I’ve returned from a short blog sabbatical.  Part of it was necessary, given my travels over the past two weeks; part was self-imposed, since it seems like computer time was taking time away from my most important priority–my two boys. 

As the one-year designation approaches since Mark departed this earth for heaven, I’m a bit melancholy and introspective.  Guess I can be allowed that, given the year my boys and I have had.  I look back at the last week of his life, spent in a hospital, where routine surgery went oh-so-wrong, and signs of sepsis didn’t seem to register with either his surgeon (who died of a massive stroke a few weeks after Mark’s death) or the med-surg floor nurses. 

Oh, to be given a time machine, to be able to go back and “fix” what happened.  I would have kept acquaintances from wandering in and out of the ICU whenever he was so sick.  He didn’t want folks to see him looking like that.  Family and pastors only.  That’s all that should have been there.  I failed him by not stopping the influx.  It was the beginning of my not setting boundaries and enforcing them. 

I look back at myself then, a carefree 48 year old married woman, so clueless as to how good she really had it.  She had a loving husband, two remarkable boys, and a pretty perfect existence.  I envy her now.  I envy the tightly-knit, loving family of four, where laughter was served up on a regular basis–where boys and daddy wrestled in the floor practically every night—where I was loved from the top of my head to the soles of my feet by a man who thought me the most beautiful woman in the world. 

All of that changed on the night of July 30, 2011.  That “perfect life” went up in smoke,  and I was left with AJ and Ben, trying to make a plethora of decisions all on my own.  Thank God, I didn’t have to make them alone.

I’m a different person now than I was then.  I’ve grown spiritually, emotionally, and intellectually.  I’ve learned to stand up for myself and my sons, whenever circumstances made me choose between what I knew was best for us and what was enabling someone else.  It’s happened more times than I would’ve ever imagined.  It hasn’t been easy. I haven’t handled some of the situations in question perfectly, and I take full responsibility for the times I’ve been human. 

But isn’t that where God steps in?  In the midst of my bungling and fumbling, when folks make a mountain out of a molehill, when I make decisions that I must make for the safety and continued prosperity of my family, God tells me it is okay.  Even though my methods may be lacking in grace and proper decorum, He knows that my heart is in the right place.  He tells me that it doesn’t matter what is said about me.  It doesn’t matter what people think about me.  What matters is what HE thinks of me. 

I am doing the best that I know how to do.  My family is thriving, even in the midst of the big void in our lives without Mark.  I know Mark is proud of us.  He left a great legacy and big shoes to fill.  No one can ever replace him.  I can only hope to walk the path that he left for us, which is crystal clear.

And as I sit by his graveside on July 30th, telling him all of the accomplishments we’ve made since his death, I know he will be listening.  For he’s been there beside us throughout this whole ordeal.  The boys and I have been listing those accomplishments together.  Whenever you put it to pen and paper, it is really sort of overwhelming. 

We’re making it.  Not perfectly, not 100% gracefully, not without bumps and bruises.  But with Jesus, God, and the Holy Spirit at our sides.  Thank you, God, for your blessed Son, and the Holy Spirit who stays so close beside us–even during the bad times. 

My garden is pretty much shot.  The hot dry windy Wichita Falls weather has rendered my tomato plants barren.  The squash and zucchini withered up several weeks back.  Even so, I harvested produce from every plant, which I know Mark is so proud of.  Last year, he pulled up the tomato plants without our ever harvesting one.

It’s the time of year in north Texas where things get stifling.  It brings back more memories of July last year.  We’d been in Massachusetts, where it was cool and green.  Coming back here was a shock to say the least. 

I took the boys with me to Kentucky, to attend my 30th high school reunion.  It was a great time.  But two weeks to the day of my reunion, I became a widow. 

It’s hard.  It’s a different kind of hard than it was, but hard nonetheless. The boys and I are doing well, probably better than most folks thought we’d be.  I attribute it to the great support we continue to have from family, church family, and friends.  Good counseling, a little antidepressant to get me through this period, and walking closely with God has also been important.

I’m not perfect.  As far as I can tell, only one person walked this earth that was perfect.  And it wasn’t my sweet husband, although he may have come pretty close at times.  I’m doing the best I can with what I have to work with.  I fail daily.  I get back up, and try again. 

While Mark was living, I jokingly told folks I had three boys, the oldest of which was 55.  That was really the truth.  He was so much darn fun.  I’d end up getting on to all three of them whenever things got wild, crazy, and borderline dangerous.  We called it “good cop, bad cop.”  Guess which one I was? 🙂  He was “Mr. Fun” to the boys and to me.   After he died, I told the boys that I would have to work on being more fun, since I was usually the disciplinarian of the bunch.

