tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6691920803254116332024-03-18T22:04:53.435-07:00Team Paige…A Journey of Faithtechieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.comBlogger142125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-66804294697044169322018-10-24T07:15:00.000-07:002018-10-24T07:15:35.003-07:00Two Years.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
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Two years. 24 months. 104 weeks. 730 days. And that's <u>still</u> not as long as she fought the cancer beast. Paige has <u>still</u> been gone less time than I spent taking care of her. Two YEARS. Some days it feels like a lifetime ago. Other days it seems like yesterday.<br />
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I've traveled the road of a bereaved mom for two years now and have come to discover it's still a very new road for me. I made it through the fog of the first year naively thinking that would be the worst. I was quite mistaken. Maybe that fog was God's way of protecting me from day after day of unbearable pain those first days and months. Maybe He knew I needed that cushion after watching Paige step into Heaven. Maybe it served as a shield as He comforted me through the worst loss imaginable. I will never know this side of Heaven, but I do know that each day God gave me exactly what I needed to get through the day-to-day and take care of my guys. That was Year One - Year of the Fog. This year--the <u>second</u> year without my girl--the passage of time became all too real. It hit me, and it hit <u>hard</u>.<br />
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For starters, there's Jeremy. He looks nothing like the boy in pictures with his sister. Two years later he is a <u>young man</u> doing well in tough high school classes while coming into his own in golf and bowling. I often see glimpses of Paige in him--they were actually more alike than either would ever admit. Goal-oriented. Determined. Witty. Jeremy serves as an everyday reminder there is still life to be lived. There are still great things to be accomplished.<br />
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Then there are the pictures. Two years in, and I've not quite built up the strength to put up new photos. Sure, I've taken pictures--but as of yet just haven't had it in me to get them printed and up on the wall. I don't yet have the stamina to make it through video clips of Paige without melting into a puddle of tears. There's so much life in a video. <u>Life</u>. Movement and speaking and <u>laughing</u>--oh, how I miss that laugh. From here on out, there will <u>always</u> be someone missing from moments captured in photos and videos. There will always be someone whose smile I long to see, whose voice I long to hear. When that someone is your child, it's a very bitter pill to swallow. In fact, sometimes it feels like I'm choking on it.<br />
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The reality is I have no choice but to swallow that pill. To play the hand that was dealt. To continue moving forward one day at a time. It baffles me how my heart is almost living a double life--doing life here with my people and at the same time missing Paige so much it hurts. I guess that's yet another thing not meant for me to understand. God sees a much bigger picture from His perspective, and I will continue to trust Him. I know He had a purpose for Paige's life. I will continue having faith in His plan for my life. He is <u>always</u> good. He is <u>always</u> faithful.<br />
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Paige, my sweet girl...<br />
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As time forges ahead and we mark another year without you here, I am reminded how beautifully you lived out Romans 12:12. Joyful in hope. Patient in affliction. Faithful in prayer. I want to be like you when I grow up, girl. I'm trying--I promise. I miss you. I love you. Always and forever. I'll see you in a little bit.techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-9943613555373205652018-09-29T13:15:00.002-07:002018-09-29T13:15:24.573-07:00Blessings in Brokenness<i>The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit. Psalm 34:18</i><br />
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Broken.</b> Crushed. It hurts to even type these words, but that's where I've found myself the last couple of weeks. Getting ready for bed one night, I was hit by memory upon memory of the gut-wrenching decisions we made about hospice care. Out of the blue, <u>that</u> was the scenario that camped out in my head. Hospice. That word should never, ever, <u>ever</u> have to be in a conversation about your child. Yet there it was again. Right at two years to the day we signed paperwork that made me sick to my stomach. Back to rob me of any thoughts of sleep that night.<br />
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I was hopeful peace would return the next day, but I was mistaken. A rough morning and afternoon were just the beginning. It all came undone that evening when I came across a couple of pictures I had long forgotten. They were the absolute <u>last</u> pictures of us with Paige, taken just a few hours before all pain medication was increased to the point of no return. Just about 30 hours or so before my baby girl went to be with Jesus. I stared at them for what seemed like hours--though it was likely less than a minute. She was so sick. So, <u>so</u> sick--but trying her best to smile through the pain. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I put the phone down, walked out of the room, and fell to my knees on my bathroom floor. I totally, completely <u>lost</u> it. At that moment--and for several days after--it was like I lost my heart, my purpose, even my mind. I could only see the broken. Thankfully, God saw more than that. He was right there with me on the floor that night, gently putting this broken mom back together yet again.<br />
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<i>Praise be to the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of compassion and the God of all comfort, who comforts us in all our troubles, so that we can comfort those in any trouble with the comfort we ourselves receive from God. 2 Corinthians 1:3-4</i><br />
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<b>Comfort.</b> My epic meltdown occurred just a few days before a planned trip to the hospital with some friends who are fellow cancer moms. In the works for weeks, we would be serving dinner and delivering gift cards to families on the 9th floor at TCH. Families who are walking a road we had all traveled. Families who needed encouragement from people who have been there. I prayed and prayed about whether I should go through with that visit. My head and heart fought back and forth--and my heart won.<br />
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Serving those families that night blessed my heart immeasurably. Loading their plates and encouraging seconds. Dishing out desserts. Seeing exhausted moms leave smiling because their families got to eat a 'real meal' together. Watching kiddos' excitement upon receiving their gift cards. Taking something off those parents' shoulders for even a split second--now <u>that's</u> a blessing. God brought me out of my mess that night so I could spread His message of love with others.<br />
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<i>He made the storm be still, and the waves of the sea were hushed. Psalm 107:29</i><br />
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<b>Calming the Storm. </b>That evening at the hospital, the waves of grief that threatened to take me down subsided. God calmed the storm inside of me and gave me words to comfort and encourage. As we shared the message "No One Fights Alone," God reminded me I am not alone--in any of this. I was there with a group of incredibly strong women--moms who know childhood cancer all too well. Some have even watched their precious kiddos go to be with Jesus. This is a hard, hard road to travel, but we don't travel it alone. We have each other. We have the Lord. I think we all need a reminder of that now and then. I certainly did.<br />
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<i>A joyful heart is good medicine... Proverbs 17:22</i><br />
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<tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Jake from TCH, not State Farm :)</td></tr>
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<b>Good Medicine. </b>Not only did we visit with kiddos and their families at the hospital that night, we had a chance to reconnect with several of our nurses. These ladies and gentlemen truly serve with joyful hearts--even when the circumstances are less than joyful. They smile at our silly attempts at humor that provide distractions from the storms raging inside our children's bodies. The love and compassion they share is nothing short of amazing.<br />
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They are busy, busy people who treat many, many children-- and have said, "See you in a little bit" to <u>far too many children</u>. Yet still they smile. Still they laugh. Still they <u>remember</u>. They remember smiles and laughter. They remember challenges and fighting spirits. They remember.<br />
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It did my heart so much good to hug their necks. To see their faces. To hear they miss my girl and think of her often. To be told she will <u>never</u> be forgotten. Ever. That was good medicine for this momma's heart.<br />
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<i>I can do all this through him who gives me strength. Philippians 4:13</i><br />
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On the roughest of days, I look to Him. On the best of days, I look to Him. The Lord gives me strength, and because of Him I will not fall. I will continue to follow where He leads--even when it happens to be on one of those rough days. He blesses me in my brokenness, and I never even see it coming. What an incredible God we serve.techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-36911837814353546792018-08-31T21:51:00.002-07:002018-08-31T21:51:21.707-07:00A Time of RestorationSurvival Mode. That's been our life the last few months. We have gone to work, taken care of the day-to-day necessities, and maybe even outwardly seemed like things were going okay. That's how this grief thing works. It ebbs and flows--threatening at times to swallow us whole, yet at other times making it look like we have it all together. This summer, it didn't feel like I had much of <u>anything</u> together.<br />
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Almost opposite work schedules and Jeremy's busy-ness in the worlds of golf and bowling did not give the guys and me much time together at all. We were always going, going, going--and even when we did happen to be home at the same time, we just weren't connecting. Something needed to give.<br />
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And then came Camp Nate. Several months back (in the spring sometime), a fellow bereaved mom shared info about a camp geared for families who have lost children to cancer. I did some research and came to the conclusion it would be a nice getaway for the guys and me. It would take place in August just before school started, making it a great sendoff to summer. At the time, I had no clue just how much we would need the experience. But God did.<br />
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Set at Young Life's Trail West Lodge in Buena Vista, Colorado, Camp Nate has a mission of "finding hope after loss and rebuilding families who have suffered so greatly." It would include moments of remembrance while at the same time provide opportunities to create new memories. It was just what this weary trio needed.<br />
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We began our road trip to Colorado on the morning of Paige's birthday. I had no giant waves of grief washing over me that day, only an incredible peace. A sense of certainty knowing we were doing the right thing for our family at that time. Maybe it was the fact we were heading to one of the most beautiful places in the United States. Maybe it was God leading us to some much-needed time together. All I know is that it was just <u>right</u>.<br />
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That drive. Oh my goodness. It was loooooong. There's a stretch of north Texas where there is basically nothing. Seriously, nothing. For <u>miles</u>. We crossed into New Mexico and got our first views of taller landforms--even a volcano. We crossed the state line into Colorado the next morning, and there we saw mountains. Real mountains. It was like we were in another world.<br />
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We made our way to the lodge in Buena Vista and were immediately taken aback by the view. Everywhere we looked we saw the incredible handiwork of God. Mountains so perfectly placed they looked like layers in a painting. Trees everywhere--for all kinds of purposes. Hammock holders. Disc Golf obstacles. Mountain beautifiers. The whole setting was simply breathtaking--figuratively <u>and</u><i> </i>literally (we <u>were</u> at about 8600 feet elevation, after all). Catching your breath was part of the daily activities.<br />
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And oh...the daily activities. The Family Challenge and Horseless Rodeo began with silly tasks for points and bragging rights and later included a tug-of-war battle for the ages that Boyce is still feeling. It was so much <u>fun</u>. There were smaller-group activities, like the Jeep ride up the side of a mountain that took us to an old mining town where we fed chipmunks <u>right out of our hands</u>. <br />
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There was even time for the three of us to just hang out. Jeremy found the Disc Golf course our first day there, and the word "golf" should have clued me in he would be good at it. Boyce was even pretty good at it. Me, not so much. No matter how I tried, I kept throwing the thing so far right that if not for the trees surrounding us it might have ended up back in Houston. The competitor in me didn't even mind I was losing. What mattered was that we were having a great time--and we were together.<br />
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A group hike of 1.5 miles took us a little further up the mountain from our lodge. Considering the elevation, it was a challenge--but so worth every single step. At the top we witnessed a view so spectacular it brought tears to my eyes. A butterfly release honoring our sweet children made the time on that mountain even more special. I felt closer to Paige. I felt the amazing presence of God. I felt unexplainable peace. Something changed in me on that mountaintop. Maybe it was a perspective thing. Maybe it was a purpose thing. I'm still trying to figure out what, but it was a change for the better--that's for sure.<br />
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I could go on about the week's incredible experiences. A trail ride that had me questioning whether my 'elderly' horse would make it down the mountain. Jeremy conquering the treetop ropes course. Boyce's determination to do every activity he possibly could--hurt hip and all. Worship songs and silly songs. Skits that had us laughing more than we had in a very long time. It all came back to having that time to reconnect as a family.<br />
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<span style="font-style: italic;">And after you have suffered a little while, the God of all grace, who has called you to His eternal glory in Christ, will Himself restore, confirm, strengthen, and establish you. 1 Peter 5:10</span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PbIlOwmVMY74ljxRmAlqDIjTaMENkKji-AuQHxf_7FxZsg3XYgu4EvPMibIzXSAh7p8qeJgUuXjes47ihUSeqIijnOJFpHrujrND-xEmHqdo-zCtchuerUjSmgRkUCc8ChRzAmt4ktqW/s1600/ABJ.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="784" data-original-width="1359" height="115" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj1PbIlOwmVMY74ljxRmAlqDIjTaMENkKji-AuQHxf_7FxZsg3XYgu4EvPMibIzXSAh7p8qeJgUuXjes47ihUSeqIijnOJFpHrujrND-xEmHqdo-zCtchuerUjSmgRkUCc8ChRzAmt4ktqW/s200/ABJ.jpg" width="200" /></a>More than anything, our week in Colorado was about restoration--of our minds, hearts, and souls. We grew closer to each other and closer to God. Jesus was shining through every single staff member and volunteer who served us that week. We felt the love of Christ. We discovered a new sense of peace, hope, and purpose. We found <u>joy</u>. It was a reset we all needed.<br />
