The Breathing Widow

I sat up in bed reluctantly as I realized that I was facing another day of caretaking. Another day of loneliness. Another day of tragedy and sickness the weight of my circumstance saturated my mind, and I knew that I didn’t have a choice to breath. It was automatic and keeping me alive. I swung my feet out of the bed and onto the cold, wood floor. I pulled myself up and pushed on. I pushed through my tragic reality and started my day. My sick husband needed me. My two young children needed me. I was the strong core of the home, and I couldn’t give up.

This was the day that Benji started throwing up black mucus, which we were told was a sign of a blockage. He was gaunt and thin. A shell of his former self. Benji had taken up weightlifting a year before he got diagnosed with cancer. He had morphed into a bulky, and healthy man. He had lived with Crohn’s disease since his late teens, but he was learning to take care of himself. During his years of going to the gym bright and early every morning, he had more energy than ever before, and we even started camping with the boys. Benji had been weary of camping because he always needed a bathroom close by.  We were finally able to add that to our summers. Our lives with disease was working, until one day it wasn’t. The Crohns disease had taken over, grown into several tumors and ravaged my poor husband’s body.  It seemed that he had turned into an old man overnight. The muscles disappeared, his skin changed colors and his eyes became dark. I would see a small glimpse of his former self when he would make a sarcastic remark or tell a joke. His liveliness was in there somewhere, but it was disappearing before my eyes. 

That bitter day we knew we needed and head to the ER and that we were in for devasting news. Benji was halfway through his third round of chemotherapy. That past June we had the privilege of meeting with a world-renowned Oncologist in Houston, Texas. We had been hopeful that this new type of chemo would kill the cancer, but we were wrong. That night in the ER, the doctor told us that Benji needed emergency surgery to remove part of his colon. Benji’s body was breaking down from the chemo. The doctors needed to do all they could to protect him from infection, so they placed him in a negative pressure room. It is here in this room that I listened to Benji tell me this was it, he’s leaving me. Our life together was over. I didn’t believe it until days later when the oncologist said the same words on the phone as I stood in our kitchen. All I remember hearing on the other end of the phone, was “We removed part of his colon but in terms of the growth of cancer, there is nothing more we can do.”

In that moment standing in the kitchen, the house flooded with memories of our growing family. We bought our home on Sherman Avenue ten years earlier. We adopted two puppy pugs and 3 years later welcomed our first son, Jonah and Isaac arrived 18 months later. Our home was filled with love and joy. The memories swirled in my head. Bringing our baby boys home to meet the pugs. Our annual Christmas parties, summers back yard get together, and our living room lively with wild wrestling matches. Our home was the hub for our friend group. Our backyard was often filled with people on warm summer nights. The tiki torches burning and fresh homebrew in our glasses. In that moment, I stood numb, encircled with shock, grief, awe and confusion. How could this life we had created be coming to an end? It was my turn to tell him that we would no longer be together, except this time it was the truth. 

On the short drive to the hospital, I called his brother to share the news. His brother was speechless as he was the optimistic one. He didn’t think Benji would die. No, not his little brother. I pulled into the hospital parking lot, walked to the elevator and pushed the five. I starkly remember that moment. It was the beginning of the end of our life together and the journey ahead would be perilous and unnerving. It was the beginning of the worst tragedy of my life. My anxiety rose with the elevator, the doors opened, and I walked with shaking hands to his room. I sat next to him, studied his handsome face and told him the bold truth. “There is nothing more we can do.” I said. His response. “I know”. There was no room in my soul for all the emotions my heart needed to process something like this. I was numb. We celebrate his 33rd birthday in the courtyard of the hospital. Benji sat in the wheelchair, hospital gown on, hunched over and looking more aged than ever. His family surrounded him as we snuck him a small glass of his favorite whiskey. We all knew that this would be the last birthday we would celebrate with him. We knew that next year at that time we would be sitting next his grave. I don’t remember the conversations, but I do remember our boys clinging to him, singing to him and bringing him joy. 

