For the First Time...

Today was full of wonderful. And difficult.

This morning at church, I shared my Chandler story for the first time in a public forum. I anticipated being able to compartmentalize and get through it without a quivering voice and eyes filling with tears. I was able to do it, for the most part, at Chandler’s memorial. Surely I could do it this morning.

I was wrong.

As I said the words, it all became far too real. I was that person. That person who has this story to tell.

I don’t want this story. But it’s the one I’ve been given. And I will honor Chandler with it.

After I shared, I had the privilege of meeting another mom in this exclusive club. She lost her daughter five years ago. There is a special connection that happens in a hug between two moms whose hearts are broken in the same way.

Next on this beautiful day, Charli and I met Chase and Karen for a hike in Whiting Ranch. God used the most vivid colors to paint the landscape today — every vibrant shade of green you can imagine. And we were together. That means everything.

More adventure — we tried a NEW boba place, ShareTea. I stuck with my standard taro milk tea so I could compare it to other milk tea I’ve had. It measured up pretty well. Charli had red bean milk tea. Uh, thank you, but no. It tasted like soil. Fertile, healthy soil. But soil nevertheless,

We made another stop today that I will share about later this week. Suffice it to say, it was not an accident that we took this unexpected detour in the day’s plans.

We ended this very full day enjoying crazy good Italian food with Cholene and Ellen. Together. Everything.

Very full day. Very full heart.

Towels, Lamps, and other Meaningless Stuff

If you are expecting a linear, logical flow to these blogs, I’m so sorry. Number one, I have always tended to be random in what I think about and/or obsess over. Number two, multiply that by about a thousand since January 1.

So today’s focus was — shopping for towels, lamps, rugs, and various other home decor items. Target, Kohls, TJ Maxx. Ross…all my go-to places.

It was refreshing to take a detour from my obsession and spend some time celebrating my friend’s daughter who is headed off to Navy Boot Camp in about three weeks. THANK YOU, Caran, for your service!

Settling into easy, honest conversation with people you’ve known forever and others you just met but feel a kindred spirit with is always fortifying for the soul.

Now back to what really matters. I realize there are only so many colors and patterns out there for bathroom towels, and I do believe I’ve looked at all of them. There is a huge difference between a warm grey and a cool grey. I need warm grey. And cream. Not white. Cream. By the way, I’m really excited about a particular design feature in my little bathroom makeover. Can’t wait to share a picture, but it will be a couple of weeks in the making.

Can we talk about lamps? I have brought home four different bedside lamp sets. What is so hard about finding a lamp that matches a cream, teal, and grey color scheme?

My poor friends receive texts from me out of the blue — “What do you think of this? Which one looks better—the cream or the teal pillow?” This week, one of my friends texted back, “Just trust your gut.”

I responded, ”My gut LIES all the time! I can’t trust it!” I wish I had a dime for the countless pieces of furniture, pillows, rugs, etc., I have brought home through the years only to find out they were absolutely the wrong size, color, shape, or style.

And don’t get me started on faux versus live plants.

I would like to blame all this on Chandler — “Ever since Chandler passed, I find myself shopping for decorations to keep me busy.” But obsessing over stuff is just what I do, have always done…and do it well. This is why I have not redecorated any portion of our home for about 15 years. I know what it leads to. Mind you, I’m thrifty, so it’s not so much a money thing. It’s a crazy thing, and I own it. No human being should ruminate this incessantly about whether the sofa throw blanket should be textured or smooth.

A couple of decades ago when I read Organizing from the Inside Out, I stayed up most of the night for a couple of weeks making sure every square inch of the house and garage was perfectly organized. The evidence of that obsessive frenzy is still demonstrated by the handful of nuts and bolts that have remained grouped by size and function.

Here’s where Chandler comes in. None of it matters. It just doesn’t. The towel color, the rug size, the lamp style. Yes, I will continue to shop and obsess and text my friends with pictures and surveys because that’s just how I’m wired. But none of it carries real weight. And that is a welcome reality. Nothing of significance weighs in the balance if I pick the wrong towel color. It’s, in a sense, freeing to be able to obsess over something that is of little real consequence.

Do me a favor though. Three months from now, if I’m still writing about trying to find the perfect towel color for my bathroom, please coordinate an intervention. OR just find me the right freaking towels!

Lit

Today my heart was so filled with encouragement because of friends who stopped by to give me a hug and check in. One friend brought me a Nekter green juice — aahhh, so yummy and healthy. Tomorrow you’ll see what another friend blessed me with.

Had to go get new tires after work. How fun is that!!!

Then I spent WAY too much time at Tuesday morning and Homegoods looking for lamps for my bedroom. It is a welcome distraction to obsess over something that just really doesn’t matter.