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<i>May the God of hope fill you with all joy and peace as you trust in Him, so that you may overflow with hope by the power of the Holy Spirit. Romans 15:13</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-19909768562685801112018-08-11T04:22:00.001-07:002018-08-11T04:22:06.964-07:00Another Birthday in HeavenMy heart. My sweet girl. My precious Paige.<br />
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Eighteen years ago today you came into the world--a 10-pound, 1/2-ounce beautiful baby girl. You made me a mom and stole my heart from the second I laid eyes on you. You melted me with your smile. You challenged me with your sass. You strengthened me with your bravery and determination. You inspired me with your unshakable, abiding faith.<br />
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Today marks the second birthday you're spending in Heaven. Your 18th birthday. Once upon a time I figured we would celebrate it as we moved you into your college dorm. Never in a million years did I think I would find myself bringing flowers to your gravestone.<br />
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You've been with Jesus over 21 months now, sweet girl, and we are doing our best to continue your mission of helping others--any way we can. Sharing your incredible story. Fundraising for research. Helping other families. Your sassy spirit and beautiful soul are the inspiration for all of it.<br />
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As brokenhearted as I am to mark this second birthday without you here, I am truly thankful you are perfectly healed and whole. You, my love, are in the presence of Jesus. Happy 18th Birthday, Paige Madison. I'll see you in a little bit.techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-90189494089287989152018-04-19T17:44:00.001-07:002018-04-19T17:44:08.387-07:00Eighteen. <div style="margin: 0px;">
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Eighteen. Just a number, right? In my world right now, that number speaks--actually, it screams--volumes. April 24th marks <u>eighteen</u> months since I last held my daughter's hand in mine. Since I last kissed her cheek and stroked her hair. April 24th marks <u>eighteen months</u> since my sweet Paige went to be with Jesus. 18 months. 78 weeks. 547 days. It doesn't seem real, yet it truly <u>is</u> all too real. I have missed and thought about and grieved for that girl every single day since she left this earth. How could I not? Eighteen months ago I lost a piece of my heart that I won't get back until I join her in Heaven.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Once upon a time, I didn't cringe at the number eighteen. Paige was supposed to graduate this year as part of the Class of 20<u>18</u>. This was supposed to be a season of senior pictures, college plans, prom, graduation--the list goes on and on. This was <u>supposed</u> to be a time I hesitated to let her go, knowing all the while it was a necessary part of growing up. But my girl didn't get the chance to grow up. That chance was taken away by a form of aggressive leukemia that relentlessly attacked her over and over and over again. </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">Paige would have turned <u>18</u> in August this year. She would have been an 'official' adult. She would have been starting school in pursuit of that nursing degree she wanted so very badly. She would have been checking off her 'To Do' list of plans as she met her future husband and sought a job at TCH to follow in the footsteps of nurses she absolutely adored. She would have done so many things. So many <u>good</u> things. She <u>would have</u>. Those words hurt me to my core. How do I manage to trudge through days that seem like they will never end? How do I keep going on days when I miss Paige so much I can barely breathe? </span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">One word: God.</span></div>
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">When I struggle to make it through the day, He is here. When the waves of grief knock me to my knees, He is here. When I am unsure of my next steps, God is here. He guides me and constantly shows me evidence of His goodness and mercy and grace. He gives me reminders I am not alone on this road that can sometimes seem incredibly lonely. He loves me on the good days and seems to pull me in even closer on the messy days. Without a doubt, He is my strength--always.</span></div>
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I find another source of strength in my incredible daughter.<br />
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Paige found <u>joy</u> in every single day. That smile--oh, that smile--could brighten any day and led to Paige being known as the "sunshine in the room" to so many who cared for her. After her second relapse, Paige displayed unmatched <u>courage</u> when she helped make decisions difficult for adults to fathom, much less a teenager. Her brave, fighting spirit served as inspiration for people in and out of the hospital setting. From the very beginning, Paige was a <u>determined</u> young lady. She didn't know the word "quit" and faced every trial head-on. My girl fought hard every moment of every day--even in her last days. Paige was smart, strong, and oh-so-sassy. She is my heart. She is my hero.<br />
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<span style="font-family: inherit;">I will work to follow Paige's lead the rest of my days. Like her, I will continue to lean on my faith. Like her, I will look for the </span><u style="font-family: inherit;">joy</u><span style="font-family: inherit;"> in every day. There <u>is</u> joy to be found in the sweet memories of her. There <u>is</u> joy to be found in the days to come. Like my amazing daughter, I will hold on to </span><u style="font-family: inherit;">hope</u><span style="font-family: inherit;">. Hope for the future. Hope the sting of her absence lessens a little with time. Like Paige, I will remain <u>determined</u>. Determined to keep going--no matter what. </span><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5JIAhBoMHHA5OBIYrhzIktLRMClbdY4r4L-Xcyct4OlxxsZxQIX8A4ZOCR-Q8QdmrBVDSUl0PwQmi9fDDlLb4gmm3dEG_QPg3eJcnRYZliAk_3CRYxh7r_3ttgblgH0RSLlAT56SmqpT/s1600/12_12.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="736" data-original-width="736" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjc5JIAhBoMHHA5OBIYrhzIktLRMClbdY4r4L-Xcyct4OlxxsZxQIX8A4ZOCR-Q8QdmrBVDSUl0PwQmi9fDDlLb4gmm3dEG_QPg3eJcnRYZliAk_3CRYxh7r_3ttgblgH0RSLlAT56SmqpT/s200/12_12.jpg" width="200" /></a><span style="font-family: inherit;">Paige had a purpose in this world; she wanted to make a difference, and she did. She still is. Runners honoring her fight. Students organizing ways to help other childhood cancer families in Paige's memory. A community </span>coming<span style="font-family: inherit;"> together to raise money for much-needed research for her type of leukemia. A mom who will not stop sharing her heartbreakingly beautiful story. </span><br />
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Eighteen, you may knock me down--but you will not knock me out. I'll take my cues from the bravest girl I ever knew. I will be joyful. I will be patient. I will remain faithful. Thank you for the lesson, sweet girl. See you in a little bit.</div>
techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-25367798136365516402017-12-21T19:46:00.000-08:002017-12-21T19:46:54.074-08:00The Teacher Becomes the StudentTeacher. It's a role I've played for about twenty years (on and then mostly off after Paige got sick). It's a role I wanted ever since I was a little girl playing school with my friends. It's a role I worked to improve each year--for myself and for my students. Teaching was my calling. I was totally, completely in my element. One day in January 2014 changed all that. It was the day I became the student. Over the course of the next 3 years I would learn from Paige--her fight, her faith, and her refusal to let cancer define her. I would learn from Paige even after she made her journey to Heaven. My girl has been with Jesus almost 14 months now, and I'm still learning new things each and every day.<br />
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I must admit--sometimes it feels like I am a living, breathing version of the "Groundhog Day" movie. No matter my thoughts as I doze off and on throughout the night, I find myself hoping I will wake to a different outcome. To our old life. To our family of four all under one roof. Of course, that doesn't happen, and it's a tough lesson to learn. Every morning is a jolting reminder of this new way of doing life. Yes, over a year later it is <u>still</u> a new way of doing life. It is all too easy to get bogged down in the reminder that Paige is not away at camp or off to college or some other adventure. That she is really absent from this earth and present with Jesus. It is all too easy to get so overwhelmed by this fact that I sometimes struggle just to make it through the day. I say it's easy because that's exactly where I've found myself the last few months. Devastated. Overwhelmed. Struggling.<br />
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This week marked the two-year anniversary of Paige's bone marrow transplant. That transplant was supposed to save her life. It was supposed to mark a new beginning, and I guess this year it did--just not in a way I would ever have imagined. On that day, believe it or not, I somehow managed to start trying to break out of the fog that has had me trapped since mid-August. I reminded myself that Paige is okay. In fact, she's more than okay. She's wonderfully, perfectly healed. It's what I prayed for--it just came in a manner different than I'd hoped. I stopped and thought about the things I pray with people every week. About God's goodness and love. His amazing grace and mercies that are new every single morning. I stopped and reminded myself about the joy to be found every day, and the fog began to lift. It's not totally gone, but it's starting to lift. This journey is filled with challenges, but I am learning to face them. Again, the teacher becomes the student.<br />
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Because I've been so scattered the last few months, it only seems fitting to let a few of the things I've learned--and in some cases, simply just remembered--land here. No particular topic in no particular order, except I really did save the best for last.<br />
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<i style="font-weight: bold;">Well-meaning people say hurtful things. </i>If you haven't walked this road, it's hard to know what to say. I get it. You want to say <u>something</u> without causing more pain. Unfortunately, sometimes what sounds good in your head doesn't translate so well once it's spoken. Before I go any further, here are a few suggestions of things to avoid:<br />
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<li>"It's been a whole year. Aren't you better now? She's fine. You're fine."</li>
<li>"At least you have Jeremy."</li>
<li>"You know where she is--you should be happy. You should be rejoicing. You should be thankful."</li>
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The statements above, while not a comprehensive list, have been spoken to us time and again by friends, acquaintances, and others who followed our family's story. I'll be honest. They come across as judgmental--even though I'm certain this is rarely the intention. It takes everything in me, along with a giant helping of grace, not to reply the way I'd like to. These words hurt. They minimize my daughter's existence, and I am not okay with that.<br />
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Of course I know where Paige is. I know Whose she is, and that alone serves as hope to keep me going. And I <u>am</u> thankful. Thankful God chose me to be her mom. Thankful for the sixteen years I had with her. Thankful for our relationship that got closer and closer through her treatment. Thankful for the inspiration she was and continues to be. The grief journey is a work in progress, and each day presents its own challenges--much like life in general. We can't be expected to justify why we are feeling a certain way on a particular day. We are simply doing the best we can and trusting God to keep nudging us forward and heal our hearts. And He will.</div>
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<b><i>I will <u>always</u> miss my daughter, and that's <u>okay</u>.</i> </b>As of this writing, time has not yet wiped the grief away. Quite honestly, I don't expect it to. I carried the child in my body, for goodness' sake. I spent just about every waking moment with her for almost three years. Paige had--and will forever have--a huge piece of my heart. I talk about her. I think about how she would react to various experiences. Paige may no longer be able to move forward in this lifetime, but her sweet memories can. I am working on getting to that seemingly distant place where I can carry her with me while moving forward <u>without</u> breaking down. I am trusting God to get me there. And He will.<br />
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<b style="font-style: italic;">I am not the person I used to be, </b><b style="font-style: italic;">and that's </b><u style="font-style: italic; font-weight: bold;">okay</u><b style="font-style: italic;">. </b>When life does a 180-degree turn and the bottom drops out from under you, it's very difficult--if not nearly impossible--to be who you once were. Maybe that's how it is supposed to be, though. Things happen in life that change us--not always in as drastic a fashion as we've experienced, but things happen nonetheless. Those changes can break us, or they can actually be part of the healing process.<br />
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I used to feel like I pretty much had it together. The wife thing. The mom thing. The teacher thing. I was a multi-tasking maniac with a slight touch of Type A perfectionist personality (my husband will argue it was more than slight). I had very specific goals, many of which flew out the window with Paige's diagnosis. She was my priority. My purpose. Since she left us, I've struggled with just who I am. I struggle with who God wants me to be now.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDEuY67ILiCk-zygffA-6FLjv8tNYZVABKxeH6GVNZISVaWPotByvyljsRS3_5yv53soVYAxF3CHAuBIyUogaQWGhPZDJwMNsImGr4bujZ8GMyfhEHktGPFoqA3zCxzN3QvnNIgyfPE40/s1600/Prov3_5.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1600" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgyDEuY67ILiCk-zygffA-6FLjv8tNYZVABKxeH6GVNZISVaWPotByvyljsRS3_5yv53soVYAxF3CHAuBIyUogaQWGhPZDJwMNsImGr4bujZ8GMyfhEHktGPFoqA3zCxzN3QvnNIgyfPE40/s200/Prov3_5.jpg" width="200" /></a>Every day I pray He will guide my steps in this next season of life. And He will. He already is. I'm working and serving alongside some amazing people at church. I've still got a foot in the education door teaching two undergrad classes. I've even been blessed with a few opportunities to share Paige's story and hope to make a difference however I can. When I step back and take a look at how different things have come together over the last year, I know for a fact it is God at work. The changes in my life do not define who I am. I'm a bit of a mess right now, but I am also the daughter of Almighty God. I'm trusting Him to get me through. And He will.<br />
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<b style="font-style: italic;">God <u>really is</u> always here with me, and that's <u>more</u> than okay. </b>Not only do I acknowledge His constant presence, I truly feel it. God's grace got me through the year of firsts without my sweet girl. Now into the 'seconds,' I will continue to rely on His strength to get us through each and every day. He is here through the storms, when waves of grief try to pull me under. He is here on the sunny days, when memories of Paige leave me with a smile. I seek Him. I trust Him. He is always faithful. Always.<br />
