Happy Birthday Grantleigh

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One year ago I walked down the hospital hallways holding the hand of my best friend. I felt a million feelings. Two in which were pain and fear. The others were pure excitement and happiness. I didn’t know what to expect. Was it going to be today? How hard was it going to be? Is she healthy? I felt more determination than I ever felt in my life. Determination to do a good job… Was that a thing? Can you do a ‘good job’ delivering a baby verses a ‘bad job’? That rush of thinking, “Oh my gosh… my life is about to change.” I couldn’t get too deep into thought over all this because 1 hour and 40 minutes later she was in my arms. I’d say I did a pretty good job.

Fast forward to today… One year later. My life is changed. I just can’t imagine life without our Grantleigh. My heart hurts that her Uncle Grant is missing from this lifetime of his niece; as I can’t believe we have no choice to continue life on Earth without him. I constantly imagine what he would have said in response to the imaginary text picture I sent him or that she points up to heaven in response to his name. Today I’m thinking of how much he has missed this past year and how much more he will in the upcoming years.

As I have been carefully planning Grantleigh’s “Alice in Wonderland” first birthday I fell upon a quote.
Alice: “How long is forever?”
White Rabbit: “Sometime, just one second.”
As most mothers say cherish every moment as they let down their head and say “it goes too fast”.

Today and always I will cherish the incredible daughter God placed in my arms. Life on Earth goes so fast, but is only a second compared to the eternity we spend in heaven. Happy first birthday to our incredible baby girl. We love you from heaven and back.

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Why I walk…

I attend a bible study at my church called Sojourn, which means a temporary stay – this group breathes life into me weekly, gets me thinking about life, pondering some of the questions life brings. I think it is much like my mom’s blog – the purpose is for others to know that they will not walk alone, that this life is our temporary home, and gives us hope in the future. We will stay here temporarily, waiting for our time to call heaven our eternal home. I was sitting in my church’s women’s bible study this week. The subject in our study this fall has been, “lies women believe” and this week’s subject was on hope. It made me start to think about this weekend and the Walk for Hope and why we do it.

A question was raised about hope… when was there a time you felt let down or that there was no more hope?… when was hope deferred in your life?…

Mine is pretty obvious in losing my brother… those were some of the darkest days a person could endure. Life felt like it was hopeless, meaningless, and tragic. That day and the months and years to follow hope felt very far away, still does some days.

Some days I feel like, “why do we walk?” Our hope has been lost because my brother is gone and then I start to think about how many people Teen Challenge has helped and how many families it has healed and will continue to heal with the help of others and with the power of prayers. I received a text last week from someone who wanted to donate to Teen Challenge in memory of my brother. When I thanked her she said that her brother was currently in the program. It broke my heart and then reaffirmed the reason we walk. I walk for a million reasons. Here are just a few…

I walk for the 14 year old boy and his mother who falls to her knees every day praying. I walk in celebration of those whose hope has been restored; for those who have walked out of this program a changed man or woman. I walk for the children whose daddy is finally home. I walk for the struggling war going on in the lives of those who are working on their hearts and trying each and every day to free themselves of addiction. I walk for those who feel there is no hope. I walk for the choir of Teen Challenge participants – for them to see how many people support them in their recovery. I walk for all of the brothers and sisters out there; all of the sons and daughters. I walk for my children and our future.

My kids talk about the Walk for Hope all year long. Come about spring time each year they continually ask me, “Mom, how long until the Walk for Hope?” My usual response is … we’ve got some time, six months away, two months away… til finally… THIS WEEKEND.” It’s become a family tradition that they know brings our family and friends together each fall! The bouncy houses, face paint, free food, prizes, foam alley, and the mention that “Elsa and Anna” might be there this year are some pretty good perks too…

If you feel compelled to walk with us we would love to see you on Sunday as a part of our team – and walk with a huge group of friends and family!

We would love for anyone to join us in memory of my brother and in support of all of those who are struggling with addiction. We currently have a team of 20 people! We are so excited for our kids to make this a personal experience, to honor those lives that have been lost, and restore hope. Adults are $15, kiddos are FREE.

