One of those days...

Maybe it's the big changes?

Maybe it is because of the time of the year?

Maybe it is because September is barreling towards me?

All I know for sure is, today was just one of those days. All of the emotion, all of the grief, all of the heartache is bubbling over.

I've been all sorts of numb lately. The tears could come, but only one or two at a time. I had developed this wall of defense. I've been taking fake it until you make it to an entirely new level.

And then today happened. Nothing happened.

And all I have done is cry.

Over Tom and everything his legacy means.

Over things that are completely out of my control.

Over the fact that in two weeks I will move out of the first house that Evan and I called home. (Not to mention the fact that we still don't know where our next home will be!)

Over the fact that I miss my Mom.

Over the fact that Savannah is six months old. (How is that even possible?)

Over the fact that it is taking such effort to write this.

Over the fact that I walked through the baby section tonight and looked for babies who still aren't mine.

Some days are just hard.

And I just have to keep reminding myself, it is totally ok to cry.

On a better note, there are big things on the horizon. Lots of projects, a very special first birthday celebration, and lots of March of Dimes. Pretty much, lots and lots of Aidan. Blessings in the darkness.



Love them like Jesus

What do you do when someone you love is hurting? What do you say when you can't even imagine the depth of pain?

You do whatever it takes to ensure they know they are supported. You hold their hand as they cry. You hug them so tight that they know you won't let them break into a million pieces. You sit in silence. You cry with them. You pray more than you have probably ever prayed before.

You don't have to say anything in particular. You've heard it before and it's true. There is nothing you can say to make it better. You say, "I love you." You tell them how many prayers are being lifted.

You try and understand where they are coming from. Even though you can't, you try.

Quite simply, you love them like Jesus.

Time Warp

I went back in time for awhile tonight.

Dedmon/Speyer walked the halls of Cabot High again.

It was so strange. It was hallowed ground to us. Yet, it looks completely different. Our auditorium is gutted. There are buildings where we used to park our cars. Everything looks different. But everything felt the same.

Nostalgia at its purest form. Standing there with Jane, Ashley and Gwen. Looking at pictures of our former selves from ten years ago. Standing there with the one friend who has fought with me and for me the hardest. Standing there with my other half.

I was introduced as the Dedmon half. For just those instances we were just alumni. All of the baggage was left at the door. We were witnessing our legacy there.

And then there was this beautiful moment. This moment where Jane looked at me, hugged me and loved me. She loved me because she has known me for over 15 years and has watched me grow. She loves me now because I can't hide the pain.

Like all of the buildings on that campus, I have changed. I'm not that fresh faced naive girl anymore.

I've got scars. I've got a story to tell. It's not always happy. It's not always optimistic. It is filled with faith, grace and lots and lots of love.

I've grown up a lot. I've grown up more than I ever wanted to. But, deep down inside me she is still there. Like the memories in the auditorium, that precious side of me is still there. It may be down in the tip of my pinky toe, but its still there.

I just have to heal enough to let her resurface. No, I will never be the same. I will never go back to the old Tara. That Tara wasn't a mom. But, there are pieces of me that will resurface. I just have to deal with all of this other stuff first.

So, please. Have patience. Have faith. Have hope.

Patience in my grief. I cannot tell you when I will come out of it. Just know I am doing the best I can. Most days I cover it up so as not to make anyone else uncomfortable.

Faith in me. Faith that I will come out of this intact. Faith that my faith will endure.

Hope for a future. I am counting on your hope to inspire mine. I know it's in there. I just need some help finding it.

.

Shattered

Grief.

It's this word that instills fear in us. The word causes us to flashback to some of the darkest moments we've ever experienced. Or, if we have somehow skirted its dark cloud, we have images of someone we know.

In my 28 years, I've experienced a lot of death. Great-grandmothers I cherished, a grandfather taken by Alzheimer's before I really had the chance to know him, friends taken much too soon by car accidents, a war hero who gave the ultimate sacrifice (his story can be read here), a cousin and friend who succumbed to the darkness, a co-worker and her daughter gone in the second it took to cross that median. All gone. All funerals I attended. All people taken before I was ready.

All instances where death was once removed. I cried, I grieved and then the world moved on.

Of course, this was all before. Before September 4th, when I said hello and goodbye to my son. Before I carried him home and had him baptized. Before I sat at that conference table picking out a casket while holding him. Before I handed him over for the last time. Before I said my final goodbye that Thursday night. Before his funeral. Before they buried my child. Before my world stopped spinning.

So, no. I'm not over it. No, I'm not going to return to normal. No, it's not easier because I didn't get to know him. Because all of the other people I have had to let go, left me thousands of memories to keep. Maybe its because he is my first. Maybe it is because he is my only. But, the fact that Aidan was gone so fast does not make any of this any easier on me.

My life is in pieces, never to be put back together.

Oh Lord Jesus, come to be near us. Hold us with Your unfailing love. We cannot sustain ourselves.

A simple prayer. The biggest request I'll ever ask.

There is a very special woman out there tonight who needs our prayers. So please, if you pray include "C" in them. She is battling the demon we call cancer. She is fighting to come home to a very spunky little girl who needs her Momma.

Angie Simon says it best, "I don't where you are tonight, or what hurts you are holding up to God, but I will promise you this. If you can just trust Him enough to bring it up to Him, He will rejoice in your masterpiece. And if you need to scream a little, know that you have a God who can take that too, as long as your face is tilted (even slightly) toward Him."

I serve a God who knows my suffering. His grace is in a jar we all carry. And his glory is seen in the shattering.

(I must confess, it has been a BAD week. Not just a rough week in this process of grief, but BAD. In five days we have been to the ER for stitches in Evan's hand, had an accident on Sunday that ruined all of my plans for A's three month celebration and today the engine blew in our other vehicle. Enough to drive a perfectly stable person off the edge. My brain just doesn't know its way around the sorrow. So, I've rambled. I've let out some steam. Now, I have to figure out how to convince Ev our world is not crashing down. :))