gratitude

My Body

Posted on March 21, 2012 Written by Tonya

My body is strong.

My body carries me and my body lets me down.

My limbs contort and stretch, pushing, pulling, reaching, carrying, holding.

I sit cross-legged along side my energetic little boy and move cars and trains around a track, help him with puzzle pieces, locate lost toys under the couch, stack blocks and build towers with Legos

I chase my son around the park and delight as I listen to his sweet laughter.

I lean over the bathtub and scrub away dirt and grim that has been collected during the day with a warm wash cloth.

I sing, dance, giggle and tickle.

I lift and cradle my precious boy every opportunity I get.

My body gains and loses and lifts weight. It sweats as I push it and I feel as though my heart might burst right out of it’s chest cavity.

My body makes me feel alive.

My lungs take in fresh sea air as I walk along the beach searching for calm and answers.

Mercifully at the end of each day, my body lets me rest peacefully.

The best thing my body has done, and the thing that I will forever be in awe of; was to allow me to carry a baby to term and deliver my son. For that, I will always feel empowered, important and grateful.

The worst thing about my body and the thing that makes me hate it; it refuses to let me do it again. Once so capable, it now struggles.

My body has let me down.

My body is strong.

Deep As The Ocean…

Posted on March 6, 2012 Written by Tonya

One of the main reasons my series, Letters For You exists is because of the gentle encouragement from my dear friend and fellow writer, Nichole.

I first fell in love with Nichole through her words at In These Small Moments and then had the incredible fortunate to meet her last August at BlogHer. Since then, our children have met and she and I have shared many heartfelt phone calls, tweets and text messages.

In many ways, Nichole and I are kindred spirits. We have suffered great loss and extreme joy and write about both.

I am so very proud to have Nichole here today and even more grateful for her friendship.

Dear Mom,

There are some nights when Craig and I come downstairs after putting the kids to bed and we’re so exhausted we just fall in a heap on the couch.

Parenting is difficult enough even when you have another person to lean on.

But, when I was a little girl, you didn’t have that support system.

You did it alone and you did an amazing job.

There are so many things for which I am grateful to you, but there never seems to be the right time to tell you.

So, I’ll share just a small handful of them with you now.

Thank you for always being honest with me…for telling me the truth about my dad’s death and trusting that with your help, I could work through it.

I am the woman I am today because of your encouragement to think through what I was feeling and to speak my mind with conviction. Thank you for never asking me to stop talking.

Thank you for sometimes splurging on toys. I now realize that you probably used your last dollars so that I could experience the joy of an occasional new toy. My Holly Hobbie, Colorforms, and Baby Alive are etched into my memory forever.

Thank you for never making a promise to me that you couldn’t keep and for always keeping the ones you did. You taught me that your word was gold.

Thank you for always being there to tuck me in at night….for scratching my back and talking to me at the end of the day. Those moments reminded me that you would always be there.

Some of the little things that you probably don’t think I even remember influence me as a mother. Thank you for always making cakes for school parties, playing Scrabble with me, and having slumber parties with me on the pull out sofa.

I always knew that as long as we had each other, we would be just fine. Through simple gestures like reaching for my hand to cross the street until I was a teenager, to comforting me when I had my heart broken for the first time, you taught me that together we could get through anything.

Thank you for showing me what it meant to be a mother. For teaching me through your own example what sacrifice, commitment, and determination look like.

Thank you for letting me spread my wings and leave when it was time. I hope to have that same courage when my own children grow up and move away. I hope that I can draw from the strength that you showed me then.

The childhood that you gave me was also a gift to Katie and Matthew. The lessons that I learned from you permeate their lives and I could never thank you enough for that.

I love you big as the world,
High as the sky,
Deep as the ocean,
Forever and ever,

Chole

He Was My Dad

Posted on January 28, 2012 Written by Tonya

I haven’t heard his voice in almost five years.