Two weeks later, I brought Benji home with the help of hospice. Hospice workers, I learned, are the people that care for you when you are sick and dying, whether you are old or not. They were at my house every other day for my thirty-three-year-old husband. They changed his ostomy bag and dressed the wounds from his surgery. I still breathed everyday but only because it was automatic like I didn't have a choice. If I had a choice, I don't know if I would have chosen to keep breathing. If it wasn't for the two sweet souls of the boys we had created together, I would have been okay going right along with him.

In the last days I felt I was living in a strange realm between life and death. I would walk into our bedroom and see the boys snuggled I would walk into our bedroom and see the boys snuggled up with Daddy watching Captain America or playing Wii U. I remember their last wrestling match. I could see Benji’s struggle as he lifted them up and threw them on the couch. He recognized that it was the last time his body would allow him to do that. As his body deteriorated, mine followed suit. I lost weight. I lost my appetite and only had enough energy for the bare minimum. I was losing half of myself. I was preparing to step out on my own. Benji and I were only sixteen when we met. We were high school sweethearts and feel head over heels on our first date. We married at twenty years old. We spent the first 6 years sowing our wild oats, traveling and pursuing our careers. It terrified me to undo my dependence on him and regress from the life we had created. I would have to become unmarried. My soul and body would have to morph into a new single being. This inevitably would bring only-parenthood. It was difficult to envision raising our boys on my own. They didn’t understand the gravity of the situation and I did my best to shield them from any pain. I knew at this point that having to walk them through a parent loss was something I was going to have to do. 

Sitting on the front porch watching the world was our favorite place. We would often sit out there after the boys were in bed. We would sip a drink and pour over our lives and our future. Yet, our last front porch night was much different. We were no longer talking about our future, but my future. He told me how he wanted me to move forward, find new love, have more children. He told me that he wanted me to marry someone with a daughter, something that I had always wanted. These conversations were surreal and heartbreaking. I am eternally grateful for his release of me. He did all he could to ease my transition into my new life and knew I needed to be freed from him.

As the days passed, the visitors increased. The food stacked up and the waiting became unbearable. As much as I didn’t want him to go, I also couldn’t stand the anticipation. I felt guilty for my feelings but longed to get it over with. I found myself running up the street in a fired frenzy of emotion. A dear friend found me under a tree in a nearby park and comforted me with her loving words. Every day brought us a little bit closer to the end. I google searched for signs of death. I became well versed in end-of-life lingo and began watching for purple knees, yellow skin and sunken eyes. He soon became less active and slept twenty hours a day. 

It became more evident that the end was coming, and so we decided to move him to a hospice center. He wanted to die at home, but I couldn’t allow it. I imagined a conversation with him, stated my case and he agreed. He was no longer lucid, and I was having to make decisions based on what I thought he would do. I spent our last few hours in our home together. I cried on his shoulder as he slept. We listening to our favorite music, Coldplay, Radiohead and David Crowder. I thought about the last ten years in our home with our pugs and our boys. Our life had progressed so beautifully, and we had so much ahead of us. We had a life to live together, and I couldn’t see my life without him. I counted down from one hour, thirty minutes, ten minutes, one minute and finally walked him to the car. He didn’t know where we were going. I had him pet the pugs, and we drove away from our home together for the very last time. The boys were at school, so they didn’t witness this dramatic exit. 

We drove four minutes to the facility, and I checked him in. It was a sweet place very unlike a hospital. There was a bed right next to him so I could be with him. Later that day I met the boys at home, and we found a familiar place in the yard where we would play baseball with Daddy. I gently told them that Daddy was in a cozy place now and was never coming home. Their reaction was less intense than I had imagined. They understood it was coming in only the way a small child could, with short ‘uh huh’s” and little nods. “It was no longer going to be the four of us”, I told them. We were down to a threesome now. Isaac refused to go see his Daddy which he now regrets. He has struggled in his grief more as he didn’t get the closure he needed. But he was only five years old, and I could never have forced it. Jonah wanted to go see him. He didn’t care that Daddy couldn’t acknowledge him, he caressed his arm and said “Daddy, Daddy, Daddy.” 