On the way home, I remembered that I wanted to check to see if the solar light string I put on Chandler’s bike last night worked. I had a full on conversation with myself.

“They are just lights. And it’s just a bike we painted white. It wasn’t Chandler’s bike. If they don’t work, it’s no big deal. i will just take them back to the store and tell them those lights had the privilege of honoring my son and they blew it.”

I was prepared to be disappointed.

As I pulled up to the bike memorial, I saw the glow. They worked!!!! My heart was so happy!

After taking a picture, I sat in my car beside the memorial and cried. Every time i go there, I end up telling Chandler how sorry I am for what he went through. This time I said, “Chandler, I know you’re not here, but you kind of are. And there is so much love for you here. I hope you know that. I love you, son.”

At least for now, the bike memorial is bringing some light into a dark space. Like Chandler — the candle maker — it is lit.

Riding Around with Chandler

I love this! Someone took an actual photo of Chandler getting air on his BMX bike and made it into decals for us. Every time I pop open my hatch or walk to my car, there he is. My son who defied gravity virtually from birth.

Last summer Chandler began putting together his customized BMX bike after not biking for a while. He was so proud of his creation. Part of me hates that damn bike. But I know it brought him so much joy.

Whenever I see a biker on the street, my heart beats a little faster. Just another reminder.

Today Charli and I stopped by his bike memorial at the corner of Via Honesto and Antonio. We cleaned up some of the dead flowers but left the ones that had been placed in the spokes the day we set up the memorial. It makes me happy to see new tokens of remembrance of Chandler - a pretty succulent, a miniature rose bush, notes from Courtney and Rachael (loved your words to Chandler!), more flowers and candles, and a couple of really cool handmade ornaments hanging from the bike. One had puzzle pieces on it. So cool that someone knows our story of the unfinished puzzle in the ICU waiting room because some JERK disassembled it before we could finish. No, I’m not bitter.

I brought a string of solar lights to wrap around the bike so it’s lit up again at night like it was when the LED lights were working. We’ll see tomorrow night if they actually work. It just seems fitting that Chandler (which, as Charli pointed out, means candle-maker) would have a bike memorial that shines through the darkness.

The bike memorial is enigmatic for me. On the one hand, it makes me happy to pass by and see the tokens of love and remember how Chandler just drew that kind of love to himself because he loved people—unconditionally. On the other hand, it triggers all kinds of painful stories. I say stories because I wasn’t there. I didn’t see what happened. So my mind creates stories to fill in the blanks between when Chandler ran down the stairs shouting, “Gotta get to work…love you” and when I got a phone call at TJ Maxx telling me he was at the hospital and had been hit by a car while riding his bike. All I know for sure is that the blanks that matter were filled at the corner of Via Honesto and Antonio.

At the site of that beautiful, cruel bike memorial.

Waking up to Chandler

No early games today, so another sleeping in day! No alarm, in my book, means a piece of heaven on earth.

Here’s a sometimes cool, but today crappy, part of being on social media. They show you memories from this day a year or two or three or whatever ago. They just pop up first thing. Well, this morning, the picture was from three years ago. Chandler and I were at a friend’s wedding. We danced and danced and danced. I was so proud to be dancing with my son. He had quite the moves….not unlike his Grandpa Bill back in the day. Such an unexpected image that brought back a flood of wonderful memories mingled with searing pain.

These are the moments when I have a choice to make. I can feel what I feel and then keep moving. Or I can let it stop me in my tracks. That’s a perfectly acceptable option, by the way. But today, I chose to feel what I felt and then keep moving.

WWHC? Put one foot in front of the other. Do what you love. Do what brings you life. So I went down to the gym at the hotel and did a HIIT workout.

When I got back to the room, Charli told us Chance’s new song, See Me, was on iTunes. I’m grateful that he can use his gift for songwriting as an avenue by which to help him process this whole ordeal. We listened to the song. Just wow. I know Chandler is proud of his brother.

For lunch we went to Benihana. That onion volcano with the smoke billowing out of it just never gets old. I veered from my usual hibachi steak and got a spicy crunchy tuna roll. Have I said it before — I LOVE trying new things?!

Once again, watching Charli play soccer was a treat. After the game, she had a few tough moments. “I always used to talk to Chandler about how I did in my game.” She probably could have asked for anything at that moment, and we would have given it to her. She just asked for a smoothie. So before leaving Vegas, we stopped at a smoothie/tea place called Bover. Charli got her pitaya watermelon smoothie and I got an almond milk tea — fulfilling our mission to try as many different boba/milk tea places as we can.

On our drive home, Charli did homework and we sang along to a couple of decades of music on Sirius radio. How do I remember the words to every song on the radio from 1970 on but can’t remember where I put my keys?