And I have tried.  Hard.  And you know what?  It’s become a habit.  Sunday afternoon, as we are coming back from a church event, I tell the boys, “I thought we’d go home and have a little dinner, run to Walmart and check on otter boxes for iPods, and then head to Orange Leaf for a little yogurt.  How does that sound?”     AJ laughs, and tells Ben, “Benny, I think she’s finally graduated to Mrs. Fun!  Go, Mom!”

I felt so blessed in that moment.  It’s been almost a year.  We have become a pretty efficient family of three, which is a huge deal.  We’re continuing to laugh and have fun.  The boys are amazing, and people remind me that they not only have the best of Mark in them, but also the best of me. 

I know that Mark is proud of all three of us.   I think “what would Mark do?” in most every big decision I’ve made since his death (I also pray to the big guy, God).  With both of them on my side, I feel like I’ve done okay. 

And as the days tick down to the end of the month, I will continue to remember Mr. Fun, and all the love he gave to me and to his two sons.  Because he is certainly worth remembering. 

I. am. happy. In the midst of the turmoil this month has shown thus far, I’m in a safe harbor, tucked away from the crashing waves, wind, and torrential rain. God is here, so evident, so loving, so comforting.

And as I look ahead to the next two weeks, and the possibilities for growth and new opportunities, coupled with the sadness I feel about heading to Kansas for the one year anniversary of Mark’s death, I know we’ll be okay. We aren’t thrashing around in the deep end of the pool anymore. We’ve begun to heal. Slowly but surely, with help from friends, family, pastors, and counseling, the boys and I are making strides in the right direction.

It hasn’t been easy. Those of you who follow this blog know that it’s been a trying week. Praying about a particular situation for months, I finally got an answer. It was the answer I was expecting, but following through took a lot out of me.

Sometimes being a grown up stinks. Life’s not easy, and it’s sometimes not pretty, and feelings get hurt along the way. But I persevered, knowing without a doubt that I was doing what needed to be done.

We are most definitely doing something right.  Last night, as Ben lay in his bed, he exclaimed, “I’ve had a great day!”  That was the first time I’ve heard that phrase from him in many months.  My eyes filled with tears as I quizzed him why the day was great.  He ran through a list of activities that we’d been involved in–none costing money or gasoline….just being with friends and each other.  Amen.

Visiting with my counselor today, I tell him about a run I took on the Lake Wichita trail before the boys were finished with the school year.  There’s a huge mound of dirt near the lake, that is solid and tall, with a steep path to the top.  The top offers a beautiful vantage point.  From it you can see the whole lake, turn and view much of the city.  But it’s a steep hard walk up, and a terribly steep descent to get back onto level ground. 

I decided I was going to scale that “mountain” during my run.   About halfway up, it dawned on me.  Here  I am, a single parent, running alone, with only a cell phone and water.  Scaling up a somewhat treacherous path…what if I slipped?  I could just see the headlines in the paper, “Outdoors Columnist Breaks Leg on Murphy’s Mound.” I slowed down and began to climb more cautiously.  I got to the top, and the view was magnificent.  But I didn’t tarry long, knowing I would need to be extra careful on the way down.  The steepness caused me to lean back as far as I could on the descent.  Probably looked pretty funny.  I said a quiet prayer of thanksgiving as my feet jogged back onto the concrete trail and I headed for home.

I’ve heard of mountain top experiences, and being in the valley, spiritually, my entire life.  But I never thought about the actual climb to get to the top of the mountain.  You aren’t just plopped on top of the darn thing, you have to work hard, it’s a struggle.  You sweat, you train, you sometimes want to quit.  Along the way, there may be big rocks, fireants, thorny bushes, and steep paths.  Getting to the summit is work.  The climb can be perilous at times.  But whenever you get to the top it is oh-so-worth it.

Such is life.  We work, we struggle, we try do the right things.  We strive to live a life God is proud of.  And sometimes, we reach a summit.  It can be excruciatingly difficult to get there, but whenever you finally arrive, and take in the heavenly view from the top, it is a feeling like no other.  Everything below looks smaller.  You gain a new perspective.  It’s sooo nice up there at the top. 

But you can’t stay there forever, even if you want to.  Life calls.  There are children to raise, work, school, household duties you are responsible for.  Sooner or later, for better or for worse, you’ve got to begin the descent back down to reality. 

Last July, my family went from mountaintop experiences July 1-July 24, then skidded/tumbled/belly flopped into a deep dark valley on July 30.  It is by far the darkest, saddest place I’ve ever been.

