Today  would have been my Mom's 73rd birthday. 

Despite the fact that this is the last week of school and I have three girls, I would have spent most of the day with my Mom. Regardless of the exam stress, end-of-year events, shopping I needed to do for teacher thank--yous that result from having three girls between the ages of 8-16, I would have spent most of the day with my Mom on her birthday!

Because birthdays are special. 

My Mom worked almost every day of her life from the time she was 16. But, as far as I remember, she always took her birthday off to celebrate. And I learned to plan to take her birthday as a vacation day too so we could do something she planned for us together. 

Mom made my birthdays special. From the red velvet cakes she brought to Duke every year to the yearly lunches she planned for me and my family, birthdays were made to be celebrated.

Most of this learned behavior, this tradition, has been passed down. In the Whitlock house, we celebrate birthdays with decorated kitchens and birthday cake for breakfast. But, we've learned that birthdays aren't just about the day, it's about the celebration. And often, we celebrate for days - even weeks or a whole month if it's a milestone.

I miss my Mom. I wish I would have done more than save a vacation day for her birthday. I know my Mom wanted more from me. I know I didn't 'give her what she wanted from me. And that is the hard, hard truth as a Motherless Mama. I think that we all carry the burden of guilt that we didn't give our Mamas enough of us when they were alive. At least I know I didn't. Birthdays weren't enough. 


XOXO,

​April

This past Friday marked the first anniversary of my Mother's passing. It's surreal in so many ways - time truly does fly. But, this past year has been full of teachable moments for my children and myself. So, in honor of my Mom, I'm sharing my Top 5 Things I've Learned In A Year Without My Mom.

8/24/15 - #5 - Grief is A Sneaky Son-of-a-B%$@#

8/25/15 - #4 - Stuff is Just Stuff Until It Is A Memory

8/26/15 #3 - I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends and Family

8/27/15 #2 - Without Faith you Fail, Fall Flat, Fizzle, Flop & Flounder

#1 - My Mom Never Left Me

Friday, August 28th, was my Mother's 1 Year Anniversary in Heaven. 

I fully intended to complete my "top 5 things I've learned since my mom died" blog series on the anniversary of her death. But, as my friend Meredith said earlier in the week, sometimes life gets in the way. I did post this on Instagram and Facebook! It kind of says it all - Friday was a yellow day! 

To put that post above in perspective: 1) Cailin hates wearing ANYTHING BUT DRESSES to school (and willing wore a t-shirt and shorts because it was yellow and really picked that Minnie on her own) 2) Thomas NEVER buys flowers and 3) I have the best friends on the planet (and yes the "yellow bottle of wine" is empty).


For those of you new to my story, #yellowpixiedust is the way that I choose to remember my Mom who lost a valiant fight with ovarian cancer in 2014. My Mom had a faith like no other that touched so many people, but she never understood the impact of her life. Before she died, I told her that I wanted God to give her the ability to look down from heaven and see "yellow pixie dust" over all of the lives she has impacted. How her perfectly timed greeting cards covered in scripture or Sunday School lessons or just her daily living inspired others and then they "pay it forward" and Mom's impact went on and on. So, since the day of her funeral when I asked everyone to wear yellow, until today, my mom shows up in my life in a flurry of yellow pixie dust.

This. This is the most important thing from the last year. That my Mom really didn't leave me. Sure, I cannot hug her or see her. She cannot make me my red velvet birthday cake on Tuesday. I'll never get another card or magazine-article-stuffed envelope from her covered in scripture. But my Mom never left me. In fact, sometimes I wonder if we are closer now than when she lived and breathed. 

It's so, so, so many things. It was the flocks of robins that showed up too early this winter. It was the yellow flower "weeds" that were everywhere on our walks to school. And it was the yellow butterflies. The hundreds and hundreds of yellow butterflies that were never there before. The ones that showed up at the beach, the ones outside of my sister-in-law's window that just hung out and then came back to wish Andrew "Happy Birthday". The ones that show up at Tamira's house, that cross my path every single day and that showed up for all of Mama's friends on Friday. 

