Because this is just not challenging enough...

By the grace of God and with the love, support, prayers, and help of so many, we made it through the service to honor Michael's life. Deep thanks to everyone who helped and who came, and who supported us from afar. <3 <3

It was a full, hard, wonderful weekend, with a gathering of family- some of whom we have not seen for many years. What a blessing that was, to be together with so many who love Michael. <3 What a blessing it was, to have Michael's friends and classmates and co-workers and just people who know our family, and others who have known the pain of deep and sudden loss, all come together to share that time with us, celebrating his life. What a blessing it was, knowing that a number of people had traveled a long way to be there. That meant so much to us! <3 <3

I confess, I have sometimes rolled my eyes at the term "Celebration of Life" as it seemed like a typically cutesy American euphemism for what is really happening. My feelings have changed abruptly. Yes, in a way this was a memorial service- a funeral- but it truly felt like a celebration of Michael's life; of who he was and the good memories so many of us have with him. If we had done the service right away, I could not have stomached calling it a "celebration," but because nearly two months had elapsed, this felt right. We truly gathered to celebrate his life. There were tears, but there was also joy and good memories and laughter, all of which were healing.

There had been stress and concern over whether we should move the service from our church, in case a great many people came to the service. Whenever I would think of doing that, though, I just felt sick to my stomach. For the peace of my heart, I needed to have the service at our little church; the home of our hearts. It worked out beautifully, to our great relief. Our pastor and our guys had worked hard to set up overflow seating, just in case, but in the end it was not needed. The church was full, but not crammed. Our pastor said that there were maybe three or four empty seats up in the balcony; otherwise, it was full. It felt just right- a full house to honor him, but nobody left standing or stuck outside.

Having made it through that hard, hard day did help my stress levels...for about a day...

...because this week, we are moving out of our home of twenty-three years!

Yes, because we don't have enough going on already. ;)

Actually, this is the carrying-through of a plan that has been in the works for almost a year. It just worked out that it is all happening at once, in the midst of this season of terrific loss.

The stress levels this past year were already high, as we talked through and planned for this tremendous life change. Then, Michael died. Stress levels went from almost unbearable to catastrophic. Truly, my stress levels are laughable. I am endeavoring to just trust Jesus, to let people help, and not to drown under the weigh of everything; to just do the next things, just take the next small step.

This is a huge life-change. My husband has retired from his job of twenty-three years (after thirty-five years total in his profession) and we are moving from the home where we raised our kids, and from the town that we love. It is very clear to us that this is the right thing for us...but that does not make it easy. We will be leaving our home, our wonderful church family and wonderfully supportive community. I will be leaving work that I truly love, teaching violin. It is especially hard as three of my former students, now adults, are wanting to have lessons again, along with my other students, who are so dear to me. I will be leaving areas of ministry in our church that I truly love- teaching in the Awana program, being on the worship team, and speaking from time to time about the persecution of Christians, raising awareness of their suffering and the need to support them in prayer. I love all of these avenues of teaching and ministry, and it is hard, hard to think of leaving them!! I will also be leaving a community of friends that is beautiful and wonderful; an extensive group of true "sisters of the heart" who have shared my life, helped raise our kids (so many "aunties!"), and walked with me through hard hard things and greatest joys. They have come alongside me these past two months in beautiful ways, to cry with me, pray for me and our family, and to help in so many, many ways. I will no longer get to be here, where I can see our son Josh several times a week, or pop over to see our girls, who live just six hours away. We will no longer be where we are just a day's drive from any of our parents, who are all close to or past eighty years of age. This is a cataclysmic level of change, especially in the midst of profound grief.

But, as I have told my husband a number of times this year, just because something is hard, that does not make it wrong. The right thing is often very, very hard. And this is hard.

It is also exciting. The hard road on the way to the good parts of this change will be very, very difficult, but there truly is good out there.

We are buying a pull-behind travel trailer- nothing extravagant, but comfortable, livable and sturdy. Lee will pick it up next Monday, after we move Anna's things into the house she'll share with several other girls this year.

The plan is to travel, with Lee working at different jobs. He is looking forward to doing some completely different things, after so many years in his career. We are both looking forward to seeing new country. Our travels may even enable us to see family and friends who live far away! I am excited about that. :) With my food issues, travel is usually cumbersome and difficult. This way, our kitchen will travel with us, which will make life just so much easier. Having few responsibilities and only a small space to care for will allow me to rest a great deal, which will hopefully bring an improvement with my adrenal and thyroid issues. I will also be able to write, which is very exciting for me, and which Lee is excited about, too.