Nearing home, as we passed through Lake Forest, my eyes fixed on the lights over Etnies Skate Park. Lots of hours spent watching Chandler do what he loved to do at that skate park. One Sunday, he was in a BMX bike competition at Etnies. I remember Chip and I looked at each other as Chandler prepared to do his run, acknowledging our mutual concern that he was about to do something not quite safe. Sure enough, with a look of shear determination, he took off pedaling like crazy—on a mission. We simultaneously gasped as he catapulted his bike up a ramp and executed a backflip.

All morning, I thought about and prayed for my dear friend, and her family, on the one-year anniversary of losing her daughter. I can’t imagine what it’s like, what it will be like, approaching such an unwelcome anniversary.

All in all, it was a good day with a tough start. Funny how one of the highlights of my life — dancing the night away with Chandler — can turn out to be a punch in the gut first thing in the morning.

Simple Pleasures, Perfect Day

Sleeping in is almost always a sign that it’s going to be a good day. Unless you’re a morning person who loves getting up before the butt-crack of dawn. Which I’m not…and I don’t.

Next was a 20-minute HIIT workout followed by a walk across the street from our hotel to the Fashion Mall. Chip grabbed early lunch at the foodcourt while I tried a new milk tea place — Kung Fu Tea. I LOVE trying new things! It was pretty yummy. Not as good as Harmony Tea or Tapioca Express, but pretty darn good.

We came back to the room, and I decided to try the jacuzzi tub — amazingly relaxing! When I figured it was time to get out and get ready to leave for soccer, I pushed the jet button, but instead of stopping the jets, it cranked them into turbo mode! I had to prolong my soaking session until my fingertips resembled little raisins. I can’t imagine anything that could feel better on tired feet than those hot turbo jets.

Soccer was the same as always — a welcome opportunity to watch our daughter play the game she’s loved since she was four years old. It does our hearts good to see her on the field.

When the game was over, I made a beeline for the car. We had decided to try Rollin’ Smoke BBQ, and it was calling my name. Chipotle slaw, green beans, corn nuggets, collard greens, BBQ brisket and pulled pork. This Texas girl was pretty happy. It wasn’t Rudy’s, Corkscrew, or LA Brisket, but it was good enough that it didn’t need sauce. That’s the mark of good BBQ.

Tonight we walked almost the entire Vegas strip. Just wow. So many folks enjoying their cannabis freedom, though you never actually see them doing it. I hope Charli’s school doesn’t do drug testing Monday. Do second-hand whiffs stay in your system?! Also, such a wide variety of characters — from Spider Man (apparently without a gym membership) to Mickey Mouse to classic Vegas showgirls (lucky for them it wasn’t too cold tonight). So many nice people trying to hand Chip invitations of some sort. Some folks who aren’t going to feel very well tomorrow and may wake up with a new last name.

Before coming back to the hotel, we stopped to get Charli a Kung Fu Tea (she’d never had it, and our mission is to try as many new milk tea/boba places as possible), and I tried Honeymee Uzu tea (another NEW thing!). Chip grabbed a pizza, and we headed back to the room.

I have no idea why some days are harder than others. Yesterday was tough. Today, Chandler was on my mind, but somehow I was able to enter more deeply into the moments, and it was easier to smile and laugh. We did a lot of that.

It really is a day at a time. Sometimes a moment or an hour at a time.

My first instinct is to say, “Today was almost perfect. But Chandler…”

Instead, I’m going to say, “Today was a perfect day.” Period.

Kombucha Happy

Thank you, Ron! You are my ambassador of booch!

I love kombucha. It’s a healthy but guilty pleasure (only cuz it’s not cheap). If you’ve never heard of kombucha, it’s a fermented tea drink. My son Chase affectionately refers to it as booty water, a reference to its pungent aroma. What I love so much about it is its natural carbonation, essentially bacteria farts, that make it fizzy. I love fizzy! And it’s low sugar if you get the right brands.

About a year ago, someone gave me a scoby, the slimy looking thing that grows and ferments, producing the beneficial bacteria that is in kombucha. It’s also called a “mother.” Sadly, I killed the mother. That was the end of my kombucha brewing attempts.

About three weeks ago, my friend Ron dropped by with a homemade kombucha kit, complete with the scoby floating in a plastic bag. I made the batch of tea and commenced the first cycle of fermentation. Chase dropped by and happened to glance at my brewing kombucha. He said, “Mom, your pond scum looks really nice.” He swears you can clip your toenails, put them in the bathtub with water for a few days, and come up with the same thing I was attempting to brew.

Three days ago, I transferred the booch to flip-top bottles for it to begin its second fermentation. I added pineapple and ginger to some of the bottles and cilantro and cucumber to others. I was bummed I had no jalapeno to add — next time for sure.