Sunday, September 27th

11:00-1:00 – Registration, Kid’s Corner, DJ, entertainment and Picnic

1:00-2:30 5K Walk

2:30 Choir Concert/Testimonies/Prizes

Harriet Island Regional Park Pavilion

200 Dr. Justus Ohage Blvd

St. Paul, MN 55101

Here is a link to our team if you’d like to join us in the fun…


Password: grant01

walk for hope

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Writing things down in a tablet, my documents, or even some random scrap of paper is a way to express my racing thoughts and find some clarity to my scattered emotions. I’ve always jotted down my thoughts in some sort of way whether it be a to-do list, bucket list, or even writing down how mad I am about something before I say it. Sometimes it is my odd way I guess for thinking through what I’m suggesting or for-warning myself to bite my tongue before I’m forced to swallow words I may regret.

In this blog I may repeat myself some days, take two steps forward, and another a huge leap back… feel happy, moving forward…  just to find myself back at day one. And even on those days I feel like I am back in the rut I know I continue to move forward, looking at things more positively. That hasn’t happened without the love and support from my family and friends; they are the ones who have had patience with me on the bad days and celebrated with me on the good.

My life was blessed with Grant; for 23 earthly years. I am who I am today because of who he was. I’m a better person for the compassion, understanding, and empathy I now recognize more in me over the past 3 years than I did in the 47 years I lived before losing my boy.

I wish I could celebrate life with Grant. I wish I had my dance. I wish I could watch his children grow. I wish I could see all the dreams come true that I know he wished for himself. As deep as I grieve that these moments will never happen in my life they’ve become what I’m learning to recognize as the “important thing”… in the lives of my girls.

When tragically losing a loved one out of the natural order of death you change… no parent ever “gets over” or just “moves on” in the same way after the death of a child.  Saying “everything happens for a reason” is possibly the quickest way to get my blood boiling.  There is no reason good enough in all heaven and earth that my son is buried while my feet continue to walk this earth. I just miss him and no matter how well I know that I’ll see him again, no matter how deep my faith is in God, heaven and everlasting life the reality remains that on this side of eternity my boy will never be… I will never have my mother-son dance. There will never be a mini Grant to carry on the family name and as hard as it is for me to write and re-read these words it is my reality. However, as much as my heart aches that I’ve been robbed of his future I have to focus on finding room in my heart for the joy my three girls bring to my life.

Weeks back I was making dinner with my father; cooking for friends and family is a passion of his. I will forever be reminded of his insightful words that afternoon. I don’t remember how the conversation started but I do remember the gentle words he spoke that were intended for me to think about and remember. I told him that I felt a sort of jealousy that he may be with my boy before me. I spoke how I miss Grant so much, that still, some days I’m consumed with ache for him. My Dad looked up from the cutting board and said… Kimmy, Grant is happy. He has everything. He is in the most beautiful, peaceful place and he wouldn’t want you to be sad all the time… He doesn’t need you anymore. Grant is in paradise and you need to know that. Your girls, they are the ones that need you, your grandkids… they are the ones that will look to you for wisdom. This world is hard Kimmy and your family needs you. My father’s beautiful blue eyes spoke every word into mine… the words my father spoke that afternoon were a gift, they may be the greatest gift I can give back to myself every day.

A while back another grieving mother asked me “Kim, when does the pain begin to lessen?” At the time I didn’t know if I had that answer; I still believe for each person it’s in their own time. The greater the love the longer and deeper the hurt but my Dad words of wisdom gave me a sort of permission for the first time to let go of the regrets and learn to live my life as intended. Grant will forever own a piece of my heart but he’s okay, and he’s happy. I’ve learned that I need to learn to enjoy life again, that I’m still here on earth to serve a purpose.

I love you Grantie,


Gods faithful promise: “And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away” (Revelation 21:4)


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Where did the summer go? I feel like it was such a short time ago that I spent the week up at Grants Place and yet at the same time so many things have transpired over the past few months. Things I’m feeling very sad and sort of mystified about. Life sure gets me thinking. Life, death, living… I guess living is the “what we do between the two” and there’s not a lot of thought sometimes about how well we’re doing that. Tomorrow isn’t promised to any of us. I know that all too well. Losing Grant was devastating; unimaginable and left me completely empty.

I’ve thought a lot about whether I would or would not want to know my final days… would I love and live differently each day if I did? The fears of saying good bye would be heart wrenching and yet I wouldn’t want to leave earth without living or saying all the things I should have but maybe if I lived like I should I wouldn’t have regrets. I don’t remember my final words to Grant December 2nd but I will forever remember and hear his soft “I love you mom.”

I think when losing a loved one unexpectedly you become more in tune to today. By no means do I live each day as I should, but I’m more in tune and honest with myself about how I could improve, not only for myself but for others.