Guess what?  We weren’t in that valley by ourselves.  God was there, all along.  He walked with us, carrying us most of the time.  And as days turned into weeks, and weeks into months, we climbed out of that valley, using the Light.  It’s the best flashlight in the world, never running out of batteries 🙂

I know we’re not back on a mountaintop yet.  Thankfully I see signs all around that we are making progress.  The sun shines brighter.  We smile more.  All three of us are confident and secure in the love that our God has for us.  There is joy, real joy, in our lives.  Despite what we’ve lost. 

I pray that the joy and security we’ve found will carry us through the rest of this month.  Just as I wished for January before Christmas, I’m wishing for August right now.  There are life-changing opportunities coming our direction, decisions to be made.  And there is a grave to visit in Kansas, one we haven’t seen since Thanksgiving. 

God will carry us, if need be.  He is actively, expertly restoring our lives.   And we will be better for the experience, no matter what happens. 

Jesus got angry at times.  Being fully human, and yet, fully God, He dealt with every human emotion imaginable.  How else can He know and feel what we are going through as we travel the road God sets before us?  I feel wonderfully comforted, knowing I have a Saviour whose human feet walked this terra firma, who ate freshly caught fish, who enjoyed a good glass of wine, and loved me enough to go to the cross.  It blows my mind to think of a love that profound and deep!

It makes me feel a bit better to know that like me, sometimes Jesus got angry.  If you think of Jesus angry, you think of Him in the temple….overturning the tables of the moneychangers, who were cheating honest people out of their hard-earned money.  Inflating prices of sacrificial offerings, such as doves for widows. 

Widows.  I am now a member of that demographic.  I’ll never forget crawling into my car, at 3 a.m. on July 31, 2011, with my mom after my husband had died just a few hours before.  I looked at her and woefully blurted out, “Well, we’re both widows now.”  And we cried. 

A widow is not the same as a divorced woman.  A widower is not the same as a divorced man.  Losing a parent is not the same as losing your spouse.  A spouse leaves a marriage?  That’s a terrible terrible thing—but the person left behind is not a widow or a widower.  Don’t try to put them all into one tidy little box and say it’s the same.

I was told today that I am angry.  That my blog entries show my anger, my “inability” to move forward.  I was told that someone was praying for me to “get past the anger phase” of Mark dying, so I could get “on with life.”  It, along with many other portions of the email, was condescending.  It was from a friend.

I think back, again, to Kitty Hinkle’s entry in A Widow’s Might….a widow will lose 75% of the friends she had before becoming a widow.  She was right.  The person in question is divorced and has had more than her share of bad luck. 

In months past, the person in question tried to equate her sons not having their father around (he lives halfway across the country) with my boys’ father being “gone.”  That caused some righteous anger and indignation on my part.  I’m sorry your sons have an absentee father, but at least he’s still alive.  They can pick up the phone and call him.  They can visit him.  My boys?  Well, you know the answer to that.  It’s apples and oranges. 

Still her words today planted a little seed of doubt in my heart.  For about two seconds.  Do I deserve all the grace and good things that God has seen fit to bless my family with, after losing my husband?  Am I worthy to be a writer with Proverbs 31 Ministries?  Maybe she’s right….am I angry?  Do I write angrily, begrudgingly?  Because that has certainly never been my intention.

I responded.  I ended the relationship.  It had been toxic for quite awhile, and I felt used up.  In my almost year of counseling, I’ve learned there’s a time to fish and a time to cut bait.  All the little things that have been done over the past 2 years added up to a pretty big thing that I could no longer gloss over. 

You outgrow friendships.  Needs change.  Your circle of friends change as you hit different demographics of the population.  Mark and I were “dinks” for years (double income no kids).  After having the boys, we had a whole new segment of the population open up to us as friends.  You have friends at church, friends you’ve had since childhood, neighbors that are friends.  Work friends, sports-related friends, friends that have children that are friends with your children….you get the idea. 

But any of my friends, my real friends?  They see that there is still joy in my life, that I am still embracing my world, and know that I am doing my best to remain positive, upbeat, and keep my focus on raising my sons.  They can read it in my writings.  They know my innermost feelings and thoughts.  They know that I am closer to my God than I have ever been in my life.  He is my everything. 

They also realize that I cannot “get past the anger phase” of grief.  Grief cannot be given a deadline.  There’s no timeline, no bulleted chart to follow, especially in the loss of a spouse.  For someone who thinks otherwise?  All I can respond is that they never really knew me or my husband at all to begin with.

I followed my heart, and it was in the best interest of my family.  I will continue to lift her and her sons up in prayer. 