I had worried so much about the empty nest and the impact it would have on me. As a full-time mom, the empty nest is like being forced into retirement after a long career. This is not an easy thing.

In actuality, it has been better than I expected. It really does leave more room for Lee and I to spend time together, as we're not consumed with parental responsibilities and kids' schedules. We deeply miss the kids, but also relish having evenings and Saturdays at home together- rather than being taken up with parent meetings and going to sports events. I dearly miss watching our kids doing what they love, running and jumping, kicking balls and throwing things...but free Saturdays are a true treat.

The richest surprise of the empty nest is that I started writing! Anna graduated, and about a month later, my brain started telling me stories that I just itched to write down! I have written the first draft of one book, and have begun a prequel and sequel to it, as well as starting two other books. The only problem has been that I cannot write to any great extent in the context of this life. I have only been able to do it if I am out of town away from family (which rarely happens), or by staying up all night (which my health cannot afford!). Trying to write during the day, with the interruptions of life, and my little ADD-ish brain, is purely stressful and not a joy.

This life of travel and rest will also allow me to write! This is one of the greatest excitements, to me, in this whole scheme. The leaving process is and will be so very, very hard, on so many levels...but out there, in that future where we've moved through all that hardness, is the excitement of writing; of honing and completing these stories that I love.

I will continue my blogs (this one, and the one on cooking and baking with food intolerances- https://sticks-and-twigs.blogspot.com/ ), and have thought about starting another, in order to share our travel adventures.

Writing blog posts has helped me a great deal since Michael's death, and I am so glad and thankful that you all are blessed by what I have written. That means so much to me.

So that is the state of our lives right now. We had a crew of friends here this morning, helping to sort and pack for our move in two days. Right now, we have taken a lunch break. I think I'll take a nap, before we start the afternoon shift of deciding and packing.

Thank you so much for joining me here, to walk with me on this terribly hard, curiously rewarding journey.

p.s. Just in case you're puzzled by this: <3 When I first saw those used, I was unsure what it meant and fear it might be something "naughty." Finally, I asked our kids, who laughed and explained that using < and 3 together makes <3  which is a heart, only sideways! :) I thought I'd explain, just in case anyone else wondered, as I did.

Helpful words that we've said to each other

In the first few days, Lee and I had a couple of conversations with our kids that sort of set us on a good path. This is the gist of what we said:

-People will say stupid, clumsy, thoughtless things, because they're human. Let's just decide ahead of time to have grace for them.

Not that this is easy. It's really one of those by-the-grace-of-God things. He gives us the grace to respond kindly when people say things that they really shouldn't. Taking this path is good for others, as we're not lashing out at them in hurt, but it is also very good for us. By taking the high road, we won't have the regret and relationship repair to deal with later. In our fragile state, it is better for us in every way not to come unhinged on others.

- If there are those few people who have no boundaries, who trample people in everyday conversation, and who just won't stop talking, we have permission to say calmly, "I really don't want to talk about this right now," and to just walk away.

Not in rudeness or harshness, but that it is okay and advisable for us to establish boundaries and a safe space for ourselves. We can be courteous and still not allow others to squash and trample us.

One of the many mercies of God that I have seen this past month and a half- the specific people I had in mind when having that conversation...have either behaved with uncommon tact and grace, or simply not crossed our paths! Such a gift. It helped us, though, to have had that conversation, to have given one another permission in a sense, for self-protection, and words to say should the need arise.

- However each one of us is doing at any given moment is the exact right way for us to be doing.

What we need to do or say, or not do or say, is the right thing. The things that help each of us are the right things. If we are feeling withdrawn or angry, there's no wrongness or shame in that- we just love on each other right where we are. This even extended to the family viewing time- that nobody was required to go; that we felt it would be a good thing to have done, and important to do together, but that each one of us had the choice and the freedom to do what felt right for us. We are trying to just be gentle with each other and let each other breathe, and to support one another as we all find a way to survive this and carry on.

Again, all of this is very much the grace of God operating in each of us and in us as a family. He provides a deeper well of grace and generosity than any of us could possibly have on our own.

Things that helped...and some that hurt

It has been really interesting to me, to walk this road myself. Horrible, but also interesting.

