<?xml version='1.0' encoding='UTF-8'?><?xml-stylesheet href="http://www.blogger.com/styles/atom.css" type="text/css"?><feed xmlns='http://www.w3.org/2005/Atom' xmlns:openSearch='http://a9.com/-/spec/opensearchrss/1.0/' xmlns:georss='http://www.georss.org/georss' xmlns:gd='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005' xmlns:thr='http://purl.org/syndication/thread/1.0'><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165</id><updated>2011-07-30T16:58:47.471-07:00</updated><category term='BPA'/><category term='Songs for the Brokenhearted'/><title type='text'>Grieving with Grace</title><subtitle type='html'></subtitle><link rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#feed' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/posts/default'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default?max-results=100'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/'/><link rel='hub' href='http://pubsubhubbub.appspot.com/'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><generator version='7.00' uri='http://www.blogger.com'>Blogger</generator><openSearch:totalResults>9</openSearch:totalResults><openSearch:startIndex>1</openSearch:startIndex><openSearch:itemsPerPage>100</openSearch:itemsPerPage><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-8655243617414283533</id><published>2009-12-15T20:05:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-12-15T20:06:35.909-08:00</updated><title type='text'>Teddy</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;&lt;a href="http://weepyseeds.blogspot.com/2009/12/teddy.html"&gt;A bittersweet Christmas memory.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-8655243617414283533?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/8655243617414283533/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/12/teddy.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/8655243617414283533'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/8655243617414283533'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/12/teddy.html' title='Teddy'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-1479428858225812157</id><published>2009-08-11T07:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-08-11T07:52:51.087-07:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='Songs for the Brokenhearted'/><title type='text'>I Sure Miss You</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;Here's a song for those of us who miss our loved ones.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Hang in there as it begins,.....&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;there's about a 30-35 second intro which doesn't go with the song.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt; &lt;/div&gt;&lt;object width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;param name="movie" value="http://www.youtube.com/v/pbhClDMx5aM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowFullScreen" value="true"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;param name="allowscriptaccess" value="always"&gt;&lt;/param&gt;&lt;embed src="http://www.youtube.com/v/pbhClDMx5aM&amp;hl=en&amp;fs=1&amp;" type="application/x-shockwave-flash" allowscriptaccess="always" allowfullscreen="true" width="425" height="344"&gt;&lt;/embed&gt;&lt;/object&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-1479428858225812157?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/1479428858225812157/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-sure-miss-you.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/1479428858225812157'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/1479428858225812157'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/08/i-sure-miss-you.html' title='I Sure Miss You'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-3204782221882865278</id><published>2009-07-13T19:15:00.001-07:00</published><updated>2009-07-13T19:17:36.217-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Bereaved Parents Gathering</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://weepyseeds.blogspot.com/2009/07/gathering-of-bereaved-parents.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Just yesterday, I returned from the &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://weepyseeds.blogspot.com/2009/07/gathering-of-bereaved-parents.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;National Gathering of the &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_0" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;bereaved&lt;/span&gt; parents of the USA.  &lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://weepyseeds.blogspot.com/2009/07/gathering-of-bereaved-parents.html"&gt;&lt;strong&gt;Here's a few &lt;span id="SPELLING_ERROR_1" class="blsp-spelling-corrected"&gt;thoughts&lt;/span&gt; about the weekend&lt;/strong&gt;&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-3204782221882865278?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/3204782221882865278/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/07/bereaved-parents-gathering.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/3204782221882865278'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/3204782221882865278'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/07/bereaved-parents-gathering.html' title='Bereaved Parents Gathering'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-1513861940633581178</id><published>2009-06-07T20:05:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-06-07T20:06:22.212-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Good Plans</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://weepyseeds.blogspot.com/2009/06/good-plans.html"&gt;A new grief post here&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-1513861940633581178?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/1513861940633581178/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/06/good-plans.