The naysayer didn’t cause my faith to waver.  She didn’t win.  It’s not about her.  And it’s not about me.  It’s about a God that can look down upon a family, even after losing a husband and father, and still give them reason to laugh–a lot!  And love.  And be excited about what the future holds for us.  We will never be “over” losing Mark.  We never need to be.  We are making that loss a part of who we now are.  It’s making my boys more faithful, more considerate, more empathetic, and more mindful of what’s truly important.  I hope it’s doing the same for me.

It has caused me to reevaluate what truly is important in my life.  I’m a bit like Jesus in the temple–only I’m turning the tables upside down on relationships that are causing harm and stress to my family.

Only then can we focus on what’s truly important.  Serving God, and living a life pleasing to Him.  Because His opinion of me is really the only one that matters 🙂

Right now, my life is an enigma.  Walking forward, as I know I must, I’m being drawn back to both good and bad memories as July begins to hit its stride.  Pushing and pulling, past and present, looking towards my future, looking longingly back at my past…well, you get the point.  I’m a mess. 

On the outside I hear folks telling me I look better, younger, more vibrant.  I just shake my head.  I laugh and say I must’ve looked pretty bad for a few months last year.  Whatever’s on the outside is of no consequence to me (although thank you very much, it’s nice of you to notice)–it’s the inside I’m working on.  Continually.  Or should I say, God is working on.  Maybe the serenity folks notice on my exterior is because of the “work I’ve had done” on the inside. 

Inside work isn’t without its pain, that’s for certain.  I’ve struggled lately, trying to reconcile friendships and my nonconfrontational way of enabling, with the new-found peace God’s given to me.  I’ve gone from a shy quiet girl to a woman that will let you know exactly what she thinks on most any subject.  I was always content to let Mark take on the lead, consulting with him on major decisions, but letting him pretty much have the last word….I don’t have that pampered wife mentality or luxury anymore. 

Instead, it’s me.  Me getting roof estimates.  Me picking out vinyl siding, calling to get window estimates.  It’s a strange mixture of sadness, apprehension, and empowerment, all rolled into one.  My focus has changed.  So have my priorities.  It’s not good, nor is it bad…it’s just how it is. 

If I had a chance to turn back time, to be back with Mark by my side?  I would still be working at the preschool for spending money, wiping little kids’ noses, teaching them their ABC’s and how to count backwards from 10.  I’d still be the devoted wife, doing my darnedest to make sure that Mark had everything that he needed, supporting his endeavors, happy to be in the passenger seat, just responsible for navigating when travelling by car.  And you betcha, I’d be loving every minute of it.  It was my position in the family dynamic–we worked as a finely-tuned team.

But that’s not an option.  Instead of the status quo, I feel God has much more in store for my boys and me.  I’ve decided to run with it.  In the process, I’ve found my voice, my passion.  Something that I can share with others, who might be going through similar circumstances. 

You’d think that would be a good thing, yes?  Well, evidently not for everyone.  As one of my friends, Kit Hinkle, blogged a couple of weeks back, widows typically lose 75% of the friends they had before becoming a widow.  That sounds high to me; however, in my own situation I’ve begun to see the falling away of some acquaintances.  And it’s not all them, in some special circumstances, I’ve been the one who needed to pull away.  At this particular time in my life, I cannot deal with drama.  I am so over drama.  I wasn’t a typical teenage girl  ’cause I didn’t even “do” drama in high school. 

Where before I might smile and utter an encouraging word or two, and let my big strong husband run interference, I have no one to hide behind now.  And my responsibilities have doubled, leaving little precious time for me.  And I need “me” time, now more than ever.  The result?  I will tell you I love you, I wish you well, but I need time.  Time to focus on my two little boys and the huge mess of responsibilities I’m dealing with.  I am what I am, and I certainly didn’t choose these circumstances.  I wouldn’t wish my pain or my children’s pain on my worst enemy.   But in the midst of the pain?  I choose to live.

And I will continue to live.  FULLY.  Just as I was taught by the master (Mark).  Just as my true Master, God, wants me to live. 

I have time for just two high-maintenance relationships, those of a 10 year old and a 9 year old, bet you can guess who they are.  And the best thing?  If there’s drama, I can put them in time-out 🙂

My Bible reading last night was “spot-on”:

Another hot, dry day in Wichita Falls.  To add insult to injury, there’s been a fish kill at Lake Wichita, which is very close to our house.  I’ve discontinued my early morning jogs on the trail, simply because I cannot stand to breathe in the stench.  With water levels low, temps high, along with high water temperature, golden algae again wreaks havoc on a local water body. 