Thomas thought  was crazy when I kept talking about the robins (Robins come every year, April) and yellow butterflies. But, when we landed in Orlando for vacation this summer and made our way to the pool at our Disney World Resort, what met us at our table when we were lathering the girls with sunscreen? A beautiful, perfectly 100% yellow butterfly. She flew around all of us in perfectly integral circles. Even my "doubting Thomas" said "Okay - that was weird." #yellowpixiedust

So on Friday my day started with this:

And ended with this (hint - Camden sang this at Mom's funeral and it is our anthem):

With all the other #yellowpixiedust in between. I totally overscheduled myself on Friday and then canceled it all (thank you to everyone who understood why). While working out at the Y, I watched another episode of Parenthood (how did Thomas and I not watch this in real time - OMG love this show). Does it shock ANYONE that the episode I was on this Friday from Season 2 was about the dead bird and Joel's mom in heaven???? 

These coincidences supported two things my friends had told me.

1) The hardest thing is the first year. Once you get through that, then you can figure out what your future is like without your mom. (Love you Colleen).

2) My Mom just wanted me to know that she's had a pretty great year. Heaven rocks!! (Thanks Lynn!)

So, it's time to move on. Time to stop marking the days by "lasts" and "firsts". Time to figure out what life is like in the second year on the planet without my mom. Time to stop writing about #yellowpixiedust and time to start spreading it

www.yellowpixiedust.com
www.facebook.com/spreadyellowpixiedust

Tomorrow marks the first anniversary of my Mother's passing. It's surreal in so many ways - time truly does fly. But, this past year has been full of teachable moments for my children and myself. So, in honor of my Mom, I'm sharing my Top 5 Things I've Learned In A Year Without My Mom.

8/24/15 - #5 - Grief is A Sneaky Son-of-a-B%$@#

8/25/15 - #4 - Stuff is Just Stuff Until It Is A Memory

8/26/15 #3 - I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends and Family

#2 - Without Faith you Fail, Fall Flat, Fizzle, Flop & Flounder


My Mom had faith in God like no one I've ever known. Her passion for Jesus was breathtaking and left others in awe - especially during her cancer battle. I had friends from far and wide send me messages that her Caringbridge updates became their devotions. Mama didn't like what was happening, but she knew where she was heading and she was ready to go home.

It's true that you don't realize how important something is until it is gone. My Mom loved to send cards. She sent them to everyone for any event. What made them special was that they were always covered in scripture. There were usually at least two Bible verses inside of the card and one written on the outside of the envelope. I miss those cards. I miss the random envelopes that would come to my mailbox stuffed with copies of a newspaper or magazine article she wanted me to read, or BoxTops she saved for the girls school or a brochure of a play that was coming soon to Davidson Community Players or The Old Courthouse Theater that she wanted me to put on my calendar. Those random envelopes always had versus of God's word written on the outside. Usually some of the same ones - Jeremiah 29:11, Proverbs 3:5-6, Philippians 4:13. I would pay a king's ransom to have one of those show in my mailbox right now. Heck, I would pay a double king's ransom if I would have just saved one envelope.

Don't get me wrong. As I've written before, my Mom and I didn't see eye to eye on religion, faith and the Bible. I participated in a Bible Study at Dilworth Church this spring on Hope and the Book of Jeremiah. My fellow participants got an earful about our faith differences. There were many, many times when she was alive that those scripture-filled envelopes really pissed me off because they contained an article on a topic where we vehemently disagreed. I've actually had multiple daydreams wondering what it will be like when I get to Heaven - who will get to say "I told you so??" 

But, the faith I have found this year. My faith. It has saved me a 1,000,000 times over. There is no other reason to explain how in those darkest days last winter that I actually got up out of bed and put one foot in front of the other. I did it because I knew that something bigger and better than me knew the plans for me and didn't want to harm me. Because I believed in my core that I could get through ANYTHING with Christ's strength. It's not my Mom's faith. It's heavily influenced by her  - I kept so many of her devotion books and I read her copy of "Jesus Calling" every morning - but if she were here we would still disagree about A LOT. This is my faith. This is my version of #yellowpixiedust. Her influence, my life. 

Conversations about faith can be funny. I get so upset when I read Facebook posts and other social media. Christians can be pretty darn mean to each other. I totally get it why there is a huge number of people out there who just don't have faith because they see all the Christians fighting and judging with each other. So I'll just say this. MY faith saved me. MY believe that God's got a plan for my life saved me. MY belief that Jesus forgives and accepts EVERYONE regardless of their lifestyle or preferences or sins. MY faith believes that only God can judge, we don't get a say. That's my faith. It maybe different than yours, but please don't judge. Just let Jesus and all the #yellowpixiedust keep guiding me along.