That evening the room filled with family, friends and agonizing goodbyes. We waited for heaven to take Benji home by laughing, crying and singing worship songs. Early the next morning, a September morning, my beautiful husband took his last breath as I laid by his side. I felt the energy leave his body and watched him cross over into eternity. I no longer had a connection to his earthly body. The cold, still being next to me, was no longer my husband. His soul was gone from this world. He was now in the arms of Jesus. We had many talks of heaven, and it was incredible and comforting to know that he was there. I climbed out of the bed and took my first, struggled steps away from his body. These were my first steps of a new life. A life without him. I stood in the doorway and felt every muscle in my body relax as my body went limp and I hit the carpeted, concrete floor. My body succumbed to the utter exhaustion that had taken over my life the past few weeks. As I fell, I wanted to sink into the floor and never return. I wanted to die. As I watched my other half leave this earth, I didn’t want to live anymore. Half of me was gone. I woke up in the lap of my loved ones and knew I had to start to pull myself together.

I arrived home later that morning and climbed into bed in my new space. My family had rearranged all the furniture and replaced the bedding and curtains in my room. They knew I would immediately need change. My style of grief process would be proactive and intense. I wanted to feel all that I could, make all the hard choices and move through grief as quickly as I could stand it. I thought this would be possible. I was wrong. God was with me somewhere. I grasped for Him. I could not understand why He would allow this, but I chose to trust. 

As I lived and breathed through a celebration of Benji’s life and his funeral, the reality had hardly set in. The next day we flew to Disneyland. I watched other children with their Daddies. It took all that I had not to shake them in the unfairness. I didn’t bring children into this world to live without their Daddy. The questions swirled and I began to ask why. Why did my boys have to lose their Daddy? But I clung God’s promise in Jeremiah 29:11 “I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord, plans not to harm you, to give you a hope and a future.” Although, this felt harmful and the grief was almost too much to bear, I had a small grain of hope that one day it wouldn’t be this hard. I trusted that God still had good things for me and there was purpose in my pain.

I was now a member of Widowhood, but I never signed up for it. I signed up for life as wife. Marriage is a God ordained institution where two become one. Half of my flesh was ripped away against my will, and I had to revert to a flesh of my own. I was a single girl now, an only parent, a widow. I was now alone with two small children. The daunting job of motherhood and fatherhood awaited me. I was only half of their parents. Benji had his way of caring for them, loving them and playing with them. They wrestled, watched Marvel movies and played swords. These were things that I would try to keep in our lives but none of them were my strong suit. I would have to strive to keep those things alive in well in our home. Protecting my boys from intense grief was something I longed for but knew wasn’t within my power. When Benji neared the end, the trauma started to manifest in Jonah as a habit of twisting his hair. He twisted it so much that he had a bald spot on the front of his head. There was so much in his precious little heart that he couldn’t understand. The trauma of losing his father caused Isaac to obsess over the idea of death and it came out in his behavior. As Isaac matured, he developed anger issues, and I would have to let him vent and scream in his room. I let him process his grief in his own way.

After Benji left us, the boys and I immediately started therapy. During our first session Jonah wouldn’t come out from under a chair. The sweet therapist crawled under the chair with him to talk. Isaac played dead and we would have to revive him. This game became a nightly ritual at bedtime. To some it may seem morbid, but I played along and only hoped he would outgrow it. I grieved for myself. I grieved for my boys. I tried to manage their grief by making sure they had all the support that they needed, but I was depleted.

My biggest fear was not giving them the space to deal with their grief on a deep level and having them suffer later in life. My therapist told me that they would grieve at every age and that is exactly how it has happened. As they continued to mature, they gained a different understanding of the loss of Daddy. Now teenagers, they are longing for him to be here to share in their interests and experiences. It causes me deep sorrow to watch them grow and change without him around. People say, “he can see them” or “he is watching from above”, as if that is supposed to make me feel better. Whether he can see them or not he is still not here for me to experience it with him, so, no, that doesn’t make me feel better. 