This is the stage where the magic happens—if you’re lucky. Over the next few days, if all goes well, natural carbonation develops and you get a delicious, healthy, fizzy drink. I’d been warned the bottles might explode if too much pressure built up, so I admit I pondered the seriousness of my commitment to booch brewing for a minute. Determined not to let fear keep me from my booch, I proceeded to lock the lids down tight and wait for my fizz.

Tonight’s the night I was to burp my booch. I approached the bottle with the same fear and trepidation as Buddy the Elf when he was cranking the jack-in-the-box, waiting for it to pop up. I flipped the top….

It burped! The magic had happened!!!

Now for the taste test.

It was delicious and fizzy! I’m so happy! I didn’t kill the mother, and I successfully brewed my first batch of kombucha.

It’s not a Nobel Peace Prize or stepping onto the moon. But it sure made me happy tonight.

Cheers.

Hugs

The theme of today — hugs.

Hugs speak volumes. There’s the side hug, the bear hug, the hug-while-patting-the-back hug, the I-feel-awkward hug, the it’s-good-to-see-you hug, the I-love-you-so-much hug. I think I was blessed to be on the receiving end of all of them today. Except the I-feel-awkward hug.

Today was a day of hugs. The first was from Chip before we headed off to work. That’s the I-love-you-so-much hug. That’s always the best way to start my day.

At work….so many hugs today.

There’s a hug that has its own category because it’s so special. Little people hugs. There is something so real and heart-warming about a hug from a young child. They don’t pretend — they either hug you or they don’t. When they do, I count it a privilege.

Today I got three little people hugs. One of them was from a sweet little curly-haired angel who had just graced us with many verses of Baa Baa Black Sheep.

The other two little people hugs were from a couple of handsome gentlemen, one with no front teeth, who stopped by my office with beautiful flowers and a card for me. The hug from mom was pretty special too. It was a from-my-mom-heart-to-yours hug. I get a lot of those these days. Mom hearts know there is nothing more unimaginable than being forever separated on this earth from your child. That’s why mom hugs are some of my favorites. So healing. So authentic.

When you just can’t find the words…hugs speak volumes.

Predictable and Startling

Grief is predictable and startling at the same time.

I’ve come to expect a pit in my stomach when I pass Chandler’s bike memorial, the spot where everything changed on December 15. I anticipate feelings of sadness when I have to put away something in Chandler’s room. I know I will probably cry, or at least tear up, when his name is read each week during Prayers for the People at church.

It is startling when something new punches you in the gut. And it does. Regularly.

An email from insurance asking for details about Chandler’s accident as if they are asking Chandler directly. Chip took that punch.

A siren and flashing lights. I have to fight thoughts of what exactly happened to my baby boy that afternoon. The questions are too raw, the answers – known and unknown – too excruciating to contemplate.

A credit card offer in the mail bearing Chandler’s name.

An innocent question about my kids from someone who doesn’t know.

A song on the radio that played while making our daily pilgrimage to the hospital.

The one constant about grief is….its presence. It’s just always here. What it feels like or looks like exactly can change from moment to moment, hour to hour, day to day. But it remains a constant companion – an unwelcome companion. No one ever invites the opportunity for grief. But also a welcome companion, in a way, because the grief means there was, is, love.

I hear the grieving turns to mourning at some point, which is supposed to be a step up of sorts. It’s all semantics to me right now. I just know it always hurts.

Letter to a Grieving Mother During Lent

I am grateful for friends who have spoken truth and grace to me. I have heard you.

It dawned on me tonight that the message I’m sending myself is not at all the message I would want to convey to another mom in my situation. So I decided to write a letter to a different mom, not me, who has recently lost a child. Most of this letter is taken directly from a friend’s text to me this evening. I know the Lord is speaking through this friend and others. I need to listen, be still, and allow myself to be carried by grace.

Dear Friend,

I am so sorry you are trying to figure out every day how to live without your child. I am sorry for the gaping hole in your heart. The pain is profound, deep, lingering, unfathomable.

You are struggling with not wanting to give up something for Lent. In my opinion, you have made an enormous sacrifice…you have given your son to our Heavenly Father. I know this wasn’t by choice, and giving something up of value, of your choosing, is what giving up something for Lent is all about. But in your case, you give up your son to God each day you grieve. You have demonstrated and continue to demonstrate your deep faith and trust in our Heavenly Father by bowing to His greater wisdom, even though it means being separated from your son. The excruciating pain you endure and the sacrifice made is in trusting our Heavenly Father in that pain. I don’t think anything you could give up for Lent could compare. So I say, you have already taken care of your Lent sacrifice. Be at peace my dear friend and give yourself some grace in this Lent season.

Much Love

Gifts

WWHC?

What would honor Chandler?

I ask this often. Sometimes I ask it because it helps me put one foot in front of the other. If I don’t get out of bed, that doesn’t honor Chandler. If I stop doing the things I love, that doesn’t honor Chandler. If I don’t take care of myself, that doesn’t honor Chandler.