<br />techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-1499780574689069202017-10-22T07:50:00.004-07:002017-10-22T07:52:03.987-07:00Journey to Her Heavenly HomeI shared in my last post that October is a rough month for our family. Now that I think about it, rough is actually putting it mildly. October is difficult. It is heartbreaking. It is absolutely gut-wrenching. As I write this, we are just days away from the one-year mark of Paige going to be with Jesus. <u>One</u> <u>year</u>. 12 months. 365 days. 8,760 hours. Over 500,000 minutes. Over 31 million seconds. And I have missed, mourned, and longed for that girl with everything I have <u>every</u> <u>single</u> <u>one</u> of those seconds.<br />
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Boyce and I have heard on more than one occasion that it doesn't seem like it's been that long. Trust me--it's been <u>that</u> long. To our hurting family, it feels like it's been a whole lot longer. I get it. People around us have moved on. Life must go on, yet we find ourselves struggling as we try to move forward without feeling like we are leaving a precious piece of ourselves behind. Figuring out this still-new way of doing life without Paige is a very slow, painful process.<br />
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As much as I've tried to avoid it--by staying busy and go-go-going nonstop--October just won't let us be. Memories of our last month with Paige overwhelm me day and night. Just last week I awoke from a dream sobbing--full-on <u>sobbing</u>--because in that dream I relived every second of Paige leaving us. Every second.<br />
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Over the last few years, I've shared how our family's faith and trust in God has carried us through good times and bad. That has not changed. He is <u>always</u> good. He is <u>always</u> faithful. We prayed for Paige's healing over and over and over again. She received it--not in the way we were hoping, but she received it nonetheless. A while back our pastor talked about three kinds of healing: immediate, gradual, and ultimate. While my head and my prayers always steered toward gradual, my baby girl received her ultimate healing when she went to be with Jesus. She is free from the shackles of cancer. She is whole. She is rejoicing.<br />
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I've talked a few times about those last days with Paige--but I've never put them in writing. Until now. It's time. It's time to share how I know that I know that I know Jesus came for my beautiful girl in the wee hours of October 24, 2016.<br />
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Our last hospital stay was a true roller coaster ride. There were at least 3 times from admission in late September until the day our girl journeyed home that we were told to 'be ready.' That the leukemia was starting to gallop out of control. And it showed. Paige slept more than she was awake, wanting nothing more than her mom and dad right where she could see them when she did open her eyes. The pain--oh, the pain. It hit every part of her body with such force that her usual regimen for pain management wouldn't touch it. There would be a few rough, scary days--and then my girl would perk up, ready for pancakes and maybe a visit or two from family. Then down she would go again. The back and forth was so hard on her. Hard on her parents. Hard on everyone who loved her.<br />
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There were tears. So many tears. Tears in the eyes of doctors and nurses as they delivered more and more bad news while doing everything in their power to keep Paige comfortable. Tears in the eyes of a grandmother whose heart was breaking seeing her granddaughter suffer. Tears in the eyes of a brother who said over and over that if Paige left us on his birthday, he would never celebrate it again. Tears in the eyes of a father who realized the only thing he could do--the most important thing he could do--was to <u>be there</u>. And then there was Paige. The most heartbreaking of all the tears shed were those in the eyes of my 16-year-old daughter telling me she didn't want to die. That she wasn't ready. That she knew <u>where</u> she would go, but there were still so many things she wanted to do.<br />
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One particularly rough day, Paige awoke so confused she didn't know me. She didn't recognize me--the person who had been by her every minute for more than two years. She didn't recognize her <u>mom</u>. There was fear and panic in eyes that were usually filled with joy and some kind of mischief. Her brain was able to 'defog' after a few minutes, but the damage was done. Paige knew things were getting worse. The confusion became more frequent. Nurse schedules were adjusted to provide consistency with the hope of making things a bit easier on our girl. I cannot say enough about Amber and Emily, our nurses the last few days. Those ladies were patient, loving, and took incredible care of Paige (and her parents) as our girl was becoming less and less connected to her earthly home.<br />
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Just a day before she left us, Paige woke up particularly agitated. It took many gentle assurances to get her settled down. Convinced someone was trying to take her away, she kept pointing up and saying, "No. No. No! I'm not going yet. I'm not going with that man!" Paige was adamant in her protests as she drifted back to sleep while the rest of us looked at each other in amazement at what she had said. My girl slept a lot that Saturday. A whole lot. That night she awoke crying out in pain and with still more confusion. As I held her with likely the tightest hug ever, she said, "Mom, I can't do this anymore. It's too hard."<br />
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God surely spoke through me that night as I told my daughter that she didn't <u>have</u> to do this anymore. That we knew how hard she had fought. How very much she was loved. That I was sure that the man who came for her was Jesus--and that when He came back, it was okay for her to go with Him. He would take away her pain. He would take away her disease. She would be whole in Heaven. I held her tightly and told her I loved her. Paige's reply: "I love you too, Mom." Those were the last words I would hear my daughter speak to me.<br />
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The next 24 hours or so felt like an eternity as medications were administered to keep Paige comfortable. That was our only goal at that point--to keep her free from pain and suffering as she made the journey to her Heavenly home. Our TCH family members were in and out of her room that day, many of them simply looking at Paige with tears in their eyes, unable to say much of anything. They loved her too. Boyce and I held her hands, stroked her beautiful, curly hair, and told that girl over and over and over again that we loved her. That we would always love her. That even though our time together on Earth was coming to an end, we would all be together again one day.<br />
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We didn't leave her side. We couldn't. We had to soak up every single second we had left with our precious Paige. I kept my eyes on her the whole time, watching her chest slowly rise and fall. Paige's oncologist came to visit late that night, and in her typical fashion managed to make us laugh about something I can't even recall now. Yes, we were actually able to laugh at something in the midst of the most heartbreaking time of our lives. She stood up to leave, assuring us she would check in the next morning (which was just hours away at that point). Boyce and I went to hug her, and for the first time in about 24 hours nobody was holding on to Paige's hands. I turned around, and my girl had quietly left. So completely at peace-- and so very much just like her to wait until I wasn't watching. In the blink of an eye, Paige left behind her broken body and stepped into Heaven, forever healed.<br />
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Paige, my love...it's been a year for us, but probably more like a second or two for you. Thank you for the privilege of being your mom. Thank you for putting up with my fierce love for you. Thank you for helping me find joy on the hardest of days. Thank you for living out your faith in a way that just made you shine Jesus' love all over the place--even in your sassiest moments. I love you, sweet girl. Always. See you in a little bit.<br />
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<i>Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:12</i><br />
<br />techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-23708549362475707882017-10-06T10:09:00.001-07:002017-10-06T10:09:19.298-07:00Pancakes, Beads, and Precious TimeOctober is a rough, rough month for our family. Once upon a time, it simply meant Jeremy would spend the better part of the month telling us what he wanted for his birthday, which is on the 30th. These days it's a little different--make that a <u>lot</u> different. October is the last month we had our sweet girl on this earth. October 2016 changed us <u>forever</u>. It has now been almost one year since Paige left us, yet sometimes it feels like yesterday. Today I find myself thinking about those last days we had with her. Today I find myself thinking about pancakes, beads, and precious, <u>precious</u> time.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gPI99ILMNtA6TcPzB6jy_N_oGvRh86sRDMOOlz3RJwLkAwiCU2cOr4MveJjpNBYm03hyphenhyphenJY1T7YxdG_gXvonolY8KzGV9LA4VfyO_G7ODYdlQxPHX4iDoHDbWhzWcn6iyJSqWE3EMtX4o/s1600/IMG_4925.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg6gPI99ILMNtA6TcPzB6jy_N_oGvRh86sRDMOOlz3RJwLkAwiCU2cOr4MveJjpNBYm03hyphenhyphenJY1T7YxdG_gXvonolY8KzGV9LA4VfyO_G7ODYdlQxPHX4iDoHDbWhzWcn6iyJSqWE3EMtX4o/s200/IMG_4925.JPG" width="150" /></a><i><b>Pancakes.</b></i> As Paige's health was rapidly declining, so was her appetite. There were really no foods that sounded good to her--except pancakes. Chocolate chocolate chip pancakes, to be exact. Chocolate pancakes <u>loaded </u>with chocolate chips. And whipped cream. <u>So much</u> whipped cream--and I'm not talking about the little dollop they put on the stack at the restaurant. I'm talking a <u>can</u> of Reddi-Wip. Paige was very particular about it--it had to be the "real stuff," not the "low fat junk Mom likes." Each pancake had to be cut into bites that would then be 'decorated' with their own helpings of whipped cream. I'm not sure how many cans we went through, but I do know it became a 'thing' for us to make trips back and forth to the family room refrigerator for Paige's Reddi-Wip. Even on those yucky days, that sass was still front and center--but that was fine with me. I loved seeing her spunk re-emerge, even though the times were getting fewer and farther between. I loved seeing her <u>cover</u> those pancake bites with whipped cream and thoroughly enjoy food she actually felt like eating. I loved doing what we could to make her happy. Whatever that girl wanted, we would find a way to make it happen. It just so happened that those pancakes hit the spot every single time--24 of those last 28 days we were there. <i>That's a lot of pancakes.</i><br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiww14CyXKdRbYAce2IvTLVCpLFvH9oNcMcIsK3OE6Iy05DCA_IZPZI4X5Hv5lF1OYVbcKPXJ8k_p5b-DEsZjvYf2bqoTU1bhoeNhXFelWDwn-ul6OFtD5BjRyIq5XVKB8fS-8GnYWVWccl/s1600/IMG_1291.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiww14CyXKdRbYAce2IvTLVCpLFvH9oNcMcIsK3OE6Iy05DCA_IZPZI4X5Hv5lF1OYVbcKPXJ8k_p5b-DEsZjvYf2bqoTU1bhoeNhXFelWDwn-ul6OFtD5BjRyIq5XVKB8fS-8GnYWVWccl/s200/IMG_1291.jpg" width="150" /></a><b><i>Beads.</i> </b>Beads of Courage is a national arts-in-medicine program that helps children who are coping with a serious illness tell their stories and have an amazing visual representation of those journeys. TCH was just beginning the Beads of Courage program last year after Paige's last relapse. In fact, they were in the process of training staff and hadn't yet received all of the different types of beads they planned on giving out. Every bead is part of a child's story. Every. Single. One. There's one for every dose of chemotherapy, whether by pill or infusion. One for every poke, including IVs, blood draws, and accessing the port. One for every overnight hospital stay, every biopsy, every transfusion, every scan--<u>everything</u>. There are even special "EnCOURAGEment" beads for bigger milestones as well as special accomplishments related to the journey. It's truly an amazing program.<br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19nfdJGMS99z8p-zDdhI5xUAtxIdT34wmSPv96uifFq4Ha1W45kzKYIUTGuGyEgsvOsSh89joFkqBShrLtIIqaw-A0eqdeOZDxPIcfPGz9rCvH8DC30mKkQxBqh5L1LEyT2jm79clCSpC/s1600/IMG_0177.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1200" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh19nfdJGMS99z8p-zDdhI5xUAtxIdT34wmSPv96uifFq4Ha1W45kzKYIUTGuGyEgsvOsSh89joFkqBShrLtIIqaw-A0eqdeOZDxPIcfPGz9rCvH8DC30mKkQxBqh5L1LEyT2jm79clCSpC/s200/IMG_0177.jpg" width="150" /></a><br />
We were surprised and honored when some very special people approached us about awarding Paige with all the beads she had earned up to that point. The problem was, I hadn't kept up with all of that--not in one specific place, anyway. There was so much the girl had experienced through 2 1/2 years of diagnosis, treatment, relapse, transplant, and yet another relapse. Just trying to estimate the number of times she'd had some form of chemo was in itself a daunting task (almost 600), and we wanted to make sure Paige got every single bead she'd earned. Boyce and I spent the better part of a weekend going through all of the treatment 'road maps' and calendars and clinic paperwork we had in our possession. We knew there were things we'd overlooked and were beyond grateful when one of our incredible inpatient doctors spent a Sunday afternoon combing through anything and everything she could to help complete our counts of Paige's many, many courageous moments over the last few years. The result: over 70 feet of beads--beads representing hope, perseverance, and bravery in the face of unfathomable adversity. Close to (if not slightly more than) 2,000 beads telling the story of one amazing young lady. <u>2,000</u> beads. <i>That's a lot of beads--and a lot of courage.</i><br />
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<b><i>Precious Time.</i> </b>From that final hospital admission on September 26th, we knew time with Paige was getting short. Much too short. Some days were good. There was laughter and sass and endless episodes of Tim Allen shows. Some days were really bad. On those days all we could do was hold that girl close and tell her how very much we loved her. I would have done that for the rest of my days if it meant Paige would one day regain her health. This was my baby girl, after all. A giant piece of my heart and my world. Every day we were given with that girl was precious. Every day. Every hour. Every <u>moment</u>. Paige Madison Lejeune blessed my life for 16 years, 2 months, and 13 days. <i>I will always be grateful for every precious second I had with the bravest person I have ever known. </i><br />
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Paige taught me more through her cancer battles than she ever fully realized. I think she did the same for a whole lot of people. What a special, <u>special</u> young lady. I am forever proud to be her mom.</div>
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<i>Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:12</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-75784076777491004832017-09-29T16:17:00.001-07:002017-09-29T16:17:06.876-07:00Weathering the Storms<i>*Foreword: This post is just a bit different, as I go back and forth between the recent storm that hit our area and the storm of childhood cancer that hit our family. Both call for strength. Both call for help from others. Both call for continued hope. </i><br />
