Even in the dark...

I used to stare out into the dark of the night. Watching for what? Nothing...but everything. I truly believed if I didn't look away... I was protecting my family from something. Each evening, when darkness came and the day ended, I was scared—so full of anxiety I could not breathe. So many hours I spent at those dark windows...feeling assured that was the only way to be brave, and I was the only thing left to protect my babies.

Some nights that same fear comes and shows its ugly head—beckoning me to stay a while. Begging me to hate the dark for fear I cannot see what is hiding in its blackness.

Only a few things have changed. I am brave in a different way. I know now what I didn't then—I am nothing. It is not my strength that will get me through...it is His. It is not my power that will protect my babies—it is grace.

With that truth I can look back to that broken girl staring out the window and tell her all the miracles she was missing—thinking she would have to save herself—and help her remember the light that was too hard to see. She was never alone.

It isn't the dark that holds us back...it is our failure to remember the light that has been with us all along.

Every night turns to day. Sometimes those nights are long—and an extra dark fog covers the light of the stars...but eventually the light will win...because it is never lost. Hold on. Don't quit. Never stop fighting. Being brave is realizing how powerless we are—and fighting anyway...

Don't be mad at the darkness—it is what makes the light so bright. Miracles happen even in the dark...they are just harder to see.

More than Broken

I remember in college reading about a study done by a psychologist with hundreds of sets of identical twins. He was most fascinated by a set of twin brothers. One had gone to medical school, had a family, and a beautiful wife. The other had been in and out of prison, on drugs, and held no job.

In separate interviews he asked them a series of questions. All of the questions were the same. The last was, "Why are you the way that you are?" The inmate bore his soul as he shared. He said, "You know, when I was a little boy . . . my mom used to beat me and lock me in the closet. I have never really told anyone this. I knew right then and there that I was not worth anything. I knew in those moments that I never would be." 

Then it was the other brother's turn. When asked the same question his answer was powerful. He said, "I have never really told anyone this. . . But when I was a little boy, my mom used to beat me and lock me in the closet . . . And I knew right then and there that I was worth more than she was telling me I was. I knew in those moments that I was going to make something of myself because I deserved to be better than broken." 

We are all going to be given the chance at one point in our lives to be better than broken. We are not made up of the lies others have told us. The secrets do not have to change who we will become. Everyone deserves a reason to stand... Greater than we were before.

Doggy Doggy

In the next few months I am going to be writing about parts of our journey through the murder trial. Those days are still so very raw and emotionally charged that I haven’t quite figured out where to begin—but today I was playing with Kaleeya and Tytus and realized I have not yet introduced another member of our family.

Meet Doggy Doggy.

When Kaleeya was a baby she always acted much older than she was. She started saying, “Momma!” months before any of our other kids did in their development. By the time she was one, she could carry on real conversations like most three year olds. Cognitively she was months and sometimes years advanced for her age— however, she would not walk. As she neared eighteen months, Emmett and I began to worry about her unwillingness to stand up and take her first steps. We asked doctors about it, and they always reassured us that she was smart—and walking would come in her own time. Inside I was panicked thinking there had to be something I was doing wrong—I tried daily to help her walk.

One day Emmett came home with a gift for Kaleeya. It was a small brown dog. She latched onto it right away. She named it “Doggy Doggy”. I am pretty sure Doggy Doggy was the final thing that motivated our little girl to walk—as it was very difficult to cart him around in her hands that were being used to crawl. Within days of receiving Doggy Doggy Kaleeya took her first steps. Doggy Doggy celebrated with us—and I am pretty sure deep down inside Doggy Doggy knew he was the reason she finally learned to walk.

Doggy Doggy became part of the family. Every step Kaleeya would take was accompanied by her canine companion.  They were like two peas in a pod. She learned to run with him in her arms and smiled every step of the way.

Many days Kaleeya made up adventures that she and Doggy would take. She told us all about the imaginary land they lived in. With Doggy Doggy by her side, she could conquer the world. Doggy was her best friend, and in every way her truest confidant. She whispered in Doggy's ears and laughed at his replies. They snuggled up for every nap, and he protected her through each night . . . even the darkest of nights. 

