Tag: grief

Being Brave, Being Who You Are

stephaniemoorewrites

People felt close to Rory.

If you were to ask me, she was a mama’s girl.

If you were to ask Lance, she was a daddy’s girl.

If you were to ask Chiler, Xander or Dax, each of them would probably say that he was her favorite.

Here’s the thing:

It’s all true.

When she was with one of us, we were the most important person.

In my book club this month, we read Braving the Wilderness by Brené Brown. It made me realize something about Rory and how she was able to do this.

In Braving, Brown says:

“True belonging is the spiritual practice of believing in and belonging to yourself so deeply that you can share your most authentic self with the world and find sacredness in both being a part of something and standing alone in the wilderness. True belonging doesn’t require you to change who you are; it requires you to be who you are.”

Rory was authentic.

Rory was brave, in that she embraced who she was and just loved people.

It enabled her to engage freely with others.

She didn’t sit back, she put her sweet hands on people’s cheeks and made sure they were present in the conversation as well.

She truly belonged with each of us. And we felt it.

What a gift she gave us.

A place where we always belonged.

Gravity

stephaniemoorewrites

One year, five months ago the gravity around me changed.

The gravitational pull that grounds me to the Earth increased.

Where once I could walk freely, now taking every step is work. There’s so much additional pressure pushing me to the ground.

I had a reminder come up on my phone this morning that two years ago today we were at the Red Woods.

There, surrounded by the largest trees we’d ever seen, the kids ran through the forest.

I remember walking across a log. It was a little scary. I could do it though because gravity was less heavy.

I remember lifting Rory onto a log so she could climb along with her brothers. Before she got scared and jumped right back down. And I could lift her because she was there. And life wasn’t so weighty.

I remember Rory running and standing in front of Lance and I when we asked one of the boys to take a picture of us. We shrugged. We were happy to have her in a picture with us. Happy is something that came easier when gravity didn’t have such a pull.

This new existence takes me to my knees. The new gravitational pull tries to keep me there.

Luckily, I have the love, prayers, and strength of those around me, and those above, that lift me up.

Thank you.

So much love to you all.

And Then They Sang

stephaniemoorewrites

This memory keeps coming back to me. Usually it means I need to share it.

The night that Rory passed away, Lance and I gathered our boys and went to my parent’s house.

There were a lot of people at the house. In the family room and in the front yard.

A lot of hugs.

A lot of questions.

A lot of disbelief.

A lot of sorrow.

A lot of falling tears.

In the middle of this tragedy, the three boys started to sing a children’s song from our church.

Their voices broke through the sorrow.

Their voices united them in their brotherhood. In their fear. In their strength.

As I was just trying to process what had happened. They were already searching for peace. In the best way they knew how. Music.

These are the words they sang that night:

Heavenly Father, are you really there?
And do you hear and answer ev’ry child’s prayer?
Some say that heaven is far away,
But I feel it close around me as I pray.
Heavenly Father, I remember now
Something that Jesus told disciples long ago:
“Suffer the children to come to me.”
Father, in prayer I’m coming now to thee.

Pray, he is there;
Speak, he is list’ning.
You are his child;
His love now surrounds you.
He hears your prayer;
He loves the children.
Of such is the kingdom, the kingdom of heav’n.

My boys face pain. Everyday.

The life they are living is different now. It’s harder. They carry a burden they can’t quite process and don’t fully understand.

I think back to that moment and tears instantly begin to fall.

They are light.

They are love.

These boys are my hope.

Family Prayer

stephaniemoorewrites

When we would pray together as a family at night, many times we would stay in a circle, holding hands.

Lance or I would say, “Time to pray.”

Crickets.

Crickets.

No sound of feet running our way.

Then we would say, “Someone else is going to hold mom’s hand.”

Mass running.

Children falling over each other.

Hands grasping at mine.

If Rory didn’t get there first, tears would fall.

Until one of the boys relented. And they pretty much always did.

Rory was a spoiled princess. And it wasn’t just by Lance and me.

During our church’s conference today one of the leaders said the above quote. “Families that prays together, ARE together, even when they’re far apart.

What a wonderful thought.

Our Rory running to the room, racing to reach my hand.

Even when she’s on the other side.

Signs, Signs, Everywhere Signs

stephaniemoorewrites

Lance and I love the 90’s movie, Fool Rush In. We’ve watched it tons of times. (Though, not since Rory passed, seeing that a side story is, “My only daughter.”)

But a major theme in the movie deals with signs. Isabel believes in signs. She believes if people look around, they can find clues to know what they need to do.

I think I’ve used the word “coincidental” when things like that happen to me.

I don’t know that I can anymore.

The number of times things have happened. The number of times a song has come on. The number of times a thought has come to my mind just when I needed it. Gosh, even down to that purple Jeep in the showroom when we bought our new van.

They help me to know I’m on the right track. I’m doing what I need to be doing.

And that Rory is beside me doing it.

Love you, girl. Every second, of every minute, of every day.