This past weekend we got to spend time with Lance’s family to celebrate his dad’s 80th birthday.
Almost all his siblings were there. We played games, did work around the house, ate great food, and just enjoyed being together.
My mind kept reflecting back to when we were there two years ago to wish Ron a happy birthday. 
I have no doubt Rory’s there wishing you a happy birthday too.
Love you, Ron!
Rory had a wonderful 3rd Grade teacher, Mrs. Bohls. She loved Rory. I could tell from our first conversations and emails.
After Rory’s passing, I had a few opportunities to talk with her, mourn with her.
One of the times she said something that has stuck with me. It was something like, when I get to Heaven, I’m going to ask God, why her. Because, “We need more kids like Rory in this world.”
Rory wasn’t a perfect child. She required patience. But she had two characteristics that were amazing:
She forgave readily.
She apologized quickly.
When she would accidentally hurt someone, she would repeat, “I’m sorry.” She wasn’t prideful, she wanted to make things better. And she didn’t want the other person to be in pain.
There was a time that Rory was going out to play with a friend. As Rory was leaving, she said, “I hope she uses nice words with me.” The last time Rory had played with this friend, the girl wasn’t the nicest. But Rory didn’t hold it against her. She forgave. She was weary, but forgave her.
Rory still loved her friend.
That’s what happens when you forgive and apologize quickly.
You love. Christ-like love.
I want to love like Rory, so there’s another “Rory” in this world.
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:
That night. After Lance and I said goodbye to Rory in the ambulance. After we told and collected the boys from a neighbor’s house. We were in a car headed around the corner to my parent’s house.
Chiler was sitting next to me.
He said, “Mom, don’t check out. Don’t leave me.”
Those words stand guard to my choices and decisions.
Don’t check out.
Don’t leave.
Those two sentences told me a couple of things about my little 13 year old.
One, he understood the gravity of what had just happened.
Two, he was scared.
I can’t do anything about the first. Her death happened.
I can do something about the second, it’s in the choices and decisions I make daily.
I can’t change the past.
But I have power to affect the present and future.
I go through ranges of emotions every single day.
I’m angry!
This is unfair.
I hate my life.
Those statement enter my mind more times than I’d like to admit. But I get to decide how long they dwell.
Anger is potent and can easily take over. But I have guardians over my brain. I have words from a son that needs me.
I choose to stay with him. With them.
I choose hard talks, discussing the impossible.
I choose Easter baskets, to see the smile on their faces.
I choose vacations, to help them see the world.
I choose family dinners and movie nights.
I choose our new kind happiness over anger.
I won’t check out.
I won’t leave them.
Yesterday I posted a drawing made for our family on Facebook.
It was commissioned by my parent’s friends from a congregation they previously attended.
My dad sent me a picture of it in a text.
Tears sprang to my eyes.
That was the Rory from my dream the night before.
In the drawing she looks slightly older than when she was my Rory. The chin line, the posture, her fingers a little longer, she looks just a little more grown up.
This is exactly how she looked in my dream.
I miss her.
I love her.
God is good.
Here’s the website of the artist that was commissioned:
Rory Ann Moore Foundation 