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Just over a month ago, the Texas Gulf Coast was pounded by Hurricane Harvey. While our area was spared some of the strong winds, we received rain. And more rain. And still more rain. What began as a 'typical' storm threat quickly became a major flooding event as we found ourselves on the 'dirty' side of Harvey.<br />
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As longtime residents of Southeast Texas, we've seen our share of storms. We know to prepare. We know to 'hunker down' or evacuate if needed. We pay attention to forecasts and usually make it through unscathed.<br />
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Harvey was different. It rained. And it rained. And it rained some more. We watched as water covered the street and then the sidewalk before making its way up the yard. In the 16 years we've lived in this house, I don't know that water has ever made it past the sidewalk. For several hours it looked as though we might even end up with some in the house. A panic came across me like nothing I've felt in a long time.<br />
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You see, once upon a time, I wasn't super concerned with our 'stuff' when storms came our way. I always felt like though it would be hard, things could be replaced. It's <u>people</u> that are irreplaceable. As long as our family was together, that's what mattered. We evacuated (along with just about everyone else in our area) when Hurricane Rita was a threat. We 'hunkered down' at my mom's through Hurricane Ike, again leaving our house. I had my husband. I had my kids. We were good.<br />
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Then Paige left us, and I discovered there really <u>was</u> stuff that could never be replaced. Things she <u>made</u>. Things of <u>hers</u>. As the water got closer to the house and we realized it really could end up coming in, I frantically begin putting as many things in bins as I could. I'd already packed a couple of small storage bins when we cleaned out her room in November--but there were many things I hadn't yet had the energy to go through. Things that needed more time before revisiting. Thanks to Harvey, I had to deal with those things right then and there. Jewelry. T-shirt quilts and pillows. A plaster mold of her hand they made for us the night she passed away. And I was a mess. I don't know if it was PTSD or what--but that added to grief plus the stress of the unknowns with the storm--and it was a full-blown meltdown for this momma. I think realizing there were some things I really can't replace just served as another reminder my baby isn't here.<br />
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I spent a lot of time crying over the course of the days we were stranded inside. A <u>whole</u> lot. We are in the middle of a very tough couple of months--and knowing I might lose all I physically had left of Paige broke me. It simply broke me. When I thought I couldn't break any more--that my heart had already shattered as much as it could--I <u>broke</u>. Now, I'm just praying that God will start putting some of those pieces back together. I know He will. He's amazing like that. How else can I explain the fact that I can get up every day and be a (mostly) functioning member of society? But God. He is with us through the calm and through the storm. Every kind of storm.<br />
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Our first cancer storm--known as T-Cell Acute Lymphoblastic Leukemia--came ashore January 2014. We saw it as a challenge--but one we could get through as long as we were together. The second one hit in September 2015, and it was stronger than the first one. It would take much more to weather it, but again--we had faith we would make it to the other side. Together. Then came that third and final storm in July 2016. The one that hit with such a vengeance that recovery efforts for this one would be for three of us, not four. And it was devastating. <br />
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Harvey did his best to cause widespread devastation--and it was heartbreaking. We stayed safe and dry. For that we are so very thankful. We very well could have found ourselves losing everything we had. My heart truly goes out to <u>everyone</u> who was affected by this unprecedented storm. To those who suffered great losses, I am <u>so very sorry</u>. I will continue to pray for God to give you strength and to equip you with everything you need as you take this detour you never saw coming. It will be difficult, but He will provide. He will sustain you.<br />
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I can only guess that sounds cliché coming from someone whose home was spared. The thing is--our family has also been traveling a road we <u>never</u> saw coming. A path very different from anything we ever imagined. We didn't lose our home, but we lost a <u>giant part</u> of our home and a <u>huge piece of our hearts</u> when Paige went to be with Jesus. The days can be long and difficult. They can test us in ways we never thought possible. But no matter how tough those days can be, we <u>always</u> make it through. God has been with us the entire journey. He provides calm in the storms. He guides our steps. He gives us <u>hope</u>. He helps us weather the storms.<u></u>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-59582691144864307392017-08-11T05:50:00.003-07:002017-08-11T05:50:22.297-07:00Missing the Birthday GirlMy Sweet, Sweet Paige...<br />
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Seventeen years ago today you made me a mom for the first time. You brought more joy, love, and spunk into our family than we ever thought possible. Your independent nature challenged us. Your courage and determination strengthened us. Your unabiding faith inspired us.<br />
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Today marks the first birthday you'll spend in Heaven. The first birthday I won't kiss your forehead. The first birthday I won't hear your laughter. The first birthday I won't marvel at that incredible, infectious smile in person. I miss you, girlie. So. Very. Much.<br />
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As we navigate this first birthday without you here, I will remind myself (all day if need be) that you are now healed and whole. You are in Paradise--in the presence of Jesus. Enjoy that Heavenly celebration, my love. I'll see you in a little bit.<br />
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<br />techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-28333825414611741132017-07-30T16:51:00.001-07:002017-07-30T16:51:32.233-07:00A Rough (and As of Yet Unnamed) SeasonWe are smack-dab in the middle of a southeast Texas summer. That means heat and humidity so oppressive it's difficult to be outside for long periods of time. It's also hurricane season, which is basically half a year of keeping our eyes on the Gulf of Mexico. We are encouraged to stock up on necessities and to have plans in place when strong storms head our way. Here's the kicker: We know they are coming, and we can do something about it. We can escape sweltering heat by seeking out air-conditioned bliss. Hurricanes are either 'ridden out' in our homes or a reason to hit the road for safer territory. We <u>know</u> these things are coming and can have plans for the minor (and sometimes not-so-minor) inconveniences they cause. This is <u>not</u> the case for the season our family is entering. The next few months have the makings of a very rough time ahead as we muddle our way through memories of the last few months we spent with our sweet Paige.<br />
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<i>July. </i>The month of her last relapse. Boyce and I have different triggers, but we fight these incredibly bad moments where we relive the devastating news we never dreamed we would hear. <i>August. </i>We reached Paige's 16th birthday. It's a milestone for all teens, but for our girl--it was so much more. It would be the last birthday she would celebrate here on Earth. <i>September and October.</i><i> </i>Paige put on such a brave front, but the disease was progressing and zapping her energy. Quality time became more important than ever before. We played games and watched movies--and even got her out of the house on occasion. It was about making the most of <u>every</u> minute we had together. It was about finding joy and hope in the midst of the storm that was raging all around us.<br />
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She's been gone nine months. <u>Nine</u> months. Since Paige left, it feels like I'm living in a very strange time warp. I'm here in the day-to-day 'busy-ness' of life, taking care of Jeremy and Boyce and everything else I need to do. However, when I'm in my 'Paige Zone' (which happens quite often), it's like time has slowed to a crawl--or has stopped altogether. What's crazy to me is how those versions of myself--the busy, present one and the always-in-a-fog one--overlap and somehow occur simultaneously. What I do know is that my heart still seems to break a little more every day without that girl here.<br />
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It's been a difficult, heart-wrenching nine months reaching the firsts without Paige here. The first Thanksgiving. The first Christmas. Mother's Day. Father's Day. As each one neared, our hearts seemed to get heavier and heavier. Paige always made special days even more special--it might have been through a unique or silly gift, a handmade card, or even a day of baking her favorite treats. Had it not been for Jeremy, I may have spent many of the firsts simply summoning the strength to get out of bed. Of course, that wouldn't have been fair to him--and it certainly would not have allowed God to keep doing the work He is doing in our lives. Each and every time we hit one of those terrible patches of the road, God gives us the strength we need to keep going. Every. Single. Time.<br />
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If you've followed our journey for any length of time, you know we are firm believers in the power of prayer and the sovereignty of Almighty God. If you are so led, please pray for our family as we continue to move forward one step at a time. Not a day goes by that one of us isn't experiencing some kind of struggle with losing Paige. As we head into this rough season, I cling to the hope of God's promises. I know He has a purpose for my time here, just as there was a purpose for the time He gave my sweet girl. Through the struggles and challenges of life, He is always good. He is always faithful. Always.<br />
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<i>Because of the Lord's great love we are not consumed, for His compassions never fail. They are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness. Lamentations 3:22-23</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-11353957160272277392017-06-23T21:11:00.002-07:002017-06-23T21:11:58.786-07:00Finding Our FootingTomorrow marks eight months since Paige took her final breaths on this earth and went to be with Jesus. Eight months since I held her hand and kissed her face. <u>Eight months</u> without a huge piece of my heart. I still can't fathom this new way of doing life around here. It doesn't make sense. It hurts like crazy--for our whole family. Much of the time it takes everything I have to just stay upright and (try to) keep moving forward.<br />
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I've long known the importance of taking things one day, one moment at a time--though it seems I was much better at it when Paige was here. She kept me on my toes with all her crazy reactions and issues, but at the same time she grounded me. When it gets really tough, I remind myself how truly blessed I was to have had that incredible young lady with me for 16 years. God had a purpose for her time here, and He has a purpose for mine--so I've got to keep going. I fully trust Him to guide each and every one of my steps. Make no mistake, though--this unimaginable journey has changed our family <u>forever</u>. It hasn't gotten easier, and I'm not sure it ever really will. It isn't anything we can just 'get over' or 'leave behind.' From what I can tell so far, Paige's absence is something we will learn to live <u>with</u> as we go on living. I miss my daughter, and I will miss her every single day until I see her again. It's unbelievably difficult to find my footing these days--but I'm working on it. We all are.<br />
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The grief process is unpredictable, to say the least. There will be a few mostly-good days, and then--WHAM. It hits me. Or Boyce. Or Jeremy. On any given day, at least one of us is really, <u>really</u> missing Paige, and the others do what we can to lift the spirits of or simply just support the one hurting. It's a rough road to travel. Some days we can walk it pretty steadily. Other days it feels like one stumbling block after another. Today has been a pretty good day, so I thought I'd share what the Lejeunes are up to as of late.<br />
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<b><i>Jeremy.</i></b> Where do I start? This young man is pretty incredible, to say the least. Despite dealing with the devastating loss of his sister (whom he <u>adored</u>, by the way), Jeremy not only kept his grades up--he ended the school year qualifying for National Junior Honor Society. The outpouring of love and support from teachers, friends, and his whole school in general helped him stay connected and focused on even the toughest of days.<br />
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Jeremy has also rediscovered how to have fun hanging out with friends. From short get-togethers to weekend sleepovers, it makes my heart happy to hear that boy laughing again. He has already spent one week at summer camp and has two more coming up. These opportunities give him a time for fellowship with new friends as well as a chance to grow in his relationship with Jesus.<br />
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The rocky road of grief hits Jeremy the hardest when he returns home after he's been with friends a few days. It's like a jolt back to our hard new reality as he once again adjusts to the fact he's now the only kiddo under our roof. Several times he has quietly spent a day or two in <u>very</u> close proximity to me, and that's okay. Whatever I can do to get him back on the road moving forward, I'll do. We have stressed to Jeremy we want him to have a happy life. That moving ahead doesn't mean we love his sister any less. It just means we are working to continue on the path God has laid out for us.<br />
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<i><b>Boyce.</b></i> This man is my rock here on Earth. He has said before how strong he thinks I am, but I don't think he realizes how incredibly strong <u>he</u> is. Talking me out of sudden, overwhelming panic attacks. Giving me a shoulder to cry (actually, <u>sob</u>) on. Being the main breadwinner and encouraging me in my part-time role at church. Continuing to work with Jeremy on his bowling skills. Teaching our son what a man does to take care of his family. These are but a few of the ways I've seen my husband demonstrate the strength God is giving him as we travel this road.<br />
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Does Boyce have bad days? Absolutely. The waves of grief hit him just as hard as they do me. Paige was his baby girl, and it's extremely difficult letting go of the hopes and dreams he once had for her. All kinds of things bring on those tough moments. It might be a show on television we all watched together. It could be a song on the radio that brings certain memories to mind. It could be a glance at her picture on the wall. It could be anything, and it could be nothing at all. No matter the trigger, it still hurts--yet he pushes through. For Jeremy. For me. For himself. Boyce knows God is with us in the midst of all this pain, so he does his part in moving our family forward the best way he knows how.<br />
