Joy In The Mourning

I have to admit I’ve been pretty weepy and sometimes it leads me straight into the real ugly cry.  Damp eyes, the slow roll of tears down my face then **BAM*** I am a sobbing, snotty heap laying in the middle of a cold, damp floor.   A wail escapes that echos off the tile. This is my new normal.

I have wept in worship, hands lifted high, when that song came on that touched my soul and reminded me I am loved and I am seen in my greatest joy and my deepest hurt.  

I have wept when I think of how my sweet husband has loved me with an unconditional, selfless love that mirrors Jesus so beautifully.  A love I have desperately needed through some really, really hard times.  A love that has remained consistent and strong even when I am not very lovable.

I have wept when I look in the mirror and see the dimples of my first born baby staring back at me.  What a joyous day it will be to see those dimples again in heaven.   FaceTime with your boy reminds my heart that God knows exactly what we need and he longs to give us good, good gifts that bring great joy even in the midst of great heartache.

I wept with heartache after my Make A Wish interview that included a dad with your name.  He looked so much like you.  The texture of his hair, the wide forehead, those eyebrows....my tears quickly turned to tears of joy as I wept over that sweet little guy that we were interviewing for a wish.  So full of life and joy!  As he dug through his toy box for the perfect dinosaur I could see you as a little boy playing with your toys in the floor in a cloud of baby powder that lay so thick on the carpet the vaccum cleaner bogged down.  I dreamt of the man you would be today. 

I have wept with a deep ache in my soul for the challenges and hurt some of my friends are facing.  I have wept for the journey of loss and the journey of healing they are facing.  I have wept with joy and gratitude as I watch God show up over and over again in those places of deep hurt and sorrow.

I have wept for the joy of new life when I saw their little bodies on the ultrasound pictures for the first time.  I have wept for the blessings of grandchildren.  They are my crowing glory.

I have wept when that song comes on that reminds me of my middle baby playing outside with his tractor in the mud, in his rubber boots that had been partially eaten by the dog.  He refused to wear the new pair I bought. Not a care in the world. Tears of pure joy when I think of the man, husband and father he is today.

I have wept when the daily phone calls come from my youngest son. Overflowing joy for the growth he has displayed through his own journey and how he loves his momma.

I have wept when I thought of the young man God chose to gift us with as our own.  Such joy in watching him bloom into the man God created him to be as a husband and father.

I have wept for joy at the gift of inherited children that I get to watch and sometimes encourage as they navigate this journey through life.

I have wept when my phone pings and opens up to pictures that are sent by my daughters in love of my grandchildren or the stories that they share about what is going on in the grandchildren’s lives.  I have wept in gratitude for daughters in love that love me well.  I have wept because I am so thankful they value me in their lives and the lives of their children.  I am so thankful they value me as the mother of their spouses. The gratitude, joy and longing settle into the same space in my heart.

These days I’m ok with the damp eyes, the slow roll of tears down my face, finding myself sobbing, a snotty heap laying in the middle of a cold, damp floor. My wails no longer startle my dogs or my family. They simply show up to love me.

What I have learned from your death is that great love brings great heartache and great joy. I am learning better how to embrace the heartache and joy. I am learning how to allow great grief to live in the same space as great joy. Space in the heart of a momma that loves big and has lost big.

Weeping may come for the night friend but joy does comes in the mourning.

Much 💕,

Chrissy

Buckets Full Of Grace

With tears streaming down my face, I heard myself say “I am just going to have to ask you for some grace.”  I knew nothing I said would bring understanding, in fact it would probably only bring another bucket full of guilt to add to my own.  I hung up the phone and wondered why I felt so guilty choosing myself.

Grace:  A spontaneous, generous, free and totally unexpected and undeserved gift that takes the form of divine favor, love, clemency.

Grace:  The first thing I tell parents of child loss.  The first thing I tell others that are walking through loss.  

“Give yourself buckets full of grace.” “Saying no is ok.” Canceling plans when you need to is ok.” “Do what you need to do to heal as you walk your grief journey. “It is ok to choose you,” You are worth it!”

I know that is easier said than done.  I too feel the anxiety rise knowing there are times choosing myself and my mental health over expectations set by others will cause someone to be disappointed in me.  

I want everyone to be happy.  I want to be it all and do it all.  I want to meet all the realized and unrealized expectations, including my own, but I know I can’t do anything if I don’t listen to my body and what I need for myself.  I know that my grief journey has no time limits or standard rules of engagement.  

I know there will be fall out, hurt feelings, misunderstanding, and possibly the only grace I will see is the grace I give myself.  I don’t expect them to understand.  They fortunately have not walked the road of child loss.

I pray they never understand, but that doesn’t ease the conflict that wages inside when I have to choose me.

I felt it coming on.  That feeling where I could see in vivid color myself sliding toward the hole I climbed out of after the death of my son. The fear that if I don’t take a minute to reset I could find myself back there but not be able to climb out again.

Is this your story? 

Maybe you have not lost a child but you are walking through a devastating season of hurt, rejection, loss.