After Emmett died, Doggy Doggy spent a lot of time on the floor with Kaleeya's daddy blanket. She was very bitter toward anything that reminded her of her father—including me. Kaleeya’s anger was taken out on her daddy blanket and biting holes in her binkies—and hurting her toy dog. Sometimes she bit Doggy Doggy’s nose or screamed and yelled at him. I walked into her room, many times, to see her punching Doggy Doggy as hard as she could. She used to throw him across the house and run over and step on his face. She would constantly yell at Doggy at the top of her lungs. Her grieving process was very apparent in the way she interacted with her favorite toy dog.

Her violent behavior toward her innocent stuffed animal startled me at times—and as I had once worried about her inability to take a step, I began to worry about her anger towards her Doggy Doggy—and at Emmett. I doubted myself on every level and my inadequacy in helping her find the peace she needed. We had a few tender moments, but for the most part I felt that I too was being pushed far away from my little girl.

When she finally started letting the memory of Emmett back in, I began to notice Doggy Doggy coming around more and more. Soon, I never saw her without him. Doggy Doggy became the symbol of Emmett in her eyes. After she worked through the anger portion of Emmett's death, she got stuck on hanging on to him. Everywhere we would go, Doggy Doggy came with us—and everyone we met heard about Daddy Emmett and how he had given the toy to her. A stuffed dog became her only connection to her father.

Doggy Doggy has had many plastic surgeries and reconstructive work done. He is a quilt! He has lost his arms—and even his tail a few times—but we have always managed to patch him back together. He has seen many states and traveled on all of our family trips. Doggy Doggy has met thousands of people and even spent a few days with me at the murder trial.  His fur is so thin it almost feels like it is going to disintegrate in your hand.

Kaleeya still sometimes whispers in Doggy Doggy’s ear. I have always wondered what secrets he keeps inside. I have had times that I wished I could be her Doggy Doggy. That she would have let me in, in all those moments when he was the only one who could get close. Doggy Doggy is very wise and has always been there to comfort her, listen, and forgive. In all my days wondering how I could be there for her—Doggy Doggy has been.

We worry about our children—how will they ever make it through the loads they are asked to bear, in all the struggles they have to face. I have watched Shawn struggle with the guilt of divorce and how it has, and will, affect Jordyn. I have watched our other kids struggle through the death of their parent. I never thought, when I brought my children into the world—that there would ever be a pain too great for me to fix for them. I always thought I would be super mom and have all the answers for every thing that would come their way.

I wish I could say I have been able to Band-Aid all of my children’s pain with my awesomeness—but I have not. I have given them love, I have been by their sides . . . but sometimes I have not been the ear they have needed to work through their pain. Sometimes it has been a kind neighbor whose inspiration has helped my children find answers to their struggles; other times it has been a grandma who has come with the words they needed to hear. Many days Shawn has been able to counsel them in ways they could not hear from me. Therapists have given them hope and inspiration; and the kids have each been there for each other on different occasions.

If I have learned anything in the last three and half years since Emmett died, it is that I cannot do everything on my own. I need help! I need others to lift me, and I need to allow my children to be strengthened by more than just me. A lesson that started with a little brown dog has helped me see—sometimes I am not enough . . . and that is ok.

The Indians used to say that it takes a village to raise a child. Three years ago, I would have said that belief is crazy. I truly believed that there weren't any battles I could not fight on my own. Today, as far as I can see, there have been parts of my village that have saved us. There are friends and family who have carried our burdens for us in ways we could not have done alone. There have been strangers who have sent notes in words we needed to hear. And there have been Doggy Doggy’s who have been there when no one else could reach us.

I have had many Doggy Doggy’s in my life. The kind of friend who I can let out my frustrations, share my secrets, and even scream to when my nightmares have turned into reality. Not all friends are true, but when you find that one—who is willing to take a beating for you when you have nothing left inside . . . don’t ever let them go.

To all the Doggy Doggy’s of the world—thank you for listening to screams and still seeing love and hope. To all the trodden down supporters who probably question their own willingness to take the beatings of someone else’s child—you are my hero. We parents can’t do everything on our own. So thank you for joining the village and helping us raise our imperfect children through imperfect lives. Thank you for believing in us broken souls who are still searching for peace. Thank you for not giving up, or running away, when our anger has been directed to you—and letting us in when all we needed was someone to love us. We are all just children searching for safety—hoping for a village that can love us no matter who, or where, we have been.