This morning while a wave was crashing in on me, I told my friend, “I will not give up or stop enjoying life. That would not honor Chandler.”

I found myself walking around my house as if somehow my body had to move in order to process what was happening inside me. These words poured out of me through my tears…

God, it’s about you…all about you. I want to honor Chandler. And above all, I want to honor the God who created Chandler. You gave him to us for 25 years. You made him who he was, the person we miss so much. You are good, and kind, and loving, and powerful. And you gave us Chandler. I want to honor you, the Creator of my son. Thank you for letting us have him for 25 years.

At noon, I went to Sumits hot yoga, a guest of my beautiful friend Heidi who teaches there. Heidi knows us from way back; she knew Chandler since he was born. She was key in setting up the bike memorial for Chandler. She shares my pain. All was good – the up dogs and down dogs and tree poses. Then she played Halo by Biance. All I could do was lay on my mat and sob. I stroked the letters on my ring -- WWHC. “I’m so sorry, Chandler. I’m sorry for what you went through. I love you, son. I miss you so much.”

A couple of years ago right after my daddy died, I heard Halo during a cool-down at a dance class. I fought back tears. I had no idea that two short years later I would cry when I heard it for a different reason.

“Everywhere I’m lookin’ now, I’m surrounded by your embrace. Baby, I can see your halo. You know you’re my saving grace.” Even now as I think of those words….oh, my sweet baby boy, my angel.

Today my angel boy is celebrating with my daddy. He would have been 96 today.

My daddy was a gift to me. My baby boy was a gift. The love and care of friends is a gift.

For all these gifts, and just for who you are, I want to honor you, God.

James 1:17 “Every good and perfect gift comes from above, coming down from the Father of the heavenly lights…”

Image by HighwayForSouls on Pixabay

Good Stuff

Today was just so much of the good stuff.

I was supposed to do a 10k with a couple of my Adventure Sisters today, but when we discovered it was going to be raining and cold, we decided sleeping in and spending the morning together someplace warm and dry was preferable. Plus, it was Alice’s birthday, so I figured it might be a better start to her day to NOT be drenched and soggy. We decided on yoga followed by lunch.

In a word, my love language is WARM. So when I found out the yoga class was actually heated to 95 degrees — YES, PLEASE! Child’s pose, down dog, vinyasa — so good to move my body, breathe deeply, and be grateful for the moment.

After yoga, we went to a Cuban restaurant. Woohoo—I’d never had Cuban, and I love trying new things! What a treat to celebrate my dear friend’s birthday with her. Lunch ended with some kind of gooey, caramel-ish free birthday tart of some kind….topped by a sparkler! You gotta get the free birthday treat — can’t be rude, right?!

More good stuff to come….Aunt Cho came down from LA for a visit. She is one of the most amazing human beings God ever decided to come up with. Any time she can be with us — YES, PLEASE!. Chase and Karen came over too. I love my family. Lots of laughter, stories, talk of the future, and holding the past closely—together.

Add to the mix, good friends dropped by to continue their project of patching up some drywall where they had taken down a wall-mounted bunk that had been in Chandler’s room. Not glad we’re in the same crappy club but very glad we’re friends.

Everyone’s gone to their respective homes now, and I’m about to hop in the jacuzzi with Charli and Chip. An admitted weirdness of mine — I don’t like to go in the jacuzzi even though I love most everything that’s hot. When you get out, you’re wet, and then the cool night air hits you and you’re freezing. But I love those people out there becoming prunes, so I’m going to go join them.

Thank you, God, for so much good stuff today.

Floating...You Gotta Try It

A couple of years ago when I first saw an ad for a place where you pay to float in a pod, I thought it was the stupidest thing ever. I can float in my bathtub for free after spending $5 at the dollar store for some water wings.

Last summer, my Adventure Sisters saw a Groupon for a local float place, so a couple of us decided that for $7, it was worth saying we did it.

It was one of the most relaxing experiences of my life…on par with, maybe even more relaxing than, a massage.

Fast forward to January. I knew it was important to do whatever I could to take care of myself. Grieving is hard work. It places high demands on your energy, your thoughts, your emotions, your body. So when I saw a Groupon for float therapy, I grabbed it.

I showed up at Newport Float Therapy this morning and encountered not a simple pod but a tank with a steel door. This was more daunting than the simple pod I’d floated in previously. But I was comforted knowing I was in complete control of that door being open or closed. Also, I was assured that this tank was certified for cleanliness like none other. Yes, there’s some governing body somewhere that invests their time in making sure float tanks are clean, and according to the owner, these are the cream of the crop.

