationships that surround it. This is going to be totally candid, I don't think I'll do much editing, I'm just typing, just getting it out, not trying to be perfect. My reactions...

I think of my mommom's graduation photos of her nine grandkids on her table at her house. I think how proud she is of us. I think how it can't be possible that there are only eight of us now. I pray in tears for my mommom.

I look out my kitchen window and see mint, oregano, and cone flowers growing in my garden that were a gift from my aunt (Ian's mom) when we moved in here. And in the middle of washing dishes I am suddenly breaking down, sitting on the floor, with my face in my hands, praying for my aunt as she goes through a tragedy no mother should ever have to face.

I open the refrigerator, and I see lemon juice concentrate, and I remember being at my aunt's when I was a little girl and her and Ian going back and forth over whether real lemon or the concentrate taste better in iced tea. (Ian liked the concentrate.)

I go into the laundry room and see a tiny little cowboys football baby outfit that I have been saving to send to Ian and Becca if they ever had a baby. I cry my eyes out thinking of what might've been.

I open the pantry and see pear chai latte preserves my aunt gave us. I pray more for her.

My mommom comes over and brings along pictures of Ian, some of me and him together. I can hardly stand to look at them for the pain in my head and the pressure in my chest. I ask Jesus to help me pull it together.

I pull out my favorite sweatshirt, and it's the one I got from West Point when we went to visit Ian while he was there.

I see a little kid wearing a superman shirt, and I think how much Ian loved super heroes, his artwork, his obsession with batman when he was little.

I think about pulling out games for company that is coming over for dinner. I think of monopoly, and my mind flashes back to playing with Ian, and how once I gave him all my money and properties for one of the green properties he owned (he could drive a hard bargain) and then was mad at him for the rest of the game for making me pay so much. I smile through tears at that one.

I go to my parents, I see their pool, I think that the last time I saw him was there. August of 2010. I think how I hugged him bye. I don't especially remember that exact moment, but I know it happened because Ian always hugged us goodbye. I think how I had no idea then, not a clue that it was the last time I'd see him. I think how much more I would have said if I had known. I think how I would have held on when he hugged me.

I think of the home videos we've watched at family get togethers, how we would always crack up at Ian's quirky personality and his changing voice, and my personal favorite of him pretending to conduct joanna while she played the piano, and him rapping on the piano with a pencil over and over again. I think how I laughed when I watched it before, and how I'll cry if I watch it again.

I think of playing for hours in my aunt and uncles basement with all my cousins. I think of my grandparents farm (they only lived there until I was four) and playing on the tractors with Ian, going for walks, and other things that seems like dreams now.

I think of the first time I met Becca. I remember our double date, me, Shaun, Ian & Becca, going to the breakfast house, laughing through our whole lunch, feeling like Becca was perfect for Ian. They had this completely original way of flirting and combining sarcastic humor with a special smile or playful touch that was totally unique to them. They were everything to each other. Becca couldn't wait to marry Ian. I think of their engagement. I think of their wedding. They were married in Texas, right after Christmas, and I couldn't get off work to go. I think how I should have just called in and gone anyway. I think of the way Ian was so proud of Becca. I think of how devoted he was to her, how incredibly much she loved him. I think how they are the same ages as Shaun and I. I think how much life they were still supposed to have together.

I get on facebook, I look at his page, I see his smiling face, and I think that's how I'll always see him. Smiling. This can't possibly be reality. He should still be here. I look at Becca's page, and I see her broken heart, the photo of the two of them kissing, the thought of trying to move on when your soul mate is suddenly gone.

I think how he's in heaven with my poppop. I think how he is surrounded by glorious light, in the presense of Jesus, no more tears, no more sadness.

It's amazing how many things in a day can remind you of one person. It's amazing the way we take people for granted when they're still here, and can't stop thinking of them when they're gone.

Somehow writing helps me process. I don't know if there will be a part 3. With his memorial service still a week away, I imagine there might be. If you're reading this, please pray for my aunt and uncle, and for Ian's older brother and younger sister, and for his wife Becca. Please pray for supernatural comfort, and please pray that Jesus will do what he said he'd do in Isaiah 61:3.

"To appoint unto them that mourn in Zion, to give unto them beauty for ashes, the oil of joy for mourning, the garment of praise for the spirit of heaviness; that they might be called trees of righteousness, the planting of the LORD, that he might be glorified."

blessed are those who mourn, for they will be comforted.

thank you Jesus for your strong arms that hold us when we can't stand.

thank you for never leaving our side, especially in the midst of great trials.

thank you for being our rock and our fortress, our stronghold in times of trouble.

thank you for hiding us under the shadow of your wings.

thank you for being a God of redemption and restoration.

thank you for being our comforter.

thank you for crying with us, for being moved by what moves us.

thank you for rescuing those who are crushed in spirit.

i'm wrapping myself up in who you are today. i need you to speak clarity to my soul, and peace to my heart.