This has been on my mind day and night these past few months. My father is in stage 4 of the wicked cancer Mesothelioma. At first I think I just thought like I did with addiction: find the best doctors and fix it… and then the hard knock of reality hit me once again… I can’t fix it.  I couldn’t fix addiction and I can’t fix cancer, their days on earth, or my days on earth. I’m not in control of death. I’m only in control of living and how I live.

I’ve thought of the words and places I would have wanted to say and see if I had known I wouldn’t have had a life time on earth with Grant. While I will always wonder about the what- ifs in my past…. I can live and love better today.

I am blessed with the opportunity to have time with my dad, to say the things I want to say, to listen to the stories I want to remember, to laugh with the man that tells the funniest stories… a good man…

I’ve attended several funerals over the past few years after losing Grant. I’ve listened to the stories people share about the great person lost and I have always wondered if the thoughtful words they spoke were ever shared with that person before they were gone, that maybe, just maybe, really living today like it’s our last would be sharing your heart every day and lifting people up by our words and kindness.

Living, is telling my Dad because I have him today that “I love you Dad. You are the funniest guy I know. Your great stories, your honesty, your love of life will forever live in me. When I look into your eyes I still see my blue eyed boy. You’ve always wanted the best for me even when I’ve expected less. You have a gentle heart and the gift of wisdom. You make me laugh when I’m sad and redirect me when I’m mad. You’ve been by my side on the happiest of days and your arms were always open on my saddest. You are and will forever be an amazing man and father. I am blessed to have each and every day on earth with you. Today we are living… I love you Pops.”

grandpa princesses

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33 years

33 years ago… WOW! I hadn’t really thought about how many years until Steve posted happy anniversary on Facebook this morning. I knew it was our anniversary but until I read the number 33 it hadn’t even crossed my mind.

So while reflecting on that day July 17, 1982 this morning these words from the hands poem read silent in my thoughts. I have posted them before. I hear this poem at many weddings and since losing Grant I tear up every time. Since the day I married Steve these words remain the truest of vows throughout the years.

These are the hands that will hold you when fear or grief fills your mind.

These are the hands that will countless times wipe the tears from your eyes; tears of sorrow, and tears of joy.

These are the hands that will tenderly hold your children.

These are the hands that will help you to hold your family as one.”

Author Unknown

Today I celebrate the 33 years I have been blessed with my best friend. Today we celebrate all the years we’ve had; the good days and the bad, happy and the sad.

I have thought a lot about marriage today. Blessed for all the happy days, maybe even more blessed on the hardest. Sometimes a marriage isn’t strong enough to make it until the end of time, but that never changes or lessens the one common love between two people; the deepest kind of love which remains between two people married or not. The deep love I am talking about is the love of a child and the love for that person who was the other half of creating, raising, and loving that child. I believe there is no love more profound, never ending, or unconditional than the love two people share for their child. And there is no greater heart break in a marriage than losing a child.

Marriage is hard. Sure there is the feel-good, beautiful, happy moments that make it easy but the hard days, the rollercoaster of anger and heartache in a marriage when hurting deep can be very easily chewed up and spit out, can be just plain hard. It takes work and it takes cherishing even the hard days for it can create a bond that is never failing.

I am blessed this 33rd year being married to Steve…

These are the hands of your best friend, who loves you even more today than yesterday, even more tomorrow than today.

These are the hands that will together rebuild a future when life has shattered.

These are the hands that will hold you on the most tragic days of your life.

These are the hands that will hold your broken heart with the most tender care.

These are the hands that equally love your children and equally feel their pain.

There are the hands that would do anything to bring joy to your saddest of days.

These are the hands that will love and forgive you on your ugliest of days.

These are the hands that till the end of time… love you.