I’m ashamed to admit that I almost don’t remember the sound of his voice.

I have pictures and my memories.

I miss his rough strong hands reaching behind him while he was driving to grab mine in the back seat.

I miss the silly way he’d walk sometimes just to get a smile.

I miss his “uniform”; Dockers and plaid shirts.

I miss his thoughtful questions and curiosity about the world.

I miss his genuine interest in my life.

I miss our conversations.

I’m thankful for my memories and grateful for the 35 years I had him.

I’m blessed that he was my dad.

My father would have been 65 today.

I miss him. More than words could ever express.

January 28, 1947 - October 15, 2007 :: RIP, Daddy.

That Girl

Posted on January 11, 2012 Written by Tonya

I honestly don’t pay that much attention to the number of followers I have or the traffic my blog receives on any given day, but I do notice that every time I write about my grief over losing my parents, I lose one or two readers.

Especially if it’s consecutive posts, like last week: Ashes To Ashes / I Thought Of You Today.

Maybe it’s a coincidence, but I worry about it from time to time and bring it up because I don’t want to be “that girl”, the one that “always writes about her parents deaths”.

Letters For Lucas is a place where I feel it is safe and appropriate to be open and honest about my loss and love of my mom and dad, but I can’t help but wonder why I lose followers.

I’m not offended, I’d just really like to know…

Was it the subject matter? Was there not enough description or possibly way too much? Maybe I just rubbed someone the wrong way or perhaps they needed one less blog to read. Those are all fair reasons to stop following and trust me, I understand how uncomfortable death and loss is to read about.

Why do you stop following a blog?

For those of you that have stuck in there with me, thank you! I appreciate all of the support, virtual hugs and kind comments. I pour my heart and soul into my posts and they are very therapeutic. I know in my case, the way my parents died is very unusual and part of the way I grieve is by writing. It has helped me survive something that could have dropped me to my knees for the rest of my life.

Loss is a part of life and while for my parents it was too instant and too soon, there will never be anything I can do to change it, so I write about and remember and heal a little bit each day.

I am never ever looking for sympathy, just a connection.

Having said that, I do promise to try to lighten the mood around here.

A Moment Of Grace

Posted on January 10, 2012 Written by Tonya

I always know what I’m going to get when I visit These Little Waves; a welcome pause from my hectic day and demanding tot, a warm fuzzy feeling in my heart and a smile on my face.

Galit writes the way I hope to someday. Her words are tender and delicious, inviting and rich with description and full of life. Galit’s letter this week is no exception. I dare you to read it and not come away feeling a little warmer from the inside out.

I am very honored to have my friend here today sharing a single moment that helped her through her early days of motherhood.

Dear Beth,

I know that’s your name even though we’ve hardly spoken. Our teaching days were busy and our schedules were different, but I remember you.

We passed in the halls and nodded our Good Mornings. Your flowing dresses, plum colored hair, and black tinted nails a sharp contrast to my crisp lines and sharp edges.

You were vivid.

I think “new” is the best word to describe how I was then. New Minnesotan, new teacher, new mom.

Every week, my lesson plans were thoroughly penned and strictly followed. I wanted to know exactly what to expect – in everything I did.

Motherhood stretched that shade of my skin.

One time, you witnessed this.

Jason brought the girls to school for a visit

Kayli was three-ish and a rule follower, Chloe was one-ish and anything but.

She was mid-tantrum when you walked by.

Belly down, arms flailing, legs kicking, voice rising.

And I? Was lost. Blushing, sweating, tearing. Lost.

I was kneeling next to Chloe when the scent of your perfume, flowers and sunshine and all that is strong, caught me. In return, you caught my eye.

Shoulder back, chin up, smile wide. “Two?” You asked.

“Very.” I answered, brushing a strand of my hair behind one ear when what I really wanted to do was pull it forward, hide behind it.

But you didn’t let me.

