Angels

Last night I had the privilege of speaking for a Young Woman's camp. My girls drove with me, and it was quite the adventure with a wrong turn, and a speeding ticket (I promise I will write about our adventures soon) but more than the adventure to get there, I was honored to speak for a woman who was once an angel for me. 

If you have read my first book, or stories on the blog at the very beginning, you will remember Kim and the "daddy blankets" she made almost over night for the kids. 

I will never forget her example and loving heart all those years ago. 

To read that story click here: Please hold me

Adjustments

Death eventually sneaks into everyone's lives, and tends to catch people off guard as they find themselves saying goodbye to a loved one. Family and friends are forced to adjust to a new way of life as they learn to survive without the person they love. My husband Patrick and I found ourselves in this very situation just a few years ago, and we have been working on adjusting ever since. 

On a hot summer day, my husband and I were happily enjoying a night out, just the two of us. We left Preslee, our 18 month old daughter, with family and were enjoying our time away at the movies. As we were walking out of the theatre, we received an unexpected phone call, a police officer calling to tell us to rush to the local hospital where our daughter was being airlifted to. Upon arrival, a doctor informed us our daughter had fallen into a canal and had been miraculously found by a farmer over a mile downstream. Hours later, Preslee was air lifted to SLC, UT, where seven days later she passed away in our arms.

My husband and I had no choice but to adjust as we returned home to an empty house. We packed away most of Preslee's belongings, and shut the door to her bedroom.  The emptiness was a painful reminder of what was missing. We adjusted to the abundant tears, heartache, and depression that often presents itself after losing a loved one, and we adjusted to the many stares, avoidance, and even abandonment by friends who struggled knowing how to interact with us.

Patrick and I have continued to adjust to the changes that overcame both of us, as a big piece of ourselves was buried along with our daughter. The life we had grown accustomed to, up until that point in our marriage, suddenly disappeared and we were forced to make adjustments to keep our marriage together.

But even though the past few years have been extremely difficult, positive adjustments have also been made. We were able to experience an outpouring of love, kindness, and service, which taught us to put aside our pride and let others help us, when we found ourselves at an all time low. We adjusted as people shared our daughter's story, and strangers from all over the world left words of encouragement on our family blog. We were astounded when we learned complete strangers were continually praying for our family.
Humbling? Incredibly so.

We've adjusted our view on life, as we've learned to focus on what is truly important. We now look at life with an "eternal perspective," and have learned we are capable of accomplishing hard things. We’ve come to learn that people are truly amazing, and many have inspired us to follow their example, as we try to focus on putting others before ourselves.

And though we’ve struggled over the past five years, we find ourselves continually adjusting our relationship with our Savior, Jesus Christ. Not long before the accident, I prayed my relationship with our Savior would be strengthened... never dreaming my prayer would be answered in the way that it was. I've learned that Jesus Christ is real, and He lives. I now understand that when I seek him, He will carry a large portion of my burdens. It is He, who took the majority of my load, and carried enough weight to make it bearable for me to stand.

I can't help but think back seven years ago, when Preslee was placed into our arms for the very first time, and we adjusted to becoming parents. I’ve come to realize that was, without a doubt, the most important adjustment we ever made. Little did we know our daughter would teach us more than anyone else ever will.

Even though most of the adjustments we have made over the past few years have been extremely difficult, I think it’s safe to say we would both do it again in heartbeat. Alongside grief, gratitude has developed and we are grateful for growth, and the different path we now walk. Though we miss Preslee terribly, we’re grateful that this life isn’t the end. We now work hard as parents to teach our three little boys who their older sister is, and marvel over the fact, they truly do have a relationship with their sister. We will continue to adjust until our family is reunited, and for that knowledge alone, we have a reason to stand.

 Ashley Sullenger is a writer and a mother of four children. She currently lives in Salt Lake City, Utah and writes at Sullengers.com, a blog that reminds people that we can do hard things. You can also find her on Instagram and Facebook.

Related post: Moving Forward

Merry Christmas from our house to yours

My four girls had to sing this song in church a few months ago. This morning we decided to make it into a video for all the grandparents for Christmas. The twins helped me put it all together. Merry Christmas from our house to yours.

Let it go

This story seemed fitting tonight as I was getting ready for bed, thinking of all the things I have been working so hard to let go, and excited for a day of healing this weekend to spend more time facing them.

The trial had been over for many months. Life was starting to feel normal again. I was fighting hard every day to see myself. I was overcoming anger and praying for forgiveness. Talk of the past had become less and less; the kids smiled more and more.

