Tag: hard things

Rory’s Birthday Service Project

stephaniemoorewrites

Holidays are hard.

Starting with Halloween, there are a lot of days Lance and I would rather stay in bed.

Our “holiday season” ends February 6th with Rory’s birthday.

Last year, leading up to her birthday is when my sleeping and emotional state hit an all time low.

The one thing that kept me sane was our children’s hospital service projects.

So we’re doing another service project this year!

We’re doing something that was near and dear to Rory’s heart.

ANIMALS!

She loved them all! (Except roosters.)

We’re going to be collecting items for our local animal shelter. And we’d LOVE your help. Here are some examples of things they’re in need of:

  • Fleece blankets and towels (used or new)
  • Wet cat food or broth for sick cats
  • Cat and dog toys
  • Soft cat and dog treats
  • Canned dog and cat food
  • Newspaper
  • Disinfectant wipes
  • Paper towels
  • Bleach
  • Trash bags (kitchen and liner trash bags)
  • Sponges
  • Anti-Bacterial dish soap
  • Latex gloves (Large, medium & small)
  • Q-Tips
  • Rubbing alcohol
  • Band Aids (all sizes)
  • Distilled Water
  • Medical tape
  • Ink Pens (Blue/Black)
  • Duct Tape
  • Tape
  • Batteries (AAA, AA and 9V)
  • Copier Paper
  • Scissors
  • Staplers
  • Highlighters
  • Sharpies (all colors)
  • Paper Clips
  • Rubber Band

    • Message or email me for my contact information.

    Thank you for helping us celebrate her birthday!

    The Christmas Story

    stephaniemoorewrites

    For Christmas, Lance and I got the boys nerf guns. We thought it’d be a fun thing for them to do in the winter months.

    After we opened presents, we were all sitting around chatting and we started an impromptu nerf gun war.

    It was fun.

    For those few minutes I felt freely happy.

    Not “put a smile on my face.”

    Not hyphenated happy.

    Freely happy.

    Then I got shot in the eye.

    As I laid there holding my eye, I thought, I’m not allowed to be freely happy anymore. That part of my life is obviously done.

    If I feel freely happy then it’ll cause physical pain, mental pain, or emotional pain. It’s just not in the cards for me.

    I was thinking about it more as I sat in the ER with my mom. Then throughout the rest of the day.

    At the end of the night, the seven of us made goals of service and love that we can do throughout this year.

    This is mine: to be freely happy with my family.

    It’s not an easy goal because if I’m trying, then it’s putting a smile on my face.

    Instead, I’m going to try in live in the moment more.

    I’m going to put myself in more situations with them that I can let go. That I won’t feel so hyphenated. If only for a few minutes.

    I want my boys to have more than a hyphenated mom.

    I’m realistic. I don’t think I’ll experience it daily or weekly or probably even monthly. But experiencing it five times in 2019 will be more times than I experienced it this year.

    That’s a win.

    That’s starting to live a Rory life-loving life.

    Christmas Eve Story

    stephaniemoorewrites

    My mom and I were talking about something new for me to read to my boys and nephews this Christmas Eve. I want something that not only acknowledges the grief but gives the boys an activity to include Rory in our celebration. So I wrote this:

    A Brother’s Christmas Note

    Time has ticked by.

    Second by second.

    I’ve waited and waited.

    Sometimes patient, sometimes not.

    But it’s here.

    It’s finally here.

    Christmas Day.

    I run to the tree.

    My eyes wide open.

    I see my name on presents.

    Picking one up, I give it a shake.

    I dash to the fireplace.

    Our stockings filled to the brim.

    Except one.

    I touch my sister’s.

    She’s no longer here.

    I leave hers hanging and take mine to the couch.

    It’s not long before the rest of the family trickles in.

    My brothers.

    My mom.

    My dad.

    We sit in a circle,

    Like we do every year.

    Each opening a present.

    Cars.

    Games.

    Toys.

    Clothes.

    We each pick our favorite,

    And open it up.

    I pick my new car.

    On my knees, I race it across the room.

    Zooming it into the fireplace.

    I look up, one stocking still hangs.

    Taking it down, I gaze around.

    She can’t play with toys.

    She can’t enjoy candy.

    What can I put in her stocking?

    I find a paper and pen to write a note.

    “Baby Sister,

    I will give mom a kiss for you.”

    I place it in her stocking.

    Happy, it’s no longer empty.

    Dad followed me over,

    “Can I see what you did?”

    I nod and he reads.

    With eyes filled with tears, Dad announces,

    “Each of us will give service to your sister this year.”

    Handing out more paper and pens.

    We each write one down.

    Giving love.

    Giving care.

    Her stocking is fuller than any of ours today.

    She is our family’s angel.

    We realize.

    We know.

    And this is our Christmas miracle:

    She is here.

    I can feel her

    In each hug,

    In each kiss.

    She is a part of our family,

    Part of our love,

    And because of Jesus Christ,

    Our love has no end.

    Because of Jesus Christ,

    We’ll be with her again.

     

    Thank you for loving us. Caring for us. Praying for us.

    I wish you all so much happiness and light.

    I love you. We love you.

    Merry Christmas. 💜

    That One Picture

    stephaniemoorewrites

    I’ve had an aversion for a long time. For as long as I can remember.

    This is totally just a crazy Stephanie thing. But I have never liked seeing pictures hanging on the wall where it was obvious one child didn’t make it to adulthood.

    That one picture is dated in clothes and style.

    It has more discoloring than the pictures that surround it.

    That one picture didn’t get replaced year after year like the ones of his/her siblings.

    Seeing pictures like that have always made me sad. I would look at them and think, that must be a constant reminder that, that child never had the opportunity to grow up. A missed future.

    It just hurt my heart. It made me never want anything like it.

    So much so, we never bought school pictures and hung them on the wall.

    The pictures we hung up on our walls were candid and with more than one kid for the most part. Other than the canvas prints Lance had made for me for Mother’s Day a few of years ago. (See in picture below.)

    I think that’s why pictures growing old affect me so much.

    Now, that sad situation is my situation.

    Our family picture wall is filled with pictures of our Rory. The face we don’t get to see everyday. And those pictures will probably never change.