As I continued to breathe those first few weeks, the grief became very heavy. The absence of him in our home was nearly unbearable. Sometimes, I heard the car pull up in the driveway at five pm. I envisioned him walking in the house as the boys yelled “Daddy's home”. I saw him sitting in the backyard at night. As I peeked my head out the door and whispered good night, I heard his sweet response, “I'll be right there.” 

The last year of his life we were in such turmoil so that time was not what I was grieving. I was grieving the years before that, the years full of life not death. The years of happiness and joy. I longed for those days and my body craved his touch, his smell, his voice. The nights were lonely, and the days dragged on. I laid on the couch in the middle of the night and dreaded going to bed alone. I heard the clock ticking and with each tick it marked one more second that he was gone. The minutes, the hours, the days piled up and there was more and more that he was missing. More life that I wanted to share with him. I longed to share with him all that had happened in the first two weeks. I knew that it was something that would never be satisfied for the rest of my life. Even now, eight years later, the deep ache in my heart when he is missing something important is agonizing to my core. Only a widowed mother can understand.

In those early days I had a book of prayers for widows, I copied and printed them out and carried them everywhere. I knew that my only hope was in Jesus and clinging to Him. I clung to the promises of healing and new life. I strived to learn all that I could from the darkness that surrounded me. I had hope that one day I would sing His praises in new life. 

We were invited to spend our first holiday season without Daddy in Maui with Benji’s family. I had refused to do anything for Christmas. The memories were agonizing, so going to Hawaii was a perfect escape. Christmas morning was as traditional as it comes in our house. Meticulously decorated and infused with Christmas music. Benji and I would stay up into the night wrapping presents on Christmas Eve. We would wake up our boys Christmas morning and watch them run out into the living room. They gasped with anticipation at the beautiful site. This Christmas was much different. We spent Christmas Eve wondering through the beach village. We were surrounded by dressed up families celebrating in style. The boys and I grabbed ice cream cones and sat on the beach. The ache was agonizing. We woke up on Christmas morning in our hotel room. The boys and I sat on the bed with the view of the ocean before us I gave them each one present. Just one. I didn’t have much in me to do more. This was all I could muster. We spent the day on the beach and playing in the waves. I tried to soak in my surroundings and grasped for joy, but it wasn’t there. 

As the new year approached, I felt the heaviness of letting go of the year that I lost Benji. I was moving on into 2014 but he never would. It was a brutal reminder that I was moving forward without him, and I was powerless to stop it. I sat on the Hawaiian beach as the minutes pulled closer to the new year. I was alone as my boys slept. I sat on the cold, dark sand and watched the waves crash at the shore. Whispers of lovers snuggled up surrounded me which exaggerated my solo presence. Midnight came and time skipped over into a new year. I still sat there, in the same place but had moved into another realm of existence without him. He now had died last year. I acknowledged the precious moment and vowed to still live my life, move forward and not let the loss define me. I vowed to breathe. Widow is my title, not my identity. 

I came back to the Utah winter and continued to breathe. By January, I was almost halfway done with each first holiday and milestone without him. I was doing it. Running a marathon of emotion, not near the finish line yet but inching closer. My birthday arrived and as I woke that morning, and I heard a knock at the door. I opened it to a wide spread of beautiful flowers from an unknown sender. I later learned that they were from Benji. His mom was instructed to send me flowers on my first birthday without him. Nothing is better than receiving a gift straight from heaven. 

Valentine's day crept up. I hadn’t been alone for Love Day since I was 15 so I decided to surprise the kids. I took them to Universal Studios for the weekend. This was also the anniversary of our first date and our engagement. Valentine’s weekend is a doozy every year. We met my sister-in-law in LA and distracted ourselves with some fun and adventure. The ache was there, the sadness was there but I was able to suppress it in the warm California sun. 