You reached for my hand and said, “So been there.” And with one squeeze, you went on, your fuschia parting the way.

I’ve kept that moment of grace wrapped in my heart.

You opened my eyes, didn’t let me take myself too seriously, and reminded me of all that is kindness and all that is grace.

And for that? I thank you, and remember you.

Galit

The Golden Years

Posted on January 3, 2012 Written by Tonya

A couple of months ago, Rachel of Mommy Needs a Vacation shared a beautiful letter for my series, Letters For You called One Tear.

Rachel wrote a heart wrenching letter to her father, Stinson, whom she was afraid of losing the year before.

Stinson read his daughter’s letter for the first time the day it ran here was compelled to respond.

I am extremely honored to share his words to his daughter with all of you today.

Dear Rachel,

I’ve had a chance to read the letter you wrote several times today. Each time I read it, it brings me to tears. It is not only well written but so obviously heartfelt and sincere. It is a treasure I will covet the rest of my life.

I very much enjoyed this past week when all of you were here. It was a wonderful week in which there were so many special moments with each of you individually as well as a family as a whole. More times than I can tell you during this past week, I thought about the last time you were here with Sadie and Tyler (June 2010). That wasn’t nearly as good a visit because as you know, I was only days away from back surgery and in horrific pain the whole time you were here. It was almost impossible to enjoy the kids on that visit because of the pain although I do remember that the kids were both sweet in their own way and seemed to understand I wasn’t feeling good. There were times they each made me forget about the pain—Sadie asking if I had my yogurt and bread for dinner and Tyler crawling at the speed of light across the room after who knows what.

This past week was a stark contrast to your previous visit. Whether it was Sadie or Tyler asking to use my iPad, hugs in the morning and at bedtime, the expression on Sadie’s face when “driving” the golf cart or Tyler reaching for me the afternoon I got him up from his nap, so many moments generated special memories of fun times and represented the blessings of a life I almost lost. Sharing some of the best wine I have collected over the years with you was something I had dreamed about when you were Tyler’s age but little did I know at the time that the enjoyment of wine would become a shared passion.

Playing golf with you and Josh was something I couldn’t have fathomed in June 2010. Getting to play golf with Josh so many times during the week was wonderful not only because it was fun but because it was special to spend some one on one time with my son-in-law and rejoice in the fact that he is the father of my grandchildren and husband of my daughter. More times than I can recount, you confirmed how good a mother you are and why you have been one of my most cherished pride and joys for over half of my life. I shall never forget the expression on your face when Sadie and I walked in from “playing” golf. You could tell we had a great time before anything was said and without saying so, your expression revealed that you knew she had enjoyed the time with her grandfather.

Life is a gift that becomes more and more precious with time. When you come as close as I did to losing it, as you so aptly expressed in your letter, it becomes all the more precious as experienced last week. Your mother and I are, I suppose, in what is often called the “golden years” and you, Josh, Sadie and Tyler are a big part of why they really and truly are “golden.”

I love you all,
Dad

One very happy grandpa, Christmas 2011

Gratitude Is Everything

Posted on December 4, 2011 Written by Tonya

I’ll be the first to admit that I spoil my son rotten, but raising an ingrate is a deep seeded fear of mine.

Recently, I have read some beautiful posts: Change of Plans: Children and Gratitude and When Your Child Acts Entitled on jaw dropping moments mothers have had when their children behave ungrateful.

I rarely leave the house without bringing him home a treat of the edible or four-wheeled variety. Anymore it’s the only way I can get him to go to the super market with me. Thank goodness Matchbox cars are only $1.00, but as you and I both know, those dollars add up visit after visit and I’m the one left grumbling about picking up 75 cars throughout the day.

Lucas is no dummy and has grown to expect a “treat” for doing something I’ve asked of him, for keeping it together while I wander through Target, drag him into the bank, Starbucks, dry cleaners, etc.