PS - Mama's Special Bible Versus from Her Funeral Service

So, just like thank you cards for all the flowers and donations (she will never, ever forgive me but those just DID NOT HAPPEN), I am remiss in posting the list of "special versus" my Mom requested to be read at her service. This is totally Betty. She picked one particular staff member at Epworth and told her that when she died, this person was to read these versus at her service. Not one or two of them - ALL OF THEM. And, as was quoted in Mama's service, they were to be read in the New King James Version, not in that hippy The Message version (that her daughter really loves).

So many of you asked for that list of scripture because it was not printed in the program. Because NO ONE knew that it was coming :-)!!

So, almost a year later, I'm sorry, but here it is:

Deuteronomy 4:39 + 6:4-5
Proverbs 3:5-6
Psalm 91:1-2
Psalm 103:1-5
Psalm 119:57-60; 89-95; 105; 159-168
Psalm 139:13-18
Micah 6:8
Matthew 22:37-40
John 11; 25-26
John 14:1-4
Philippians 4:13

Friday marks the first anniversary of my Mother's passing. It's surreal in so many ways - time truly does fly. But, this past year has been full of teachable moments for my children and myself. So, in honor of my Mom, I'm sharing my Top 5 Things I've Learned In A Year Without My Mom.

8/24/15 - #5 - Grief is A Sneaky Son-of-a-B%$@#

8/25/15 - #4 - Stuff is Just Stuff Until It Is A Memory

#3 - I Get By With A Little Help From My Friends and Family

I owe my sanity to my friends and family. These people, my village, have surrounded me with love and support from the day my Mom was diagnosed through her battle and her death until right now this minute (thank you for the perfectly timed card, Connie Cagle). My friends and family are a ginormous part of the reason that I'm standing upright today.

To all of you THANK YOU! Thank you for all of it - the cards, texts, Facebook messages, phone calls, gifts, flowers, food, hugs, tears, laughter, concern - everything. Thank you for propping me up and taking care of my kids and packing boxes and checking-in and letting me cry and making me laugh. To my neighbors and my Circle and my school Moms and my besties and my church congregation and my professional peers - thank you, thank you, thank you for making me feel loved and supported, and showing me grace after losing my most enthusiastic cheerleader.

But there is another set of friends who have become truly like family that have been a saving grace. And they have saved me by their gace. These people are ones who I can talk to from a place of experience resulting in a deeper understanding of what the last year has been like. And most of these are newly acquired friends. 

There's the amazing mama who is fighting her own battle with ovarian cancer and inspires me with her strength, courage and faith. There are all of the others who have lost a parent somewhere along the way. And there are my "soul sisters" who are card carrying members in this crappy sorority of women who have lost their moms. These people get me - my moods, my tears, my "I'm fines", my anger, my joy, my happiness, my moving on, my standing still - because it is a reflection of their own experience.

Grief should never be handled alone. And really, neither should life. We all need each other to show love and kindness and compassion and patience. I've learned this year that I cannot do it alone and I am grateful that I didn't.

Friday marks the first anniversary of my Mother's passing. It's surreal in so many ways - time truly does fly. But, this past year has been full of teachable moments for my children and myself. So, in honor of my Mom, I'm sharing my Top 5 Things I've Learned In A Year Without My Mom.

8/24/15 - #5 - Grief is A Sneaky Son-of-a-B%$@#



#4 Stuff Is Just Stuff Until It Is A Memory

My Mom worked really hard to stay in control of her destiny until the end. If you kept up with Caringbridge, you knew that Mom wrote her obituary and planned her memorial service down to the last scripture. But, ironically, my Mama didn't leave a lot of instruction about what to do with her "stuff."  

After all of the instructions about what I was supposed to do when she was gone, it was a little weird that there were only two material wishes.  First, I was to keep her antique bedroom furniture and second her sofa was high quality and I needed to keep it or choose wisely who got it. This should have been enlightening to me. This should tell me that my Mama was already on a higher-plane and knew that stuff was stuff was stuff. And stuff doesn't go to Heaven. 

Last September, I went into hyper-fast-clean-out-mode regarding packing up/giving away her condo. I think I thought if I sold it fast it would hurt less. But every time I went to the condo to pack with a well-meaning friend, I became frustrated with trying to answer questions like "April are you sure you want to get rid of this? April if you don't want this can I have it?" I wanted it gone, but I didn't want to make the call. I am grateful to Jen and Meredeth and Lori for taking time to be there with me as I went room by room purging. In retrospect, the coolest thing is everyone found something they wanted before I packed it up to take to CVAN. (Mom DID specify where she wanted me to donate her things). And early in the packing process, we invited the women from Concord's Women Specialty Care and the members of Epworth Church to come and claim a piece of mom . . . .a memory.