Maybe you have found yourself on a grief journey or a healing journey that has forced you to reassess your boundaries and say “yes” to you and “yes” to your health even when that yes falls short of other people's real or perceived expectations of you.  

Maybe you just struggle with managing expectations. 

I hope when you pick up the phone to ask for grace, knowing there are no words that will guarantee that grace, you do it without guilt. That you do it with confidence holding your own buckets of grace for yourself. That you have the courage to say “no” to the expectation and “yes” to you. That you are reminded no one else is walking in your shoes. 

I am reminding myself, as I remind you, to think about what you would tell those you love…

“Give yourself buckets full of grace.” “Saying no is ok.” “Canceling plans when you need to is ok.” “Do what you need to do to heal as you walk your grief journey.”  “It is ok to choose you.” “You are worth it!”

Much love,

Chrissy

Pasta

When you hear the word Italian food what comes to mind?

For me, it is pasta. Pasta heaped up on a plate with delicious sauce poured over the top and running down the “legs” of the pasta noodles. Heaps of cheese on top and the art of winding the noodles around the fork using a spoon to get just the right bite. Oh…and good wine. Preferably red.

When I was raising my kids on a very small budget, it meant comfort food, quick, easy, inexpensive and messy but delicious.

If I asked you what comes to mind when you hear the word Italian food, I wonder what the answer would be?

In the Italian culture pasta doesn’t just mean food. It means family time together. Older generations spend hours mixing, kneading, rolling and cutting out pasta dough. They pass on family traditions and spend quality time with each other making the pasta, then take their time to eat together.

A week or so ago, I messaged my sweet friend Ms. Weslie and asked how she was doing. She knew exactly what I meant. I wasn’t looking for platitudes or “I’m fine”. She knew I truly wanted to know how she was handling the days, the minutes, the silence, the loss. See, she lost someone she loves very much and has been walking though her own complicated grief.

Her reply was “I feel like a bowl of spaghetti with the noodles all going in different directions. I seek a path to follow.” I could feel and see her journey intimately.

Grief…like a bowl of spaghetti? I love it! I immediately could relate to her!

Spaghetti…It’s original form is linear, orderly, packaged neatly and the broken pieces in the box do not necessarily change the outcome of the dish. You cannot taste the pasta uncooked, it is not in it’s fully edible state or ready for consumption until it is dropped in boiling water.

Like pasta, we are not fully prepared for grief and then we are dropped in the boiling water of loss. How did we get here? The finished product a sticky, jumbled mess of emotion waiting in the strainer at the bottom of the sink.

Our grief spaghetti bowl looks like so many emotions entwined with all the other emotions. Some days we wind the spoon and joy is what holds the noodles together. Other times sadness, anger, numbness. We can cover it with fancy sauce, but the reality is, it is still there.

Sticky. Sometime stuck to other noodles, no clear path to take to get through the plate of healing.

Never forgetting, but leaning on the healing touch of Jesus and each other as we work through the tangled mess of spaghetti noodles that threaten to leave us stuck in a tangled emotion of grief.

Much love,

Chrissy

This post was inspired by my beautiful friend Ms. Weslie! Her vulnerability and light have helped all of us work toward healing.

Sprinkles of Tiny Miracles

We headed into the new year like most, with great anticipation of new beginnings, do overs, start overs.  2021 unfolded with a bang and then the wave threw us back into the desert of loss and heartache.

We had walked through this desert frequently over the past ten years.  We knew the heat would feel intense and life would feel parched for a while. Then, all of a sudden, the stars twinkled in the sky and cleansing rain poured down our face?

It was one of those moments where God reminds us that even in our brokenness, He is good.  That even in the desert, He is present and hears our prayers. That regardless of our what our circumstance look or feel like, He desires to give us good gifts.

Since losing Ron and Chris, God has shown me over and over again, that there are always tiny miracles sprinkled in with the pain. The confusing, overwhelming, beautiful place where great joy and great grief collide.

In 2020, just as the world was shutting down from Covid, we lost a grandbaby.  Our tiny human we never got to touch and hold was held first by Jesus, Udi, Grandma B, Papa, Uncle Chris and so many others who have gone on before us.

Grief consumed our kids and overwhelmed all of our hearts.  A baby that will never be forgotten nor can it ever be replaced;

but then God…

Saw fit to sprinkle us with another tiny miracle. He gifted our family with life once more.  A gift that was an answer to prayer.

The excitement of the call that we were expecting a new little miracle grand baby in 2022.

A baby we now know is a little boy and will carry the name Weston Blake Cogdell through his life.

We recently celebrated this sweet miracle with family and friends.  Standing off to one side, I couldn’t help but feel God’s overwhelming grace and love.  Not only have we been gifted with a new grandbaby, but we inherited a beautiful daughter-in-love and her gracious, big, fun, loving family.

We have had many other sprinkles of tiny miracles along the journey of grief and healing.  This one happens to be one of my favorites.  This one and another sweet miracle baby that made me a great-aunt.  Kennedy Grace. I will tell you more about her soon! In the meantime, enjoy all this cuteness.

Weston Blake

Four generations

Mommy, Mimi and Weston

Kennedy Grace

All that cuteness❤️

Are you walking in the desert?  Can you find the tiny sprinkles of miracles along the way?

