Dad

"Passing bells and sculpted angels, cold and monumental, seem for you the wrong companions. You were warm and gentle."

I'm "working through the unimaginable," to quote Hamilton.

When I was a kid living in the Philippines, my brother Tim introduced me to Broadway musicals. I particularly remember us listening to The Phantom of the Opera on repeat. Sometimes we had to take the cassettes out of the tape recorder and wind the film back into the cassette because it got tangled in the tape recorder. They played "Good Morning" from Singin' in the Rain every morning on the radio, and we taped it, along with other songs like "Put on a Happy Face" from Bye Bye Birdie. We listened to Broadway and Christian music all the time. (My mom got tired of the screams in Phantom of the Opera.)

Through it all, my dad, an avid sports fan, who once dreamed of raising a softball team, encouraged his two sons in our love of music. Neither of us were particularly into sports as he had hoped, but he didn't press us to do something we wouldn't like. (Though we have enjoyed attending baseball games together, and Tim and I have attended a lot of rugby games since the Seattle Seawolves started a couple years ago.) My dad paid attention to our interests and encouraged them. He enjoyed Phantom and other musicals with us. We watched the classic movie musicals as a family. I lost count of how many times we watched The Sound of Music, Fiddler on the Roof, and others. Someone gave us the animated musical of Gulliver's Travels ("Aaaalll's well! It's a hap-hap-happy day!") and we watched that video many times. So many happy memories. 

Every play, musical and concert in school, my dad was there rooting us on. Tim played Captain Corcoran in HMS Pinafore in high school. I would later be in a Disney revue and Oklahoma! when I was in high school. In college, Tim was in a community theatre production of Carousel, and I would later be in South Pacific in a different community theatre group. We both were in Oliver! Tim was in a lot more community theatre shows than I was. I was also in several plays, such as Arsenic & Old Lace, The Curious Savage, You Can't Take it with You, and others. My dad cheered us on and constantly encouraged us. My parents enthusiastically joined our church choir when my brother joined, and when Tim later started directing it. I also participated.

My dad and I also enjoyed watching adventure movies together, such as Lord of the Rings, Pirates of the Caribbean, Master and Commander, Star Wars, and others. We enjoyed discussing them.

For Tim's 30th birthday, my parents treated us to a nearly-lifelong dream of watching The Phantom of the Opera in its national tour when it came through Seattle. Years later, on my 40th birthday, they told me I could name the musical and we would go. It took nearly a year for the right musical to come through Seattle, but we went to Come from Away as a family. We couldn't know it would be the last show we would see together as a family of four.

Last month, my dad was watching football when he had a stroke. We called 911, and he was rushed to the hospital, then transferred to another one a little further away. A week and a half ago, he was put on comfort care, and we rushed to the hospital, where Tim and I both got to talk to him individually and thank him for being a truly amazing father. The next morning, he was gone. We got the call in the middle of the night and rushed back to the hospital. He had been gone nearly an hour when we arrived.

It seems unreal. Just a month ago, he was relatively healthy. Now, he's gone. It's hard to take in. The past week and a half we have been involved in arrangements and so much other stuff involved in losing him. While I'm currently doing better than I would have expected, the grief has been up and down. I'm sure it will intensify as the burial makes it more real.

My mom commented he will have a better Christmas than we will. I rest in the assurance that he is in a better place, with no more pain, completely healed. That is a big help. But I find myself "wishing [he] were somehow here again." I regularly think of a question to ask him or want to share something with him that he would enjoy, only to realize that can't happen. As of a couple weeks ago, he was the only person I had bought Christmas presents for so far.

I remember the amazing man he was, and I think of how much I took for granted when he was with us. So many times I have heard people who have lost a loved one beg their friends to treasure their loved ones while they are here. That never really sank in for me until the past few weeks. I've always appreciated him, but I do now more than ever, and I wish I could tell him.

Several songs have resonated with me in ways they haven't in the past. Josh Groban's rendition of "To Where You Are" has helped. "Here Comes the Sun" by the Beatles. Several hymns, such as "It Is Well" (which was written by a father who had just lost his daughters in a shipwreck). The worship song "We Will Dance". My friend Clay Crosse's rendition of "Time to Believe". "Wishing You Were Somehow Here Again" from The Phantom of the Opera. "Bring Him Home" and "Empty Chairs at Empty Tables" from Les Mis (another cast recording my brother and I played over and over in the 80s and 90s). Multiple songs from Come from Away. "Proud of Your Boy" from Aladdin. "Endless Night" and "He Lives in You" from The Lion King. "All the Wasted Time" from Parade. "It's Quiet Uptown" from Hamilton. "The Honor of Your Name" from The Civil War. Multiple others.