We do not have to do this life alone. Many Doggy Doggy’s are sent just for us, right when we need them the most. God knows where we are, and what we need . . . this I know. Because of Christ and His grace even when we are not enough, we will be sent the compensation we need to make up the difference. Maybe I wasn’t what helped my little girl be brave enough to take her first steps, and maybe she hasn’t always turned to me in her pain . . . but He was always there. Maybe I haven’t always heard the painful heartfelt sobs my baby whispered into Doggy Doggy’s ear . . . but Christ did. He knows our pain; He hears even the deepest, most quiet, hidden hurt buried inside each one of us.

Doggy Doggy thank you for being there for my little girl when she took those first bright steps—and standing by her side as she has walked through the darkness. Maybe you really are just a little stuffed dog . . . but because of you, Kaleeya has found hope in this world. Hope I could not give her—but always prayed she would find.

He is there—maybe all you can see with your eye is the remnants of a little stuffed dog. . . but you are not alone. He has felt your pain, and counted each one of those tears that have hit your pillow. Just like Doggy Doggy—He wishes more than anything He could just take away the pain of your struggles— but instead He stands by your side to strengthen you through them. Because of Him, Kaleeya can feel joy. Because of Him, she has the potential to live all of her dreams. Life has not always been easy for my little girl, but I know that each day has been blessed with something great. That greatness has not always been given to her by me; for Kaleeya greatness has been found many days in a little best friend named Doggy Doggy.

Life is too short to not share it with each other. Through the good days and the bad don't forget what matters. Not everyone can find a Doggy Doggy . . . but we can chose to be one. Watch for the sad puppy eyes that are waiting for you to stand by their side and wipe their tears. Be somebody else's angel. Lift the broken hearts who are waiting for a friend. Bring light to someone's darkness. It is in that moment when Christ's love is felt through you . . . you will remember it too. 

To all the Doggy Doggy's in my life . . . thank you for loving me even when I didn't. Thank you for helping me remember who has never forgotten, and will never abandon us. Because of Him . . . even I can learn to walk through the darkness with a purpose . . . a bright hope that my life is not in vain. A hope that He has heard even my silent pleadings and has answered my prayers by sending me you. I didn't plan on life being so hard, but I have learned to see there is a greater plan. Sometimes in it God sends us great miracles . . . and other times merely a Doggy Dog to lead the way out of the shadows. 

Gravity

There came a time when the Attorney General’s office contacted me about participating in a Grand Jury. I didn’t know exactly what that meant, or what my role would be. They explained to me that it was kind of like a practice for the real thing; almost a mock trial to see what facts they had and how a jury would sentence the accused with the evidence they had collected. It sounded like a good way to see how prepared the prosecutors were to try Rob with the evidence and facts about the case they had gathered. I knew the defense would be requiring me to take the stand at the actual trial, and that thought was frightening, but I even felt anxiety about participating in this practice trial for the prosecution.

   

I was scared of the unknown. I spent the next few weeks nervous and skeptical about the questions I would be asked to answer. I imagined the moment over and over; I even asked myself questions and practiced my replies. They were always playing inside of me; it was like a weight that held onto my ankles and squeezed my heart everywhere I went. These questions were always in the back of my mind. I rehearsed in the shower, I stumbled over them as I changed diapers. Any moment when I was alone in the car, I would cry my answers out loud . . . usually ending in screams and anger, overwhelmed by the thought of taking the stand.

   

I was paralyzed by the fear that seemed to have taken over my thoughts. I went over and over all my memories of that night. I wished so badly that it had all been different, but the truth was what I had to state. I hated that the truth was so hard, and so humiliating. I knew I had to be prepared if I was going to be able to get on that stand and not break down. I knew it wasn’t the real deal, and that it was just a practice for the trial . . . but I worked myself up about it night and day.

   

I was very nervous about going to the courthouse. I was afraid that I would be there at the same time as some of the other witnesses. In all of our conversations about my participation, I made it very clear that I did not want to have even the possibility of running into Kandi in the halls. … I wanted to be in the building at different times than her. They assured me over and over that that would be the case.