It was a normal day: a trip to Costco, cleaning house, playing with the two little kids while the big ones were at school. Everywhere we were that day Kaleeya kept asking me to play Let it go on my phone. Though the new song was a usual request around our house, I began to get tired of it on this particular day.

Lunch was over and I carried Tytus upstairs for his nap. As I was leaving his room I noticed Kaleeya had turned back on her constantly repeated song. I rolled my eyes as I stepped down each stair, thinking . . . Isn’t there another song we could play?

As I turned the corner to enter the living room the music grew louder as it blared from my phone on the floor. I looked over to my little dancer who was standing very still—tears were falling down her cheeks. She was sobbing.

I fell to my knees in front of her, “Sis . . . what happened, are you ok . . . are you hurt? What is wrong?”

In the loudest, yet most tender, voice I have ever heard she pleaded for some answers. She sobbed,  “Mommy . . . I don’t understand . . . why did he die? Where did he go? I don’t know why he died. Why do people HAVE to die? It hurts . . . I just don’t get why Daddy Emmett had to die, I don’t know where he is . . . or why he isn’t here with us anymore. Teage said a bad guy shot him in the night . . . is that true? I . . . just . . . don’t know why, I don’t know . . . why did he have to die? Why did he have to leave us?”

My heart broke into a million pieces and for the millionth time I took in a breath as I prayed for answers on what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I was stopped, frozen in the moment—trying to comprehend the magnitude of her emotional demands of the truth. The music continued to play, as she stared into my soul for relief from her pain.

For a second I felt trapped—in a life full of new memories, being pulled back into the pain—a battle I usually fought alone.

The song still played, as her gaze never left mine. Each word entered my ear and pierced another hole in my heart. She had heard the words. The music blaring from the phone took on a whole new meaning as I realized her need for that song was more powerful than the dance . . . it was way more important than the rhythm or the melody—the words had spoken to her heart.

I scooped up my little girl and rocked her. She put her head on my shoulder and for the first few seconds she sobbed like I never knew a little girl could.

Then—without any words to say—I began to sing at the top of my lungs along with the music . . .

Let it go, let it go

Can't hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn my back and slam the door

And here I stand, and here I'll stay

Let it go, let it go

The cold never bothered me anyway

Soon Kaleeya’s voice joined mine . . .

It's funny how some distance makes everything seem small

And the fears that once controlled me can't get to me at all

Up here in the cold thin air I finally can breathe

I know I left a life behind, but I'm too relieved to grieve

Let it go, let it go

Can't hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn my back and slam the door

And here I stand, and here I'll stay

Let it go, let it go

The cold never bothered me anyway

Standing frozen in the life I've chosen

You won't find me, the past is so behind me

Buried in the snow

Let it go, let it go

Can't hold it back anymore

Let it go, let it go

Turn my back and slam the door

And here I stand, and here I'll stay

Let it go, let it go

The cold never bothered me anyway

A song we had played literally a thousand times that week didn’t just make us want to get up and dance, or sing along. It had called us to action. And we stood together calling back—pleading for an answer as to how it could be done.  

I have had many times when I have cried through a song—but that day I shouted a triumph through my tears, with a little girl who felt broken . . . a feeling I knew all too well.

The song was on repeat. We spent most of naptime singing it over and over—sometimes softly, and sometimes through our tears and shouts of anger—but every time with a plea in our heart that we could learn how to let it go.

I didn’t ever again roll my eyes when it started over and voluntarily repeated—I heard the words for the very first time and their truth taught me. Maybe that song was really just about a princess who was learning to let go of her past . . . but that day it was about a little girl who was learning to stand.

Thankful

Tonight I had planned on spending a few minutes working on my post about the murder trial, but instead I have other thoughts that have been on my mind about Thanksgiving and what it has been in my life.

-The definition of Thanksgiving is: the expression of gratitude, especially to God.

-Gratitude is defined as: the quality of being thankful; readiness to show appreciation for and to return kindness.

I have so many memories of the Thanksgivings of my past . . .

I remember cramming sixty or so people into my grandma and grandpa's farm house and eating the most delicious food ever. I remember cousins and aunts and uncles, and most of all, my great grandma who lived in a little house next door.

I remember staring at her paralyzed arms that hung by her side, and listening to her stories of Thanksgivings gone by. I would sit in her living room for hours—and watch her little space heater light up and turn off—as she repeated old stories and remembered new ones. I studied her white hair and her wrinkled skin. Every word she spoke to me was filled with life, and so many memories of her past.