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Another birthday in Heaven… Celebrating the Birthday Boy

It was another birthday in heaven for Grant this week. I hope in some magical heavenly way he was watching us celebrate his life. I imagine him sitting on some unique puffy white cloud smiling down on us all at play celebrating him in our own fun kid-like adventurous way. I can see the cute smirk of sweetness on his face as we celebrate his life.
For me it was a bittersweet day…. it hurts and it’s hard to even get my finger to type the words I wanted to say. The many emotions leading up to this day are indescribable… I can only wish to say “my son is 27.” The words “he would be…”  breaks my heart.
The guest of honor wasn’t at this party to hug. His sweet grin was missing as we spent the weekend/week at Grant’s Place with friends and family, singing, birthday cake food fights, boating, and honoring his life by doing some of the things he loved to do. The “thanks guys” and “love ya’s” are merely silent whispers from our heart. I miss him are the only words I can think of as we celebrate this birthday…

12 34gp4 gp3  5gp76gp1 7gp2  gp6 gp5

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Grant’s Place

Never would I have thought that the process of building a patio would be the stepping stones to healing… but in a way it is… Grant’s Place is our healing. I could relate the process of laying blocks on a patio to the way we face a lot of challenges in life, and still only a few blocks have been put into place. I wanted to share some pictures as we work away over the summer. I think that if Grant were here to do the talking and sharing of these moments and memories he would show them off to all of those that he loved “so summer… bring on the patio.” J

If there were one last moment I could be granted in my life… it would be to see Grant’s face, hear his screaming excitement seeing what his family and friends built in his honor. I know he’s peeking through the golden gate checking it out… but I just wish I could see…. I know he is beaming from heaven so proud and humbled by the people who love him.

Even though I am learning to live a new normal, I’m not sure if grief will ever lessen enough to look it straight in the eye. No amount of time will bring my son back and as hard as I work on living again, a part of who I am may always feel “Completely Incomplete.” I don’t know if that’s the correct way to phrase it but words are hard to find when trying to sort and understand healing.

Coming to terms with the past 3 1/2 years has been hard. I don’t even know if that is the right word to describe the agony, many days I felt hurt by laughter and felt enormous guilt for feeling any sort of joy. For a long time I lived and managed to somehow function in a thick fog only few could recognize yet I wanted to bravely go forward.

It is days like last Monday photographing little Amari that I see a glimpse of purpose in the world. Moments of feeling grateful instead of thankless, reminding myself that being Grant’s mom didn’t end the day he died. I can still hear what he would add to a conversation, I’m still reminded of his embarrassment when I do my little jig. I can still feel his presence overcome me. Because he is forever “every bit a part of me.”  There are days I question if I love myself enough to find happiness, always reminding myself, I love Grant enough to search for it and embrace the precious moments when I feel it.

The process of each and every step comes in its own time. From the day Grant left this earth I took each day in baby steps, no huge leaps, I’ve processed it slow as hard as days would be, but still forward.

One might question the timing of returning to what I guess most would call life. I struggled with that for the first month after losing Grant. Each hour, each day, each week felt different. First week???  Nothing mattered and as much as I wanted to just quit life all together I loved my girls and Steve enough to somehow look for the light.

Going back to work was a huge part of my healing. I know for some that may not be the case or the support when returning to work for other may be less. I may not have recognized that at the time but I do now. I had something other than sadness to distract me. Was it hard?  Yes. It felt like torture some days. Many days I flooded my key board with tears. Something about my job when returning brought me back to a place that hurt me to the core, but every step is hard. I was lucky enough to have a door to close, my co-workers cared for me and allowed me to talk and cry, whatever it took to get through another day. As the months passed they supported me in ways they maybe never realized but for most they just listened and found patience in my healing process as I slowly learned how to walk hand in hand with happiness and sadness.

Grants Place was the beginning of my healing. Our family worked tirelessly to build Grants dream and the excitement of every step of the project has been my relief, my purpose, my mothering.

I know that in my heart Grant and I are still together. I feel his presence throughout every day…. By allowing Grants soul to live through me he is always present. He is right next to me, always by my side walking me through this journey. I am never alone…

I love you Grantie.



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Sunsets and Heaven

Three years ago I never would have thought that a simple sunset would be on display just for me; that a colorful pink, blue and purple sky would become my hello from heaven, a tiny glimpse of heaven peeking thru just for me. My end of the day “hey mom, I’m all good.”  I search for Grant any way I can… for some that may seem silly or ridiculous. If my son were missing on earth I would never stop searching. My boy is missing physically but I will never stop searching for his spirit. He is as present in my life as my every breath, unseen and unheard but very real. Grant is my good morning. He is my good night. He is my quiet conversations.

I now find a sort of peace in the beauty of our heaven and earth. Never before losing Grant did I think a bird chirping when I’d wake, a dime on the ground, or a cloud in the shape of an angel be his presence in my day. Call me silly or crazy but only those who have lost deep have faith that balloons somehow find their way to heaven or that loving words are heard when talking to the moon.