   

An attorney friend of mine made arrangements to drive me down to the courthouse on the day the Grand Jury was set to take place. I was told they would start with Kandi’s testimony—since she was the only witness of Emmett’s death—and they would end with my testimony, Emmett’s wife. They had asked me to arrive around 2:00 p.m.

   

When we got to the office of the Victims’ Witness Coordinator, I was so scared that I was shaking. The thought that Kandi had been in the office earlier that day made my stomach turn. Since Emmett’s murder, I had not been in public once when I hadn’t searched for her. I looked in every car that passed me, making sure we were not driving on the same road. I hadn’t gone anywhere without the fear that we would meet, and now, here we were in the same building . . . on purpose. It seemed out-of-this-world and unreal that if, by chance, I took the wrong elevator or went down the wrong hallway . . . we could actually meet face to face.

   

The girl in the front office told me to sit in the waiting room chairs. The coordinator finally made her way up to tell us what was going on. She looked distraught, “Hey . . . I am so sorry that we had you come this early. She is still on the stand and she has been for hours. We are just scratching the surface of what they need her to share. You will have to wait here until she is done, and the other witnesses get their chance to take the stand and be questioned. We still have you on the schedule as the final witness.”

So I waited. My heart pounded and my body shook as I sat in the quiet, alone with my thoughts.

Everyone in that courtroom was being told facts that I didn’t even know: facts about how my husband died, truths that only Kandi knew. I didn’t know anything. I hadn’t yet learned that Emmett had driven her in his car, and that they had spent the evening together before they met up with Rob at Walgreens. I hadn’t learned that the two men didn’t even touch each other when Rob confronted Emmett. I didn’t hear Emmett’s last words. He wasn’t there to fight for me. I didn’t hear the gun shots or see the blood dripping from his wounds. I wasn’t there to hold his head as he took his last breath . . . but she was there.

     

I hated the fact that as I sat up in this quiet office waiting, she was sitting in front of a group of people telling them all the things I didn’t even know. I hated the fact that complete strangers were in there being given the answers to all the questions that still played out in my nightmares. They were getting answers to the questions they asked . . . while I sat in silence.

   

What seemed like hours passed, and my turn finally came. I was almost excited as I walked into that room full of strangers. They didn’t know me. … I was just another victim to them. They hadn’t sat in my living room, on my black couch, with the detectives that night. They didn’t see the looks on my babies’ faces when they were told that their dad had been shot; they hadn’t seen the tears running down my cheeks for weeks after Emmett’s murder. It was almost as if I couldn’t wait to let it all out . . . and show them that this victim still had a voice. That gun had nearly destroyed me . . . but I still had a pulse.

   

I raised my hand and promised to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth. With my heart pounding, I took my seat.

“Please state your full name.” I opened my mouth to speak . . .  but my emotions began to take over, and no words came. The bailiff asked me to repeat. “Ashlee Corrigan . . . A S H L E E   C O R R I G A N.” My voice cracked as I pronounced each letter; it was as if my mouth were filled with saltine crackers. My throat was so dry, and the words that rolled around inside of it had no way to get out.

   

As soon as my name left my lips, my eyes began to burn. How could this be real? This couldn’t possibly be my life I was going to be questioned about. It couldn’t be my husband who died. …This wasn’t our story! Suddenly, I didn’t want to be here. The fight or flight mechanism programed inside of me set off its alarm . . . and I started to panic. The attorney could tell I was losing it. He said, “You are a little emotional. … Are you doing okay? … Do you . . .  want . . .”

   

I tried so hard to get my voice to come out again. “Yes, I just . . . this is . . . I . . . I . . . I . . . I will be fine.” I was shaking hysterically. I took a few deep breaths, hoping to put on my smile and not let my completely distraught internal freak-out be witnessed by all. Everything inside of me wanted to scream. I wanted to tell them everything that WE had been through . . . everything I had been forced to witness my kids live through. I wanted to shout about all the nights I had been tapped on the shoulder, and about all the tears that had been shed by me and by my children huddled together in my bed. I wanted to let all these strangers know that I wasn’t just a victim . . . I was me . . . I was his wife . . . I was the mother of his babies. And we were still here . . . and we were still trying to figure out how to live. We had been forced into accepting our sentence. We hadn’t chosen this life . . . and they all needed to know about it!!! Forcing myself to be silent, I sat . . . and waited for my opportunity to let my voice be heard.