Fast forward through a flood from a broken hot-water heater that destroyed the condo floors and put a halt to the "quick sale" prospects, the months on MLS with no interested buyers and then the quick-close-in-two-weeks-sale to  a woman who really needed a new start (and the fabulous sofa and kitchen table and the other furniture that remained in the condo. Stuff isn't stuff when it's another woman's answered prayer and path to her independence). The yellow pixie dust was palpable in the condo and I know that the new owner  is experiencing a true blessing by living there.

The condo may be gone, but our garage attic in Charlotte is busting at the seams. It is impossible to toss my Mama's memories - her stuff. First, a lot of her stuff is my stuff. Boxes of photos and memorabilia from Governor's School and NC Junior Miss and Mt. Pleasant High School and Duke and more. That's my life and my stuff - I'm not ready to let go. Second, I inherited all of my MaMaw Ruth's stuff. The antique photos and oil lamp and pictures and china - stuff my Mom couldn't part with. Does that mean I need to figure out how to save it too?

Then there are the Bibles, Sunday School materials and prayer journals. Boxes and boxes of those.  I decided if she wrote in it, we needed to keep it, but if it was clean we could give to Epworth. Those are up in the attic for awhile. That stuff represents my Mom's faith journey.

Then there is the stuff that made it's way into my life. Camden took all of her earrings and wears some of her clothes. It's so odd sometimes to look at something and thing that it is vaguely familiar and then realize why. Cooking always opens up a memory opportunity from the stainless steel knife I remember using the first time I made dinner for my parents to the sheet cake pan that carried red velvet birthday cake up 85 every year I was at Duke (much to the happiness of my roommates and friends). That stuff is comforting.

And then I know there will be waves of nostalgia and sadness at Christmas when I take out the box of her decorations and decide what to use and what to donate. I couldn't deal with that right now.

My Mom never worried about stuff because she knew she didn't need it in Heaven. But I'm really glad that there was still a lot of it to go through and to keep with me always.

On Friday I will celebrate the 1st Anniversary of Losing My Mom. That's surreal. The person who had the majority of the responsibility of bring me into this life almost 46 years has not been on this planet for almost 1 year. A full year of holidays and memories and firsts and lasts and birthdays and anniversaries and crappy days and amazing moments and  celebrations and all those things that you would pick up the phone and call your Mom to tell about.  Bam! Gone!

So, in honor of my year of loss, I would like to share some of what I've gained and learned in 12 months of grief. Here are the Top Five Things I've Learned When You Lose Your Mom:


#5: Grief Is A Sneaky Son-of -A B*$#^!

I'm a cryer. I tear-up over everything. My girls have reached the stage of "roll-their-eyes-mom-is-getting-choked-up-again." First days, last days, performances, nighttime prayers, worship services, praise music, a song on the radio, an email from a friend, a random text, a Youtube video, a Facebook share . . .you name it. Anything of emotional value tugs at my tear ducts and makes me boo-hoo!

I cannot blame this on my Mom's death. I've been a "cry-baby' since birth. But even though I wear my emotions on my sleeve it hasn't changed the fact that grief is a beast. Oh you cry when you are supposed to in the weeks following a loss. The funeral service, packing up the house, saying goodbye to material things. But I believe our society is programmed to have us just MOVE ON. Enough is enough! You've had your 15 minutes of grief so now it is time to move on.

Grief laughs at that cultural expectation. It lets you think you are strong and then sends a searing memory to the brain or a special scent to the nose or a unique sound to the hear or a intimate visual to the eyes that punches you in the gut and doubles you over in pain. Nope. I am not fine. I suck, thank you very much. I lost my mom which is equivalent to a boat losing its anchor. 

I've learned in this year that when those punches to the gut come, just roll with it. Be sad. Cry. Be really, really pissed off. Those punches are God's way of saying "Sweetie - you aren't healed regardless of how much you want to move on and be normal. Slow down, remember, sit with me and cry."

But last night I got a new wake up call. I have selfishly thought that I'm the only one that B*&%$ Grief is messing with, and now I know she has all of our numbers.

We were several hours into the annual Dilworth Jubilee. I was happily ensconced in one corner of Latta Park with my friends and my hubby and my cooler, and my daughters had free reign of the park. I see Middle Mae heading our way with a tear-streaked face. I steeled myself for the inevitable drama and scurried down the hill so that my friends wouldn't be exposed to it. 