We put up our Christmas tree on Friday night and I stayed up long after Lucas had gone to bed to decorate it. I wanted him to wake up in the morning and see it in all it’s glory.

This is Lucas’ first Christmas tree and I want having the tree to be special for him, a tradition in the making. I thought it would be fun for him to choose a couple of new ornaments, so off to Target we went with a list of a few other household items we needed.

We had a lot of fun picking out three new ornaments; a penguin, a ‘W’ for our surname and a Lightening McQueen (the boy has a thing for the movie Cars) and then he began badgering me to go down the toy aisle, which I was happy to oblige knowing full well I’d be buying him a car in order to get through the rest of my shopping.

He seemed happy with the bright orange car he selected and promptly ripped it from its packaging, making sure to hand me all the pieces (bar code included so that I could pay for it) and we carried on to get laundry detergent.

Somewhere between greeting cards and electronics, he spotted a Cars car set that he just had to have. I let him hold on to it for a while so that I could finish my shopping and explained to him that I wasn’t going to buy it, he had already gotten a car on this trip and that he had three of the six cars in the set at home. This information prompted a complete and utter melt down.

I then returned the set to it’s place on the shelf and asked him if we could compromise; put back the orange car and get a Cars car that he didn’t have. He liked that idea but when we found one that he wanted, he wanted it and the orange car, which was not part of the deal. Lucas is only two-and-a half, but he gets it. He wanted both and said so repeatedly and also, “buy it for me” at the top of his lungs.

In the past maybe I would have bought it just to shut him up, but I need to break that cycle in order to teach him how to be thankful for the toys he does have and not to expect something new every time we are in a store.

I kept my cool and calmly repeated that this was a hard lesson for us both, that was no way to talk to me and I was sorry but, you don’t always get what you want. Needless to say, screaming and wailing and carrying on in mortifying levels followed while standing in the check out that I almost walked away from my cart and right out of the store. No one needs to hear a tantrum.

As we left, an audacious customer said to me, “Seriously, can you not get your kid under control?” to which I replied, “Go to hell.”

Not my finest moment (or response), but WTF? This was none of her concern and her commentary was not only unnecessary, but rude, out of line and shocking to me.

Once we made it to the car, I called my husband in tears exclaiming that I didn’t want to raise an ungrateful child and I had just been called out/judged by a complete stranger.

As odd as it sounds, in the moment I could not tell what I was most upset about; the perception that I could not control my child’s behavior or the behavior itself.

Of course, I know now, without a doubt that it’s my son’s behavior that was most troubling. God knows Lucas did not need another car, so hopefully he will remember walking out of the store without one.

And that woman means nothing to me but teaching my child gratitude? Means everything.

Do you admittedly spoil your child(ren)? How do teach them about being grateful? What should I have said to that bitch?

Being Human

Posted on December 3, 2011 Written by Tonya

This week I received two birth announcements, learned that three friends are newly pregnant and to really rub it in, a darling new baby boutique just opened down the street from my house. Don’t even get me started on the Duggar’s.

Seriously, it is enough to push me right over the edge, but I won’t let it.

This year I suffered two miscarriages, my third and fourth, one in January and one in November. The latter was via IVF. Nice way to bookend the year, huh?

I’m allowed to be a little edgy, aren’t I?

Before this gets too ranty, I am truly happy for my friends and their new little bundles of joy and very excited for the others that are anticipating their second, third and FOURTH children.

I am also more grateful than words could ever express for my son, Lucas. He is a gift and some days I think if it weren’t for his smiling little face, I don’t know what I would do.

And to set the record straight, I don’t really feel as though anything is being “rubbed in my face”. Not intentionally anyway. Good news is meant to be shared and I love good news!