Thank you to everyone who has been so supportive, even not knowing what was going on. You have been a major encouragement to us.

Lament for Astrid

Astrid, my beautiful Astrid

From the first test drive, I was in love! 

Your shining silver coat

Your wonderful gas mileage

You were always there

I could always depend on you

To get me where I was going

My pride and joy

My own beloved car

I couldn't ask for a greater automotive child 

You were my own

I loved you so

We went through so much together

My sweet, strong car

On that final ill-fated trip

You got us far

You worked so well

And when disaster struck

Divine strength guided us

Between the trees

Glancing off, not hitting head on

Coming to rest

Airbags deployed

Injured, but alive. 

Beloved Astrid,

You saved our lives

But lost your own

I thank God

For His Divine Strength

His Astrid that He gave me

Five years I will never forget

Five years with my first car

Dependable to a fault

Now, my beautiful car,

Your time is done. 

Rest in peace. 

Kenneth L. Loge

Following is the eulogy I read at my grandpa's memorial service on Saturday, May 23, 2015 at United Evangelical Free Church in Seattle. It was broken into three segments with other speakers [indicated in square brackets] in between each segment.

***

Ken Loge was born in 1915 and raised on a farm in Cooperstown, North Dakota, the oldest of five boys. He gave his life to Christ at the age of 10 at a summer camp, and as he liked to put it, God gave him a very long and interesting life. After graduating from high school, he became a teacher in a one-room schoolhouse and fell in love with a beautiful woman named Marian.

Then came the draft. He found himself on the way to bootcamp in Louisiana, and it wasn't until later, when he was stationed in Boise, Idaho, that his bride Marian was able to take a train out and they were married in a small ceremony by a pastor they had only just met, witnessed by the pastor's wife and some new neighbors. It was Valentine’s Day 1942. Marian returned home, while Ken went on to serve in New Caledonia, an island off the Australian coast. Thanks to his clerical skills, he was pulled to office duty while the rest of his platoon was sent to Guadalcanal, where most of them were killed in combat. Between that and the Battle of the Coral Sea keeping the Japanese away from their base in New Caledonia, God clearly protected him for a very long and interesting life. He was later reassigned to France and Germany, and he would ride through Paris on a tank, surrounded by jubilant crowds celebrating the Allied Forces’ victory.

Following the war, he returned to the US, where he got a job in the circulation department of the Fargo Forum in Fargo, North Dakota. After two years there, he accepted an offer for a position as circulation manager at the Watertown Public Opinion in South Dakota. Later he would accept a new position as the pastor at a church in Brooks, Alberta, followed by another church in Wainwright, Alberta. Big Timber, Montana followed, and then Salmon Arm, British Columbia. While pastoring in BC, Ken was on the founding board of a new endeavor that they called Trinity Junior College. It would eventually become known as Trinity Western University.

[Here, Inga Warnock of Trinity Western University spoke on Grandpa's legacy at TWU.]

Throughout Ken’s careers at the newspaper and as pastor, he and Marian had five children: two daughters, a son, and two more daughters.

After their ministry was completed in BC, the family moved to Stevensville, Montana, where Ken became pastor. It was during this time that their daughter Linda got a teaching job in Hamilton, Montana, and a student in her class required the special ed expertise of a certain Mr. Sauke. But that’s another story. It was also while they were there that, a few years later, his son Robert was killed in a traffic accident, leaving two young children, Tracy and Jeff.

After Stevensville, God called Ken into a new ministry, and he became administrator of the brand new nursing home that would become known as Kah Tai Care Center in Port Townsend, Washington. He and Marian ministered there alongside George and Virginia Foutz, whose son currently attends United. It was also during this time that they would visit their daughter and son-in-law in Hong Kong, and later in the Philippines. One of my earliest memories is walking with my grandpa Loge to the school where my dad taught and my big brother Tim attended.