   

The jury was told they could ask me any questions they wanted. I don’t really remember much about their questions or any of my answers. I have no idea of how long I was there or how many questions I answered. I know that I spoke a lot about the events of that night, before he left our house. My soul ached for the Emmett I loved, as I told the story about the last words he spoke to me. My heart broke because of the unavoidable truth . . . that it had been her he was fighting for, not me.

     

I never did get to say all that was in my heart; their questions didn’t allow my needs to be fulfilled. All they needed to know about is what transpired that night. The questions seemed to finally slow down, and I thought my time on the stand was coming to an end. My body began to settle down.

   

And then it came: the question I knew I would have to answer . . . the question to which everyone wanted to know the answer . . . the question I will never forget. “Before your husband died, did you know that he and Kandi were having an affair?” Everyone froze . . .

     

I looked around the room. Every set of eyes was staring at me. Those eyes seemed to be boring in deeper than my skin; they were fixed on my soul. Everyone in the room waited . . .

   

As I answered, everyone’s eyes dropped. All of the sudden, nobody could look me in the eye!

  

I felt almost ashamed of myself. How DID I NOT know? What was wrong with me? They all seemed to be looking around the room wondering how the heck I could be married to this man . . .  who died because of this affair . . . and I DIDN’T KNOW?!!!!

   

This group had been sitting here all day listening to the obvious facts about how my husband had been cheating on me, and how he had died. They knew everything that I hadn’t learned before Emmett died. I stared at all their darting eyes, knowing they must have finally learned the truth about me. … I WAS stupid. The facts were as plain as day, and I had missed them when they were right in front of me. I was living them . . . but I was too stupid to figure them out. I could see the thoughts of the members of the Grand Jury, as if they glared out of their eyes as they focused on everything in the room . . . but me. “She should have known . . . and if she’d had any brains, she would have.”

   

I walked out of that courtroom feeling depressed and alone. The findings of the Grand Jury that would come to settle the minds of the prosecutors, only set off more alarms of fear in me. I walked out of that courtroom even more humiliated than before. There was going to be a murder trial . . . and it wouldn’t involve just a small group of random strangers staring at me and wondering how the crap I didn’t know . . . it would be the whole town . . . and eventually, the entire country.

     

That night as I lay in my bed, I replayed all the questions over and over in my mind. How I wished I could change my story. I could pretend I knew about the affair; I could say that Emmett had been at home fighting for me that night before he left. I longed to tell the town that I wasn’t as stupid as I looked. I had known there was something wrong, and I had been trying hard to figure it out . . . but I just hadn’t put all the facts together in time. That night, I drowned in my tears as I considered how to change my past to make myself feel better about it . . . and to reassure myself that I wasn’t dumb.

    

The next morning, I kept having this urge to go downtown again. Ha! That was the last thing I wanted to do. In the days that followed Emmett’s murder, I had placed holds on all of our accounts, but I had yet to go down to the bank to make sure everything was secure. It was just another thing on my “to do” list that I had purposefully avoided in a feeble attempt to pretend that none of what I was going through was real.

   

By late afternoon, I knew I couldn’t fight the urge any longer, and I made the decision to drive down to our bank. I was nervous the whole way there. I didn’t want to talk about financial matters; I didn’t want to see people who knew Emmett at the bank . . . and I certainly didn’t want to go into a public place where more people would find reasons to remind me of how stupid I was.

   

I parked my car outside the bank and walked inside. I asked to speak with the man who had helped me place holds on all of our accounts. The minute we sat down in the privacy of his office, he said, “I was literally going to call you this afternoon. Earlier today, another woman was in here trying to make withdrawals from these accounts. I am so glad you came in today.”

   

My heart dropped. My mind freaked out. I wasn’t safe . . . in any way. Now, not even my bank accounts seemed to provide me any security. My fear of the unknown seemed to be multiplying and invading every dark corner I had forgotten to check.

     

That day, I closed every single account. Maybe that was irrational . . . maybe I was just being stupid like everyone seemed to think I was, but in that moment . . . it was my only option. I had to protect the assets I had left. For me, that meant making some big decisions in literally just a few seconds. I had felt inspired to go to the bank that day, but I hadn’t realized that it was going to result in my finding even more reasons to doubt the world.