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/1513861940633581178'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/1513861940633581178'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/06/good-plans.html' title='Good Plans'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-186379876097412732</id><published>2009-05-21T17:33:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-21T20:47:17.310-07:00</updated><title type='text'>5 Years Out</title><content type='html'>I recall when Jae had been gone only hours and days, I clung to every other mother who had lost a child and asked them "&lt;em&gt;Will it always hurt this bad&lt;/em&gt;?"&lt;br /&gt;Almost without exception, the friends would comfort me with thoughts and words that I really did not believe. The reassurances they gave did not seem possible.&lt;br /&gt;How would this agonizing physical, emotional and spiritual pain &lt;em&gt;get better&lt;/em&gt;?&lt;br /&gt;The idea that life would get better was preposterous.&lt;br /&gt;Jae would always be gone, therefore I would always hurt.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Another thing that always made my stomach lurch was when moms would tell me that they had lost their child (so many) years ago. The mere thought of living "years" without her was unimaginable.&lt;br /&gt;Facing the next hour was too hard,...how could I look ahead into the coming "years"?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;People often asked me early in my grief "&lt;em&gt;How are you doing&lt;/em&gt;?"&lt;br /&gt;It's a typical casual greeting given to people often every day, but I swore that for as long as I lived, I would never say "&lt;em&gt;Good"&lt;/em&gt; again.&lt;br /&gt;I would say "&lt;em&gt;Fine"&lt;/em&gt; or "&lt;em&gt;OK&lt;/em&gt;" or "&lt;em&gt;All right&lt;/em&gt;", but "&lt;em&gt;good&lt;/em&gt;"?.....never!&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now that it's been 5 years, I find I have learned to wear this coat of grief and have even grown accustomed to it. It is an internal garment and although it's not comfortable, it is as much a part of me as my skin.&lt;br /&gt;I can not get out of it.&lt;br /&gt;I can not take it off.&lt;br /&gt;It clings to me.&lt;br /&gt;I hate it, but I accept it.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My heart broke today and I had to work crazy hard at holding tears back.  I watched a beautiful wedding picture/video of a friend's daughter and much of this beautiful young bride's pictures reminded me of Jae.&lt;br /&gt;All the people watching the video beside and with me would have never thought I was missing Jae Lynn.   They weren't thinking at &lt;em&gt;all&lt;/em&gt; about my loss of Jae.  Of &lt;em&gt;course &lt;/em&gt;they would not think of her!&lt;br /&gt;But&lt;em&gt; I&lt;/em&gt; was painfully reminded that I would never have the opportunity to create such a beautiful video for Jae wedding. Her daddy will not give her away, her younger sister will choose another maid of honor, I will not help her pick out a white dress, she will never know romance, I will never hold her children, etc.....&lt;br /&gt;The grief coat suffocates me for a moment.&lt;br /&gt;It's normal that no one would notice.&lt;br /&gt;Still,....it's lonely that no one notices.&lt;br /&gt;If they did notice, they would not speak of it because it would be,..well,..awkward.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;One of my patients spoke of the fresh death of his wife of &lt;strong&gt;67 years&lt;/strong&gt;. (!) His wrinkled eyes were wild with pain as he said "&lt;em&gt;I am selfish. I wish she was still with me&lt;/em&gt;".&lt;br /&gt;Selfish?&lt;br /&gt;I think not.&lt;br /&gt;It's not selfish to wish for wholeness.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I watched a friend of mine sob as she lovingly caressed a photo of her mom who recently died. The coat is too big. Too much to bear. She knows it is a pain she will wear for the rest of her life. It's an overwhelming reality.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What do I say to these dear ones who hurt so bad?&lt;br /&gt;I have lots of experience,..but they are skeptical that it will be the same for them.&lt;br /&gt;Yet,..like I did, they hold out hope for the day when their heart will not ache so bad.&lt;br /&gt;Hold on.&lt;br /&gt;It does get better.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Hope.&lt;br /&gt;Heaven.&lt;br /&gt;Come.&lt;br /&gt;Quickly.&lt;br /&gt;Lord.&lt;br /&gt;Jesus.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Til then, I'm here as a 5 year survivor telling them that life can indeed be once again,...."Good".  &lt;br /&gt;God still performs miracles.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-186379876097412732?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/186379876097412732/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/05/5-years-out.html#comment-form' title='1 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/186379876097412732'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/186379876097412732'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/05/5-years-out.html' title='5 Years Out'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>1</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-2738616529320945877</id><published>2009-05-06T20:35:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-05-06T20:37:54.230-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Mothers Day</title><content type='html'>&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;a href="http://weepyseeds.blogspot.com/2008/05/mothers-day.html"&gt;Read my Post for Mother's Day here.&lt;/a&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-2738616529320945877?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/2738616529320945877/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/05/mothers-day.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/2738616529320945877'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/2738616529320945877'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/05/mothers-day.html' title='Mothers Day'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-240447635646322512</id><published>2009-04-11T18:39:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-12T19:43:20.387-07:00</updated><title type='text'>I Will Miss You The Most</title><content type='html'>&lt;em&gt;This is one of the very first entires I wrote in my personal journal after Jae's death. &lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;It is dated in May 2004.