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<b><i>Amy.</i></b> Then there's me. Some days I think I'm getting used to the terrain of this road. Other days, I come very close to tumbling down a rocky incline. I ache for Paige. I long for my girl. Her absence is deafening sometimes. Yes, she's healed. Yes, she's received the gift of eternal life. I am thankful for that. I rejoice in it. I know I will be reunited with her when Jesus calls me home. For the time being, it would be oh-so-amazing to get through an entire day without feeling like I've been punched in the gut.<br />
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Song lyrics really, really get me. A song about God's will had me crouched down on the floor. Another one mentioned holding the hand of a loved one as she was headed home--whew. Tears, tears, and more tears. Words are powerful enough, but set some of them to music and I'm just done. Nights haven't gotten easier for me either. I have to keep the television on with low sound. The combination of light and noise makes it harder for my mind to keep going back to the night Paige left. Grief doesn't go away when the sun goes down. If anything, it becomes more present.<br />
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Daytime is better. I get outside when I can and just take in the beauty of God's creation. I've also ventured back into the workforce--on a part-time basis, but it's a start. About five months ago, I began serving alongside the amazing ladies on the Pastoral Care team at our church. We pray together, laugh together, and even cry together. They are an incredible support system and have held my hand through many hard days. I have learned so much from them, and I can only hope they are able to learn something from me. I love these ladies dearly and am so thankful for each one of them.<br />
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<b><i>Remembering Paige. </i></b>Knowing Paige is still loved and remembered gets me through the toughest days. Her memory was honored at a benefit her school put on for other children fighting cancer. Her fighting spirit was celebrated by a friend as he completed a grueling run across Italy. Our sweet girl's inner and outer beauty was recognized by friends who had a star named after her. Our church held a blood drive honoring her memory that resulted in enough blood donations to help 90 people--what a blessing! A research grant in Paige's name will soon be a reality thanks to the fundraising efforts of a fellow cancer mom and her team. These things make my heart so incredibly happy and serve as a reminder that Paige is <u>still</u> making a difference. That <u>I</u> can make a difference and continue to shine her light. And I will. That you can count on.<br />
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If I've learned anything, it's that it's okay to stumble as I navigate this new road. The path may be rocky--but under that shaky top layer is a strong foundation. God is here to guide my steps, and His mercies are new every single day. I may stumble, but He will be there to pick me back up. He will never let go.<br />
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<i>So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand. Isaiah 41:10</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-63947867158249326992017-04-23T18:30:00.000-07:002017-04-23T18:30:13.090-07:00Heartbreak, Healing, and a Whole Lot of Hope<b><i>Warning: Real, raw emotion ahead. Proceed with caution (and maybe a tissue or two).</i></b><br />
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Tomorrow marks half a year since Paige left us to be with Jesus. Half a <u>year</u>. 6 months since I last held my baby girl's hand. 26 weeks since I kissed her forehead. 182 days since I stroked her head and prayed over her. 4,368 hours since I watched my daughter take her last breaths on this earth. The rest of the world goes on as usual, and I'm left trying to convince my mind and my heart that this isn't just a bad dream. That this really happened. I'm wrestling with feelings of heartbreak. I'm searching for healing. I'm holding on to every bit of hope I can find.<br />
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<b>Heartbreak.</b> That feeling of longing for my daughter is with me <u>every</u> <u>single</u> <u>day</u>. I find myself thinking about how Paige might have reacted to something one of us said--likely with her trademark eye roll. I can almost hear her in the back seat singing--often very silly--as she usually did on car rides. I sit in her 'spot' on the sofa and am transported back to the many times we were <u>right</u> <u>there</u>. <u>Together</u>. Joined at the hip, as she said so often. I long to see her driving her dream car. To see her getting ready for her last year of high school. I just long to see her--period.<br />
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There is an ache words can't fully explain. An ache only truly understood by those who have lost a child and found themselves in this place--a place no one wants to be. I wipe away tears as I look at pictures of my girl before cancer attacked her body not once, not twice--but <u>three</u> times. She was happy. She was healthy. She was <u>here</u>. I look at pictures of Paige over the course of her battles with leukemia and wipe away more tears. Long hair to no hair to amazing ringlets of curls.<br />
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A body fighting cancer and the excruciating toll its treatment and effects took on her. Still, she found joy. Still, she had faith. Still, she was <u>here</u>. This new leg of the journey without Paige is so very difficult. Trying to figure out how to move forward as three--when in our hearts there are still four--is hard to fathom. Still, we look for the joy just like Paige did. Still, we stand firm on faith just like she did. We so badly want that girl <u>here</u>--sass and all, but these days we are working to trust that God's purpose for her life was fulfilled in the 16 years He gave us with her. It's not easy to do, but we were never promised life would be without trouble. We <u>are</u>, however, promised peace in Jesus. In fact, He tells us in John 16:33, <i>"...in Me you may have peace. In the world you will have tribulation. But take heart; I have overcome the world."</i> Jesus said it. I believe it.<br />
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By no means do I fully comprehend any part of this new way of life. My world shattered into a million pieces when Paige left us, and I battle that brokenness on a daily basis. My heart is broken without that girl here. Our family is broken, always missing the one piece of amazingness that was Paige. We try to repair the cracks, but we will never be fully restored on this earth. In the meantime, we hold things together as best we can and look for anything that might resemble healing.<br />
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<b>Healing. </b>There are days that are mostly good. There are days that are most definitely <u>not</u> good. And that's okay. If I've learned anything along the way, it's that there is absolutely, positively, no set timeline for 'getting over' a loss like this. I had to tell <u>my</u> <u>daughter</u> I'd see her "in a little bit" and watched her cross over into Heaven. I carried that girl inside of me for nine months. She clasped my fingers as she took her first steps. Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine my baby would have to take on the childhood cancer monster. Not only did she take it on, she fought it with unmatched courage and determination. She fought to the finish. Moving forward--not moving on--after something like that is done not one day a time, not even an hour at a time. It is quite literally one <u>moment</u> at a time.<br />
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Unlike 'normal' illnesses that can be resolved with a prescription from the doctor, this type of healing calls for a different approach. A different recipe, if you will, that involves everyone. This type of healing requires prayer, grace, and patience. It relies on others reaching out--even if just to check in. It is the willingness to listen to stories about our sweet girl and an understanding that our lives are really and truly forever changed.<br />
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We talked with Paige many times about making sure good things would come out of her struggles. Boyce and I are committed to finding ways to keep our beautiful girl's light shining. We want to help make a difference. For her legacy. For the kiddos still fighting. For those yet to fight. I truly believe it will be an important part of the healing process for our family. Recently I was asked to speak at a golf tournament fundraiser for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society. It was my first planned speaking event since Paige left us, and I had spent the week before racking my brain for the right words. I may have been close to making myself crazy over the whole thing when I came to my senses and realized it wasn't my <u>brain</u> that needed to control the speaking--it was my <u>heart</u>. From there, everything fell into place. Not only did I talk about her cancer battles and the need to raise money for research, I was able to give the audience a glimpse at the fight, spirit, and sassiness that was my daughter. Without breaking down. Without worrying I'd leave something out. I spoke straight from my heart, and I hope everyone there that day left a little more inspired to make a difference. I know I did.<br />
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I cannot count the number of times Boyce and I have been told how strong we are. While that is a very sweet and appreciated sentiment, I can assure you we are <u>not</u> strong. <u>I</u> am not strong--not on my own, that's for certain. Any semblance of strength I have is a total God thing. <u>He</u> gives me strength when it feels like my knees are buckling and I can't take one more step down this path. <u>He</u> gives me peace when grief tries to spiral into overwhelming anxiety and chaos. <u>He</u> hears my prayers every night as I ask Him to heal my heart. It's a long road--but God isn't going anywhere. He's got this healing thing in His mighty hands. I just have to find a way to be patient with the process. <br />
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<b>A Whole Lot of Hope. </b>It seems only fitting I wrap this up with Romans 12:12, <i>"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer."</i> Hope is all around. It's in the promise of meeting my Savior someday. It's in the thought of being reunited with my sweet girl (and my Nanny and Papaw) in Heaven. It's in a beautiful sunrise or sunset. It's in my son's laugh or a hand squeeze from my husband. It's in continuing to seek out the joy in each and every day we are given on this earth. My friends, hope is very real because of <u>Jesus'</u> <u>saving</u> <u>grace</u>. For that, I am incredibly grateful.<br />
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<i>"We have this hope as an anchor for the soul, firm and secure..." Hebrews 6:19</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-64225685524737700542017-03-13T20:12:00.002-07:002017-03-13T20:20:49.736-07:00Retreat of Renewal - Reflections & ConnectionsPaige. Nick. Joseph. Stevie. June. Jonathan. Daniela. Seven courageous fighters. Seven lives that ended much too soon. Seven amazing sources of absolute inspiration.<br />
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The guys and I were recently invited to join six other families on a weekend retreat hosted by our TCH family. We traveled by bus to Burton, Texas, the home of Camp for All. Built for accessibility, the camp hosts children with special needs and challenging illnesses as well as retreats for families of those kiddos. It sits away from the "busy-ness" of the city and gives participants the chance to connect, reflect, and have some good old-fashioned <u>fun</u>.<br />
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<b><i>Reunions.</i></b> Spending the better part of three years in and out of the hospital resulted in some very special friendships. The retreat gave us a chance to spend time with a few of our favorite people:<br />
<ul>
<li>Paige's favorite Child Life Specialist, Alyssa. She was amazing with our sweet girl--through good times and bad. Those two hit it off from the very beginning, and their bond only got stronger over the years.</li>
<li>Jackson, our incredible social worker, will forever hold a very special place in our hearts. Not only did he help us in many, <u>many</u> ways over the course of Paige's journey, he was integral in planning and coordinating the ceremony for her honorary nursing degree. That day meant more to our family than he will ever know. </li>
<li>Pam and James, chaplains who served some of the TCH floors we called home, were a couple of our go-to people at the hospital to talk and pray with. </li>
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<b><i>Connections.</i></b> The seven families in attendance that weekend belong to a 'club' <u>nobody</u> wants to join. Ever. We are missing important pieces of our lives. Of our <u>hearts</u>. We are trying our best to navigate the choppy waters of grief without being taken under by waves crashing around us. We are different, yet we are the same in so many ways. Stories were shared. Bonds were formed. Hearts are trying to heal, even if it's just a little at a time. We truly <u>get</u> each other, and that means <u>everything</u>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkDuvOQ9HqQwMwXiEDsw63zQphuM9uxX9P1sS-JBfPMXpS7E5Csb8VY6u3v5EtnKyVwMhRa_LlJOAyCA-ofwouE9YWy-O7Nrw2G6bMw9-KByciY7Xd0CE_uacaQPnwSwaayxaDDljWtCP/s1600/Retreat_Outdoors2.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjPkDuvOQ9HqQwMwXiEDsw63zQphuM9uxX9P1sS-JBfPMXpS7E5Csb8VY6u3v5EtnKyVwMhRa_LlJOAyCA-ofwouE9YWy-O7Nrw2G6bMw9-KByciY7Xd0CE_uacaQPnwSwaayxaDDljWtCP/s200/Retreat_Outdoors2.jpg" width="158" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclO55hcrD0ddgnuj3YmrzitW3GYN8vkl1EO0RsNbR_w2Vq3YcICZJAkf1qrT3CnP1BlI91GzTxKyqH8S1dthErLy4XLLH-HRF4IbTVqBKOrtdGUS4sd6QGRbAsMH2hh2ZTvvXD2j7oFeF/s1600/Retreat_Outdoors.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjclO55hcrD0ddgnuj3YmrzitW3GYN8vkl1EO0RsNbR_w2Vq3YcICZJAkf1qrT3CnP1BlI91GzTxKyqH8S1dthErLy4XLLH-HRF4IbTVqBKOrtdGUS4sd6QGRbAsMH2hh2ZTvvXD2j7oFeF/s200/Retreat_Outdoors.jpg" width="200" /></a><b><i>The Great Outdoors.</i></b> The weather, a little on the chilly side at times, could not have been more beautiful. Not only did we do some fun team-building activities our first day there, we 'visited' with some barnyard animals. Jeremy was not big on petting any of them, but he did enjoy the face-to-face photo ops. He thoroughly enjoyed the horseback riding component of the afternoon--so much so that he managed to get a second ride in before we headed out. The second day started with fishing (using pieces of breakfast sausage, no less), and Jeremy was excited to catch a fish--though he was adamant he would not touch it. That kid cracks me up sometimes--a lot of the time, actually. While Boyce and Jeremy fished, I took a few moments to explore the area around a small chapel just across the pond and snap a few pictures. A scavenger hunt later that morning found us teaming up with our cabin-mates and new friends. Our two families, both pretty competitive in nature, worked together to complete the 2-hour hunt in just 30 minutes. Jeremy was familiar with the grounds since he previously attended the camp held there by the cancer center (patients could be accompanied by one sibling). He really enjoyed leading us to the different spots--"except for all the running!" His words brought a few good laughs, as he readily acknowledges he is not a fan of running. Beautiful weather, plenty of activities, new friends. That outdoor time did us <u>all</u> good.<br />
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<b><i>Facing Fears.</i></b> I am afraid of heights. As in deathly afraid. Hotel balconies freak me out. Looking down from the windows of our hospital rooms made my stomach do flip-flops. That said, I have never been a fan of thrill rides or other things that make me leave the ground. Jeremy is a bit like me in that respect. Paige, on the other hand, was my adventurous one. From amusement park rides to speed boats to rock walls, the girl was always ready to try something new. Something exciting. She somehow managed to talk me into a short zip line at church camp several years back. Paige and her friend had made their way down while I sat at the top of the tower, in tears and basically paralyzed with fear. My amazing girl took the megaphone from one of the sponsors and called up to me, "You can do this, Mom! I love you!" That was all I needed. She wanted me to do this <u>with her</u>. I said a quick prayer and took the leap. The hug I got from her afterward will stay with me forever.<br />