I never thought about the memories I was creating—that they would one day be the stories I would sit and tell my great grand daughter some day. I just figured life would always be the way it was. It never crossed my mind that each holiday I spent would one day be a distant snap shot in my mind. I always thought I would be the young carefree child running through pastures and chasing pigs. I had no idea that Thanksgivings would ever be any different—but I soon learned that truth.

When my parents got divorced our traditions changed. Everything that once seemed concrete and secure—was all the sudden different every year. I came to understand my new normal and appreciated the different kinds of memories that were created each year—at the two different houses. My parents both remarried and our families grew. New relationships brought an even broader spectrum to the memories of my holidays gone by.

I remember Thanksgivings at my mom’s with our blended family. They were full of people, and full of love. We had so much to be thankful for—and we were.

Every year was a different group of siblings, and different memories created.

Soon I was off to college. I stuck to the rotations of holidays with my little sisters—switching off at our parents' houses each one. A few weeks after Emmett and I started dating I planned to go to my dad’s for Thanksgiving—by chance his dad lived in the same town. We decided to go together. We drove a few hours out of our way to pick up my little sisters, and headed to see our fathers.

By the time we were half way there snow had begun to fall—and we were in a full on snowstorm. We could barely see the road and I started to get nervous. Emmett reassured me that everything was going to be ok—that he could see the tracks of the truck in front of him and he would follow them closely.

Way past midnight we rolled into town. We met each other’s fathers for the first time the next day. That was our first Thanksgiving together, and the first time Emmett told me he loved me.

The next time Thanksgiving came around we were married. We went down to Arizona with Emmett’s mom to visit his stepbrother and their family. We hadn’t found out I was pregnant with twins yet—but my belly was huge! Everywhere we went people would ask me when I was due. . . I was only three months along! A few weeks later, on Christmas Eve, we found out there were two babies—and they were identical girls!!

The next few years of Thanksgiving traditions were filled with babies. We always traveled to see family—switching between our four sets of parents. With so many parents, we always had somewhere fun to go and celebrate. I loved watching our babies with the extended parts of our families that meant so much to us.  

Thanksgiving 2009 we moved into our house. The next Thanksgiving, before Emmett died, we went and stayed with my Aunt Diane and Uncle Dave. The house was filled with people. It reminded me of the Thanksgivings from my childhood—filled with cousins and aunts and uncles and grandparents.

So many memories of Thanksgiving bring peace to my heart. It is weird to look back, and hard to not wish to have a piece of those days come to life again. So many family members, in my memories, have passed away. It is strange sometimes to continue to celebrate without them.

Thanksgiving is a tradition that has always meant a lot to me, but one memory in particular stands out in my mind—the moment I felt in my heart the true meaning of Thanksgiving.

Shawn and I had not been married long when Thanksgiving rolled around. We had no traditions together—and frankly we were both a bit scared to share any traditions from our previous marriages—neither one of us wanted to feel like a replacement in the other person’s holiday celebrations.

My brother Josh invited us over for dinner. My sisters, and dad were all getting together there, so we decided to go and take Shawn’s parents with us.

Walking in I was a little bit nervous. It was our first real family event all together. I didn’t know how everyone was going to respond to each other. Everything was so new. I didn’t want any awkward conversations that made any of the parties feel uncomfortable—or not part of the family. I hoped no one would bring up Emmett, or things from the past we used to do with him. I worried Shawn would feel like a replacement if anyone was to say how they missed Emmett.

Then on the other hand, I didn’t want anyone to feel like they had to pretend they didn’t miss Emmett. There was a hole in our family from his death. He had brought many of them together and had been the glue to so many of the relationships in our family. I wanted to be able to honor their grief . . . but I was so scared it would push Shawn or his family away.

I became so worried about what others were saying and doing . . . I was hardly enjoying the day.

Dinner was great. The food was amazing. Everyone was kind. Nobody brought up Emmett, or said anything to make things uncomfortable. After dinner we were all sitting around and each person began to say something they were thankful for.