I’m glad Mark’s not here to see (or smell) it.  This was a man who took his job so seriously that he would lose sleep over worrying about golden alga, dead fish, and limited fishing resources for his region.  I’ve written before how much I envied him, with a job that he truly loved and was committed to.  Who hasn’t heard the old saying, “Find something you love, and figure out how to get paid to do it”?  He was one of the lucky ones that did, after completing a M.S. at Murray State University in 1988.

In my lifetime, I’ve been a medical technologist, computer analyst, software installer, site manager for a computer company, choir director, church pianist, and preschool teacher—all prior to Mark’s death.  He was with me during that whole career span.  Wherever his job took us, I found work.  He was the main breadwinner.  I was the complement, the one with the salary we saved.  I look back and can honestly say I liked the various jobs I had–some more than others–but I never loved any of them. 

Then Mark died.  I didn’t have the strength to continue as a preschool teacher.  I knew that the love, attention, and the intensive one-on-one time I gave to my little students needed to be reserved for only AJ and Ben.  With Mark’s pension from TPWD, I’ve been allowed the chance to be a stay-at-home mom.  It was a no-brainer for my family as we struggled with the multitude of changes forced upon us. 

Not even a month after losing Mark, I felt pushed to email the editor of the local paper, with whom Mark and I have been friends for years.  His weekly outdoors column hadn’t been picked up by anyone.  And for some strange reason, I wanted to take it on.  Call me crazy (and many have!), but I emailed her a rough draft of a column.  To my surprise, she said “yes.”  September 2011 I began writing.  About the outdoors.  As a single woman of two boys, totally clueless about camping, fishing, hunting, and most other things, but knowing that I had to learn because I promised Mark I would .  For our boys. 

Guess what?  I love it.  Me, a writer.  Never would I have imagined this for me.  The last time I was a writer was as a high school senior, when I was editor of our newspaper.  I won a couple of essay contests then, too, but never considered journalism as a career choice.  Instead, I have a degree in biology.

Here, counting down the months to the beginning of my 5th decade on God’s green earth, I have finally found what I love to do.  And I’m getting paid to do it.  My writing’s improving as the months roll on (believe me, I had no where to go but up!).  I won’t be able to get rich writing a weekly column for one local paper, but it helps me pay my health insurance premium each month.

That job and this blog has led me to another writing outlet:  A Widow’s Might, through Proverbs 31 Ministries.  My first devotion was published online, and I’ve gotten some touching, wonderful responses back.  I’m attending a writers/speakers conference later this month.  I’m speaking at a writer’s workshop here in town before I leave. 

I woke up this morning with this song running through my head:  “I Refuse” by Josh Wilson.

 I have found my calling.  It is to minister and share with others going through similar situations like my family is experiencing.  God gives me the words that seem to help in some way. 

I refuse to sit by and do nothing when I can stand up and talk to people who are going through agonizing times.  God is calling me to do so.  I’m not yet sure of all of the particulars, but I know with every fiber of my being that He will reveal more as the days go along. 

In the meantime, I will be content but I will not be quiet.  God’s amazing love continues to transform my family and mold us into something more beautiful than I could’ve ever imagined.  Even with that most wonderful daddy & husband up in heaven. 

Tough days?  We still have them, I’m sure we always will.  But we’ll continue to push onward to the prize.  The prize Mark Howell is enjoying with our Saviour right now. 

It’s here.  July 4th, America’s Independence Day.  I’ve been dreading this one, folks.  In my year of “firsts,” this one is particularly hard.  You see, one short year ago, my perfect little family of four was vacationing on the East Coast, specifically Western Massachusetts, with Mark’s brother and sis-in-law.  They were the consummate hosts.  We had a week that rivaled our week at Walt Disney World in 2010, and that opinion came from two boys, aged 8 & 9 at the time.  We camped, we explored.  We hit every microbrewery in a 50-mile radius of their home (or so it seemed at the time).  We laughed.  A lot.  We laid on a blanket and watched amazing fireworks shoot off over a small town in Vermont, chilled in the New England summer air.

One short year ago, July 4, 2011

We toured MIT with Ben, who is certain he wants to attend college there.  We sat in Fenway Park, watching Big Papi charge the mound, causing a good old-fashioned bench clearing brawl.  AJ and his dad just laughed until their sides hurt.  AJ is certain he’ll be playing MLB there someday. 

In short, probably the most memorable July 4th to date.  Today?  We’re the three of us.  Invited to two celebrations, we’ll make an appearance at both.  But it’s not the same.  I’d much rather be slow-roasting the slab of baby-back ribs I have stashed in my freezer for my 3 guys….except now I have only 2. 