I've read about grief, and people have different perspectives on it. I thought it might be good to share how it has been for me, and what I have found helpful.

I've heard/read others saying that sending flowers was useless and they hated them, or that if one more person said, "I'm sorry for your loss" that they might punch them. I guess those people felt that since these things could not bring the loved one back, they were pointless.

Let me just say, this was not how it felt to me. :)

For me, the words, "I'm so sorry" are helpful and comforting. So are things like, "We love you guys," and "We're praying for you." These are words that are real. And simple. My brain was stunned. It could not take in more than a couple of words from other people. If someone said more than simple, straightforward things, I could not even process it. And if anyone, in those first raw, raw days, had tried to philosophize about our staggering loss....that is when I might have felt like punching them. But nobody did. People only said real, heartfelt, simple, broken, loving words to us.

We had quite a collection of bouquets for a bit, and it meant a lot to us. They were a visible, tangible reminder of the many people who were loving us and praying for us and sharing in our great sadness.

Things that have been hard, but that also helped
-Going to see him at the funeral home. Absolutely brutal, but also necessary, for us, and truly helpful.
-Hearing his name, seeing his photo. Painful, but also good.
-Talking about him; saying his name.
-Writing his obituary. Oh, so hard, but something I deeply wanted to do for him, and to do to the very best of my ability- to honor his life with the best that is in me.
-Seeing it in print. Even though I am the one who wrote it, who spent a over a week working on it, fine-tuning it, choosing the picture...still so hard to actually see it in the paper. But also good in the sense that I felt proud of the job I had done.
-The unbelievable kindness of people. The outpouring of compassion and kindness and sympathy has been absolutely amazing...to the point of being overwhelming at times. This definitely helped but at times we just needed a break from all the kindness. Which felt odd. But real. In those early weeks, it helped to just get out of town for a couple of days, to run errands where no-one knew us, to not receive any compassion or sympathy, to just breathe. The precious gifts of compassion have also served another purpose, at least for me. When I've had to be "normal" too much, pushing it all aside so I can function and talk to humans and get things done, I get sort of closed off and shut down. That's when I need to read one of those wonderful cards, full of loving, beautiful words. They rip the walls down and flood into my heart, and help me to cry again, which is so necessary for healing.
-Choosing urns. (one large one and a couple of small ones, one of which will travel with Lee and I in the next chapter of our lives). I really thought that this one would fall onto the list below, but in a strange way, this actually was good...in...choosing something (thank you, Heather, for the help with that awful task!!!) that would honor him and represent him well. Learning in the process how to know you're getting the right size. (General rule: every ten pounds of living weight = about 1 cubic inch of ash) This was helpful to know, as Michael was 6'2" and a mountain of muscle! The way it was sort of good- feeling really good about the urn we chose, that what we chose makes sense and feels right. 

Things that are just hard, and necessary, that we just have to get through.
-Going to get all his belongings from storage. Just oh, so hard.
-Knowing we'll need to go through them, much sooner than I'd like. Just because it needs to be done.
-Seeing the names of our family, our kids listed...but no Michael. True, but very hard. (Please, if you are someone who has done this in a card, please please do not feel badly. It is the actual truth; it's just one of those hard realities that we face now. He's no longer here. Also, it has meant a lot to Heather, Josh and Anna, that the cards are to them as well; that their grief and loss is recognized and acknowledged. This is a good thing. A real thing. Just hard.)
-When we do go through his things, knowing that I will be seeing and handling gifts that we chose or made with love and anticipation...and having to decide what to do with them now. Painful.
-Picking up his death certificates. The fact that there is such a thing as a death certificate with the name of our beloved son on it. Having to deal with them, for practical reasons. Hatefully hard.
-Working through the list of accounts that have to be dealt with, paid up and closed. Having to have
   those conversations, to say the words, over and over. Hard.
**Note: every person should have at least one other person on their bank account, as this makes everything so much simpler when tragedy strikes!! With so much business and bill-paying conducted online, it can be a nightmare for those having to sort things out. Because I was still on his bank account, I was able to authorize putting a hold on the account. When the automatic payments stop rolling in, companies quickly start sending paper bills. This told us which places we needed to contact, so we can get things taken care of. We were able to do a mail-forwarding order, so his bills would come to us.