As I sat in the PHX airport waiting for our connecting flight home, I was in a booth sitting next to my iPad playing boys. I took off my wedding ring, to admire it. It was fourteen years exactly at that moment that Benji had given it to me and asked me to be his wife. I stared at it. I touched it. Then I got a sudden, urgent, overwhelming feeling. I heard God audibly say to me, “It’s time to take it off. Heidi, you can't grow into the independent woman that I want you to be with it on. It is time.” Shock, fear and sadness overtook me in the booth as I desperately tried to hold back tears. I knew the time would come and for some reason knew it would be sudden. The time was now. Several days later, I sat on our bed, took the ring off and put it in a box next to his. This was a very intentional moment for me. I felt Benji sitting right there next to me urging me to take the big steps in moving forward. 

The next week I hopped another flight to Miami, Florida. I left the boys with Benji’s brother and joined my family for an adult getaway. I was eager to leave again and desperate to suppress my sadness. One thing I learned over all this time was that grief was not something that can be escaped. It was part of me no matter what I did or where I went. It followed me like a shadow and made itself known as much as it could. Despite my fragile state, we visited the city, the beach, and the Everglades. I tried desperately to be normal. To feel normal. But I was a fraud, a mere shell of who I was. I would wake up in the beach house bedroom with a heavy blanket of depression. I realized that alcohol escalated my negative feelings, but I was desperate for the numbing effect. I didn’t reach for a drink in my alone time, but when out with friends or family I needed it to blend in and not feel the sting of loneliness. I never thought I would be a third wheel or fifth wheel, but it became all too familiar. Despite, the heavy feelings I carried in Florida, I came home with a renewed sense of healing. Each hard thing I did made me stronger and more prepared to take on the challenges of grief. 

One February afternoon after returning from all my travels, I got a notification on Facebook. David Vegh wants to be your friend. I knew the name; it was familiar as I knew him in High School. I knew his brother; he was friends with Benji and I. I didn’t think much of it and hit accept. Several days later David posted a picture of a fancy car linking to a contest to win. I don’t usual comment on posts of people that are not in my circle. But something compelled me to say, “Nice car, when you win it be sure to give me a ride.” This was atypical for me, but I felt a new freedom as I was thinking more and more of dating. A little social media flirting would be good for me. Dating was all new territory for me. The last time I went on a date with someone other than Benji was my sophomore year in High School. I was now 34. I didn’t know what I was doing but I was ready to go for it. David replied with a cute comment, and it went on for several minutes. I had a feeling that he would privately message me. Then a few minutes later a message came up that said “How old are your boys?” From then on, we chatted on Facebook. Casual at first but even though it was online I began to feel something for this man. I learned that he was divorced with a 2-year-old son. He was a carpenter. He traveled all over the world restoring the tables in Apple Stores. He was from a great Christian family, who I remember meeting in High School. I remember his parents and his brothers. The comforting part was that he had known Benji. He knew the man that I was grieving and attested to his character. He had admired him and knew the gravity of my loss. David was witty and hilarious, and I giggled at all his comments. The way he made me laugh was something that I had desired in a man. 

Two weeks later we decided to meet up. I told him about our favorite bouncy house, and he agreed to come. I sat at the tables as my boys played, antsy with anticipation. I was nervous, and sweaty and could not believe I was about to meet a new man in hopes of a connection. The wait was too long but I finally saw him walk in. His son Harlo, was just tall enough for me to see over the counter. They paid and walked over. I thought that David was taller and more handsome than I had expected. Harlo was shorter and cuter than I had expected. Little did I know that I had met my new family. 

We hung out several more times with our boys, watching movies and hanging out at home. We went on our first date and had our first kiss. Our courtship was romantic and exciting. I had fluttery feelings inside of me that I didn’t know still existed. David was loving, caring, hilarious and adored my boys. Harlo, Jonah and Isaac clicked. Before we knew it our little clan was turning into something wonderful and unexpected for both of us. 

The deep connection with David began when he listened to my story. We sat in a booth at a local brewery, and I poured out every ounce of emotion and detail of losing Benji. He sat calmly looking at me with tears in his eyes. He listened. He comforted and none of it scared him. It drew him closer to me and he slowly became part of my redemption story. 

