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Reasons

stephaniemoorewrites

A couple of things happened in the summer of 2017.

The house market was up in our area. So my parents decided they were going to sell their house. (We were backyard neighbors.)

Lance got a new job that allowed him to work from home most of the time.

With those two items I told Lance, let’s sell our house and move closer to where our son’s gym. (His gym was an hour drive each way.)

In July we put the for sale sign out.

Then I got this feeling that I needed to put the kids in school across town. The thought was overwhelming.

If our house didn’t sell that would mean a 45 minute drive to and from school. Every day. And that didn’t count our gymnastics driving.

I decided if all the kids got into a charter school, we’d take the leap.

They all got in.

Then I thought this will be good. I’ll get Rory settled into school. Change is hard with AD/HD and anxiety. It’ll be good not to change schools mid year.

She has an IEP. It’ll be good to get that started at the beginning of the year and start working with her teacher.

Other than the 4 to 7 hours a day I was spending in the van, it was a great school.

But I felt like the move was for Rory.

November 10th we sold our house. My parents sold their house. We put a house across town under contract. We were moving at the beginning of December!

November 13th Rory passed away.

Our family with the bench that American Prep Academy dedicated to Rory.

Rory’s 3rd Grade Class. Teacher: Mrs. Bohls.

Then on November 20th when the boys went back to school, I discovered the real reason for the school switch that summer.

The boys wouldn’t be switching schools weeks after their sister died.

The school administrators rallied around them. One was a counselor before being a principal so he talked with me frequently.

Their teachers cared!

Not only about them but our whole family.

There wasn’t one more change in a life that already felt impossible for the boys.

I’m so grateful for that inspiration. And that we listened.

Finding Joy in Hard Times

stephaniemoorewrites

One of my goals is to continue to have good times in our sorrow. I want the boys to feel like they’ve lived. I don’t want Lance and I to just get by for the rest of our lives.

I have mixed feelings with joy. But not in the way many think I do.

I don’t have guilt.

I have sadness.

Happiness isn’t what it once was.

It’s scarce.

It’s fleeting.

Lance and I are on our way back from a Southern Caribbean cruise.

We love to travel! It fills our buckets.

We had many new and amazing experiences.

We zip lined for the first time.

We snorkeled with turtles.

We drove through rainforests.

But this time also felt different.

I felt the separation from the boys more acutely. I knew they were having tons of fun with my parents. But anxiety tugged at me more than it has in the past.

And there were a couple of times I’ve imagined Rory being there when I got home.

We took a similar trip last year.

She was there when we got back.

I know she’s not going to be. But it was a nice thought for a moment.

Anxiety with fun.

Grief with joy.

I think the rest of my life will be emotional contradictions.

Reasons to Grieve

stephaniemoorewrites

People talk a lot about how there are different ways to grieve. Which is totally true!

But what I think is not talked about enough, is that there are so many reasons we grieve. And that we have a right and should grieve.

I posted a while ago about how Rory was a frozen embryo from when we had IVF with the twins.

Rory was a twin.

The first ultrasound her twin was there with a heartbeat. The second ultrasound the heartbeat was gone.

I remember thinking I didn’t have a right to be sad.

I still had a baby. That was growing.

I was already so busy. With Rory that made four kids, ages four and under.

I was already so blessed. I didn’t have a right to grieve this would have been baby.

But I did. It was just in quiet.

Until I received a call from my sisters-in-law, Rachel. She’d already had miscarriages. I, for sure, had no right to cry to her. Instead, she cried with me. She expressed her sorrow for me. She validated my grief and mourned with me.

I grieved the relationship that Rory would never experience. I grieved holding two babies in my arms.

So much of grief seems to stem from a missed future or loss of the future you previously imagined.

We grieve for divorce.

We grieve for kids that can’t quite get their acts together.

We grieve for illnesses.

We grieve changes in school and recreation.

We grieve changes in beliefs. For ourselves and others.

We grieve the loss of trust.

There are so many reasons.

And they all are worthy to allow yourselves and others time to mourn.

The First and the Last

stephaniemoorewrites

At our church the children, ages 3-11, participate in program where they sing and speak for the congregation.

It’s easily one of the favorite Sundays all year long for a lot people.

This year it was harder.

It was our first without Rory.

Our last one for any of our kids. Dax turns 12 in January.

The children’s leaders were very thoughtful, knowing it would be emotional for us.

Each of the kids wore a purple ribbon. And they placed flowers where, what would have been, Rory’s class sat. In memory of her. For love of her. And us.

I loved watching Dax sing his best. His loudest. He enjoys singing.

They sang a song I didn’t know, He Lives and He Loves Me.

“…

He lives and He loves me.

I will not forget who I am.

I will strive to remember His plan for me.

I will love.

I will serve in my time here on Earth.

And someday I will return to Him.

He will bless me and guide me.

He lives and He loves me.”

This song encompasses so much of my daily mantras.

He lives so Rory lives.

She’s happy.

God hasn’t forsaken you. He blesses you. He loves you. Keep going. People need you.

Love as Rory loved. She loved always and freely. Do the same.

Here is a link to the song:

https://youtu.be/IEy9AfOstAk

Memory- Doing Hard Things

stephaniemoorewrites

Ugh. This past week has been… painful. A week of doing hard things.

Rory knew doing hard things.

We walked into one of Rory’s karate belt promotions and there were so many people.

She immediately clang onto the back of my pants, hiding.

I squatted down. My eyes connected with her teary ones.

I reassured her. Told her she’s amazing and can do anything. I told my little ninja daughter that she can do hard things and does everyday.

Now, I repeated those words to myself. To my family and loved ones.

She’s happy. At peace.

It’s us. It’s our turn to do hard things.