Ken’s upbringing and various ministries gave him a passion for reaching the lost for Christ. After retiring from the nursing home, he moved to Ancora Village in Everett, where the Loges, along with Lyle and Florence Vanderpoel, were among the first tenants. While there, Ken became a missions consultant with the Evangelical Free Church Mission, coordinating missionary visits to the churches in the Pacific Northwest and Northern Mountain Districts, in addition to other responsibilities. He was a vital part of the ministries of missionaries around the world.

[Here, Bob Verme, missionary to Japan, spoke on Grandpa's legacy overseas.]

Ken had a vital part in the founding of the Missionary Construction Teams, which has worked on many projects worldwide. During this time, Marian started declining in health, and she lost her battle to cancer in 1989. He was praying with her, and when it came her time to pray, she didn’t say anything. She was too busy singing with the angels. I remember the next morning, when my parents both came in my room to wake me up, half a world away, to tell me my beloved grandma was gone. They had waited until morning to tell me so that I would be able to sleep. That same year, I lost both grandmas, but God would provide two young cousins for Tim, Tracy, Jeff and me, and new granddaughters for my grandpa. Annika and Darcy could not have come at a more perfect time.

Following the loss of Marian, Ken once again visited the Philippines, Hong Kong and Japan. He would come back and report to the churches in the US on the ministries in Asia.

In 1991, we returned to the US, and in 1993, Andrèa joined us to complete the group of grandchildren. Along with my parents and Tim and me, Grandpa went to Hong Kong in the summer of 1994 to teach English, and he would continue to go back for a few summers after that. I was particularly amused that, as he made a practice of walking regularly, those of us who were younger had trouble keeping up with Grandpa as he speed walked down the streets of Hong Kong. While there, he impacted many youth for Christ, and his legacy lives on around the world.

In the following years, he would revisit Europe, where he saw it completely rebuilt from the rubble he had previously seen at the end of the War. He also visited Turkey, Thailand and China, in addition to traveling to Norway to meet relatives in his mother country.

In 2012, his son-in-law Tom accompanied him to Washington, DC, where Ken was honored in the Lone Eagle Honor Flight for his service in the War. This organization brings veterans to see the memorial there in memory of their service around the world. The Mariners would later honor the veterans from the Honor Flight at Safeco Field.

In 2013, he was honored at Trinity Western University for his role in its founding by having a dormitory named after him.

By this time, he was slowing down, but his passion for reaching people for Christ continued unabated. Last May he came to Activate, United’s youth group, and shared about how at the age of 10, he went forward at a summer camp and gave his life to Christ. Just last month, he wrote a letter to each member of Activate urging them to come to Christ if they haven’t already. A week before his death, he prayed passionately for anyone who does not have Christ.

May 9, our family sat vigil in his room. His pain was evident, and he was ready to go. He could hardly talk. We said our good byes, and I asked him to give Grandma a big hug from me. When Annika told him she loved him, he said, “I love you.” Those were the last words I understood from him. In the afternoon his niece Nola arrived. He opened his eyes and acknowledged her. Then he was gone. He was four months short of his 100th birthday.

In previous years, we cousins knew that if Grandpa was leaving the family get-together, we had to hurry to say our good byes. Someone would yell, “Grandpa’s leaving!” and his grandchildren came running. This time, nobody needed to yell. But Grandpa left. I can’t wait to see him again.

In addition to his wife Marian and his son Robert, he is also preceded in death by his parents Swen and Lisa, and four younger brothers, Maynard, Melvin, Truman and Spencer. Ken Loge is survived by four daughters, Linda, Bonnie, Lois and Dori, as well as seven grandchildren – Tim, Tracy, Jeff, Steven, Annika, Darcy and Andrèa – and five great-grandchildren: Austin, Taylor, Autumn, Ava and Katlyn.

Grief

My grandpa passed away on Saturday, May 9. I wrote the following a week later on May 16.

Grief is a funny thing. I sat with my family at my grandpa's bedside last Saturday and watched him struggle to breathe, struggle to talk. All I could understand was when he told my cousin Annika, "I love you." We all said good bye, and I had trouble getting out my request that he give my grandma a big hug. My mom's cousin arrived, and he acknowledged her presence, and then was gone. I knew it was coming, and I hoped it was a false alarm. But no pulse. I was OK for a few minutes, but then the tears came back. We made calls to family and to church.

