Waves and Bear Hunts

I've never liked the ocean. It's deep. It's scary. It's constantly changing. Although the ocean brings destruction, tragedy, and loss to thousands of people each year, it also brings beauty and beautiful things are found all around it, in it, and above it,

Funny how life is so much like that. Even funnier how much grief is like that. Funny isn't even the word I mean, maybe I mean ironic?

A couple of months before the worst day of my life, Keri had started singing "Going on a Bear Hunt" with the kids. We watched a video on YouTube and the kids love it because of all of the motions and repetition of the song. Primarily the parts that says, "Can't go over it, can't go under it, we have to go through it."

Again, funny (not funny) how much life and grief is like that song.

I've seen many things about how grief is like ocean waves. I may have even posted one. The thing is, it's so true. At some points, you feel like you are surfing or boogie boarding on top of the wave: "normal", smiling, happy, laughing. But then the wave gets too big or too strong and reminds you of its power and knocks you off of that surf board. Suddenly, you are pulled back into that deep, dark place in the ocean of grief. You can't breathe. You feel the salt water on your face from the tears that ripple up through your soul and out your eyes. Your stomach churns just like the under current and makes you want to just curl up and hide in the dark again.

"Can't go over it, can't go under it, we have to go through it."

The waves subside and we pull ourselves back up on our surfboards of sunshine as we remember the fun times, the happy memories, the big, big smiles that warmed our hearts. And for a while, we feel "normal" again, we smile, we laugh, we maybe even have moments where we are happy. Then we know the currents and waves begin to build back up, and we know we'll get knocked off again in the vicious cycle of life and grief.

I hate the ocean. It's deep (sometimes it feels too deep to bear). It's scary (sometimes it makes you feel like a little kid afraid of the dark again). It's constantly changing (my emotions are as waving as the grief itself).

But like I said, there is also beauty. There is beauty in knowing that not one unkind word was ever spoken about my sister. There is beauty in the love and support shown from family, friends, and even people you don't even know because they knew how wonderful she is. There is beauty in the stories that people tell when remembering her and how she touched their lives because "That's our Keri". There is beauty in the laugh of my favorite Littles when I tell them a funny story about their mama from when we were little kids because I see her smile and hear her giggle. There is beauty knowing that Keri lead and continues to lead people to Christ by the way she lived every single moment of her life. The most beautiful thing is knowing that one day we will see each other again in Heaven.

So, although the loss is real and deep and scary. "Can't go over it," 
And the grief is overwhelming sometimes like the ocean waves.  "Can't go under it"
There is still beauty around it, in it, and above it. "We just have to go through it!"

A sweet gift from Keri

I miss my sister every day. I just can't even describe the hole I feel in me from her not being here.

I honestly don't think people realized how close Keri and I are. I say "are" because even though she's not here, she is coming to me in my dreams, in things I see, in things I hear. I can't explain it, but I'm thankful for it. But I really wish people understood that Keri and I were "soul" mates. There's no doubt in my mind, God wove us from the same thread before he placed us in two bodies. Maybe that's why I feel so much like my insides have been ripped out of my body. But I have some peace from her sweet gift to me, and from when she is in my dreams.

So what is my sweet gift from her? A few hours before Keri went to Heaven, I was able to spend some time with her, holding her hand, talking to her, reading scripture to her, telling her how much I love her, and kissing her forehead. In that darkest time, on the worst day of my life, I told her I just wanted her to open her eyes and to see her smile her big smile again so I knew she was ok.






A few hours a later, I was asleep in the waiting room in a chair. I could hear the people in there with us, so I guess I was really resting. My eyes were closed and all of a sudden it felt like I was being held/hugged (like if you are holding a toddler who's asleep on your chest). And  it was like the sun came out from a cloud shining on my face. But in the light I could see Keri's face as clear as if she was standing there. She was smiling! She was smiling her big, big, BIG smile at me! It only lasted for a few seconds (maybe 15 seconds if I'm wishful thinking), and then I felt the hug slip away and the face fade away. At the exact second the hug and the face was completely gone, my brother-in-law let us know that the journey had ended and a new one had begun for Keri.

I still tear up thinking about that moment because there are so many emotions that come to me. Of course the overwhelming devastation of her really being gone, but more importantly, that gift! The gift of her smile letting me know she IS ok. It wasn't exactly the way I may have wanted it because I want her here, but she and God blessed me with that peace of seeing her smile and knowing she is ok.


I honestly guess I share this because I want people to know that even though it feels terrible, there is some peace in the bad moments. Because I want people to know that you can be that close to someone and have a connection like that. Because I want people to have someone who they are that close to and genuinely work on a relationship with that person. And because I want people to know that God does answer your prayers, even when it's not 100% the way you want it. He healed her and let me see her smile.

Enjoy her big BIG smile. That's MY Keri. OUR Keri. Crazy Strong and Keri On!