When my turn came I stood up. I did not know where to begin. I felt a lump in my throat as I pictured memories of Thanksgiving past. I stared around the room. Gratitude filled my heart as I looked at each face in front of me. Tears came to my eyes as I fumbled for the words to express the thankfulness that was in my heart. I said, “This has been a very hard year for us . . . As I look around this room I am overwhelmed with so much emotion. When Emmett died . . . we were broken—we were lost. That was really hard, trying to be everything for everyone—and wondering how we were going to make it through. Because of everyone in this room, we didn’t do it alone. I am thankful for each one of you. We have been blessed with so many blessings. One in particular—we were given a miracle. This amazing man who swept us up and gave us a reason to find good in this world. Shawn, you didn’t come to replace Emmett—you were sent as an angel to give us hope. You believed in us in a moment anyone else would have walked away.” I looked over at his parents, “Your son is what I am thankful for this holiday—and I am thankful for both of you for raising a noble man who was worthy to be such an angel. Life has not been what I thought it would be—but I have so much to be thankful for. Thank you to everyone in this room for being there for us—and giving us a reason to remember all that we still DO have. I am thankful for this amazing family and the many blessings Heavenly Father has sent us . . . each one of you.”

I hadn’t planned a single word—but once they hit the air, my fear of anyone else making everyone uncomfortable by mentioning the past . . . was gone. I was so afraid that the past was going to ruin the moment—but it was in that moment that I realized  . . . it was the past that had brought us all there.

 (Pictures from our first Thanksgiving)

Every Thanksgiving I had ever celebrated made up my memories—but the things that were in front of me that day—were going to help make up the future. And I was thankful for them all.

Thanksgiving—a time to give thanks. There will be memories of the years gone by; there will always be hopes for the years ahead . . . but really all we have besides a snapshot and a hope—is today.

Wherever you are this Thanksgiving—make it count. Find the beauty in the room with you. Don’t worry about the memories you are missing, or the ones gone by—focus on the memories you are making. Live in the moment. Put away your phones and your computers—and live for today. Make a memory you can tell to your great granddaughter someday as she sits on your couch . . . not knowing all the memories her life will bring.

Life is not going to be the same every year. People will come, and others will go. Traditions of the past are fun—but they do not make a holiday. Holidays are for relationships—strengthening the bonds of the people we love. Don’t let your fear of losing traditions stop you from creating new ones. Embrace the imperfect things you are thankful for just as they are. No year will ever be just like this one—so that makes today pretty dang special.

Thank you for finding hope, for seeking faith, and for embracing your story.The ideals of our pasts and the hopes for our future are only a little part of our lives. 

Thanksgiving is giving thanks for what we have right now. I am thankful for grandparents who have given me so many memories. I am thankful for my parents who have taught me so much and given me life. I am thankful for Emmett and the love I shared with him that brought me five of my babies. I am thankful for my healthy body that made it possible for me to bear each one. I am thankful for my children and the different gifts they have brought into my life. I am thankful for Shawn and his willingness to see past the fractured parts of me—and find the good.  I am thankful for Jordyn who came to complete my motherhood. I am thankful for our very imperfect family that continually teaches me about patience, hope, and hard work . . . but most of all LOVE. 

I am thankful for the broken road . . . that has lead me to today—because without it . . . I am not.

Here is to new traditions—living the stories that will one day just be a faded memory of the past.

God has given us a lot to be thankful for . . . the hope that all of these memories can last forever. The grace of His Son—Eternal families—Life that does not end. And for that, this day—I am so thankful.

Happy Thanksgiving. May your day be filled with gratitude—and your heart be filled with love, for the memories of Thanksgiving past, for the hope of Thanksgivings to come . . . but mainly for what we have to be thankful for today.

Thankful by Josh Groban

Changed

I don’t think we will ever fully comprehend the impact someone will have on our lives until they are gone. It has been said that no one really hears your voice until you no longer have one. Many artists don’t sell their masterpieces until after they have passed away; many noblemen are not considered smart in the flesh. I think that this is partly due to our human imperfections. When a person dies, most of the time they are remembered for the good that they brought to this world. Why is this true? Why do we wait until someone is gone before we see him or her for who they were?

I believe the day-to-day tasks we all carry, in some ways block our views of each other. It is hard to see the little things we do right for one another, when the things that are done wrong seem so huge. We remember the past sins and imperfections when looking into someone’s eye. We remember any pain they have caused us, and we fester the hate that has boiled for them in a moment of a heated battle.

When a person is no longer there to look us in the eye, it seems it is then we start to remember the things that were much more deep than face value. When we are left in our despair—when someone passes away or walks away—that is when we have to face the parts of them we could not see. 

I had been through the loss of my first marriage, with the pain of losing the good times—but even worse . . . with a knowledge of all of the bad. I was constantly fighting to remember the wonderful parts of life through the hate that had become the center of my gravity.

For me, my second marriage—full of walls and triggers—was a tangible circumstance that gave me the opportunity to try to look for the good in the moment. It was easy to see what was hard, and overwhelming to feel the weight of our challenges. With the fear of the past, I was often blinded by it in finding hope in the future. It was a lot easier to see the fault in my situation than to look for the good.