Tuesday, I returned to work. One of my coworkers is Colombian, and I like practicing my Spanish with her. I thought maybe I wouldn't have too much trouble if I told her in Spanish. I was wrong. Tears.

I expected to be emotional at the viewing and graveside service yesterday (Friday). It was deeply moving. I stood in front of my hero's casket and looked at him. I liked how he had a bit of a smirk (which he did not have when he died... I'm not sure if that happened naturally when they closed his mouth, or what), and I rejoiced that he was finally free of his pain. He's in glory with my grandma in the presence of Jesus. Our family friend Mark Halstrom spoke eloquently at the grave site next to the flag-draped coffin. A soldier played Taps on the bugle, and then the soldiers folded the flag and presented it to my mom. It was an amazing, moving ceremony. But I was not expecting the lack of tears at the graveside. I've felt a mixture of pain, relief and joy that he is no longer suffering.

Then this morning, as I was pulling out of the driveway, I drove over a snail. I had tried to save its life by kicking it out of the way before leaving, but it wouldn't budge. I tried to avoid it, but the tire rolled over it and smushed it. That was more traumatic than it would have otherwise been.

Then, this evening, after not crying (much) for a few days, I noticed my grandpa's World War II Veteran hat sitting on the couch. And lost it. The flag pin on it is askew. I was always fixing that when he wore it. I was slightly baffled how I could stand in front of his body and not cry, but then lose it when I noticed his hat.

Grandpa, I miss you! See you soon!

Joshua

Yesterday I participated in the Puget Sound Heart Walk. It is an annual event to raise money for research on heart disease and stroke. I walked in honor of three amazing people, and I thought it might be cool to share their stories. You can donate here.

Jill and Shane are amazing parents. They had two children already, and were now expecting their third. But when Joshua arrived, he only had half a heart. I have Jill's permission to share his story from her blog.

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I am a mother. I'll admit though, sometimes not a very good one. 

I get lazy (can we just say- one time I used a dryer sheet on my kids head rather than give him a bath?!), I raise my voice, and my house is hardly ever clean. But one thing is for sure: I love my children. 

Joshua is the 2nd youngest of my 4 children. He was born August 16, 2010. He has been the child, who in his short life, has stretched me in ways I never could imagine. (read through my blog from April 20, 2010 for more on this) We have spent his entire life, from pregnancy to birth and beyond, expecting the worst, but hoping for the best.

At 11 weeks gestation, I was diagnosed with a subchorionic hemorrhage. Basically, I was gushing blood (for almost 21 days straight), and doctors found out that there was a hemorrhage between the sac and uterus. It started off small, but within days grew and grew and grew. We were told that it was just a matter of time before Joshua would pass and I would miscarry. I was told that it would be miracle if he made it to 18 weeks.

Well, 18 weeks came and went, the bleeding continued, and I was sent to a specialist. The specialist noticed that Joshua's heart glowed on one of his ultrasounds, but told us not to worry. I did just as he told me. I was stressed enough with the hemorrhage, and didn't want to even think about a heart issue on top of it all. So we went home and continued to trust that God would take care of Joshua.

At our 18 week gender scan (which we had already found out Joshua was a boy at 14 weeks!), the tech couldn't get a good view of the left side of Joshua's heart. She told us that he was laying in a funny position and that it was nothing to worry about. Once again, I chose not to worry. My OB looked over the ultrasound and decided to send us to a fetal/pediatric cardiologist. 

At 22 weeks we made our way down to Indianapolis for our fetal ECHO. It was then that our lives were turned upside down. Joshua was diagnosed with Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome. 

Hypoplastic Left Heart Syndrome or HLHS is a Congenital Heart Defect (CHD). Basically, Joshua only has 1/2 of his heart. The left side is hypoplastic, which means that it has not developed or is underdeveloped. 

The treatment for HLHS is a set of 3 open heart surgeries to "reroute" his heart. The Norwood surgery is the first surgery and took place at 3 days old on August 19, 2010. The Glenn should take place around 6 months old, and the Fontan is typically be performed between 2 and 3 years of age. He also had a shunt revision due to the shunt being too large which resulted in poor oxygen profusion to his body. That took place September 27, 2010.

Joshua was a fighter, and survived all sorts of odds in his short little life. We are amazed at his beauty and how perfectly God has created him- Broken heart and all!