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;***************************************************************&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will miss you the most in the summer, I think. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Watching lightning bugs and listening to the whipporwills. I recall the night you got up and I could see you silhouetted in our bedroom doorway &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;crying that “the wisperwillers” were keeping you awake. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Our whippoorwills left when you did and have not come back. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss you when I look up into the starry night sky at Buffalo River and &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;then sleeping head-to-head with you in our tiny camper. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss seeing you in swimsuits and sunglasses and smelling all like suntan lotion. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Us comparing our tan lines to see who was darker. (ME!) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss seeing your cute feet in sandals. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss getting you ready and off to cheer camp and the early morning cheerleading practices at the end of summer. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It occurs to me that no one could sing the “poor sick penguin” like you and I will miss that you will never make me laugh by singing it again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I loved watching you work with the preschoolers in VBS and I will remember your talent each and every year and wish that you could work it again. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Yes. I will miss you in the summer.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I think I will miss you most in the Autumn. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The ambiance of a Friday night football game will forever wash over me and remind me of you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss your daddy talking to you through the PA system and thanking all the bases when they caught you after a stunt. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss you when the weather turns cool because I will recall how beautiful &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;you were in turtlenecks and sweaters. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss you at bonfires and after-game parties. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I wish you would be here with me to notice all the changing leaf colors around our house. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss seeing what interesting and unusual character you decided &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;to be each year for Halloween. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;(Oh wait. Of course. You would be a pig.) &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You won’t be there to plan and anticipate the upcoming holidays. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Yes, I will miss you in the Autumn.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I think I may miss you the most in the Winter. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;The times you spent shivering in our living room complaining of the cold. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;It always confused us as to why you would choose to freeze &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;by wearing a sports bra and soffee shorts. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss you crawling into our bed and sleepily whining to us about how warm and cozy it was compared to yours. And now, there’s no one except me at our house who understands &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;how wonderful a two hour bath can be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’ll miss you terribly in our Thanksgiving prayer circle before our meal. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I’ll wish you were with us when we go to the malls the day after Thanksgiving. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;And then at Christmas, when our family carols to our friends and neighbors on Christmas Eve, our song will miss your sweet warbly little voice. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;On Christmas morning, our bed will still be warm and cozy but I will long for it to be crowded with your presence as your daddy reads the Christmas story. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Oh! How I will miss you in the Winter.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;But I think I may miss you most in the Spring. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;You and I both loved to pick flowers, but neither of us had any interest in tending them. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Jonquils will forever remind me of how you picked a huge bouquet to brighten your room &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;on the &lt;em&gt;very day&lt;/em&gt; before you left us. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss cheerleading competitions and holding you together during the week of try-outs. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will miss all the yearbook signings and the proms that aren’t to be. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Spring is the season of new life, but from now on, when I hear the birds singing their first song of Spring, I will I recall how sad they sounded the year you left. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;em&gt;How did they know&lt;/em&gt;? &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;A grim anniversary now reminds me of things other than new life. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will always miss you in the Spring.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I will miss you in all seasons and in between all seasons. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I will always wonder what jobs you would have had and what profession you would have chosen. I will miss watching you love a man as much as I love your daddy and I was looking forward to watching you love a daughter as much as I love you. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;I think I will always long for you when I see Casey and Abby alone or enjoying &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;themselves together. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;A family of four just seems wrong.&lt;br /&gt;Your death has left the same type of frustrating pain as a song that ends abruptly just when it was reaching it’s most beautiful crescendo. I expected much more life and beauty from you and then your death came at the peak of your song. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;We almost had a glimpse of what you would be like as an adult, but now &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;we will forever strain for that vision.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;My life, my outlook, my personality, my past and my future are all different now. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;There is much I do not understand about all of this. &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;One thing I do know is that I will miss you the most in the &lt;/div&gt;&lt;div align="center"&gt;Summer, Autumn, Winter and Spring.&lt;/div&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-240447635646322512?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/240447635646322512/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-will-miss-you-most.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/240447635646322512'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/240447635646322512'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/02/i-will-miss-you-most.html' title='I Will Miss You The Most'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-8034842284097434383</id><published>2009-04-03T11:18:00.000-07:00</published><updated>2009-04-03T12:39:17.258-07:00</updated><title type='text'>Rejoice!</title><content type='html'>I've been absolutely starved during the past few days to sit in my sacred place where I slow down to study God's Word.  (That, by the way, can be anywhere, but is usually at my kitchen table).&lt;br /&gt;Because we are at the Easter time of the year, I chose to study the events which surround the resurrection. &lt;br /&gt;My first church service to attend after Jae's funeral was our Easter Sunday Morning service.  In retrospect, I should not have gone. &lt;br /&gt;The worship music and sermon was all about death, victory over death, life after death,...etc.    Those are all fine things to focus on unless you have just buried your very heart and soul.&lt;br /&gt;I wasn't feeling very victorious over the grave.&lt;br /&gt;I would have classified myself as utterly defeated.&lt;br /&gt;Our Easter pictures are just plain bad ugly.&lt;br /&gt;Teary eyes, pasted smiles and mementos of Jae on our lapels.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In spite of that one in 2004,  I think Easter is my favorite holiday.  I have found that it is not the emotional mine-field of other holidays. &lt;br /&gt;Our family gatherings and crazy photo shoots will always miss her, just like they miss our other family members who are gone.&lt;br /&gt;Jae's Easter basket still gets filled and left on the kitchen table but now Ralph and I eat the candy without feeling guilty.&lt;br /&gt;We both will cry.&lt;br /&gt;I will sit in the Easter Sunday service and sing the worship songs about death and graves and life.&lt;br /&gt;Unlike I used to do, I will now pay more attention to the words as I sing each song.&lt;br /&gt;And I will cry.&lt;br /&gt;I will listen to the sermon for sounds of my hope.&lt;br /&gt;When I hear them, I will cry.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In Matthew 28:8-10, the story is told of the women seeing the angel in the empty tomb and then given the directions to "&lt;em&gt;go tell the disciples about Jesus being risen from the grave&lt;/em&gt;".    Then, as they left with the unusual mixture of &lt;em&gt;fear&lt;/em&gt; and&lt;em&gt; joy,&lt;/em&gt; they run smack-dab into Jesus Himself&lt;em&gt;.&lt;/em&gt;  (Isn't that just like God to make a great thing better?)  &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;What was His first word to them as they wrapped themselves around His feet?&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"REJOICE!!"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I can just imagine Him smiling and laughing as He peels them off of His feet.  &lt;br /&gt;"&lt;em&gt;Hurry!!&lt;/em&gt;  &lt;em&gt;Go and tell my brothers that I will meet them in Galilee!&lt;/em&gt;"&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I notice first of all that He appeared first to the women.  (Go girls!)  &lt;br /&gt;Then I see His words are filled with comfort and plans for those that loved him most.  His disciples.  Now remember,...most of them had not conducted themselves nobly and faithfully in those past few days. &lt;br /&gt;But Jesus &lt;em&gt;knew &lt;/em&gt;that His disciples were scattered, grief-stricken, broken and confused men.    He was eager, and can I say &lt;em&gt;desperate, &lt;/em&gt;to get to them? &lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;He feels that way about me too.&lt;br /&gt;And you.&lt;br /&gt;He sees us looking at the graves of our loved ones and wants us to remember that there is a resurrection morning ahead of us.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"Rejoice!"&lt;/em&gt; is not the word that always comes to my mind when I'm at Jae's graveside, but I can take comfort from the message that He has given me through His word:&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Precious in the eyes of the Lord is the death of His saints.