One weekend my extended family had a reunion. Shawn still had not met many of my cousins, so I was excited to take him for the first time. For weeks we talked about it and anticipated getting out of dodge. We left as the sun came up. It was our first real trip as our new family.

Shawn and I couldn’t stop talking the whole way there. While the kids focused on their movies and snacks—we focused on each other. We laughed about the funny things the kids were doing and marveled how much they had already grown. We cried as we reminisced about the roads that led us to become the family we now knew.

Shawn had such a light in his eyes, one I didn’t always notice when I was surrounded by the mundane tasks of parenting and housework. I just watched him as we laughed and drove. I remember a few times getting teared up for the amazing amount of love I felt for him. It wasn’t just the marital connection that I could feel that day—it was as if I could feel our souls starting to see each other in a way they never had before.

When we pulled up to the reunion my heart was racing as I anticipated introducing Shawn to some of the amazing family members he had never met. I could tell he was nervous and a little overwhelmed with the huge amount of extended family surrounding him. He was welcoming and loving as everyone surrounded him and stared at the new man in our family.

A few weeks before the reunion my mom asked my girls and me to sing with my little sister Abbey and my cousin Tiffanie. We had practiced many times and I felt confident that I could keep my emotions at bay while we sang.

After pictures and dinner the program began; our song was at the end of everything. The minute the music began, my thoughts fell back in time—Taylor, Grandma, and Tiffanie and I were at Wicked—hearing the song For Good, and for the first time since Emmett was killed I was remembering him and the good times we had. In that moment, I thought I was singing this song for him. The whys began to race through me and I could feel the past pulling me back. My whole body hurt with each note I sang. Why did he have to die? Why didn’t I get to finish that part of my story? I began to feel my panic attacking.

I looked out in the audience to find my babies—all I could see were two blue eyes looking back at me. Shawn was smiling from ear to ear. A wave of peace filled my soul—I wasn’t here to sing this song for Emmett  . . . these words were for Shawn.

My heart felt full as I sang the words that had once given me hope for my past, in a time when I had none. Emmett had come into my life and changed me, but Shawn was the owner of the blue eyes that were watching me. He was there as I was figuring out what parts of me were still worth living for. He was holding my hand through all of the heartache I was still fighting to overcome. He was the one I was waking up to every morning—not Emmett. We were not replacements of a void that was lost . . . we loved each other. In that moment as tears rolled down my cheeks—with my heart open for all to see—I knew that one day I was going to figure out how to give Shawn all of me.  One day, I would not be a broken version of myself and I could be everything he deserved. I knew it was going to take time . . . but he was worth it. I did not know what life held for us, but I knew without a doubt—because I knew Shawn . . . I had been changed for good.

As my thoughts shifted to Shawn, that song became one of hope for the future. I was no longer singing the lonely duet of time gone by—I was professing my love to the man who was standing by my side and loving me . . . for me.

Sometimes we look back—and other days we look ahead. That weekend I had so many moments that I knew I was right where I belonged. It didn’t have to make sense; I didn’t have to have all the answers of the past . . . because I was surrounded by the future—I was surrounded by love.  

Life is hard. Period. It was hard losing Emmett, and a life I thought I could control. It was hard being a widowed single mother, left by a man who was murdered for sleeping with his paralegal. It was hard being newly remarried and trying to navigate through all my pain to find trust and love again. It is hard being a parent, and some days I question my worthiness to do the job right. It is hard reliving the past, on a journey I would have never chosen for myself . . . but it is right where I am supposed to be.

I never knew I could be married to my best friend. I never knew that teamwork was possible even through rocky roads. Shawn and I have seen our fair share of mistakes and heartache, but we have been blessed to stand a little taller despite them. He has shown me that repentance and forgiveness are possible in marriage. We have learned a lot about unconditional love.

Look around you. Everyone you meet is going to change you for good . . . some for the better. Don’t forget to see the little glimpses of hope that are sent to remind you to keep putting one foot in front of the other. It will be hard. It will not always make sense . . . but life—life will change you. Some things we will never know WHY, but as we let go of our fears and make room for faith—we will be shown HOW.

Maybe most of what we say won’t be remembered until we are gone, but that doesn’t mean we stop trying. Be that friend; be that wife and mother; be that husband and father . . . that will change people for good. What they will remember is that you lived, you loved, and you made every day count. Tomorrow might seem far away, but once today is over . . . it is all we have got. Not all yesterdays are worth remembering, so make today one you will never forget.