On Oct. 6, 2010, Joshua's purpose here on Earth had been fulfilled and God called him Home. Joshua left this world in my arms and went directly into the arms of Jesus for complete healing. 

Our journey through life without Joshua is now just beginning. Thank you for joining us as we learn to live, love, and laugh again.

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Posted Thursday, October 10, 2010:

This post is deeply DEEPLY personal. It is raw, and will probably be hard for some to read. 

I want to share with you my memories from the morning that Joshua died. The details from that morning are what haunt me at night. I am seeking counseling for PTSD, but it is good for me to get it out....to talk about it...to share it with others....if it doesn't make sense, I'm sorry. I'm not going to reread it or edit it.

Wed. Oct. 6, 2010

My dad was coming to spend the day with me. I was tired of sitting around the hospital by myself, and had decided that I could really use some company. My dad graciously accepted to come down and spend the day with me.

He called me at around 7:40am to tell me he was on his way. He also woke me up. You see, I had stayed late at the hospital the night before, and I had planned on sleeping in that morning. After my dad woke me up, I decided to quickly get out of bed, shower, and get over to the hospital to spend some quality time with my little man before my dad showed up.

I got to the hospital around 8:15. When I walked past the window to Joshua's room, I saw that he was kicking his feet, most likely crying. I entered his room and sure enough, he was crying. I quickly put my bags down, and went to his crib. I picked him up and said "Good Morning my sweet baby!!! How are you today? I've missed you." I gently kissed his head, and he immediately calmed down. I rocked him in my arms for a few minutes as I continued to snuggle him.

After being there for about 5 mintues or so, his O2 alarms started going off. They were in the low 60's (which for an HLHS baby a O2 sat that low is not completely uncommon.) I watched it and didn't panic, because it usually popped back up to the low 70's fairly quickly. After a few minutes of it being low, i finally started to worry. Joshua was calm, and I didn't want to put him down. After another minute, the nurse came in and decided to turn up his oxygen. He was up at 90%. We watched him for a few minutes, and his sats kept going lower and lower.

He was still calm, and was not blue. We messed with the pulse ox some (it was known to not pick up very well, and it was not correlating very well with the heart rate- so we thought maybe it was a bit of a malfunction). By the time we were done adjusting his pulse ox, his sats were in the 40's. That is when his heart rate started dropping. It quickly went from a healthy 148 bpm to 110, 105, 100, 90......

The nurse saw that and immediately yelled out Joshua's door for help. The doctor was in immediately and I laid him on his bed. By that time, his breathing was labored, and he was extremely dusky in color and he was looking up at me with those beautiful eyes that were screaming at me "Mommy help me...help me!!!" I frantically tried to get the mobile off of his crib to allow the doctor full view of Joshua while she was working on him. She immediately started chest compressions and told me to leave the room.

I stumbled out of the room and made it only about 2 feet out of the door before I fell to my knees and started begging God for mercy. Somehow I knew that this was it. Joshua's sweet life was coming to an end.

The nurses called for the crash cart and a ventilator. People rushed passed me as I kneeled on the floor praying crying out to God. Finally a nurse came and got me and took me to the quiet room. She sat and talked to me for  a minute, quickly explained everything that was going on, and promised that she would come back and keep me updated. She told me that they had already given Joshua 1 shot of epinephrin (totally butchered that spelling.) and that his heart was beating with the help of chest compressions. She told me to call Shane and that she would be right back.

I called Shane and told him what was going on. I called my mom. I texted facebook and blogger to get people praying. I did the only things that I could do- spread the word so that prayers could be going up. As I talked to Shane, I told him that I felt like we were going to have to choose when enough was enough. He told me I was wrong, but I knew. I knew this was the end. (Thankfully, we never had to make that choice, Joshua made it for us.)

The nurse came back in and told me they were still working on him. They were still doing chest compressions, and that things weren't looking good. He was hooked up to the vent. They had given him another 6 shots of epinephrin and they had just a tiny pulse. I will never forget the look on that nurse's face. I will never forget the next words that came out of her mouth. She said "Jill, you need to come in and hold your baby."

She led me out of the room and back to Joshua's room. The room was packed with more people than I could count and it looked like a war zone. There were syringes all over the place, machines, wires, boxes, tubes, wrappers everywhere. They pulled up my recliner next to his bed and gently lifted Joshua's limp blue body into my arms as I sat down. I held him, told him I loved him, and prayed for him. I asked Jesus to heal my sweet baby in His arms. They turned off the machines, the vent, the monitors and Joshua was gone at 8:58am.