I write my thoughts and feeling as my own sort of healing but also  in hope that others on this journey weeks, months or years behind me may feel less alone, that different is a “normal” way to feel and that conversations with the dead becomes companionship. Some may believe that my or similar behavior is a cry for therapy. I call it coping, a sort of way to manage a bit of the suffering.  Before losing Grant I knew it was normal to grieve in the way of tears but never did I completely know or understand the depths of sadness… describing that would be a long chapter of its own that most would chose not to read.

This last week my heart has ached for a family and an entire community that is grieving the loss of an amazing young man.  I’ve thought a lot about how family and friends were my strength in my darkest of days. I physically hurt knowing the agony this journey will bring them through.

When I heard the news on social networking I walked out of my office I think in a daze. I wasn’t grieving my loss in those moments. My heart was deeply pained for another family, a family I don’t really know yet still saddened by the tragic heart breaking news.

So many people in this same community reached out to me after losing Grant. There is something about growing up in a rural community that remains with you a life time; a place that no matter where you may go in life you still call home…. where trusting your neighbor, lending a hand whether in the fields at harvest or wiping the tears from a friend’s face comes natural. My roots grew deep in this community and because of that I am incredibly saddened for each and every one of them as they say good bye to such a loved young man. I pray for the strength of each and every one of them as they continue on this earth without their boy. May the love of this community carry them on their weakest of days.



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March 18th, 2015 –

My alarm did its daily 5:15 jingle. Most days I turn it off and just lay there for a few minute gathering my to-do thoughts for the day ahead of me. But this morning was different. I half knew I was dreaming but my dreaming thoughts lead me to think it was reality. And then I woke up to realizing it was just a dream. I don’t often dream of Grant and when I do it seems that in many of my dreams we are still fighting addiction and my thoughts are often that this a message that if he were still here this would still be an ongoing battle that Grant himself feared living with. For those whom have lost a loved one I know you know what a pleasure it is to dream of them. But I think for those who have lost deep and by that I mean a great love waking up can be more like grieving… because when it’s a good dream for a short time you felt the sort of physical presents you have so desperately been longing for… and you wake up to the loss all over again. You are left empty armed from an embrace that took you away for a short while. It’s bitter-sweet. It’s amazing to be in his presence, even if it is only a dream, but saddened when reality is back in our midst.

After my alarm went off this morning I must have drifted off into my Grant dream. In my dream I was told he was coming home. I was so confused but I was told there was a reason for him leaving earth for a while and it was hard to explain why he was back. I saw him in what felt like real life. He smiled and said he would meet me at home. I felt like the men around him were like his guards {like most dreams after waking – things don’t make sense.} I remember Grant getting into the back seat and leaving in a big white car; kind of like a station wagon, new and unlike any car I’d ever seen with 3 of the men. The car was going much faster than I could and at that moment in my dream I remembering thinking/knowing/questioning if this was just a dream. The house that I recognized as mine was not familiar to me when I woke up. But in the dream it was my house, from a distance I could see that white car in my driveway. I was screaming “Oh my God it’s not a dream. He’s home. He’s home.” I ran into the house where Grant sat with a smile. I remember five of his friends standing in shock in the room. I remember Grant saying in the voice I recognized as my baby boys “I wrote you all a letter asking you to meet me here and I’d explain why I’ve been gone…” And then I woke up. I laid there for a few minutes… much like I do every morning… reminding myself Grants gone. As I look at his photos on my dresser and embrace my reality… this morning… my heart hurt.


Last week Sarah called me so excited because she had her first Grant dream or sighting as I’d like to call it. She told me her story and I asked that she write it down so I could always have the memory. When you lose someone it’s hard to accept the fact that there will be no more memories made so for me… even if it’s only a dream it is a present moment I have spent with him. Her dream went something like this:

Chelsey and I were walking around downtown. I think it was a normal day, just like any other, but all of a sudden she grabbed my arm. She said with an excited voice “there is a guy on the bus that looks just like Grant!” We quickly caught a ride on a city bus where the seats faced the center of the bus. We were in the middle looking at a man who was looking down, as if he were reading a book. On a side note, there are many times in real life we see someone, whether it be across the worship area at church or driving down the road, who has an “if you squint your eyes tight” similarity to Grant’s appearance that can almost let us imagine we are in the same place. We know it’s not real but if just for a second we are able to feel his presence and pretend he is still here it gives our heart a little piece of happy, even if for just a second. In my dream we were trying not to stare this image of our bus boy was so real to us that we just wanted to suck up the moment before he moved and we realized we had just paid a bus fare for something that wasn’t reality. I can just close my eyes and see how vivid and real this dream was. As I sat there staring in my dream he picked up his head and looked in our direction and with the biggest smirk on his face he said “hi girls!” And it was him! It was him, my dreaming eyes were shocked! The rest of my dream has no detail of exacts but consisted of us talking and hugging and laughing as we drove around on this city bus. I was on cloud 9… and then my alarm went off. I even snoozed the alarm, knowing well I’d be late and scramming to get ready later, thinking I could go right back to where we were. It was amazing. It’s really incredible how a dream can let you truly forget the reality. How unimaginable things can happen and you have no sense of impossible.


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The Puzzle

Last week I looked forward to spending the weekend at Grants Place. Steve and I had a list of to-do’s… yet it’s the simple things like looking out the window at a beautiful sky or watching and wondering why birds fly the way they fly that make my days so serene … listening to the sound of nothing but the breeze. Yes, even the mysterious noise of nothing is part of my wondering… about life, death… weird things like wishing I understood the sound or the wind. Wishing it was his voice…. a noisy kind of silent I never hear in the city.

Being at Grants Place I find peace, quiet, and the time to process the reality of him being gone from this earth. I know it is the place of serenity Grant wanted Steve and I to have. It’s time we can reminisce about our boy, where we can cry together, and a place where we can, if only for a short time, shut the world off and just feel and grieve our boy together. Losing Grant is a heart ache that Steve and I equally share; he understands and has patience for my ugly days and helps me embrace and find joy in the happy days. I know Grant wants me to appreciate simple things like laughing at funny things that the kids say. Annie asked me last week “Nana, why do you like Owls?” For a second I felt teary answering her unknowing question. I replied “because they make me think of Grant.” She instantly made me giggle by responding “I just look at his picture.” I’m still giggling at the innocence yet real answer to her question. Annie made me laugh. A five year old can still make me laugh. Grant never laughed harder or repeated things more with his gut rolling laugh than the words of his nieces and nephews.

This past weekend I brought along a puzzle that I received from a friend this past holiday, an adorable owl picture in 500 pieces that I thought would be an easy task, until I opened the box. As I poured all the pieces onto the table I just sat there for a few minutes and thought this looks like my life 3 years ago. But not 500 pieces…more like a million. I could look over at the puzzle box and view the picture much like the one on the wall. I could see a picture but as I pulled all the pieces that resembled the frame of the puzzle square my thoughts were this: there cannot be enough shapes to frame and complete this shattered photo. It is strange moments like this that I can relate to grief and healing.

I think it’s normal and understandable to feel this way. For some, a few pieces a day will find their place to finally complete the beautiful image. Maybe for others, several pieces put in place one day and I suppose there are days we just swipe the whole thing off the table because the thought of life not ever being as we hoped for seems impossible. Putting the picture of life back together without Grant feels wrong or disrespectful; never wanting to finish because the complete photo of my life will never be the same. I sat there thinking if I were to compare my grieving and healing to this puzzle I don’t know if there would ever be that last puzzle shape in place… it’s that piece of my life that will always be missing from complete wholeness. At that very moment I felt “what do I think Grant was say?” Suddenly I knew the answer he’d give me “Complete wholeness is Heaven…”

Grant Loved Me… I know how much he still loves me…. I continue to take baby steps to a place in my grieving were I’m learning to unselfishly miss my boy… maybe an odd choice of words??? But for the past three years I’ve been on mood swings of honestly – angry horrible selfish thoughts at times.

I’m not being honest about this for just any given reader. If you’re shoving your chair back thinking “wow what a bitchy griever” then this probably isn’t for you. I’m saying it for those in the deepest trenches of grief, sorrow and sadness. Losing a child is the worst pain, the scariest place to be… it feels hopeless most days. But as time has passed I want to find joy in Grant’s life. I don’t want to be bitter for the future, success, happiness, love, families other’s will have that I dreamed of for my son. Grant wouldn’t want that. Healing is hard, finding peace is hard, accepting is hard. Loving my son for the amazing person he was on earth matters more to me than consuming myself with anger for dying. I made it to a place in my grieving I can hear him, and as hard as it is to listen, I hear him.

“Mom, Be happy.
Mom, I never left you.
Mom, Don’t think like that.
Mom, Let it Be.”

I love you Grantie

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