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A night zip was planned for the first evening of the retreat. Night zip. No lights other than those on the climbing wall and small glow lights on the zip lines. Boyce was one of the first ones up. It was his first time at camp, and he was ready to take on any challenge that was presented to him. Jeremy, however, volunteered to hold phones, wallets, and anything else that would keep him on the ground. I was the wild card. Would I, or wouldn't I? After much deliberation (maybe too much) and encouragement from Boyce and my new friends, I decided to head up the wall.<br />
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I was slow and deliberate with each step of my climb. Several times I found myself wanting to give up and head back down that wall, but each time I reminded myself how Paige fought for every single step she took. She <u>never</u> gave up. Ever. I <u>had</u> to get to the top of that tower. For myself. For my girl. Just like my previous zip experience, I was hesitant to step off--into complete darkness, no less. Then something happened. I thought about how much Paige would have loved that experience. How I want to do things she would have loved. So off that tower I went, planning to keep my eyes closed the whole time. I'm so glad I changed my mind. The night sky was simply stunning. Not only were several constellations visible, it was like we could see <u>galaxies</u>. Like somehow the Heavens opened up just enough that night to give us all a chance to be a little closer to our angels. It was beautiful, and it was so very worth it.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgqna-kQAty6inPZJwANtjU86AMv-QcrP0eyS3MBLWmys12TLdd-5xlDBdAffZ849GtM7fP2b_9yu4O4dqBEPqUCyhUu5SXV_iSMceWH_0rn43m0ZVkCJNBIcy1qs172V0yD_9f6k2ZLf/s1600/Retreat_Rocks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="104" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhpgqna-kQAty6inPZJwANtjU86AMv-QcrP0eyS3MBLWmys12TLdd-5xlDBdAffZ849GtM7fP2b_9yu4O4dqBEPqUCyhUu5SXV_iSMceWH_0rn43m0ZVkCJNBIcy1qs172V0yD_9f6k2ZLf/s320/Retreat_Rocks.jpg" width="320" /></a><b><i>Leaving Our Mark.</i></b> Families were given the task of designing rocks for a remembrance area on the grounds of the camp. We received two rocks--one to leave and one to take with us if we chose. I knew exactly what would be on one of the rocks but was unsure what to do with the other. It made me smile when Jeremy asked if he could design the second one. The one we would bring home. He seemed to have something in mind and went straight to work, creating a chevron design--Paige's favorite pattern--in colors she loved. He even included her verse. It turned out beautifully. Family members placed the rocks around a tree during a simple--but truly touching--ceremony.<br />
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<b><i>Tears of Remembrance</i>. </b>So Many. Tears. Breakout sessions where we faced the hard stuff. Walking the grounds of a place our daughter <u>loved</u>. Family and staff sharing stories about those seven incredible lives and how they inspired more people than we may ever know. A nighttime balloon release. A sweet song and video by the siblings. So. Much. Love.<br />
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<b><i>Strength. Faith. Courage. Hope.</i> </b>The seven sweet angels watching over us were the epitome of those words during their time on this earth. Strength of spirit when their bodies were weak. Faith in their God who is bigger than any illness they faced. Courage to take on the scariest of battles. Hope of better days to come. They taught us to cherish every moment. They taught us to <u>never give up</u>. As difficult as this journey is, we keep moving forward. Sharing stories. Continuing legacies. Shining lights so bright not even death can dim them.<br />
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Paige. Nick. Joseph. Stevie. June. Jonathan. Daniela. You are deeply loved. You remain in our hearts <u>forever</u>.techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-3029263823930193852017-02-18T21:47:00.003-08:002017-02-18T21:47:52.454-08:00Remembering the Joy, Holding on to Hope<i>Today I heard my daughter's voice for the first time in almost 4 months. To say it broke me a little just might be the understatement of the year. More on that in just a bit.</i><br />
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Joy. Hope. Faith. Paige personified all of these--and more. No matter what came her way, no matter what roadblock she faced, she did it with grace. With the hope of good things to come. With faith that God would never, <u>ever</u> leave her side. Not a day goes by I don't think of things she said (or might have said). What she would have thought about the various happenings in our lives. How she would react to the way the guys and I are tackling this new way of doing life.<br />
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Saturday mornings usually find us at the bowling center for Jeremy's youth league. This wasn't a typical Saturday, however. Today we found ourselves at the 21st Annual Remembrance Breakfast hosted by the Texas Children's Cancer and Hematology Centers. They were honoring the memories of patients who have passed away over the last 3 years. Not all families were present today, but every one of those precious children were recognized. For the record, there were over 200 names listed in the program. Yes, 200. For one cancer center. That is a <u>huge</u> sign things need to change, that funding for research needs to increase so more kiddos have a fighting chance--but that's another soapbox for another time.<br />
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Today was a day of sharing memories--heartbreakingly beautiful memories. Doctors, nurses, child life specialists, and other amazing TCH staff members joined families in a packed conference room to honor the incredible legacies left by some of the bravest children to ever set foot on this planet.<br />
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Our hosts worked to make the morning truly special for everyone involved. Beautiful music. A slideshow of smiling, <u>joyful</u> children and sweet thoughts about them--from the viewpoints of the wonderful people who served them at TCH. One of today's many tear-filled moments for me was reading those words that described Paige so very well. As tears rolled down my face, her oncologist took my hand and told me to never, ever think that our sweet girl wasn't dearly loved by all who knew her. That resulted in more tears, but I <u>know</u> those people loved my girl. Their words, their actions, their passion for what they do. All done in love for these kiddos.<br />
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At one point in the ceremony, families were given the opportunity to share a few words about their loved ones. There was no obligation to do so; it was simply an option to share if we felt led. As I appeared to be experiencing my first anxiety attack since Paige left us, I had no plans to speak today. And then my plans changed. As I listened to a mom telling about her little boy--how he loved Jesus, how he loved to say his favorite Bible verse--I felt a gentle nudge. When she played the audio of her little one reciting that verse, the nudge turned into a mighty shove. All of a sudden, I found myself at the front of the room sharing some of our sweet girl's story. Of how Paige lived out our family verse of Romans 12:12 from diagnosis to relapse to transplant to relapse again--and even in those final days. Of how our family is now doing our part in living out those words. Of how incredibly grateful we are for the love and care she received over the course of this journey.<br />
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The ceremony concluded with a compilation of the kids' work through Purple Songs Can Fly, a program offering those served by the Cancer and Hematology Centers the opportunity to write and record original songs. We listened to the sweet voices of little ones singing about butterflies or how food was their favorite thing in the world. We heard a guitar instrumental dedicated to a young patient's mother. We listened to a young man singing about his strong faith. Each of these stirred a variety of emotions for everyone in attendance. And then I heard it. I heard a voice I hadn't heard in almost 4 months. I heard my daughter's song, my daughter's voice:<br />
<i>"Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer. Romans 12:12.</i><br />
<i> He's the light on my darkest days; </i><br />
<i> no matter where I am I will always sing praise.</i><br />
<i> For He is my one and only way,</i><br />
<i> And from Him I will never stray."</i><br />
I made a quick dash for the lobby as tears turned to sobbing. Feeling like I was beginning to hyperventilate, I tried to get my breathing under control. So many thoughts and memories flooded my mind, it was hard to think straight. Thankfully, my incredible husband came to my rescue. Boyce had me focus on him, breathe with him, listen to him. This man talked me out of an almost debilitating panic attack by focusing my thoughts on <u>how</u> Paige sounded in that clip. She wasn't feeling sick. She didn't have any pain. It's as if somehow she knew some kind of change was on the horizon. It's as if she wanted us to know she would be okay. I know that I know <u>that I know</u> my baby girl is <u>more</u> than okay today. Paige is with Jesus--there is nothing more beautiful than that.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbsmS_5NcLev8xRS6FOkdfKAGRp0n4G5hG7JM5UY7wPSaMqmM97gQlZUIRWI-3xW1QsOi_UzzklU8DeHZac29kK0N3y-rxqxHmELx3qqdFvK2MH4MrOMEn0Ozd5tXEcULU92PxGCpc4kM4/s1600/Paige+revised.png" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgbsmS_5NcLev8xRS6FOkdfKAGRp0n4G5hG7JM5UY7wPSaMqmM97gQlZUIRWI-3xW1QsOi_UzzklU8DeHZac29kK0N3y-rxqxHmELx3qqdFvK2MH4MrOMEn0Ozd5tXEcULU92PxGCpc4kM4/s200/Paige+revised.png" style="cursor: move;" width="200" /></a>Like I said earlier, I often wonder what Paige would think about how we are handling this curveball life has thrown our family. I know how <u>she</u> would do it. I only hope we are doing it in a way that would make her proud. We will see you in a little bit, my love. Until then, we will find the joy in each day. We will hold on to the hope of God's promises. We <u>will</u> keep shining your light.</div>
techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-49895535502494312142017-01-29T22:09:00.005-08:002017-01-29T22:33:31.965-08:00Washed in the Water--FinallyBaptism. An act of obedience that symbolizes the burial and resurrection of Jesus. A public declaration of a believer's faith and and intended to be the next step taken after accepting Christ as Savior. I was baptized in junior high. My husband was baptized shortly after we were married. Our kiddos have grown up in church and asked Jesus into their hearts several years back--probably 6 or so years ago. At the time, they weren't ready to 'take the plunge,' so we waited. A short time later, God led us to what would become our new church home. Paige and Jeremy wanted to get more accustomed to things, so we waited. Then the bottom dropped out from under us, and we waited. And waited. And waited.<br />
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Paige's original leukemia diagnosis stopped us in our tracks. Everything was placed on hold--school, work, regular day-to-day stuff--<u>everything</u>. Baptism weekends would come and go, but Paige was never able to participate. Hospital stays. Suppressed immune system. PICC lines. These things were part of treatments meant to get her well, but they kept her from doing things she wanted to do. <br />
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Then came that second relapse. So many heavy conversations. So many tears. Paige was always very sure of God's presence. She knew He would not leave her. She knew the strength, fight, and courage she possessed came straight from her Heavenly Father. When the news came that her disease was progressing, when the choice to discontinue medications became clear, when going home for even a few days promised some time outside the hospital walls--Paige made it very clear she had one thing she wanted to do. She wanted to be baptized, and she wanted Jeremy to be part of it. <br />
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Our amazing church made it happen. Jeremy was able to experience baptism by immersion, which is what we'd planned for both kiddos. Paige has always done things her own special way--and this was no exception. Granted, we were given the task of figuring out the PICC line and leg braces, so it wasn't like our sweet girl just refused to get in the water. On top of that, she was feeling particularly wiped out that day. We put our heads together and came up with a plan that would be more than a sprinkle but less than total immersion. Paige described it as Pastor Tim scooping up water in his hands and letting it wash over her head with a big "woosh" sound. <br />
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That day will forever be one of my favorite days. My kiddos were baptized. Together. My heart was pretty full that day.<br />
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<i>One Lord, one faith, one baptism. Ephesians 4:5</i><br />
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* Here's a quick glimpse of that beautiful, special, amazingly wonderful day. 💖<br />
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<br />techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-74614674894766800202017-01-18T21:26:00.004-08:002017-01-18T21:37:41.257-08:00Sense-lessI am struggling. Every. Single. Day. Struggling to fight back the tears. Struggling to remember to breathe when an expected reminder of Paige knocks the wind out of me. Sometimes I can simply catch my breath and carry on about my day. Other times I feel overtaken by a tsunami of grief, and I just lose it. It's been almost three months since our sweet girl left us, and it seems the further out we get, the harder all of this is.<br />
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I am trying. Every. Single. Day. Trying to hang on to some semblance of 'normalcy'--whatever that is these days. Trying to wrap my head around the fact that Paige is no longer here. Trying to make sense of something that makes no sense to me at all.<br />
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No matter how hard I try, I know it's not mine to understand. I know Paige is in a place so much more amazing than this broken world. She is healed, and she is happy. My head knows this. My heart knows this. Yet it doesn't keep me from missing my girl. It doesn't protect me from this intense, heart-wrenching ache that feels like it will never go away.<br />
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Grief does some crazy things. It can make time fly. It can make it drag on and on. It can make you numb to your surroundings. It can heighten every sense you have. Let me tell you, every one of my senses misses that girl of mine. Every. Single. One. <br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrZGsTC9t2R58zjuvedT6m_goSFMmGJyb1WIVEUNagQde2kYSfN9bkT9X7XIqE9FKX49Xa6024briaHnsPpdrncDRXH8d64MLgWCFY3P-4XJoTucpyIOZMm5b0fD31LXpOLQxYT2SEBtz/s1600/Paige1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="133" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrZGsTC9t2R58zjuvedT6m_goSFMmGJyb1WIVEUNagQde2kYSfN9bkT9X7XIqE9FKX49Xa6024briaHnsPpdrncDRXH8d64MLgWCFY3P-4XJoTucpyIOZMm5b0fD31LXpOLQxYT2SEBtz/s200/Paige1.jpg" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgqrZGsTC9t2R58zjuvedT6m_goSFMmGJyb1WIVEUNagQde2kYSfN9bkT9X7XIqE9FKX49Xa6024briaHnsPpdrncDRXH8d64MLgWCFY3P-4XJoTucpyIOZMm5b0fD31LXpOLQxYT2SEBtz/s1600/Paige1.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"></span></a>Seeing her beautiful smile. Those light freckles dotting the bridge of her nose. The way she rolled her eyes at her brother--or her dad--or me. Her excitement about her car--or the latest Captain America or Thor movies. Seeing her here with me.<br />