My precious baby that I had loved and fought for. He was gone. I sat in stunned silence- knowing that I would never see his beautiful eyes look up at me again. I asked the nurses to take the vent out of his mouth and to disconnect the tubes and wires. I asked for them to take all of the equipment out of his room. It was just me and him for a few brief seconds.

I knew I had to call Shane. By that time, he was already on his way down. I will never forget our brief conversation. I told him that Joshua was gone. Shane cried out, pleading with God. "NO!!! NO!!! NO!!!!" I told him that I was holding him and that I would hold him until he got there. I told him that I loved him and to please drive safely. The pain was unbearable. If I could carry the pain for him, I would have in a second. Seeing him go through it, and dealing with the pain of Joshua's loss was enough to almost kill me.

By the time I hung up with Shane the chaplain had come in. She asked if I wanted to be alone, and I told her I didn't. The nurses asked if they could call anyone for me and I gave them a few people to call. I sat with my baby, lifeless in my arms, and told him how good God is no matter what. I said it over and over and over. "God is still good sweet Joshua, God is still good." I prayed, I cried, I worshipped, I rocked my sweet baby.

I know this is probably hard for you to read. It's something that I relive every night before I fall asleep. I can't get the images of him dying out of my head. The images and thoughts and feelings are enough to make physically sick.

Writing is so deeply personal and therapeutic for me, and the fact that I am able to write about it speaks volumes about my healing. Thank you for sharing this burden with me and for praying us through this.

Picture by Jill Haskins. Used with permission.

Dillon

Tomorrow I plan to participate in the Puget Sound Heart Walk. It is an annual event to raise money for research on heart disease and stroke. I will be walking in honor of three amazing people, and I thought it might be cool to share their stories. You can donate here.

I posted about Ethan. What I didn't mention in the previous post was that since Amy wrote Ethan's story, they lost Amy's husband and Ethan's father Dillon to a sudden heart attack. Here is Amy again on losing her rock and best friend.

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I will first state the obvious.  I am now the mommy of a FIVE YEAR OLD! Wow!! Ethan turned 5 on Tuesday and he could not be more excited!  Just last night, he had to show me that he didn't need his step stool to wash his hands in the guest bath anymore, "Because I'm 5 now." This morning at school, he said, "Pick me up.  Do I feel heavier? It's because I'm 5!"  I simply cannot believe he is 5.  He's more adorable than ever but I guess I will always mourn the stage of life he's leaving as I look to the one he's currently plowing into.

Where do I start with this other bit of surreal news?  Most of you know by now, but Ethan's dad and my best friend woke up in the arms of Jesus on October 29, 2013.  No, he had not been sick.  No, he hadn't complained of anything (other than some sinus junk).  We were preparing for our surprise trip to Disney World and Give Kids the World in November.  He had started a new job with Daisy Brand (you know, "Do a dollop of Daisy!") in September and was SO excited about us going back to Disney World (evenmoreso because we were keeping it a surprise!).  Sure, he wasn't able to work from home any more but he was getting a good raise and was elated to be able to provide for us to do more things.  He was always wanting more for us.  That's just who he was!

Anyway, the night of the 28th, we ate dinner and he took his usual 2 mile walk.  He went earlier than usual so I decided to put E down early so that Dillon and I could spend some quality time together because I knew that he was trying to get in bed earlier to catch up on some sleep.  I put E to bed while Dillon was in the shower and he came out, said, "Where's the critter?" and was pleasantly surprised he was in bed.  We watched some shows and he tried on some new shirts we'd bought for work and we matched up ties to go with them.  He took all the tags off, asked me if I would please wash them while E was in school the next day and if I could also find out if it was ok to wear brown shoes with navy pants.  Ha! Only Dillon.  He said he had been Googling about it but wasn't coming up with anything but he'd noticed some guys at work wearing brown shoes with their navy pants.  I was cracking up.  So funny!!  We talked about Disney and how Ethan was going to do the Jedi Training Academy (and he WAS going to do it, by golly!  Dillon was determined!) and then he said goodnight and went upstairs.  He had been sleeping up there to be closer to E's room, because he now was getting up so early for work and also because he is an aerobic sleeper- all over the place- bed to floor and back to bed and just...yeah.  Crazy!  I hate to say it, but Ethan is JUST like his Daddy!! Ha!!