Things that have been good and helpful to me
-Flowers, cards, and text/Facebook messages of compassion and love. These have helped so much.
-Hugs. All of them.
-Friends who came and hugged us and cried with us. They helped us to shoulder the load.
-Friends who did not come by, wanting to give us space. Also, so needed.
 **both- those who came to the house and those who did not- each was the right and perfect choice.
-Our family who dropped everything and just came. They were such a help.
-Our family who could not come, or who chose not to, realizing that we had ample help.
 **again- both those who came and those who did not- each was the exact, right thing to do. <3 <3
-Those who brought food and drinks over. It helped so much, when we had family here, that they were just fed and nobody had to figure it out or shop or cook. Even if I was just wandering around eating carrot sticks, it gave me peace to see everyone else having dinner.
-Those who, knowing we have a lot of food issues, did not bring food. (also a good and loving choice)
-Those who gave us Safeway gift cards rather than bringing food- also helpful, with all of the sudden
   expenses, and now as Lee has retired and we are going through that financial adjustment. (For those who don't already know this- our small town only has one grocery store- Safeway)
**each of these was the right choice for each person to make; each was a blessing. <3
-Those who did all of our grocery shopping those first hard days. Such a mercy!
-Those who ran errands, even the most silly (Me: Sharon, I just need a bottle of my allergy eye drops.) She went to the store and bought them for me. (Also me: Teresa, I just found out that Safeway has peach sorbet. *big shiny eyes*) She went to the store, just to get peach sorbet for me. <3 (p.s. I have more than one friend named Teresa, as well as Kelly, Kellie, Kelly, and Kelley. The sorbet fetcher was another Teresa, not our pastor's wife. Confusing, I know) :)
-Those who brought us bags of paper plates, plastic silverware and cups, and paper napkins. Such a great help! Not having to wash dishes was such a burden lifted.
-The friend who washed the girls' cars- such a simple thing, but it blessed them. <3
-The friend who came over and washed dishes after my mom went home. :) :)
-The group of friends who have worked together to keep my flowerbeds watered, for the past month and a half, so the plants would not die!! So, so helpful. Watering is usually therapeutic to me, but it takes energy that I just have not had.
-The friends and family who made all of those hard, terribly hard calls, to pass the terrible news to other family and friends who needed to be told. I am profoundly, eternally grateful that Lee and I did not have to make all of those calls!!!
-The friends who fielded call after call, from those who love us and just wanted to know how we were doing. Honestly, our phone hardly rang at all, those first two weeks. That was an incredible mercy. To every one of you who called someone else to ask how we were doing, thank you. To the friends who took all those calls, my undying gratitude. They were grieving too, and those many conversations were not easy. This was a great act of love and mercy.
-Our pastor and his wife, Ray and Teresa, who came that first horrible night, as soon as the police called them. They did not say a word; just came into the living room where Lee, Heather and I were breaking hard, pulled up chairs and cried with us. What love. They just sat with us, and grieved like family. Their hearts broke with ours. That was so perfect, and so good, and so real.  And then he made the call to the leadership where Anna is this summer, to give them the news, so they could let her know what had happened. Josh was here with us within an hour or two, Anna by the next day. For the next week or two, Pastor Ray made every hard call that needed to be made- to the funeral home and to the detective who handled our son's death. He was like a loving, steady wall, standing between us and the world while we grappled with our loss and pain.
-The friends who drove through that first hard night, and the leaders who drove to meet them, to get Anna here as quickly as possible. They had her home to us, along with her dear boyfriend, by three the next morning.
-The leadership there, who brought in Anna and her boyfriend Zach, and gave them the horrible news privately, and surrounded them with compassion and love and prayer. It was so hard, her getting this worst news when she was far from home. It made a great difference, having such wonderful people supporting and helping her. This loss has been terrible for Zach, who really liked Michael and "clicked" with him right away, and for Heather's husband Nick- he really loves our family (and we love him!). The devastation is deep and very wide-spread. All of our family is shattered, and droves of people are heartbroken, for our sake and their own, over the loss of Michael. He touched so many lives.  
-The officer who came to tell us the horrible news, and the detective on-site- who showed us great compassion and humanity in such a terrible situation. What a difficult job they have!!! They carried it out in a way that helped us. Also, the property manager of the apartments where Michael lived- again, such simple human kindness and compassion. This helped so much.
-Something that might seem odd to others, but was the right thing for me: memorial jewelry. I now have three necklaces and a bracelet, each of which holds a small bit of Michael's ashes. (On Amazon, they were not at all expensive, so I was able to get more than one) As a mom, it is agony to let go of that child that I have carried and held and loved for twenty-seven years. For me, it was right and comforting to do this, so that when I want to, I can just have a bit of him with me. The bracelet is for something specific: any time Lee and I are going to go do something that I would have been excited to tell Michael about, I will wear the bracelet and take him along. I learned quickly that it is pretty weird for people if I tell them that my necklace contains our son's ashes, so I'll just wear them quietly, when my heart needs the comfort of having him close.
-Wearing mourning. I know it's not so much a thing nowadays, but it served an important purpose. When those in mourning wore black, everyone knew to just be extra gentle with them. This was a good thing. My clothes are quite often a reflection of my inner climate. For me, to wear a form of mourning- dark clothes, black-accented jewelry, felt really right, those first few weeks. It was an outward expression of my deep inner grief. I ordered three sets of small, black cross earrings. I wasn't sure if the girls would want them, but they both did. We just quietly started wearing them. Some people noticed and some didn't. That was not the important thing. It was just the right thing for us, for our hearts, to wear that quiet symbol of our sadness.
-Tree therapy- getting out for a walk or gentle hike in the woods. Just being among natural things, smelling the fragrance of pines, especially, heals my heart and mind. <3 The friends and family who made that possible. One of the best things- after that first excruciating week, Lee and the kids and I just went to the woods on Sunday afternoon. We all spread out and just breathed. We didn't talk. We took the dogs along- they were ecstatic. I just laid on a blanket with a hat over my face for probably forty minutes, and listened to the breeze and the quiet, and smelled the fragrant air. The sky was blue, and the sunshine warm; there were wildflowers in abundance, birds talking quietly amongst themselves, and butterflies. It was perfect; so restful and so healing.