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;In the message translation, it's written like this&lt;em&gt;:&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;"When they arrive at the gates of death, God welcomes those who love Him"&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;My journey through Grief has given me a desire for Heaven that I never had before.&lt;br /&gt;At first, It was for selfish reasons.  I wanted to see Jae.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, however, I look forward to wrapping myself around Jesus feet to thank Him for such an incredible plan to save our lives.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;Life begins when we die.&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Only God could have planned such an ending.&lt;br /&gt;Only God could have planned such a &lt;em&gt;beginning!&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(rejoice)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(rejoice)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;(rejoice)&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;br /&gt;&lt;em&gt;&lt;span style="font-size:78%;"&gt;etc....&lt;/span&gt;&lt;/em&gt;&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-8034842284097434383?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/8034842284097434383/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/04/rejoice.html#comment-form' title='2 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/8034842284097434383'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/8034842284097434383'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2009/04/rejoice.html' title='Rejoice!'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>2</thr:total></entry><entry><id>tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-5674159472513613165.post-2451945773765759197</id><published>2008-12-23T07:42:00.000-08:00</published><updated>2009-01-19T22:14:12.737-08:00</updated><category scheme='http://www.blogger.com/atom/ns#' term='BPA'/><title type='text'>Bereaved Parents, North of the River</title><content type='html'>Went to the North of the River chapter of Bereaved Parents last night.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;I think my participation with the "Bereaved Parents" group is unusual.  I should say that the &lt;em&gt;timing&lt;/em&gt; of my participation is unusual. You see, although I had been referred to them often, I never went to a single meeting until probably 2 years after losing Jae.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;A lot of reasons,.....the biggest being that the only available chapter was way over in Little Rock, a 45 minute drive from my home.&lt;br /&gt;Another reason?  I felt as if I had the intense emotional support of friends and family.  I just did not &lt;em&gt;need&lt;/em&gt; to go.&lt;br /&gt;Another reason? I think I was afraid of showing how broken I was. I tried to reserve my hysteria for Ralph and my brothers and parents. Didn't really like showing it to them either. I mostly cried outside in the yard, in the privacy of her bedroom or at her grave.&lt;br /&gt;Once I began "the crying", I'm &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_0"&gt;tellin&lt;/span&gt; ya,...it was loud and ugly.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;Now, almost 5 years later, I still do not NEED to go meet with the "Bereaved Parents" support group.  I COULD&lt;strong&gt; &lt;/strong&gt;get along without them. However,.... the meetings that Ralph and I attend never fail to encourage me. The people I meet in that room are some of the most strong, wonderful friends I have. I expect that our friendship could be lifelong, although the reality is that, years will pass, we will "move on" in our grief and other newer, fresher bereaved parents will take our place.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;We have a new chapter of &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_1"&gt;Bereaved&lt;/span&gt; Parents of the USA.  Jim and Cindy &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_2"&gt;Stricklin&lt;/span&gt; are the leaders and do it to honor &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-corrected" id="SPELLING_ERROR_3"&gt;their&lt;/span&gt; precious 15 year old son, Ben.  We  meet the 1st Tuesday of every month at the Baptist hospital at &lt;span class="blsp-spelling-error" id="SPELLING_ERROR_4"&gt;Springhill&lt;/span&gt; (North Little Rock).  Meeting times are 6:30 to 8:30.  Lakeside room on 3rd floor.&lt;br /&gt;&lt;br /&gt;The parents who find the courage to come mere weeks after their loss amaze me.&lt;br /&gt;I could not have done it.&lt;br /&gt;But then again,...I wish I had.&lt;div class="blogger-post-footer"&gt;&lt;img width='1' height='1' src='https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/tracker/5674159472513613165-2451945773765759197?l=grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com' alt='' /&gt;&lt;/div&gt;</content><link rel='replies' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/feeds/2451945773765759197/comments/default' title='Post Comments'/><link rel='replies' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2008/12/bereaved-parents-north-of-river.html#comment-form' title='0 Comments'/><link rel='edit' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/2451945773765759197'/><link rel='self' type='application/atom+xml' href='http://www.blogger.com/feeds/5674159472513613165/posts/default/2451945773765759197'/><link rel='alternate' type='text/html' href='http://grievingwithgrace.blogspot.com/2008/12/bereaved-parents-north-of-river.html' title='Bereaved Parents, North of the River'/><author><name>Becky</name><uri>http://www.blogger.com/profile/00862094301374551465</uri><email>noreply@blogger.com</email><gd:image rel='http://schemas.google.com/g/2005#thumbnail' width='21' height='32' src='http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_WN8peMJzgl8/SOIa7Zw_3gI/AAAAAAAAAFQ/bwXqJc_KPO0/S220/Beckys+photo.jpg'/></author><thr:total>0</thr:total></entry></feed>