In the middle of the night, Ethan came and got into bed with me.  Our bathroom door was still open (Dillon always closes it before he leaves for work).  Strange- strange that E was in bed with me and not Dillon b/c, obviously, it was still too early for him to have left.  My alarm went off at 7:50 (Dillon always left by 6am).  The door was still open but I didn't think too much of it.  I got up to get ready to take E to school and Ethan went to the kitchen to get his milk and juice.  He came back in to say, "Mommy, I think Daddy forgot to go to work today."  Sadly, he didn't forget.  He just never woke up.  :-(

My sweet son has had to endure more in his 5 years of life than most kids.  He is a champion and is so amazing.  He is the reason I am still living and breathing today.  When all I want to do is crawl in a hole, he is there, needing a hug, to go to school, play or whatever a 5 year old needs.  So many have said they are amazed by my strength and grace.  My reply?  I do it for him.  It's so hard.  We thought we had everything figured out.  The only question revolved around kindergarten next year.  We were mulling a couple options over (two have now been nullified due to our circumstances) and then also trying to figure out when I would return to work.  We had concluded that, due to the "school schedule" and Dillon no longer working from home, that I would stay home another year until we figured some more things out.  In 9 hours I went from a stay-at-home-mom to Mom and Dad and not quite sure what in the world to do.  God has a strange way of answering prayers....I didn't want this to be the way.  I still don't know what I'm going to do but I can say that the prayers of many are carrying me.  They are carrying us.

Ethan is amazing- I can't say that enough.  If you were at the visitation or on Facebook afterwards, you saw his handiwork as they allowed him to draw on Dillon's casket.  He asked matter-of-fact questions (Death is such a hard subject!) and I did my best (and I'm still trying) to give matter-of-fact answers.  We went to visit Dillon's grave yesterday at his request.  He doesn't ask when Daddy is coming back.  He asks, "When am I going to die?  When are you going to die?"  He knows his Dad is in Heaven.  God has put that peace into his heart, yet the thought of death just won't get out of his head and I hate it.  Last night, though- listen to the maturity in my sweet son:

"Mommy, are we going to die tonight?"

"Sweetie, if we die, where will we go?"

"Heaven."

"Yes, and who is in Heaven?"

"Daddy."

"Yes.  We will be with Daddy.  We will be happy again."

*he thinks a minute and gets teary again*

"Mommy, when you die, I'm going to call people."

"Um. Ok?"

"No, Mommy.  How do I call the people like you called for Daddy." (911)

"Oh, Ethan.  Let me show you.  What a brave and smart thing to want to know."

We then had a little instruction time on how to use the house phone and when it was appropriate to call for help.  Oh my goodness, y'all.  He is wise beyond his years and I couldn't be more proud of him.  What 5 year old has to spend his birthday at a holiday memorial service?  That kid.  That kid who was all, "Ok. Whatevs. Where are the cookies and how many can I get away with eating?"  Yeah.  He's a rock star.

I just want to thank each and every one of you who have offered prayers, food, money, love, and anything I have needed in this past month.  Yes, we did take our Disney trip, by the way.  It was November 11-19, much like last year. My oldest sister was able to stay and go with us and we wore her out (Dillon was planning on us going full-force and we did our best to honor that crazy man).  Ethan defeated Darth Vader and met all the characters he wanted to meet, he was sprinkled with some sweet Pixie Dust the first night we were there (poor Cast Members were always commenting on the button I was wearing "Celebrating Dillon" or the picture of Dillon we laminated and brought with us).  Ethan was treated to longer meet and greets with a few of his favorites and VIP seating for the Christmas Parade as well as s sweet stuffed Mickey from one of the extremely thoughtful CMs named Mark.  Another named Ben brought us cookies and hot chocolate while we waited for the parade.  For that night, it was nice to have people stop and honor a little boy who had lost so much.  It helped this mama's heart because all I wanted to do was stop and scream, "He lost his father!! Give him the world!" Ethan had a fantastic time.  FANTASTIC! Of course, memories from last year and what should have been flooded my heart a lot of the time but I was able to smile and watch the magic of Disney through my precious boy's eyes again and it was awesome.