I have a deeper respect for my friend Coreen, who called to tell me about her new addition personally. Thank you, Coreen, I’m wishing you nothing but the best. xoxo

I’m just sad and frustrated and confused and completely inpatient. Not to mention, angry at my body’s unwillingness to cooperate one more time. I’m only human and I know that my feelings are normal, but DAMN IT, I hate that I have them. I hate that I feel like a failure. I hate not knowing what’s wrong, I hate the aging process and what it does to your reproductive system, I hate having my nerves on full alert, I hate doctor’s offices, shots, blood draws, waiting, worrying [please stop me anytime], but I mostly hate grieving for someone I’ve never even met.

HOWEVER, at the end of the day I remain hopeful and I know someday, somehow, I will have good news of my own to share.

Some Days

Posted on November 11, 2011 Written by Tonya

Some days the sadness wins and you just can’t fight it.

Some days the questions outweigh the answers.

Some days there are more tears than smiles.

Some days it would be so much easier to pull the covers way up over your head and stay in bed all day long.

Some days holding on to the past is more comfortable than being in the present or looking forward.

Some days the thought of looking anyone in the eye is too much to bear.

Some days all you feel like doing is curling up with a box of donuts and throwing yourself a pity party.

Some days your spirit is so broken that you can’t remember the last time you laughed.

Some days feel so completely out of control that all you can do is breathe from one moment into the next.

Some days there are not enough distractions and too many memories.

Some days, thankfully, there is this:

Some days are better than others.

If you find yourself in hell, keep going. – Winston Churchill

One Tear

Posted on November 1, 2011 Written by Tonya

If you’re looking for a great mommy juice er… I mean, Cabernet, Merlot, Shiraz, or Chardonnay, Rachel is your gal. Her wine column on Momtastic is awesome!

Rachel also has her own blog, Mommy Needs a Vacation and I am happy to have her (straight off a Hawaiian vacation) as my Letters For You guest today with a beautiful and heartfelt letter to her father.

Dear Dad,

Tuesday, August 24, 2010 was one of the longest days of my life. Not only did it involve a long plane flight, it involved the most worry I had endured in my life. You had been lying in an ICU hospital bed for ten days and were now on life support. Your body invaded with infection; MRSA infection, in your lungs, in your spine. We still did not know if it was in your heart. The flight was a long one.

I stepped off the airplane in Hawaii and was immediately overcome with the hot, sticky air. Yet, I was cold, with a shiver that I could not shake. On the way from the airport to the hospital, my younger brother John explained your condition to me in more detail. He told me about the machines, the beeps, and the tubes. I had experience visiting a loved one in the ICU before when Sadie was born, but I knew this time would be different.

As I made my way through the hospital, I tried to hold my head up, stay strong and most of all, keep my emotions at bay for Mom. I was there to see you and be by your side, but was also there to support her, be her sounding board, be a shoulder for her to cry on.

Once inside the ICU, the coolness, the sounds, and the smells were almost too much for me to withstand. I passed room after room of extremely sick people and wondered what you were going to look like. More importantly, I was worried that you would not know that I was there.

I worried that I was too late.

As I entered your ICU room, the sight of you took my breath away. Lying there, helpless with IV’s, tubes and the giant breathing tube down your throat. Even though John told me it was important to approach and talk to you normally, I still hesitated.

I worried that you would never know I was there.

I worried that you wouldn’t make it.

I worried that I wouldn’t be strong enough.

I approached your bed, took your swollen hand and squeezed it tightly. John opened your eyes and told you that I was there and just for a small moment, you focused on me. You then quickly slipped back into your slumber, but not before a single tear left your eye and ran down your cheek.

It was in that one tear that I knew I was not too late.

It was in that one tear that I felt the hope grow inside of me.

It was in that one tear that I knew you would be okay.

As I sat across the table from you just this past week while visiting you in Hawaii, I couldn’t help but think about the last time I had seen you there. This time was much different. I got to enjoy your company, hug you, drink fabulous wine with you and watch you be a grandfather to my children.

Thank you for being you. Thank you for fighting for your life. Thank you for being my dad.

I love you,
Rachel

My Body

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