After showering, I stepped, or rather tripped, into the tank. If you decide to try it, just remember to enter the water carefully, without splashing. If you happen to carelessly plop down into the water and splash it into your eyes like I did — it burns. It’s salt water on steroids. And when you try to rub the salt water out of your eyes, you discover that your fingers are covered in salt water also. After this realization, I used the handy dandy spray bottle of water provided to rinse out my eyes and then gingerly lowered myself into the water and began my float.

The water was warm, the tank completely dark and silent.

You may be starting to hyperventilate. I realize it’s not for everyone. You can actually keep the door cracked for some light if you prefer.

I did exit the tank for a second because I got a little paranoid that I wasn’t wearing the earplugs they provide. I wondered if somehow the salt water would seep through my eardrum and cause erosion in my cranium. Once the earplugs were securely inserted, I carefully got back in the water and continued my float.

It’s the most amazing thing — your body is not touching anything but water; you’re not hearing anything; and you don’t see anything. It is sensory deprivation. Anyone who knows me knows that I researched this before AND after I did it. There are studies that say floating MAY have a positive impact on anxiety, depression, and chronic pain and that it may contribute to an overall sense of well-being. It has even been used for PTSD.

Today was no different than my first float. After getting re-settled following the earplug emergency, my mind was free of intrusive thoughts, my body was relaxed, and I’m pretty sure I fell asleep because I did that jerking thing like when you’re in bed and all of a sudden wake yourself up, but when you do that in the float tank, it creates a nice subtle wave affect. When the music began to play in the tank after an hour, I emerged from the warm salty water feeling completely relaxed and tranquil. And I still feel like that.

I have one more float on the Groupon. Thinking of doing the membership. It’s that good.

So go ahead. Make fun of me. I’m now one of those people who pays to float in a dark, silent pod. Or in this case, a tank.

Bigger

Grief tends to be very self-centered. I’m not ascribing any particular negative or positive moral value to that self-centeredness. It’s just the way it is. When you’re hurting, it’s difficult to see past your pain. It’s hard not to add the suffix, “But I want my son back,” to every experience, every emotion, every conversation, EVERY THING.

Today I was able to look just a bit past myself, past the gaping Chandler-sized hole in my heart, and see the BIG-ness of God. He is bigger than my loss, bigger than my pain.

I’m NOT saying he makes the pain disappear, like an eraser wiping a slate clean. It would be dishonest of me if I were to imply that worshipping God for his greatness, believing he is bigger, is an instant antidote for grief.

I can only say that for a few minutes while singing songs of worship with my fellow team members at Mission Hills Christian School and the staff of The Bridge Church, I steered my mind and heart toward the vastness of the God who created Chandler, who created the beautiful things my son enjoyed – the beach, the mountains, nature in any form. I focused on words that lifted my soul – “God who comforts those who mourn,” “Worthy of every breath I breathe,” “I put my trust in you….you are a firm foundation.” And in focusing on God, his BIG-ness, my heart was encouraged.

The mystery of mysteries…in his vastness, in his perfection, in his infinite power, he is WITH me. When grief grabs the reigns and steers me back toward my pain rather than toward the One who is bigger, he meets me with grace and compassion.

In Honor of Chandler....

Since the beginning, I have been been humbled and blessed by the multitude of people who have prayed for Chandler and for us, many who don’t even know us. The day after Chandler’s accident, I learned that a local Catholic church, San Francisco Solano, had prayed for Chandler during mass on December 16. I was strengthened knowing we were being lifted up by this community of faith that I had never even been a part of.

After Chandler died, I SO hate typing that, I received a note in the mail that on February 24, San Francisco Solano would be honoring Chandler during the 10:15 service. I put it on my calendar and made plans to go. Last night, I began to have second thoughts. I have heard Chandler mentioned and prayed for among those who have departed during services at St. Johns Episcopal Church and at Santa Margarita Catholic High School mass. It was difficult to hear. I knew it would be difficult to hear it again today. It just makes everything so final. You can’t take it back once it’s been said out in public like that. He’s gone.

I decided that if this congregation was kind enough to honor Chandler, a young man they didn’t even know, I wanted to be there. I needed to be there.

I am grateful I went. It was a privilege to worship with these good people. When the priest mentioned Chandler Espinoza, more than once, I wanted to shout out, “That’s my son, and he was amazing! I wish you all could have known him.”

The music, the scripture, the sermon. It was all so good for my soul.

After the service, I approached Father Duy. My heart was pounding.

I reached out my hand to shake his.

“I…..” Breathe. “I’m….” Breathe.

“I’m Chandler’s mom, and I want to thank you all for praying for my son. I know you prayed for him since the time the accident happened.”

Tears have a life of their own.

He hugged me and said he was so sorry and assured me that they had been praying the whole time. He said if there’s anything I need, please let them know.