The outreach from those around us has been nothing short of wonderful.  This weekend, barring any crazy ice storms that are predicted, Ethan will have his first "big" birthday party at Chuck E. Cheese.  Icing Smiles is providing the cake, another awesome friend is footing the bill for the party and another took the time to put together goody bags for his guests.  I have another friend who has made cookies for me to take to Ethan's class today- not just any cookies, but star shaped ones with LIGHT SABERS on them!

I love each and every one of you.  Please continue to pray for us. Know that your prayers are powerful and are sustaining us.  It's really really hard.  It was always the 3 of us (and Giggs).  We were a team.  I miss him SO much and being in this house without him hurts.  I'd give anything to have him back.  Anything.  One thing that is of comfort is, he didn't suffer. He simply went to sleep and awoke in the arms of Jesus and I have to say, what an amazing way to go.  It could have been while driving to or from work or driving E to soccer or.... God's mercy is good though I don't begin to understand why He had to take Dillon away from us so soon.  He was my rock, my provider, my best friend.  He was the BEST daddy in the world to Ethan.  He loved him SO much.  The awesome thing is, we both know how much he loved us.  I know there are some who aren't as fortunate.

Love fiercely.  Make sure you have a plan for the unthinkable (we didn't).  Keep up with your checkups (Dillon had only just begun in the past few years and having his heart checked was next on his list).  Make your moments count.

We love you,

Amy and Ethan

Picture by Amy Durham. Used with permission.

Bonnie's Story

My aunt wanted to share her story, and I suggested that I could do a guest blog. This is the first time I've done this on my blog, so here she is...

*****

I was born into God’s family when I was 6 or 7 years old - my Mom led me to the Lord.  I grew up a PK – my Dad took his first pastorate when I was 4 years old and he served 5 churches in the Evangelical Free Church, in Alberta, British Columbia and Montana.

My adult life is somewhat a Cinderella story – I can also relate very well to the story of “Joseph” and the sadness that was in his life.  When I got married we had 4 years together and I suddenly found myself a widow at 26 years old.  My husband Randy Rusk was killed instantly by a drunk driver in Missoula, MT.  I wish I could have had more time to mature and do life with him before that had to happen.  It is such a special time in our lives to be young and in love! but I know now that the night Randy was gone in a heartbeat, God came and got me that night too! where I was, and that he held me close for YEARS! – loving me and caring for me for as long as it took for me to recognize him in my life.  However, as time went by and while other people were busy doing life, I was busy coping with life and I wondered why, but when God changes our circumstances dramatically and as we pick up the pieces of our life, God can draw us to himself in a new way; time however means nothing to God! and it can sometimes take years.  We always miss those we love but God does bring us out of the pit of grief, life can be good again and we emerge from our dark tunnel changed forever as he works in our lives making our faith more personal.  Almost 20 years later I re-met Randy’s brother Vern who I hadn’t seen since Randy died – and of all the surprises in the world! – a year and a half later we were married. It’s not too many people who have a brother-in-law ride back into their life after 18 years, and become their prince!  So you never know what can happen in a day or where life will take you.

Through it all I read verses over and over trying to make sense out of it all; “Be still Bonnie and know that I am God” – Psalm 46:10.  My favorite verse after Randy died, “Be not dismayed Bonnie I am YOUR God, I will strengthen you.  I will help you, I will uphold you with my victorious hand” – Isaiah 41:10. “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding.  In all your ways acknowledge Me and I will direct your paths” – Proverbs 3:5-6.  “We live within the shadow of the Almighty, sheltered by the God who is above all.  He alone is my refuge, my place of safety” - Psalm 91:1&2.

I close with this thought from The Divine Conspiracy by Dallas Willard, “What God gets out of our lives and what we get out of our lives is the person we become.”  I love this verse, “'For I know the plans I have for you,' declares the Lord, 'plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.  You will seek Me and find Me when you search for Me with all your heart'”- Jeremiah 29:11&13.  I still can’t understand it all and still think of him and miss him sometimes but I believe that God takes special care of those who suffer deeply because of someone else’s mistakes.  My faith has grown so much and I am one who can tell you that he is truly a God of faithfulness, love and forgiveness as well as new opportunities.  I’m so thankful it’s not about where we’ve been, but about who we become!

Bonnie Rusk