Tag: grief

San Francisco

stephaniemoorewrites

We made a trip out to San Fransisco last weekend.

There were blue skies. In the warm 50’s. It was nice.

We stopped by Boudin bakery.

You can say, we’re a bread family.

As we were sitting there enjoying: sour dough, challah, Asiago cheese bread, and pain au chocolat, the boys agreed on one thing.

This is Heaven.

Except Rory was missing in our dough heaven.

So that day we each took a bite for our daughter and sister.

We agreed she would have liked the pain au chocolat and the challah bread.

They also spent time deciding if there will be bread in Heaven.

Conclusion: there will be!

God sent down manna from there, after all.

Remembering Her

stephaniemoorewrites

I want to thank everyone that has sent items for our animal shelter service project.

It’s significant to us.

It’s another loving reminder that,

Rory is remembered.

For what she loved.

For how she loved.

Thank you.

If you’d still like to participate, we’ll be collecting items until her birthday, February 6th.

Love you all.

Oh, how I miss this girl.

Where are your shoes?

stephaniemoorewrites

I think we can agree as moms that shoes are our nemesis.

The kids never know where they are. They take them off in different places. They thought they knew where they were. But then can’t remember where the shoes are when it’s time to go somewhere.

When I was packing up our master bedroom at the old house, I looked under our bed. I found a pair of Rory’s shoes.

Lost shoes.

I remember thinking at the time, this is the last time I’m going to find her shoes. They won’t be laying around our new house.

I hugged them to my body. Those little shoes. For my little girl. With her cute crooked toes.

Fast forward time, I walked into our closet and saw the box of decorations from Rory’s funeral service. Lots of pretty purple banners.

I lifted them out.

And there was a pair of Rory’s shoes. I’d forgotten about them. Lost.

I found Rory’s shoes one last time. In our new house.

Memory: Jeans

stephaniemoorewrites

Rory did not like jeans. She considered them a sort of torture device.

She didn’t like things around her waist. She pulled everything down to her hips. Especially jeans.

She felt like she couldn’t move around in them. They were last resorts or mom made mes.

She liked, shorts, skirts and leggings. In lots of fun colors. Not much else.

Oh, and pajamas. She loved pajamas.

Miracles

stephaniemoorewrites

I watched an uplifting show this morning. It talked about “champions.”

One of the stories was about a young man that was in an accident. He was very badly hurt. In a coma for weeks.

People prayed around the clock for him.

The family held onto their faith in God.

The boy miraculously awoke. Not without struggles, but he awoke.

These “champion” stories get forwarded on social media. They get talked about on television.

These are miraculous stories of people that have overcome.

I would NEVER want a different outcome for them. I cried tears of gratitude with those parents that got to hug their son again.

That isn’t our story.

Ours isn’t the easy story to forward on.

Our story is loss.

But our story isn’t without faith and miracles either.

It’s a miracle our house sold 3 days before Rory passed away. We would have been frozen with grief to make decisions. And we were still there surrounded by those that knew and loved her and us.

It’s a miracle we found the house we did. We weren’t even looking in the Lehi area for a long time. We were directed to this neighborhood, full of loving and compassionate people.

It was a miracle she passed away in my arms. With her illness, she could have passed away silently in her sleep. Instead, I got to love her and hold her until the moment she left this world.

It’s a miracle that our family functions. There have so many days and weeks when I haven’t had energy. When I have felt the weight so heavily on my shoulders. I couldn’t get by without the miraculous help of my Heavenly Father. The pain is too all encompassing.

These are not the miracles I would have wanted. I want my daughter with me.

I miss her.

I love her.

Ours isn’t a story for Rory to overcome. It’s the story for all the rest of us left behind to overcome.

And there have been miracles.