I would love to hear your story…share in the comments.

Much love,

Chrissy

Inhale and Rest Until You Can Fly

THE CALL…

THE LOSS…

of a child, of relationships, of a church, of a hope, of a dream.

Papers served, the endless hours on the phone with attorney’s, depositions and deception. Feelings of betrayal and loneliness that stole my breath and hammered on my already shattered heart. The desperate cling to hope.  So much of it, energy that has slowed my healing journey from the loss of my precious son, Christopher. As if his loss wasn’t enough, my world as I knew it, and any semblance of the landscape, would lay pulverized at my feet shortly thereafter. A journey through loss that has reshaped almost everything I knew to be true at that time in my life. A healing journey that will not end until I join him for eternity at the feet of Jesus.

This journey, for me, has looked much like a tree that lost all of its blooms, leaves and branches when the first blast of a cold winter arrived and hung around for a while.  A broken tree trunk that has to be scraped in multiple places to find any green growth under the peeling bark.

The truth is, there was a time I would have preferred death.

It seemed so much easier than living with the pain.  

As I was reaching for the light, about six months into my journey, I felt as if a sheet was pulled from the cedar closet, tattered, musty and stale and thrown over my seemingly broken, dead, lonely tree trunk.  I cried out to God in anguish.  “Why God!!!”  “As if Chris’ death is not enough to bear, how could you allow this?”  “If you are loving and good, where are you now?” I can still see me broken and sobbing on the floor of my bathroom. A floor that has borne the weight of my anguish for almost five years now.

Anguish that quietened the memories, dulled his scent and his touch, muted his laugh.

I was so fearful I had lost it all, even the memories.

What I could not see in my anguish, as I laid in that floor and hid under that musty, smelly, stale sheet, gasping for breath, was that God was pruning those people and things from my life that would prevent my growth and His plans for me (notice I did not say my plans for me) and adding life giving water and nutrients to my heart, soul and foundation.

What I could not see in my anguish was that musty, smelly, stale sheet from the cedar closet was immediately replaced by a fresh scented, crisply ironed sheet, that was dried in the wind and softened by The Master’s hands. He laid it ever so gently over my broken heart, body and soul, allowing me to sit in my anguish as I needed, yet covering me and protecting me so my roots could grow deeper and wider and stronger in the foundation of the soil (Jesus).

He hid me in the shelter of his wings.

He was making me less so I could be more. 

This has been part of my healing journey through the loss of so much I cherished.  Not just loss of my first-born baby, but loss of relationships, loss of a church family that I loved, loss of hope for the future to: see my son continue to grow and thrive in Jesus, marry and do life with his girl, raise his son, enjoy his brothers and many nieces and nephews, listen as he and his friends and wife find joy and mischief in adulthood together, care for me in my old age.

Friend, maybe you can relate.  Maybe the landscape of your world has drastically changed around you from great loss or deep hurts.  Maybe you feel like I have, the stub of a tree trunk that has to be scraped in multiple places to find any signs of life, covered by a dirty sheet.

I want you to know that a cold, hard, long winter season may have taken you to the brink of despair and death in your grief and wherever you are in that journey, it is OK.  God has thrown a protective covering over you.  Your heart may be so broken it may seem to smell and feel like that sour, stale sheet of hurt that was tossed your way, and I get that, but it really isn't.

It is a fresh scented, crisply ironed sheet, that was dried in the wind and softened by The Master’s hands. He has gently laid it as a protective covering over you to allow you the space to work through your anguish and grief. He is using it to prune out those things that no longer serve your life or His purpose for you and grow your roots deeper, stronger, wider in his love and foundation. He is turning those losses into gain. Remember that God is a master of bringing life out of death and loss. He sent his only son to die on the cross and then raised him from the dead. For our broken, our anguish, our sin. To give us life.

Remember my anguish?

Remember my fear of losing even the memories of Christopher from the stress of it all?

As I write this and pray that it is healing balm for your broken heart, I can feel Christopher’s touch, I can smell his scent, I can hear his big hearty laugh, his words of love and encouragement. I can see precious memories of a relationship between a mother and a son that was never broken, even in death.

 Can you imagine the blooms and fragrance that are to come with your new growth?  

Inhale the scent of the magnificent blooms God created just for you and your life.  Uniquely and beautiful hand crafted. The branches that will spring forth. The seeds that will be carried on the wind and planted in fertile soil.

He has covered you with eagles’ wings and you will rise up to soar the skies again when God sends the healing winds that scatter the seeds from the blooms he has created for you and in you.

This bitter cold winter was not a surprise to him. Inhale the healing balm of Jesus and rest. Rest until you can fly.

Much love,

Chrissy

Those who wait on the Lord will renew their strength, they will soar on wings like Eagles.  They will run and not grow weary; they will walk and not be faint.  Isaiah 40:31

He will cover you with his feathers and under his wings you will find refuge.  Psalm 91:4

Blessed are those who find wisdom, those who gain understanding, for SHE (that is you friend) is more profitable than silver and yields better returns than gold. Proverbs 3:13-14