As the calendar ticks down to the day of Mark’s surgery, and the day that he went into shock while I was screaming at the med-surg nurses to get off of their behinds to come and take care of him, the night he was rushed into ICU and I was told he might not make it through the night.  To the day I thought he’d finally turned a corner, only to find that his surgeon wanted to open him back up.  He made it through that surgery, he saw our boys, and I prayed he would recover.  To the dreadful morning I got the call, on the three hour break I had taken to go home and try to sleep, that he wasn’t going to make it—July 30, 2011. 

All run through my mind on a constant “rewind” button, crowding out current events.  It’s like a really bad movie that I cannot get out of my head.  I know the ending, I don’t like it, but I can’t change it.  I can only hold my children close, my God closer, and push forward. 

God knows my pain.  In place of Mark, with whom I would talk on a constant basis (he had that wonderful “filter” that most good husbands get, where they can tune out the mundane, but focus on the important), I talk to God.  I don’t approach His throne with fear or cautiousness anymore…I just boldly walk up and tell Him what’s on my heart.  I would’ve never done that before losing my spouse. 

I think that’s how God wants everyone to approach His throne.  He created us in His image.  He wants us to feel comfortable enough to tell our deepest innermost thoughts.  He knows them already, so you might as well talk to Him about them. 

And in the midst of the sadness I feel on this day, I feel so loved by my Father.  He knows my pain. He holds me close.  And on this, yet another “first” that I’ve dreaded for weeks, HE IS ENOUGH to get me through it.

Well, it’s here.  The month I’ve been dreading.  At the end of this month, I will have been a widow/single mom for an entire year.  I’m not ready for it to be a year.  I wanted more time to heal, to get my ducks in a row.  I was hoping to have a chance to grow more spiritually by the time July 30th rolled around.  It’s only 4 short weeks away.

Communion at church today was hard, but good.  Hard because I feel so close to Mark while I’m partaking of the bread and “wine”, but good, too.  Today, I swear I heard him saying, “Honey, I’m here, I’m here, I’m here!” as I was praying.  Our two sons were acolytes, helping with the communion, so that was special as well.  Let’s just say ‘the communion of saints’ has taken on a whole new meaning for me since my saint is now in heaven.

Ben’s doing better in the evenings at bedtime.  After the second consecutive night of intense grief, crying, and being upset (he told me matter-of-factly that nighttime was just his time to grieve), I suggested he turn on his light and read the Bible I bought him as an end of school year gift.  From my bed, I heard him switch on the lamp, and rustle pages as he settled into his top bunk to read.  To my relief, the crying slowed down and I could tell he was being comforted by God and the words he was reading.  I fell asleep while he was still reading.  An hour or so later, I went to check on him.  Lamp still on, and my ‘baby’ sound asleep on his back, cradling that Bible with open pages on his lap.  I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a precious sight.

It’s his new nighttime routine, and I applaud it.  In fact, I went to bed without reading my Bible last night & felt guilty….because both boys were in their respective bedrooms reading their Bibles.  I couldn’t thank God enough for that in my prayers last night.  They are in such a good place right now, spiritually, even with the great loss in their lives. 

And me?  Well, I’m closer to God than I’ve ever been, too.  It’s sad to think that it took me losing my sweet husband to give all of my worries to God.  I truly consider God my friend, as well as my Father.  I tell Him everything.  I’m leaving the details of my life in His capable hands, trusting that, when the time comes, I will have all that I need to make the right decisions.

That’s what God wants from us all.  We’re just too busy in the hustle and bustle of life to slow down to listen.  Once I slowed down, I heard Him loud and clear.  And the windows started opening up for my family.  Everything that I am and will be, I owe to Him.

I just pray for the patience and skill to make the best of what’s coming my way, all the while giving  God the glory…

I stopped by Mark’s office yesterday to pick up the last two boxes full of his personal effects.  I thank God that I haven’t been rushed , it’s taken me several months to accomplish.  The first few times were the hardest, being in the space that was personally his own for 20 years.  Everything in that room screamed “Mark”. 

I didn’t sort much of anything, except what was TPWD’s versus what was his.  I don’t know what the boys will want, so I’m going to store it all.  Down the road, in a few years, hopefully, the three of us will able to go through the boxes, picking out what is worth saving and what is not.  I just don’t feel qualified to make that decision for them. 