When I look back on those dark moments . . . it was like I was living in a haze. I thought I had made it past the hardest days . . . but then, something else would come along to pull me down even more than before. The force that tugged me down was stronger than just a sensation of falling. It felt like a darkness blacker than anything I had felt on earth was trying to suck me in.

    

The scientific definition of gravity is: the powerful force that attracts a body to the earth. During those dark days, it wasn’t just the force of gravity that held me, and it wasn’t just grounding me. No, it was a power that was pulling me down . . . down . . . down.

   

Everything I once thought was a given, seemed so uncertain. I was scared. I was stupid, and I was alone. My bank accounts were not safe . . . and somewhere between teaching my children how to properly grieve and function in their lives . . . we were going to have to live through a murder trial. I was going to have to take that stand again and tell the world all that I didn’t know. All those things I once counted on to be constants in my life . . .  now seemed to be not only undependable . . . but worse than that, they were failing me.

I wasn’t even sure if the natural law of Gravity was going to be a constant for me . . .  because I could not see where on the earth I was still connected to it.

There is a force in this world even stronger than the constant force of gravity. It is a darkness that swirls around us . . . and even when we feel we have been pulled farther down than we knew was possible . . . it tries to wrench us under even further. I was surrounded by darkness on those days, and there was no place inside of me that remembered that God was still there. I did not feel Him by my side as I sat at the bank and was told that I couldn’t even depend upon my bank accounts. I didn’t feel Him give me a voice as my heart pounded out of my chest so forcefully that I couldn’t breathe while I was speaking the truth on that witness stand. The truth was destroying me inside . . . but there was nowhere to hide from it. I felt completely alone and I felt scared to death.

     

The darkness of this world seemed to be chasing me, knowing I was weak, and I was buying every word of it. I didn’t know how to keep ahead of the darkness. Fear was my motivating factor. It drove me to arise in the morning and it kept me from falling asleep at night. I could barely eat, and I had to force myself to move. Every day, I spent hours replaying the questions that were asked as I sat on the witness stand, and I knew that the questions that would be written for me at the actual trial would be even more difficult. They would pull me down with even greater force.

   

Every single day . . . being pulled down . . . thinking; rehearsing; practicing; hallucinating . . . and feeling scared. But most of all feeling Humiliated.

There are many powers that pull at us: Hate, Pride, Fear, Jealousy, Anger, Doubt, Rage, Humiliation, Despair, Pain, Rejection, Doubt, and they are all powers of darkness. Darkness is always waiting to grab us in its clutches; it always knows just how to make its lonely walk . . . and it has the ability to make us long to join it for that walk. It waits for us along all the roads we tread and at all the crossroads where we stand alone. It is not willing to sacrifice for us, but it is willing to sacrifice US for the power it wants to hold over us. Satan is not constant. … He doesn’t stick around when we reach our breaking point. He walks away when he gets us to the spot where we cannot stand, and he hopes we will forget the light we once had. More than anything, he wants us to give up and forget. He willingly takes control when we feel we have lost it. The only thing that is constant when he steers our course . . . is our ultimate defeat. He promises nothing more than his own gain.

   

However, we don’t have to choose to fall under his power . . . for he will only bring us down. We are the ones who hold true strength . . . and darkness can only control us if we give our power away.

       

God’s love for us is the constant we must seek. Its power is the force that can keep us grounded. Even in the moments when we stand and feel that all the truths we once thought were consistent are falling through our grasp . . . He is still there. I didn’t let Him comfort me in that courtroom that day. I let other forces pull me down. I let fear take control of my body in every car I rode in and in every elevator I exited. I sat at that bank feeling alone and overwhelmed by darkness.

     

Gravity is a force that exists no matter what we do. We can try to fight it . . . we can try to pretend that its power cannot control us . . .  but ultimately, no matter how many times we try to leap off that barn’s rooftop . . . we will fall to the ground. No matter how many times we try to fly out of that tree . . . we will hit the grass. It was created for us for that purpose, and our questioning its existence, will in no way change its power. It will always be there.