We spent long spring days together while our boys were in school, and he was not on a trip. We would spend hours talking in restaurants, wondering through the city or hiking in the mountains. We took the boys to Red Fish Lake for our first camping trip together. Our connection grew deeper and deeper but as summer changed into fall, we found ourselves at a crossroads. 

During those months of dating, whether we had intended to or not we had created a family. We were not married and didn’t live together but in every other way that was how we were acting. For me it was familiar to have a man around. It felt safe to have David repair things in my home or come to my rescue when I dropped a large bottle of olive oil on my toe and needed support. But, I was weary that I was getting too close, too soon and he felt the same. We wondered if we had gone too fast. If we had jumped too soon into a relationship so soon after the death and divorce that had ravaged our lives. We had one awkward day apart thinking about the future of our relationship. I remember seeing one of his sweaters hanging on the back of a dining chair and I had this deep feeling that I didn’t want to live without him. I loved what we had created. It felt right. 

As we contemplated our relationship I was learning more and more about David and the deep connections that we had. One night at dinner he was telling me about a bible study that he had attended 8 years earlier. Benji had also been in the study as we were attending the same church, something I had never realized. They were reading John Eldridge’s book Wild at Heart. It is a book about God’s heart for men and His desire for men to live strong, courageous lives, filled with integrity. I remember Benji also being in this study when Jonah was a baby. David told me that during their time together each man had the opportunity to speak about what kind of fathers they desired to be. David had the opportunity to hear Benji speak about how his father was not hands on. He desired to be a father that taught his children all that they needed to know to be strong men of God. He had a desire to be hands-on and involved. Unfortunately, Benji’s childhood was difficult. His parents divorced at age 10 and he lived with only his father and brother. There was abuse and he endured an unstable lifestyle. He wanted nothing more than to provide his children with all that he never had. David expressed to me through tears that he heard Benji’s heart for his children from his own mouth. David didn’t realize it at the time, but it was preparing him to take on the role of Jonah and Isaac’s father. This solidified in my heart that this was going to be the man I was going to marry. 

During these months, we had kept our relationship a secret. Benji and I had a strong core group of friends that watched my every move. It was in a loving way, but I was also afraid that they wouldn’t be able to handle seeing me with someone else. These friends knew David from High School so that may have eased the sting, but I wasn’t sure. It was liberating living a secret life and for the time being it was working, until it wasn’t. My friends started getting suspicious and accusing David of manipulating me. This was far from the truth and after several uncomfortable conversations with my closest friends, some of them not ending well, I made the announcement. In our modern world it was called Facebook Official. It sounds juvenile and insincere, but this was what was expected. The support we received was amazing. We had so many of the same friends from our past and all of them were thrilled that we had found each other. My closest friends didn’t have the same reaction. I felt judged. I felt wronged. They accused me of doing it wrong or dishonoring Benji. I was accused of forgetting Benji. I was offended as my first love and the father of my children was something not so easily cast away. 

After we worked through our awkward feelings and our closest friends started coming around, we felt strongly that we were to be married. It seemed quick and intense but at the same time there was peace. I knew that God had a plan for my life. I could have expected it would involve another man but not this way, not this soon. I was over the moon in love with David and every part of me knew that he was going to help me raise my boys and that we would build a life together. It was unexpected and wonderful all at the same time.

Although David was becoming a bigger part of my life, I refused to lean on him and involve him in all my healing. I explained to him during that first year I needed to face all the milestones alone, without his help. I spent the hard holidays alone. I visited my best friends in Minnesota over the 4th of July and David didn't join us. We spend the one-year anniversary of Daddy leaving us in Disneyland and it was just the 3 of us. We mourned daddy but also celebrated that we had survived one year without him. We talked about how proud he would be of us, and we could feel him close. Working through the hardest days alone gave me confidence and freed me to move on with David. We entered the second year without him with great hope. 