The decision is much like the one I made on the fly after Mark’s second surgery in the hospital, the day before he died.  Both boys wanted to see him—badly.  They realized, in their own 8 and 9 year old way, that their daddy was gravely ill.  I didn’t want them to look back in 5 years, blaming me for not letting them visit him, even while in such a precarious state.  I rationalized that if he made it (and I prayed so hard that he would!), we could look back as a family, and remember how sick he was, and how he miraculously recovered.  If the unthinkable happened, and we lost him, it was at least a time where they could see him one last time, and feel his warm hand on them, see his adoring eyes looking at them both, and have maybe some closure down the line.  The chaplain at the hospital at the time discouraged me from allowing them to see him….I am so glad I didn’t let her sway me.  I did the right thing.  They got to touch him, kiss him, tell him how much they loved him.  And he told them the same, even though he could not speak with a ventilator in place. 

I’ve made most decisions by the seat of my pants—or at least that’s what I joke.  But I’m not telling the whole truth.  I have prayed seriously about most major decisions since he has died.  Some more than others.  But all in some form or fashion.  God’s certainly alot better at these decisions than I am.  And he hasn’t failed me yet.

I look at the calendar and it’s been 11 months tomorrow that he died.  I miss him terribly.  It’s not so much a feeling as it was at first, like my arms had been cut off.  It’s more of a wistful sadness, as I realize that this is my new reality.  I’m heading a family of three.   All of the shared responsibilities we tag-teamed on, are mine.  And mine alone.  I’m getting roof estimates.  I’ve taken a broken basketball goal apart and hauled it to the landfill.  I’ve contracted workers to remove my broken jacuzzi, to break up the concrete surrounding it, to dig out the wisteria behind it.  I water my thirsty yard once a week, moving the soaker hoses around every 30 minutes  I agonize over rising health insurance costs, and wonder what I should do.  All of these are things I would’ve passed off to my more capable husband.  I have so much to do, I don’t think I will ever get caught up.

But in the midst of it all, I find time for fun with my boys.  For example, this afternoon, I took them and a friend to see “Men in Black 3.”  There’s no better place to be than in an airconditioned theatre whenever it’s well over 100 degrees outdoors.   It made us a bit sad at the end, where Will Smith discovers the circumstances in which his dad died whenever Will’s character was very young.  There were a few tears shed on our way home.  AJ and Ben can truly empathize with others who have lost what they have lost.  I think it will make them even more compassionate young men.

Going back to Mark’s office.  I didn’t know how I would feel as I pulled out of the parking lot.  Another big chapter closed as I left.  Now, I really don’t have any reason to be in that building.  His coworkers have been so good and supportive of the three of us, and I know I’m welcome there anytime.  But his position has been interviewed for, and will be filled probably within the next two weeks.  I’m okay with that.  It is time that the crew has another supervisor, someone who can lead them.  No one will ever do it as well as Mark, I have no doubt.  I pray that the best person to try is chosen. 

How do people get through something like this without God?  I’m serious.  Without hope for heaven, without the Holy Spirit by my side, without knowing that Jesus is walking beside me, petitioning God for the extra help that we need, I would be in a sad sorry state.  With God, I feel empowered, even on my worst of days.  There is nothing He can’t do, and if I continue to trust Him with everything, my family will continue to heal and thrive. 

And we’re doing just that.  Smiles through tears, sadness tinged with joy, blessings overflowing still in sad circumstances. 

God is doing great things through us.  We are unworthy, but grace covers that unworthiness.  And we still have much to be thankful for and happy about.

We.are.going.to.make.it.  Praise God!

We’ve just finished a 3-day Ben birthday celebration, as my “baby” turned 9 on Sunday, June 24th.  All things considered, it went well.  We missed Mark, for sure, he loved a good party…he WAS the party, in fact.  It’s amazing how one person can grab the center of attention, and everyone gravitates to them…they are always in a good mood, always ready with a smile & positive reinforcement.  That was Mark, for sure. 

Knowing that, I was a bit apprehensive as his cousin Janet, and her husband, Robby travelled via car to visit for the day on Saturday the 23rd.  They live in Seattle, so we haven’t had the opportunity to see them in person since Mark died.  I realize it will be hard for all of us.  My boys are so excited to see them, and although there were some tears shed during the day, it was a memorable visit, filled with laughter and shared memories.  That’s what I love about family…you can not see someone for years, practically, and once you are in their presence, it’s like you were never apart.  The connection cannot be broken.  You have a shared past, for better or for worse.  You love the same people.  You’ve either grown up connected to them, or aquired them through marriage.  That was day 1 of the Ben-athon Birthday.

