In Memory Of

Grief isn’t done with me yet. Not sure it ever will be. Especially if I don’t learn to be still a little more often.

It’s been three years since we lost Levi.

I know that sunflowers think their job is to propagate their species by creating seeds. But today? It was to teach me that even when we've been hammered by life, and everything seems wretched, and we are broken all over the ground, we can still be beautiful.

"It's your road, and yours alone. Others may walk it with you, but no one can walk it for you." - Rumi

"Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life." - Anne Roiphe

Every day is another step forward. Every day, grief morphs and whirls and changes into a different shape, like dancing aurora borealis. And lately, I have been surprised by joy.

Last Saturday, Levi turned four. It could have been an awful, hard, day of mourning. But it wasn't. It was a day of joy, and remembering, and thinking about our little man. Together.

Knitting is a lot of things. And as much as I love it, to me, knitting is more than just a craft—knitting for someone IS love.

Our family’s "currently reading" list.

There is no "one-time thing" when it comes to grief. It happens in pieces.

Dear Munchkin...

I can't tell you how many things this year I wish you could have done with us,  or the things I wanted to show you. I can't tell you how many times I wanted to hold you close or hear your laugh. I can't tell you how broken I feel without you here.

I learned so much from being your mama. And by God's grace, I am learning still,

As predicted in my last post, the last couple of weeks have been pretty hard in the grieving department. There have been pretty bad days. And some okay days. Today is a not-great day.

Are we in control of our destiny? Or is God? And who is to blame when things go wrong?

Can we look backward and move forward at the same time?

Moving forward is hard. Yes, the inexorable march of time moves us whether we want to move or not. But how do you "move forward" inside without feeling like you are leaving something—or someone—precious behind?

One word we would often use to describe Munchkin was "fearless." He had no fear of anything. But since losing him, I’ve been dealing with fear and anxiety a lot.

I'm terrified of the things about my lost son that I am forgetting. Every day that passes feels like it is taking me one day farther away from my boy.

When your worst fear comes true, there’s no such thing as “getting over it” anytime soon. You discover who you really are, and what you really believe. Written less than two weeks after losing our youngest son.

On Wednesday, I found I was grieving all the things that Munchkin will not get to do that I wanted him to be able to do. I find that writing songs helps me deal with very stressful and emotional topics, so I wrote "Things I'll Never Do". Here is a quick scratch recording on a video for this song.

A note about Munchkin’s funeral.

Munchkin’s passing.

I am so thankful that bad days—and bad weeks—are temporary.

Grief is a funny thing.

One day, you can be perfectly fine, feel like you have accepted your loss, and that life will once again be wonderful to live.

The next day, you can be on the verge (or beyond it) of tears at every waking moment.

When the location is this photographable, you know I’m going to be taking pictures!

The area around Seattle is a knitter’s heaven as far as local yarn stores are concerned. Here are a few we hit up while we were there.

A travel log of our trip to Vancouver Island from Washington.

A quick recap of our holidays, including two very fun sleigh ride adventures we got to experience—and I got to photograph!

A fun little circus mug for kids.

Some people love to push themselves to test their own limits. My husband is one of them.