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Hearing her voice. Singing at the top of her lungs to her 'jams.' Yelling at (or not-so-gently redirecting) Jeremy for a whole host of reasons. Laughing at her brother's silliness or her dad's jokes--never mine. Saying, "I love you." Hearing her here, talking with me.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQMZbOKymwrY9CMXflABYi1OWMXp3BlR6JjdUhnRLt5E6TMz_439CQYmVzyOBEwosvtpiNcsFEkra2qc69rVde6iUZprE9Ie726UXaiZmTEfJXWCgPJHeR0cPCIVLV2AzJPRW2V_OTJ6r/s1600/IMG_1485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="199" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQMZbOKymwrY9CMXflABYi1OWMXp3BlR6JjdUhnRLt5E6TMz_439CQYmVzyOBEwosvtpiNcsFEkra2qc69rVde6iUZprE9Ie726UXaiZmTEfJXWCgPJHeR0cPCIVLV2AzJPRW2V_OTJ6r/s200/IMG_1485.JPG" width="200" /></a><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjyQMZbOKymwrY9CMXflABYi1OWMXp3BlR6JjdUhnRLt5E6TMz_439CQYmVzyOBEwosvtpiNcsFEkra2qc69rVde6iUZprE9Ie726UXaiZmTEfJXWCgPJHeR0cPCIVLV2AzJPRW2V_OTJ6r/s1600/IMG_1485.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><span style="color: black;"></span></a>Touching those curly ringlets on her head. Locking her fingers with mine. Feeling her head on my shoulder. Having her here and hugging her so tightly I'd never want to let go.<br />
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Smelling her favorite shampoo. The scented stuffed animals in her room that gave off the slightest hint of vanilla.<br />
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Tasting foods we enjoyed together. Bread pudding from her favorite place ever. The chocolate chocolate chip pancakes she ate almost every day for four weeks--with whipped cream, of course.<br />
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I am struggling, but I am doing my best to press on through this unbelievable, almost unbearable season. My heart is broken, but I am determined to find the joy in each day. Paige was great about that--finding a reason to smile no matter the circumstance. I need to take a cue from my girl. I may not be able to reach out and hug her anymore, but she's here with me--and always will be.<br />
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<i>He heals the brokenhearted and binds up their wounds. Psalm 147:3</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-67988071795984386642017-01-10T21:28:00.004-08:002017-01-10T21:35:05.980-08:00Past, Present, and FutureWhile technology has played a significant role in my career as an educator, there was a time I was a pretty decent Language Arts teacher. I <u>loved</u> teaching writing, even with the state test looming on the horizon. Even with the resistance of struggling, hesitant writers. There's something about putting pen to paper (or fingers to keyboard) and telling a story, sharing a piece of your heart. <br />
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It seemed like many of my students struggled with verb tense--that whole past, present, and future thing. They would start writing about something that <u>had</u> happened and shift tenses midway through the essay. Sometimes it worked, but other times it simply muddled what could be a fantastic story. Today marks three years since Paige's original diagnosis. Three years. Cancer cut short a phenomenal life. Lately I'm struggling with verb tense myself. Past. Present. Future. What do these look like on this new road we are traveling?<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf59MDsM2rWglNSS4A1bOrvuMSOa5hffVsx4g9qlKKo6UHSnPu215WExZvNPog1rSf8kwq3pg2z19udw4U72BPiedxmEyEl9tXkoVafcqZOdq6_6XozS8uQpOM9tuhUQQIFB9o0ROf1YN1/s1600/IMG_8902.jpeg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgf59MDsM2rWglNSS4A1bOrvuMSOa5hffVsx4g9qlKKo6UHSnPu215WExZvNPog1rSf8kwq3pg2z19udw4U72BPiedxmEyEl9tXkoVafcqZOdq6_6XozS8uQpOM9tuhUQQIFB9o0ROf1YN1/s200/IMG_8902.jpeg" width="150" /></a><b><span style="color: #20124d;">Was.</span></b> It's a simple 3-letter word. We use it all the time to tell about events that have previously taken place. Things that have passed. Things in the past. <i>I <u>was</u> out of groceries, so I went to the store. He <u>was</u> the loudest kid in the class. </i>Never in a million years did I think I would be using that word to describe my daughter. As of October 24, 2016, everything about her story, her spunk--her amazing life in general--became linked to that word. <i>She <u>was</u> a beautiful soul with a strong faith in God. She <u>was</u> incredibly smart and determined to help kids in situations like hers. She <u>was</u> simply amazing.</i><br />
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<b><span style="color: #20124d;">Is. </span> </b>Another simple word used to talk about the present. Someone's current situation. <i>She </i><i><u>is</u> watching television. The moon <u>is</u> bright tonight. </i>My situation seems to change at the drop of a hat these days. <i>This momma's heart <u>is</u> broken. She knows her sweet girl <u>is</u> with her Savior, but she <u>is</u> struggling on this day.</i> Enough said.<br />
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<b><span style="color: #20124d;">Will.</span> </b>Of these 'simple' verbs, I think this one is the strongest. The most determined. It shares hopes and sets goals. It tells of things to come. <i>God <u>will</u> heal our hearts. We <u>will</u> continue to shine Paige's light and build her legacy. Our family <u>will</u> be reunited one day. </i>What a glorious moment that <u>will</u> be!<br />
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These seemingly simple verbs are stronger than they appear. I think I'm kind of the opposite in that I appear stronger than my heart feels--but that really doesn't matter in the grand scheme of things. What matters is I know God is my strength and my hope. He is guiding my steps, leading the way. I always try to write what is <u>on</u> my heart, but I'm so incredibly thankful God is <u>in</u> my heart. techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-15168703486999637542017-01-01T21:19:00.001-08:002017-01-01T21:28:05.096-08:00A New ChapterJanuary 1. The beginning of a new year. New hopes. New goals. It's also the beginning of a new chapter for our family. While many lament the end of the holiday season, for us it couldn't come fast enough. We forged ahead with a few traditions and flat-out skipped others. There was simply no escaping the pain felt by Paige's absence. No way to stay busy enough. No way to sidestep the fact that a huge piece of this momma's heart is missing.<br />
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That's not to say we are in 'sad mode' all day, every day. As we move forward, we try to work around those feelings of loss--make room for them, so to speak--rather than be consumed by them. It's a matter of finding some kind of balance in this new, off-kilter world of ours. <br />
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I know God is ultimately the author of our stories. Each and every one. He knows the beginning, the end, and everything in between. Jeremiah 29:11 reminds us of the plans He has for us. Plans that include hope and a future. Each day we are given breath, we become co-authors to a certain extent. The way we do life. The way we follow His lead. This is how the middle chapters of our stories are written.<br />
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2016 started out pretty great for our family. Then it got rough. Really rough. Like punch you in the gut, bring you to your knees rough. It's definitely time for a new chapter to begin. For hope--and maybe even a little joy--to find its way back into our family. Here's a look at how we're getting started:<br />
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* The room our sweet girl occupied for 15 years now belongs to her brother. Jeremy, also known as my giant man-child, has grown inches in a matter of weeks. Fresh paint, new furniture, and wall decor displaying his varied interests (bowling, Texans, Camaros, etc.) have transformed the room into a space Jeremy can now call his own. </div>
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* Boyce returns to work next week after an almost 6-month leave of absence. He has been with us from the moment we learned of Paige's relapse in July, and we wouldn't have had it any other way. It was important to have him here those last months we had with Paige and just as important to have some much-needed time together to begin the healing process. </div>
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* I begin a new adventure tomorrow morning. I was asked to return to my former school district for the remainder of the school year. It's a junior high position that will find me teaching robotics and technology education classes. After many conversations, a visit to the school, and a whole lot of prayer, I agreed to give it a go. I decided I'll never know if I'm ready to return to work unless I take a leap--so tomorrow morning around 7:30, this lady is leaping. Add on teaching a college class as an adjunct instructor, and I'm sure to stay busy. The crazy thing is, I have seen little hints of Paige in the way all of this came about. Could it be that my girl is gently nudging--really, kind of shoving--me out into the world again? It really just might. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fRa-DrOS5179gGyfer2phmDZKVKLIlCRf8D2674TznN4N4OhIGEKH4x9l5qZPhKD_ag3jqH2G6pOXBN1qy7A3FaAOVeJRVKkTDoCuwhnl84yD19jbMpnMN7puC8ZU5AsdEusZWHVfTWx/s1600/IMG_0330.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEi3fRa-DrOS5179gGyfer2phmDZKVKLIlCRf8D2674TznN4N4OhIGEKH4x9l5qZPhKD_ag3jqH2G6pOXBN1qy7A3FaAOVeJRVKkTDoCuwhnl84yD19jbMpnMN7puC8ZU5AsdEusZWHVfTWx/s200/IMG_0330.JPG" width="200" /></a>Our new chapter includes our sweet girl as well. Paige's time on Earth may have come to an end, but her story has not. There is still so much to tell, so much we have yet to share. What she faced over the course of <u>three</u> battles. What she was able to overcome. This new chapter will find us continuing to shine Paige's light, building on her legacy, and doing everything in our power to share the story of a girl whose faith could move mountains. I'd say the Lejeunes are ready and willing to learn how to shine in 2017.<br />
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<i>...let your light shine before others, so that they may see your good works and give glory to your Father who is in Heaven. Matthew 5:16</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-32169855974056616232016-12-10T21:19:00.003-08:002016-12-10T21:21:34.054-08:00December's Double Whammy<div>
December, aka "The Most Wonderful Time of the Year." Not for our family. Not this year. This month has taken on the feeling of a one-two punch. A double whammy. She should be here. Paige should be here. Healthy. Happy. Never having to take on cancer once, let alone two and three times. Don't get me wrong--I know she is healthy and happy now. I know she is going to have the most amazing Christmas in Heaven. I know I will see her again one day. Still...she should be here. </div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcs0CRr_8Ab44r_HeLjJTxKuR8_S4FjbamMVKskQpkd0kkesQgHdgfLaZHPuW_fscOo32e59l9mPfbvP-ADJy0Pkxuq4iEO2tcif1e61wkWUmREbUvVU_ectIuduCLj4DlUtsuPkmer03O/s1600/ChristmasCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgcs0CRr_8Ab44r_HeLjJTxKuR8_S4FjbamMVKskQpkd0kkesQgHdgfLaZHPuW_fscOo32e59l9mPfbvP-ADJy0Pkxuq4iEO2tcif1e61wkWUmREbUvVU_ectIuduCLj4DlUtsuPkmer03O/s200/ChristmasCollage.jpg" width="200" /></a><b>Whammy #1, "The Obvious One"</b><br />
She should be here. Paige should be here helping me bake holiday goodies and watching our favorite Christmas movies. Doing things we've come to know as traditions for the Lejeune Four. She should be making sure her accident-prone mom doesn't drop the candle at Christmas Eve candlelight services. Dragging me out of bed on Christmas morning. Eating pigs-in-a-blanket for breakfast. Opening gifts and then anxiously waiting for us to open gifts she picked out just for us. Going to Grandma's house for lunch and then laughing as Dad, Grandpa, and Uncle Craig doze off watching television. She should be here.</div>
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<b>Whammy #2, "The (Even More) Heartbreaking One"</b> </div>
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Paige was admitted to the Bone Marrow Unit on December 10th last year. One year ago today. It was the beginning of 9 days of "conditioning"--chemo, radiation, and more chemo--that would prepare her body for transplant. Transplant, where new 'baby marrow' cells would take up residence in Paige's bones. New cells that would work to build a brand new immune system. New cells that were supposed to <u>save her life</u>.</div>
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6UIJM3xrgJ7OvUri6r89zSGuG3on9JWaKcL2X2KhOG8NpQ9Ta2BI1g1jo7E4WkVX9D5pY6eAxC0qca9R2Gm6Mz9OeLtzc6ZMOvgXimE3hoUyQxVzGQ7yiNOiJumSQvtAcHeFlsoJUWmX/s1600/TransplantCollage.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjK6UIJM3xrgJ7OvUri6r89zSGuG3on9JWaKcL2X2KhOG8NpQ9Ta2BI1g1jo7E4WkVX9D5pY6eAxC0qca9R2Gm6Mz9OeLtzc6ZMOvgXimE3hoUyQxVzGQ7yiNOiJumSQvtAcHeFlsoJUWmX/s200/TransplantCollage.jpg" width="196" /></a></div>
For three months prior to that admission, Paige's body endured extremely hard cycles of chemotherapy. It beat her up like I'd never seen--but in true Paige form, she pushed through every struggle, every setback, confident she would come out okay on the other side of it all. December 18th was the day. Paige's new birthday, as it's called in the transplant world. She was so excited at the prospect of having 2 birthdays each year and had even thought about doing a silly cake smash for the 1st BMT birthday. That girl--always planning ahead. Always ready to move forward.</div>
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Being hospitalized during the holidays is not the ideal situation, but we were truly blessed by some wonderful individuals and organizations who wanted to give our family the best Christmas possible. As you can imagine, there were several occasions I had to ask Paige for a wish list. She was always reluctant to ask for much and told us more than one time, "I'm just happy to be here." The girl could have listed just about anything and everything, but she chose not to. She was simply thankful for hope. Thankful for another chance at a healthy life. Doesn't that say it all? She should be here.<br />
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Our sweet girl suffers no more. Forever healed, she is likely looking down at me thinking I need a swift kick in the pants for being sad. But I am sad. Some days I navigate the waters of grief pretty well, while other days find me struggling to get my head above water. I miss her terribly. My heart aches over what this world lost in that girl. Over what I lost in that girl. </div>
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How thankful I am for God's promise to be with us always. No matter what, He is here. He gives us the strength to keep putting one foot in front of the other. One step at a time, one day at a time. We will make it. He will make sure of it. God is good like that.</div>
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<i>The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit. </i><br />
<i>Psalm 34:18</i> </div>
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techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-76630456525871625152016-12-04T20:19:00.001-08:002016-12-04T20:19:13.180-08:00Hope for Healing Our Broken HeartsTomorrow marks six weeks since Paige went to be with Jesus. Six weeks since I held her hand in mine. Since I looked into those beautiful eyes. Six weeks since my heart shattered into a bazillion pieces.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnE86k0kM95UShArsSEh-N-CtTb24DPJMLOvZ640vz_fSM9lZwaOlK4I8SJhn4Df-mU7d5q6YK_4otlM669fWjun6Cgad6qM6xbctcU5hhv2eJaVwSJna9_IJi-sKkijPKEc63ptmJK9H/s1600/IMG_0894.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiRnE86k0kM95UShArsSEh-N-CtTb24DPJMLOvZ640vz_fSM9lZwaOlK4I8SJhn4Df-mU7d5q6YK_4otlM669fWjun6Cgad6qM6xbctcU5hhv2eJaVwSJna9_IJi-sKkijPKEc63ptmJK9H/s200/IMG_0894.jpg" width="149" /></a>While the holiday hustle and bustle is in full swing, it feels like our family is living in a separate world. A separate world that moves at a snail's pace. Even when we try to keep busy, time seems to drag. Working through the grief of losing my girl takes on a whole new level of hurt this time of year. Like many kiddos, Paige loved Christmastime. Decorating the tree. Baking yummy goodies. Checking out light displays. Watching our favorite Christmas movies. All of these things were special because of the time we spent <u>together</u>.<br />