I know there are more things that have helped, but my poor brain is tired and wants to be done. As you can see, the list of things that have helped far outweighs the list of things that were just hard. So much kindness and so many mercies.

The wretched, blessed mix of this journey.

This journey is such an uncomfortable mix of the mundane and the horribly difficult. It keeps me continually on guard, a little off-balance, because it never settles down to be just one or the other. Okay, at first it was just pure raw agony. Then, as the first jagged edges started to soften a bit, and details of everyday life crept in, this awkward side-by-side became my everyday.

This has led to surreal moments, like...one of those early days, when I was just trying to eat something, anything that sounded palatable, because otherwise I couldn't eat at all, and gummy bears were the only thing that I thought I could stand when lunchtime came around. So, yeah, eating gummy bears while shopping for cremation urns on Amazon. That has to be one of the most bizarre experiences of my entire life. That wild juxtaposition of horror and incredibly benign did tickle the dark side of my sense of humor. It's a grim sort of humor, that, but it does ease the heavy load a bit.

Other days are more like a week ago Friday, when I had a long, wonderful lunch with my friend Sara, then stopped by the post office to get stamps, and on the way home, swung by the funeral home to pick up our son's death certificates.

Yeah.

That is my current "normal."

It is anything but normal.

This past couple of days were another jumble of very painful and solidly good. My husband Lee and I drove over to the other side of Oregon (the green side; we live on the brown side of Oregon). The first night there, we went to the RV dealer, to put down a deposit on the pull-behind trailer that will be our future home. Huge deal. Big, scary, exciting, terrifying step toward that new horizon.

The next morning, we went to the internet store to close Michael's account. Because according to their policy, they simply will not do this over the phone. So, okay. Let's do this. We went in, and were greeted by an employee- very friendly young lady- who asked how they could help us.

"We need to close our son's account."

"Okay, we can do that. Do you have Power of Attorney, or...?"

"We have a death certificate."

"Oh, I'm so sorry. My condolences."

"Thank you."

When our turn came, another employee called my name, very cheery and upbeat and eager to help.

And then we have the same conversation, sort of.

"How can I help you today?"

And the employee's name is Michael. Of course it is.

I was still sort of holding it together.

"We need to close our son's account."

And I was done saying those words, so I just slid the certificate across the counter to him.

And he was lovely and kind, and just took care of it, but by this time, the cracks were starting to show and I was fighting tears.

These poor young people, having to help us do this terrible, painful thing.

We were done sooner than we thought, and I was breaking, so Lee suggested we go to a park in the area, and just walk for a while. That was perfect. The park has paths that wind through oak trees; a quiet oasis in the city, and in the midst of a hard day.