   

However, our Heavenly Father is just as constant as gravity. He is always there. He walks with us into all the ‘banks’ that threaten our peace and make us feel like our security is about to be destroyed. He helps us close the accounts when we are not safe. He wipes our tears when the humiliation of the world tries to make us feel like we are stupid, and He is holding us up when we feel we cannot take another breath . . . as we speak the truth.

   

I have no idea why I wouldn’t allow myself to see His power in those moments, but I could easily feel the darkness. Looking back, I guess I needed to forget His love momentarily so that I would be driven to remember how to fight for it again. I thought I was walking all alone. The days when, in my mind, I was traveling solo . . . served as anchors to tug at me and remind me to seek His light again.

     

There are powers that pull us to and fro; there are forces that try to bind us. When we seek for the power that comes from the goodness inside of us . . . and from the Love of our Savior, that is when our paths seem to be surrounded by the hope we seek. Darkness will never bring us peace; it will never leave us full of happiness.

   

My hope in myself was lost; my hope in this world seemed to be impossible to find . . . but somehow, it found me. I didn’t seek it on those days full of darkness . . . but it was still there.

     

Gravity will hold you anchored to the earth, but only Christ will keep you grounded as you travel along life’s roads. Let the power of His mercy be the one that anchors your ship when the storms of the sea try to shake you. Let the gravity of His love hold you to the truths that only He can teach. You are smart. You are enough. You are the you He always wanted you to be. You have the power to choose the light.

   

Don’t let your fear of walking alone keep you from taking the next step. You are not alone. He is there. His power is real, and He holds it just for you. Gravity may bring you down, but Christ’s love can lift you higher.

Gravity by Abbey Roll (my little sister)

Please Hold Me

Kaleeya was twenty months old when her daddy died. She was just a little thing. She had always been really advanced for her age—except for walking—and was wise beyond her years. We always said she had an old soul. It seemed like she knew things we didn’t know, but she just hadn’t quite learned how to communicate them all yet. She and Emmett had a sweet relationship. She was a bit of a daddy’s girl.

My friend Kim called the day after Emmett died asking for some of his clothing. She is an amazing seamstress, and she explained to me that she wanted to make a blanket from his clothes. It was a perfect idea. I carefully went through each drawer and closet and picked only clothes that had good memories tied to them: the shirt he wore when he proposed, his favorite summer shorts he always wore at Bear Lake, and some of the kids favorite t-shirts. Every piece of clothing put into the pile to go to Kim had some sort of special memory or meaning for us.

Amazingly, Kim showed up a day later with a stack of blankets, one for me, and one for each of the kids. She shared with me how she had gone to the store to buy some fabric before she picked up the clothes. She got some odds and ends to sew together the pieces of his shirts. She had planned on making just one, big blanket. She said that as she laid it all out on her floor that night, it was as if everything just fell into place. She had exactly what she needed for six blankets, and the pieces of clothing all matched up with the pieces of fabric she had purchased. She said she had never worked so efficiently in her life, and that she was given power beyond her abilities to put together everyone’s blankets.

The blankets were amazing. She laid them out in front of us and identified which blanket was for each one of us. She had felt impressed that each individual blanket was made for a specific person in our family. We sat admiring them in my living room. My brothers and sisters and parents were all sitting around when the kids came in to see their new “Daddy Blankets.” Each child was so excited to see them and instantly fell in love with his or her blanket—all the kids, that is . . . until I got to Kaleeya. I held up her blanket and started to explain what it was. She got an angry look on her face and ran over and punched it a few times. “Daddy?” she said. “I don’t want it!” I knelt down beside her. “Kaleeya, this is a blanket made out of Daddy’s clothes. Kim made this one just for you.” She repeated herself, “I don’t want it . . . Daddy gone . . . Mommy cries. Mommy sad. I don’t want it.” I tried for a few minutes to get her to see how precious this blanket would be for her, but she didn’t want anything to do with it. I didn’t understand. She wasn’t even two years old. It didn’t make sense that she would be angry at him or even understand that he was gone.

I thought back to the weeks before he died, back to the times when Emmett would get angry at me and then leave. I would go to my closet to try to calm myself down—away from the kids. While all the others would carry on playing . . . Kaleeya would come and find me. She would come and wipe my tears. She would ask me what was wrong. She would hold me as I cried. I never had any clue that she could understand my pain enough to be upset at Emmett. She saw me cry because of him . . . and now all I did was cry because he was gone. In her mind, it seems, she was mad at him for making me sad. I assumed that she had figured out that my tears were all his fault.