Day 2 was actually Ben Wallace’s birthday.  Memories flooded back to me, of course, as I faced another “first” without Mark.  I remember Ben’s entrance into the world, face-up (doctor called it “sunny side up”).  Mark joked that Ben wanted to see where he was going, hence the turn of the head and body as he was born.  He didn’t sleep for over 24 hours, all the while taking in his new world, with those big soulful brown eyes.  I can see Mark cradling him in his arms for the first time, just like it was yesterday.  I am so thankful for all of the wonderful memories we have. 

We had dinner with friends that evening, then prepared for a small sleepover (only 4 boys) on day 3.  More friends offered their pool while I transported AJ to baseball practice.   We returned with copious amounts of pizza and had an impromptu party by the pool.  Cake and presents followed at our place. 

I’ll be honest.  I was ready for the Ben-athon to end.  He was getting a bit full of himself, and my house looked like a disaster zone.  Plus we had to get AJ ready for his first All Star game last evening. 

AJ and Mark were baseball soul mates.  The love of the game coursed through Mark, and AJ was the heir apparent.  From the time that kid was 3 months old, Mark would stuff him in beside him in the recliner, in front of our bigscreen tv.  I remember vividly him not being able to hold his head up, as Mark propped him carefully beside him as the 2002 NCAA basketball tournament was on.  Spring training was only a month later.  We’ve travelled to Arlington numerous times to see the Rangers, Oklahoma City to see the AAA Rangers/AA Astros (and OKC Thunder).  We took AJ to Baltimore at age 7 months to see the Orioles play.  We’ve been at Busch in St. Louis, and Fenway in Boston.  In other words, we’re a baseball family.

So, as I dropped AJ off for batting practice, an hour before the game’s start, and pulled away, it hurt.  I glanced in the rearview mirror, fully expecting to see his daddy walking beside him, taking big strides, a grin a mile wide on his face as he gave encouraging advice and last minute instructions to his boy.  Instead, I saw a tall, lanky 10 year old–resplendent in all white All Star gear–walking alone, pulling his bat bag behind him.  It’s not fair.  Still, after 11 months, IT’S NOT FAIR!

I was the one talking to AJ before the game, telling him he was capable of doing whatever the coach asked.  He was hesitant to go in and pitch.  I told him he was Mark Howell’s son, and that he had the skills.  I also reminded him that he was not alone, that both God and Mark were walking right beside him.  We prayed in the car before the game.

He was called in from 1st base to pitch, top of the first, with two outs, bases loaded, and the score 2-0.  I prayed.  Hard.  He suddenly looked so fragile to me on that mound.  He walked in a run.  But no one else.  He got the third out, and went on to pitch two more full innings.  The kid’s got potential.  We ended up winning 15-3.  The temps were a few degrees above 100.

Ben usually doesn’t come along for games.  He just doesn’t care for the sport. But he made an exception last night, to support his big brother.  As we readied for bed, I was suddenly worn out.  Every night I lay with both boys in their respective beds, but last night I simply could not do it.  I crawled under the covers, with a boy on each side.  AJ headed off soon, but Ben hesitated.  I told him that he was now 9, and that surely he could just, for this once, try to go to bed unassisted.  All he needed to do was turn on the nightlight, turn off the dresser light, and crawl into bed. 

He begrudgingly went.  Soon thereafter, I heard crying.  It started out small, but before I knew it, I heard loud, gutteral sobbing, and words.  With ceiling fans running, I couldn’t make them all out, but he was talking to his daddy.  I did recognize “why did you have to leave me?”.  Staying in my bed while he was crying was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done.  I felt like a terrible mother.  But I also knew that this was, to my knowledge, the first time he’s really let go, let his feelings spill out, since Mark died.  It was something he needed to do. 

After what seemed like an eternity in his room, he went to the bathroom, where he continued.  Coming out after another 5 or so minutes, I called to him, and pulled him back into my bed.  He was a snotty mess.  I held him, and told him that tears were healing.  And even though it felt bad while doing it, he would feel better afterwards.  I also told him he could stay in my bed, but it would be the last night.  He needs his space.  I need mine.  But I held that big boy, cradled in my arms, just like I’ve seen his daddy do thousands of times.  And the crying soon became whimpers, and sleep came. 

I think the culmination of the Ben-athon, and being at the ball park brought back a multitude of memories for us all, and Ben, who has not grieved openly much up to this point, reached his breaking point.  As hard as it was to hear and see, it was necessary.  In the midst of the mourning, I felt relief.  Relieved that he was finally letting it out, where he can deal with the pain. 

This morning, I ask him if he feels better after crying.  “Oh yes, Mom, but it’s still hard.” 

Yes, Ben, I know.  It will continue to be hard.  But it’s still oh so sweet.