I wish I could thank EVERY community of faith that has collectively prayed — for Chandler’s healing and now for our family as we trudge through the pain of losing him. There is something so meaningful, so powerful, in knowing that a group of people who don’t even know you are pouring out their hearts in prayer for you.

I could have missed this morning’s service. It would have spared me just a bit of pain in hearing my son’s name called in a context that I…..I will be honest, I HATE. I don’t want him to be named among those who have departed. But this is my new reality, my new normal. Had I missed hearing his name called, I would have also missed an opportunity to connect with this group of people who have joined with me to honor Chandler and to pray for our family.

I am honored. I am humbled. I am grateful.

.

Perfect Day....Almost

Today started out with a delicious spinach smoothie, reading Streams in the Desert, and dropping Charli off at school.

Oh, by request, here’s my spinach smoothie recipe (I don’t measure anything):

Almond or soy milk, frozen blueberries, frozen spinach, frozen banana, maca powder, chia seeds, coconut oil, peanut butter, and peppermint extract. After that is all blended and smooth, throw in some roasted cacao nibs and pulse three times. It makes the smoothie crunchy and delicious. But beware, you will look like you’ve never enjoyed the luxury of dental hygiene — the cacao will stick between your teeth. It’s worth it. Just put dental floss in your pocket. You can omit the peppermint oil, cacao nibs, and peanut butter and go with frozen pineapple, turmeric, and fresh ginger. You can also add cayenne to any of the above because…it’s cayenne.

Once again, today at Mission Hills Christian School I enjoyed the work I get to do and the people I get to do it with. So very grateful.

After work, I met a friend for a bite to eat at Board & Brew. I feel especially close to Chandler when I’m there. The picture for today’s blog is of the beautiful poem posted on the bar at Board & Brew. The staff and B&B regulars have been so good to us. Love seeing my tribe and the hugs all around. Plus, oh my gosh, the tomato basil soup today was amazing!!!

Next stop, Trader Joe’s. Does anyone else get carried away and leave with about 15 more items than you had planned to pick up when you went in? Free food samples, new stuff to try all the time, and friendly crew members. I typically don’t like going to the grocery store because I’m ALWAYS cold. Trader Joe’s is the closest to a grocery store stop that I can honestly say I enjoy. Today I was on a mission to gather tasty goodies for book club I was hosting tonight.

Got home and tidied up the house, vacuumed up some dog hair, threw appetizers in the oven, and lit some candles. My book club buddies began to arrive. I have to be honest. We’ve been reading the same flipping book for ONE YEAR, and we are literally ONE HALF the way through it! We’re more like a “read a little, talk and graze a lot” club. We decided to trash that book and move on to another next month. We will probably finish that book sometime in 2020. The book isn’t really the point of this group. We have lived a lot of life together. That’s the point.

After everyone left, I went upstairs to put on my pajamas. I saw a white. patterned shirt hanging in my closet. Chandler’s shirt. A shirt he’s wearing in a picture I have of him dancing at a music festival. I hold it close to my face and smell of it. I want to smell Chandler, the way he used to smell when he would dress up to go out dancing in that shirt. It just smells like my closet now.

Tears are close. But they don’t quite surface. I’m not sure how I feel. I’m grateful for such an almost perfect day. Just one thing is missing.

I love you, Chandler Man.

Just a Really Good Day

Really good day today!

Our school’s PTP (Parent Teacher Partnership) was meeting this morning. I haven’t been to one of their regular meetings since December. So good to see this group of people in action planning fun things for our school. And, I’m not gonna lie, so good to get hugs and “welcome back”s. Every day I thank God for knowing better than I even know myself what I need right now and taking such good care of me.

After a busy day at work, I went to a reunion of my small group from a few years back. The six of us haven’t been all together in a long time. We got caught up on one another’s lives and chatted about everything from decorating to dog training and decided we should collectively run for office to solve all the political and social ills of our day. Then we decided we would just meet once a month to hang out and stay connected.

God knew that during this season, I needed my new normal to intersect in significant ways with my old normal.

Thank you, God, for this really good day.

All Together...Almost

I’ve been looking forward to this evening for weeks. The coordinating of it was difficult. Not because of the logistics of coordinating everyone’s schedules, but because every group family text until December 15 included Chandler. Every time I would look at a response to “What day works for you?”, one response was glaringly absent.

Though he was missing from the group text and from tonight’s family dinner, Chandler was the reason for this special occasion. A good friend of Chandler’s had told us weeks ago that he wanted to treat us to dinner whenever the timing worked for us. Tonight was the night.

As a mom, the best thing ever is to have all of my kids with me in the same room. I loved seeing them together tonight. But we were missing one, and it just sucks.

Delicious food, engaging conversations, lots and lots of laughter and Chandler stories. I don’t know how things work outside this realm, but I want to believe that Chandler was with us and was so happy that we were all there together. Surely they let you know when your people are having a special dinner so you can pop in as the invisible guest of honor.