For a few nights, I kept trying to push the blanket on her, almost begging her to sleep with it. She always said she didn’t want it and added, “Mommy cries.” Each night was the same. I would tell her how special it was, and she would push it away.

After putting the kids to bed one night I went downstairs. I was sitting on the couch and within a few minutes, I heard quiet sobbing. I wasn’t sure which room it was coming from so I tiptoed up the stairs and listened quietly at each door. At Kaleeya’s door, I discovered that she was the source of those tears. I opened her door and walked in the room towards her. I couldn’t see her face until I got closer. She was reaching her arms out and sobbing, “Daddy . . . I sorry. Hold me Daddy. Hold me Daddy. I sorry Daddy . . . I happy now . . . Please come back . . . I hold you . . . I need you hold me, Daddy.” I looked in the direction that her hands were extended, and there on her dresser was a picture of her and Emmett. It was an oversized photo that my friend Gaby had blown up for the funeral. I picked up the picture and grabbed her Daddy Blanket from the side of her crib, then I scooped her up and sat down with all three on my lap. For the first time, I noticed that the shirt he was wearing in the picture was the same piece of clothing that was sewn into her Daddy Blanket.

She was still sobbing to the picture. “Daddy died. He gone.” I said, “I know baby. I am so sorry. Mommy is here.” “My daddy in heaven and I want him to hold me, Mommy. I need him to come and hold me.” Now she was almost begging the picture to come to life. With a lump in my throat, I told her how much her daddy loved her, but that he wasn’t here and he wasn’t going to be coming back. Then I held up the Daddy Blanket. “Daddy isn’t going to hold you tonight, but your Daddy Blanket was sewn by Angels so he can be wrapped all around you.” I wrapped my baby girl in her daddy’s clothes, and rocked her. We rocked and we cried together, wishing we could understand why a blanket was all that was left of the smile that stared back at us from the photograph.

Our little ones are holding their hands out to us . . . begging for us to hold them and to see them as the precious little jewels they are. All around us, people are reaching out for something. Waiting to be forgiven. Waiting to feel love. Our wives are silently waiting for us to look them in the eyes and tell them they are enough. Our husbands need to hear how grateful we are for them. In one way or another, we are holding our hands out for someone to hear our cries . . . waiting to feel complete from the love we need someone else to show us. But sometimes, those words and that love we seek, is not ever going to come. Whether from death, or pure selfishness, we may never hear or feel that love we need so desperately.

I wasn’t what Kaleeya wanted that night, but I got to give her what she needed. She needed to feel like she was safe and important to him. She craved to feel the love she had lost. I was a poor replacement for the man she needed to hold her, but Heavenly Father sent me in his place. Emmett wasn’t ever going to come back to fill that void . . .  but that night, I was lucky enough to have the chance to try.

As you look around . . . watch for the hands reaching out for you. Put down your phones and enjoy the pure excitement of sliding down the slide at the park. Put your computers away and build a block tower . . . just so you can hear them giggle when they knock it over. Next time your husband walks in that door . . . throw your arms around him and let him know how grateful you are for all that he does do for you. When your woman walks in asking if her outfit looks ugly . . . let her know how stunning she is. Look into the eyes of everyone who speaks to you . . . and less into the screens that consume your thoughts. Search for the hearts that need your time. Seek for the souls who are literally begging for someone to notice them. Like our Savior, find the one who is lost . . . and lead that person back to where he or she feels safe and loved.

We are all reaching out for someone to hold us. Every human on earth has a basic need to be loved. In those dark days when you have spent all night crying and reaching . . . and you feel like no one has heard your pleas . . . remember that Heavenly Father is there. Sometimes, we have to find our feelings of worth through only ourselves and God. Reach your hands out to him. Extend your arms toward Heaven and seek the light from God. Ask Him to shed His love upon you, to help you see your own worth. He loves you. He wants to wrap you up in His love and rock you while you cry. Let Him. Ask Him to send you His Angels. And then when they come . . . let them sing you the lullabies you aren’t hearing anywhere else. Let their songs whisper to your heart. You are not alone. They are closer than you know.


Kim's story of making the blankets