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Paige will spend her first Christmas in Heaven fully healed and whole. I know we will be reunited one day, but <u>this</u> day finds my heart hurting. Broken. Truly shattered. Life goes on all around, while I'm slowly navigating each day feeling like Humpty Dumpty, wondering how I'm <u>ever</u> going to feel put back together again.<br />
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My brain tells me to keep moving forward, and I am--one day (sometimes one hour) at a time. I have to. For Boyce and Jeremy. For Paige. For myself. It's my heart I have to wrestle on a daily basis, and it's basically become a tug-of-war contest. Here's just a glimpse:<br />
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<b>I fall apart.</b> Getting ready to leave town--which in past years was not a big deal--for the first time as <u>3</u> instead of 4 proved to be quite taxing on the emotions. Boyce and Jeremy got their things together, and I was just fine. However, when I started laying out my own things, it hit me hard. I'm usually the last one to pack, but we were missing a piece of the puzzle. A beautiful, much-missed piece. <br />
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3k671e8co-oWvJ14ZdCaPyOxKNIVrsfU2SMR1lYu3ibg9shK6fh2ZeAoTvBzlRS77B2xhcVUfviwjVOMZcxbxmqbXzuMDORB-egfINbNojTGP9m3lnp-znASaWGavlnefHFhM_ERLpDR/s1600/IMG_0278.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="150" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhk3k671e8co-oWvJ14ZdCaPyOxKNIVrsfU2SMR1lYu3ibg9shK6fh2ZeAoTvBzlRS77B2xhcVUfviwjVOMZcxbxmqbXzuMDORB-egfINbNojTGP9m3lnp-znASaWGavlnefHFhM_ERLpDR/s200/IMG_0278.JPG" width="200" /></a><b>I'm (temporarily) back together.</b> After a good cry, I finished packing. We even managed to fit <u>everything</u> into one big suitcase, which was pretty impressive. Turns out I needed that trip more than I realized. We flew to Ohio to be part of an incredible event that honored our sweet girl. Her face was everywhere--banners, shirts, a live-streamed broadcast. We strengthened our bond with the incredible family that flew us up there. We explored a beautiful metropark with winding roads, amazing fall foliage, and altogether peaceful surroundings. It was definitely a weekend of healing.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsICcsIS5yDGlqydvZlFzdvdRA0PF58-ZCZZFdmI4BCYTqT7VFCoaXArCVqbOTSKE8ZEthcI_s0kVu_drUJMoU48APv8e5bTEp2TyyNLrvOX7Age_2ZrtkoAJiyVexixkiEIcgjGP9rpr-/s1600/IMG_0451.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsICcsIS5yDGlqydvZlFzdvdRA0PF58-ZCZZFdmI4BCYTqT7VFCoaXArCVqbOTSKE8ZEthcI_s0kVu_drUJMoU48APv8e5bTEp2TyyNLrvOX7Age_2ZrtkoAJiyVexixkiEIcgjGP9rpr-/s200/IMG_0451.JPG" width="200" /></a><b>I fall apart. </b> We're smack dab in the middle of the holiday season, and it's time to do a little Christmas decorating around the house--even if we aren't totally feeling it. Boyce and I try to do 'normal' things with Jeremy as much as we possibly can, so it was important to us to get through it. Going through bins of Christmas decor, I came across one containing decorations from our room on the Bone Marrow Unit last year. Decorations we kept because Paige wanted to use them again one day. Decorations that took my breath away and began the onslaught of tears. <br />
<b>I'm (temporarily) back together. </b>Just two days later, we returned to TCH to help spread Christmas cheer to the families calling the Bone Marrow Unit home this year. The Chandler's Tree Farm organization blessed us last year, and it truly did our hearts good to give back this year. What I thought might prove to be too difficult turned out to be more like a family reunion. We visited with several friends--from patients to doctors to nurses. It was yet another step in the healing process.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovE8-NbnKfHmeAFnJ8UdH-MW4C4rycW4bjYEX0Fh0V6Al87oJHQhnk7_VvxmXAo4XSCUfuZIGVWZcvM1HsDcrRJBD7CDvnKKkm5NRqEcHQSKBY9LWfYOdV-Dlce8Nlnw_VJPsZg320e8S/s1600/IMG_0465.JPG" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiovE8-NbnKfHmeAFnJ8UdH-MW4C4rycW4bjYEX0Fh0V6Al87oJHQhnk7_VvxmXAo4XSCUfuZIGVWZcvM1HsDcrRJBD7CDvnKKkm5NRqEcHQSKBY9LWfYOdV-Dlce8Nlnw_VJPsZg320e8S/s200/IMG_0465.JPG" width="150" /></a><b>I fall apart.</b> When Paige relapsed again in July, we happened to be inpatient when the TCH Marketing Department visited the Hematology/Oncology floor. They were looking to create some new materials for the Cancer Center and asked for permission to photograph our sweet girl. A few days ago I received a phone call asking if we were still good with them using Paige's pictures, to which I answered, "Absolutely!" Today I opened an envelope they sent that contained a CD and several of the printed photos. They were pictures of Paige I had never seen before. They were simply beautiful. And I wept. And wept. <br />
<b>I'm (temporarily) back together. </b> Not yet. But I will be. Paige will make sure of it.<br />
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Our family is hurting. I don't know that the hurt will ever fully go away, but I do believe it will sting a little less as time goes by. I'm so thankful for the goofy, amazing young man we are blessed to call our son--who definitely keeps Boyce and me from totally sinking some days. It's important we make sure he knows it's okay to keep going. He's only 13, and we want him to go on to have a happy life. Jeremy is already a great kid, but this whole experience will only serve to make him stronger in character and in faith. I can only hope it will do the same for us. techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com6tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-18090828532907839222016-11-18T16:02:00.003-08:002016-11-18T16:04:13.140-08:00My Guardian Angel<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;">
<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2IYxC0TgGnM6yRQn-4zp6uO9d-nyrivG0tg1K2UlDK9Q1nfljJefv5M8mQw8SIEAcbPjwmx5ChzvEfZq0rHB20T8iI0U7_ZgQPkWsorq5m0HA-0Ab7Eid3oH7V2QP98OEGTAr5qMVBUc/s1600/IMG_9238.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhh2IYxC0TgGnM6yRQn-4zp6uO9d-nyrivG0tg1K2UlDK9Q1nfljJefv5M8mQw8SIEAcbPjwmx5ChzvEfZq0rHB20T8iI0U7_ZgQPkWsorq5m0HA-0Ab7Eid3oH7V2QP98OEGTAr5qMVBUc/s200/IMG_9238.jpg" width="181" /></a></div>
I miss my girl. I miss her voice. Her laugh. Her smile. I miss running my hands through that beautiful curly hair. I miss watching our favorite shows together. I miss nagging her about water intake. I miss praying with her. I miss everything about her. Absolutely <u>everything</u>.<br />
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My sweet girl is no longer in pain. I know it. She is at peace. I believe it. She has eternal life with Jesus. God promised it. I trust His word even though I struggle to see the purpose in this particular plan. He will reveal it in His time.<br />
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For now, we deal with the "firsts." The first night home. The first trip out of town. The first holiday season. I struggle like crazy with those stinking "On This Day" reminders on social media. They're simply proof Paige was right; I sure did take a <u>ton</u> of pictures of that girl. Each time one pops up, it tugs--actually, it yanks with great force--at my heart. I take a moment to catch my breath and then take in every ounce of that beautiful smile.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpNVGMgyS-mGlAfLQVinYUiqw1LsLEM3cb-Jl5IvsSjwQgznzFPPpVYMnsCHoWs3xh0fc7F-zdc2lMrrdM-_QtqZ-RNsDZxplqaVxhkW4ZIOXYyja3UvizHJFnPKL3-DGB6PeYtIQdEUR/s1600/IMG_9437.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" height="141" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFpNVGMgyS-mGlAfLQVinYUiqw1LsLEM3cb-Jl5IvsSjwQgznzFPPpVYMnsCHoWs3xh0fc7F-zdc2lMrrdM-_QtqZ-RNsDZxplqaVxhkW4ZIOXYyja3UvizHJFnPKL3-DGB6PeYtIQdEUR/s200/IMG_9437.jpg" width="200" /></a>Grief--and working through it--puts you on a very long, very rough road. Losing a child doesn't just hurt. It is <u>devastating</u>. Elizabeth Stone likened having a child to forever having "your heart go walking around outside your body." There is such truth in that statement. I carried that precious baby for nine months--actually a bit longer--and knew everything about her routine during that time. Elbows in my ribs--all day, every day. Hiccups at 7 pm on the dot--every single night. She even "craved" Sonic slushes several days a week; of course, I obliged. I had to take care of my girl. Fast forward to cancer diagnosis. After diagnosis. After diagnosis. Medications, appointments--you name it, I was part of it. Wiping her tears, holding her hand, cheering her on, and just plain being in awe of that girl. Paige and I joked about being joined at the hip--and for almost three years, we truly were. We drove each other crazier than we ever thought we could, yet at the same time grew closer than we ever dreamed possible. Each day I'm trying to remind myself that she's still here with me, just in a different capacity. That heart that walked around outside my body is now watching over our family.<br />
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Kinda great having such a cool guardian angel.<br />
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<i>Behold, I send an angel before you to guard you on the way... Exodus 23:20</i>techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-11679893802457129552016-11-04T22:13:00.003-07:002016-11-04T22:13:25.503-07:00A New Chapter Begins...Our family began a new chapter this week. Yet to be titled, it's a work in progress as we try to navigate this new road, this uncharted territory that finds just three of us in a place where there once were four. Paige will always be with us, of course--on our minds and in our hearts. In pictures of that beautiful face with the unforgettable smile. In audio recordings of a beautiful voice at her silliest. In videos showing crazy dance moves. It's the whole "not being able to reach out and hug her" thing that's so stinking hard. <br />
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A little less than two weeks ago, Paige received her healing. Her peace. Her miracle. As badly as I wanted that healing here--as hard as we all prayed for just that--it simply wasn't part of God's purpose for her life. We will never know (on this side of Heaven) just how many lives our sweet girl touched in her 16 years. What I do know is that her light will continue to shine. Boyce, Jeremy, and I will make sure of that. We have some pretty big shoes to fill, but Team Paige will carry on with a purpose. <br />
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I'm not done writing about our family's journey of faith as we enter this new season of our lives. I am, however, altering the name of the blog--changing it from <i>Pray for Paige</i> to <i>Team Paige. </i> Seems like a good place to start. The blog address will stay the same for now, and older posts will still be accessible. Gotta keep sharing our girl's story. She deserves nothing less.<br />
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In the meantime, the boys and I will follow Paige's lead in living out Romans 12:12 - <i>Be joyful in hope, patient in affliction, faithful in prayer</i>. I do hope you'll join us.<br />
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techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com9tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-52703357938877860042016-11-04T19:34:00.003-07:002016-11-04T19:34:30.473-07:00See You in a Little Bit, Sweet Girl<i style="font-weight: bold;">October 24, 2016.</i> Heaven gained its newest angel as our sweet Paige went to be with Jesus. She finally received the healing and peace she'd been wanting and needing for so very long. I'm so very blessed to have spent 16 years with that amazing young lady. Brave. Strong. Determined. Selfless in prayer for others. Joy in the face of adversity. Steadfast in faith. I want to be like her when I grow up.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyzK_gqKSVVvXWxbSqGPNrHkXvgtss9lGmI9rpkwnrpaj4gEYVbtT-Q1fWfgB_mwpRKB6b_Uymwt8n3hPe7fdZ3ZR331TZDTd8molUwAIuVZE4CY_ZkvgssBrZPfom_8yD4tT4j-Qx29H/s1600/Sidekicks.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="400" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwyzK_gqKSVVvXWxbSqGPNrHkXvgtss9lGmI9rpkwnrpaj4gEYVbtT-Q1fWfgB_mwpRKB6b_Uymwt8n3hPe7fdZ3ZR331TZDTd8molUwAIuVZE4CY_ZkvgssBrZPfom_8yD4tT4j-Qx29H/s400/Sidekicks.jpg" width="400" /></a></div>
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I miss my sidekick something crazy. After all, we were joined at the hip for almost 3 years. Next to my husband, the girl was my best friend. I talked with her quite often about how something good--or lots of "something goods"--would come from her struggles. We will continue to share her story and make sure her light continues to shine. She deserves nothing less. <br />
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I'll see you in a little bit, my love.techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-669192080325411633.post-12699597518542972102016-09-05T11:48:00.000-07:002016-09-05T11:49:22.157-07:00The Struggle is Much Too Real<i>...suffering produces endurance, endurance produces character, and character produces hope... </i><i>Romans 5: 3-5</i><br />
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Our family is struggling. Struggling with feelings of helplessness as Paige is attacked yet again by the cancer monster. Struggling to find peace in the storm that is raging. Struggling, at times, just to remember to <u>breathe</u>.<br />
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<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHDIlQ09Q9ohJNKGpAs5oiNr9Hj8hOMuhm3vYj-pgBbhhjAn3_QxI04sdFD0gnUi1mQ_u35RYqYZq3J7mc_mY98MjjE2Hqdmy1953FpiXYXg3u4L_0DJf5-mBf6kGYNqeUaEfOQ5gHQZa/s1600/FullSizeRender.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhuHDIlQ09Q9ohJNKGpAs5oiNr9Hj8hOMuhm3vYj-pgBbhhjAn3_QxI04sdFD0gnUi1mQ_u35RYqYZq3J7mc_mY98MjjE2Hqdmy1953FpiXYXg3u4L_0DJf5-mBf6kGYNqeUaEfOQ5gHQZa/s200/FullSizeRender.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>
As parents, my husband and I struggle to harness our thoughts as we watch our daughter fight sickness and pain. To find the right words when there simply are none. To put aside (as much as possible) worries about finances and work. To focus on the here and now--and having our family of four together as much as possible, even if it's limited to the confines of a hospital room.<br />
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Our son struggles to find some kind of routine between school and hospital visits. To get used to being at Grandma's house more than his own--though he is <u>very</u> well taken care of there. He struggles with questions about Paige getting better and with answers we can't provide. <br />
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And then there's Paige. Her struggle is the biggest of all. Original diagnosis, relapse, and bone marrow transplant--all with bumps in the road. A second relapse--this time with what feels like a mountain to overcome. This girl has been through so very much, yet she continues to fight with everything she has. Her faith overwhelms me sometimes, but it's no surprise to Our Heavenly Father. He is here in the midst of the struggle, in the midst of the storm.<br />
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<i>Yes, my soul, find rest in God; my hope comes from Him. Truly He is my rock and my salvation; He is my fortress, I will not be shaken. Psalm 62: 5-6</i><br />
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techieamyhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09730917124529211953noreply@blogger.com4