After our walk, I could breathe a little easier.

We then got to go see our eldest, Heather, and tour their new apartment (her hubby Nick was at work). What a joy she is, and what a blessed joy to have that happy, fun interlude in our day. We drove to get lunch together (Qdoba- I'm slightly obsessed with their brisket burrito bowls!) which was fun and tasty, then went back to their apartment. Lee and I took a short nap (heavy emotion is very tiring) while Heather curled up and read on their couch.

The next part of our day was the actual, very difficult reason for our trip across the mountains. We went to the house of one of Michael's very best friends- the first time we've met him and his wife and their kids. These were some of the amazing, amazing friends of his who undertook the horrible, gut-wrenching task of packing up his apartment for us, in those first awful, agonizing days.

This was a grace beyond the reach of gratitude- that some of the people who loved him best in all the world spent hours in his apartment, where he had ended his life just days before, packing up everything he owned. They took that incredibly hard road, so we did not have to drive across the state and do it ourselves. There are no human words for what that meant to us, and for what it spared us.

**TMI warning- but this is important to know.

If you end up walking a tragic road like ours, this is very important to know.

Let me put this as delicately as I can.

It is not the job of police to clean up the site of a death. They take evidence- anything related to the cause of death, and the coroner collects the body, but the rest stays just as it was.

Exactly as it was at the moment of his death.

And these amazing people, some of the best friends of his life, went back into that place of the greatest sadness, and dealt with his belongings.

And they got rid of anything that bore any signs of his death...so we would not have to see it. Which was another, unbelievable act of mercy.

They are incredible people, with huge, loving hearts.

They threw out perishables from the kitchen, packed up everything else, and put it in storage for us.

...which was the reason for our trip- to go collect our son's belongings and bring them home.

We went to the friend's house and picked up the things they had at the house, as well as the key for the storage unit. He led us to the storage place, and made sure we were able to get in the gate. He offered to stay and help, but we kind of wanted to do this alone.

Heather had the option to help or not help (we are committed to every member of our family having the freedom to do this in the way that works for them!), and she chose to come along and help.

Oh, this was not easy. These are the clothes of our son and her brother. Gifts we've given him. The sleeping bag his grandpa (my dad) gave to him. The one piece of art from his wall- a Blues Brothers poster. The quilt his grandma (Lee's mom) handmade as his high-school graduation gift. All his interests and hobbies; the things he loved- his life, all in pieces that we had to load into a trailer to bring home. This....was not easy. This was hard.

We really tried to be practical, to just get on with the task.

I did okay as we unloaded the storage unit.

And then I wasn't okay. So I walked away and cried. And then I went back to help.

Heather is an awesome packer. Somehow, we got all of his belongings into that little U-haul trailer.

The trailer. The trailer is a whole other story. A frustrating saga that dragged on and on as we searched for anyplace that had just one trailer we could rent for this sad task.

Once we had it loaded, we drove to the restaurant where we would meet up with these amazing friends of our son (one we'd met earlier; the other we met at the restaurant), and their families, and Heather's husband Nick, to have dinner together.

This was a restaurant we only know because of Michael. As Heather said, any time we were with him for a meal, we wanted him to pick the restaurant, because every place he took us to was just so good. The last time we'd been there, Heather and I met up with Michael for lunch, just last October.

It was a little tough, but mostly very, very good to gather in that place, with these friends who loved him so much, and who had gone so incredibly above-and-beyond to do what needed to be done in those hard, hard days.

It was so good to meet these guys, and their awesome wives, and their cute, cute kids who loved our son. It was so good to hear their stories of his huge heart and generous spirit; to hear how he was such a fun uncle to their kids, and always bought them awesome birthday gifts.

We talked about some of the hard things, too, which was important.

Now, we're home again. We've unloaded Michael's belongings into storage here in town, and the dogs are super happy that we're home.

And we're tired.

It bears repeating: grief is just exhausting.

So, that is what this journey is like right now: this jarring jumble of searingly painful and oddly normal and deeply good.

It is gummy bears and choosing an urn for the ashes of our son and brother.

It is meeting wonderful, very real people in the most painful circumstances, and being blessed by their love for our son, and sharing laughter and fighting tears, and giving heartfelt hugs to people we've just met and hoping that's okay, and trying to express gratitude that is really too deep for words.