Twists, Turns and the Tender Care of God

Today was a gigantic billboard with big bold letters reading - LISA, THIS IS GOD. I’VE GOT YOU.

I have to tell you a bit about my circuitous route to today, and then you will understand

Three years ago, I went back to school for my 2nd bachelors degree in Communicative Disorders and last summer became a licensed speech language pathology assistant (SLPA) with the goal of practicing in the field and deciding if I wanted to continue on for my masters to become a speech pathologist.

One day this past fall, I said to Chip that I wanted to keep my eyes open for something at Beach Kids, a local therapy center with a great reputation. Lo and behold, less than one minute from my saying that to Chip, I got an email from Beach Kids. Though I was happy at Mission Hills Christian School where I’d been Admissions Director for the past 7 1/2 years, this was definitely a God thing, and it was time to make the leap to the new career I had been preparing for. During the transition, I began working a few late afternoons at Beach Kids while working the first part of the day at Mission HIlls. My last day at Mission Hills was to be December 31. I was enjoying getting to know my kiddos at Beach Kids, and the staff there were welcoming, kind, and a great team of people to work with. This was exactly where I was supposed to be.

Then December 15 happened.

I didn’t return to work at Beach Kids until January 21. They had told me to take all the time I needed, but I felt I should get back to work. It turned out to be too soon. Speech therapy is a rewarding field, but it’s not always easy, especially right now when every day brings something new that punches me in the gut, and I have to suck it up and make sure I’ve gathered the appropriate therapy materials to address the appropriate goals using the most appropriate activities and am taking correct data…all while making sure the kiddos are engaged. I knew God had opened the door for me to be at Beach Kids, and I was so grateful for the opportunity to be there. But everything had changed.

December 15. New game. New rules.

One of the new rules is — do whatever you have to do to take care of yourself. I was grappling with what that looked like. I had told a couple of people the week of January 28 that now — now that everything is different — I just want to be home and write. I need flexibility and space.

On February 1, I got a call out of the blue asking if I would be interested in coming back to Mission Hills part-time. “You can work from home and figure out the schedule that works best for you” are the words that struck me. God heard my prayer and handed me the answer.

I’m not a quitter, so it was difficult to think about leaving Beach Kids. God took care of that. During a meeting with my supervisor, she asked, “How are you doing?” That’s all it took. I broke and said, “I don’t think I can do this right now.” We cried, she hugged me, and the Beach Kids owner and staff once again demonstrated that their primary concern was for my well being and encouraged me to do whatever I need to do to take care of myself right now.

So here we are today. I woke up and made myself a spinach smoothie, part of my morning routine for much of my 7 1/2 years at Mission Hills. I drove to work and walked through the front door like so many hundreds of times before. New normal meets old normal.

So many smiles and hugs and “welcome back”s. Even a cold bottle of kombucha. It was all so familiar, so comfortable, so right, so — HOME.

GOD, THIS IS LISA. THANK YOU.

Mission Hills Christian School Tribute to Victims of 2018 Las Vegas Shooting

Getting The Call

The other day I was in TJ Maxx for the first time since the afternoon of December 15.

I was not looking forward to my first time back there, but it was inevitable because, well, it’s TJ Maxx. And because the Lord takes such good care of me, it just happens that I wasn’t alone. I was with a close friend who was helping me with a decorating project.

On December 15, I was shopping at TJ Maxx for Secret Santa gifts for the person whose name I drew at Beach Kids Therapy Center. I had everything in my cart and was headed toward the checkout line. I had just passed the shoe section and convinced myself I didn’t need to linger there. We were planning to go that night to look at Christmas lights, so I needed to exercise some self-control and get out of there.

My phone rang and a gentleman asked, “Are you Chandler Espinoza’s mother?”

“Yes.”

“He’s been hit by a car. He’s at Mission Hospital.”

“Is he OK?”

“Can you get here within half an hour?”

“Yes, I’m on my way.”

It’s crazy what the mind does in moments like this. I thought, “I might as well go ahead and pay for everything. I’m sure he will be fine…like always.”

I rolled my cart into the checkout line. Suddenly I said out loud, “Oh, my God, my son was hit by a car.” I left the basket and ran to my car with every question mark imaginable imprinted on my brain.

That call was the first step in a journey that is every parent’s worst nightmare.

Last week as I walked into the store with my friend, I told her about that call. I was grateful because she was with me, and she will be with me for the long haul. I was grateful because every step since that first one, God has cared for us. He has surrounded us with people who have given every kind of support imaginable — people who know us well and people who don’t know us at all.

The call. The first step.

The first day. The first week. The first month.

“I will never leave you or forsake you…” Hebrews 13:5

Photo by Alexander Andrews on Unsplash