In October, we met with our pastor. He confirmed that if we were living like a family and wanting a future together than getting married was the next step. We took two months of celibacy to solidify that our relationship was based on purity and trust not sex and lust. January came and so did our wedding day. Unfortunately, there was still animosity with Benji’s family and friends, so we decided on a small, very intimate wedding in the snowy mountains. The guest list only consisted of parents and siblings. I did all the decorations myself, purchased my dress from a clearance rack. Before we knew it, we were getting married by candlelight on a cold winter night. It was romantic and sweet. I could never have dreamed of a better way to celebrate our love. 

Marrying someone else felt odd but wonderful. I could feel Benji supporting me as I remember his sweet words about my new life. David and I combined our lives and he moved into our home. It was small, cramped and awkward. We created a fun space in the master bedroom as we set up bunkbeds. We set up our room in the small room beside it which was barely big enough to fit our new king mattress. We knew this set up was temporary as I felt ashamed to be living in Benji and I’s house with a new man. 

We were getting our barring’s as a new family as we were forced to face our first difficulty as a married couple. Harlo’s mom decided to move to Washington State and wanted to take Harlo with her. In the past, David and his ex-wife had talked about living in the Pacific Northwest. But it never panned out for them in their short marriage. She had met someone living in Gig Harbor and wanted to build a new life for herself. I could understand that but not at the expense of the loss we would experience if Harlo moved away. We had started building our life and none of this made sense. I didn’t understand what God was doing and I couldn’t see how this would be good for any of us. David suggested we move as well but that was not an option for me. I had just lost my husband of 13 years; my children were still grieving, and we had just invited David into our home as their new father. This could not be God's plan. 

We were again at a crossroads. Harlo’s mom insisted that we move as well but she didn’t understand the gravity of what that meant for our lives. David and I sat in our cramped room and prayed. We prayed for clarity. We prayed for direction. We were truly in between a rock and a hard place. Having to choose between children is the stuff nightmares are made out of. I felt that moving would be sacrificing the well-being of my boys and I wasn’t willing to do that. 

After several days of heavy prayer, we began to gain clarity. We realized we could not move to Washington at that time and needed a year to prepare. My first agenda was to move out of my house. We rented it out and rented another house in a different part of the city. I kept the boys in the same school, as to limit the change, but we needed a fresh and new house. We spent that year deepening our family connection. We flew Harlo back and forth and visited Gig Harbor several times. As the year mark crept up, the pressure was on to decide. We realized that Harlo was being negatively affected with the instability of flying back and forth. We knew a decision needed to be made soon.  

After many heartfelt and tear-filled prayers, we realized moving was the best option for all of us. I knew this involved removing my boys from all they had ever known. They would be moving away from all their family and starting new. It was utterly terrifying as a mother, but I trusted God that He had a place for us in Gig Harbor. We let it go and gave it all to God. We said, “Okay God, we will move but you are going to need to make this happen.” It was daunting and scary. We needed to sell a home, purchase a home and find a job for David. Looking back, I can see the hand of God in every part of the process. He moved mountains to bring us to Gig Harbor. 

David found a job. We sold the home on Sherman Avenue in one week and purchased a beautiful home in Gig Harbor. It was surrounded by lush, green forest and minutes away from the Puget Sound. The community was lovely and safe. The best part was that we were finally near Harlo. We have him every other week and share a lovely relationship with his mother. Nine months after we arrived in our new home, we welcomed Emmy Lynn, meaning complete. The final piece to the puzzle. I can see how God ordained all these events to bring us right where we are. I could never have orchestrated all the details to line up so flawlessly. God had bigger and brighter things for me past my grief. I trusted Him in those hard, lonely nights and hung on to the glimmer of hope that one day I would sing His praises in my new life. And I do! Benji is a part of our family. We have pictures of him in our home, we celebrate his birthday and I share his stories with my boys. They have grown into brilliant teenagers. I ache at every milestone, but it brings me comfort that Benji is no longer suffering. His legacy is in Jonah and Isaac.

It brings me comfort to know that even when I felt alone God never left my side.

He walked me through fire and pulled me from flames.

I have learned to live in the tension between joy and sorrow.

There is purpose in my pain.