Me: " Honey what's wrong? Why are you crying?"
Middle Mae: "The Slides. The Slides. She loved the slides."
Me: "Honey - who? I don't understand. Why are you crying so hard? Let's calm down."
Middle Mae:  "Maw Maw! She would act so crazy on those slides and would laugh and laugh. And Mommy it is just making me cry thinking about it."
Me: "Oh sweet Middle Mae yes! It's okay honey. I know you miss your Maw Maw." And lots and lots of heavy, heavy tears. 

Who the freak are we kidding? I was a blubbering mess at this point and could not parent her much. I could just say "Honey, she loved you and she will always be right there with you and yes I miss her too."

And that's all you can do with grief. When it comes up slyly out of nowhere and knocks you to your knees you just have to collapse. Grief requires acknowledgement even if you cannot give it the full experience.

So yes. I cry a lot these days.  Luckily, I have a lot of triggers. Maybe grief is the underlying emotion, but there is so much hope and joy and love and new beginnings on top of the grief. Especially when I think about spreading yellow pixie dust!

XOXO, April

Mom's condo has finally sold.

It was supposed to go on the market in October. Thanks to some amazing friends, I had  finished packing and clearing and donating and cleaning in record time. And then 14 hours after I met with a Realtor I got a call that the condo was flooded from a busted hot water heater. Seriously? Another test in patience and trust and faith. Thank God for an amazing insurance company and the unbelievably efficient and courteous folks at ServPro. Six weeks later we are good to go with new floors and repaired cabinets.

I never, ever anticipated that it would take this long to sell my Mom's condo. It's in a prime location, a first floor corner unit with a direct walk to the pool. Even she must have thought this would be a slam-dunk because this was the one thing that she didn't leave a long list of instructions about how to handle once she was gone. But, it's been 10 months since my Mother died and I'm sure she's not pleased it has taken this long to find a buyer. I'm sure, however, that God's timing is perfect. I know that I have learned more about patience, ,self-control and humility during this process. And when your buyer makes an offer, signs a contract and closes in less than 10 days - you know it's the right one!

The best part about this prolonged goodbye? it keeps me digging through Mom's photos. I kept wondering how she had so many prints of my life until I remembered that she always asked me to get double prints when I developed film so that she could have a set. She has all of my memories. Governor's School, NC Junior Miss, cheerleading, track, state drama competition, Duke cheerleading - you name it. She kept it all. And now, I cannot bear to part with it. We brought home boxes and boxes on Saturday to stack in our already to crowded garage. How do I throw away my past? How do I throw away my Mom's memories?

We ended our goodbyes with dinner at the new Panera in Concord. Even my girls understand how ironic it is that there was a Panera Bread built within blocks of Mom's condo AFTER she died. It was her favorite place to eat because despite Mom's healthy habits, she was obsessed with bread!

I've got one more trip to take to Concord tomorrow. There's three tubs full of Bibles and devotional books and inspirational wall hangings that I earmarked for Epworth United Methodist long ago. I finally fixed my struggle by deciding to keep all of Mom's Bibles and devotions with notes and give away those that were unmarked. The unmarked pile is still huge and I hope will bring blessing to someone at Epworth.

And then we sign papers and say a welcome goodbye. Maybe it won't hurt down the road. But for now I cannot dive north on I-85 from Charlotte and pass the Kannapolis exit and without thinking  "Tucker Hospice House." I cannot drive to the 601 By-Pass without thinking cancer, I cannot drive by the hospital without seeing the windows to the room where she had her first surgery or the courtyard outside her chemo spot. I need some distance from Concord. Her Yellow Pixie Dust is strong enough to grow without me here.

Mom - I know you've been in your heavenly house with sun flowers and hummingbirds and all your desires for months. But it hurts to say goodbye to your house. I walked the rooms alone on Saturday and bawled. You weren't there, but your memories were. When will it stop hurting so much?

My humble Mama never gave herself a lot of credit or praise. She always deferred all the responsibility for the "yellow pixie dust" she was spreading to God. It's undeniable that her 10 years of Sunday School teaching and a lifetime of daily devotion reading was, and continues to be, an example for those of us that she touched.

But, Mama was extremely proud of one thing - that she started "Praying in the Parlor" at Epworth United Methodist Church.  These Monday night prayer meetings meant so much to her that they garnered a first paragraph inclusion in the obituary she wrote.

I never got a chance to go with her on Monday nights. She turned in her church key about a week before I moved in with her for those final days. But, based on our conversations, I can imagine what it was like. A small, intimate group of believers -  mostly female, a mix of ages - devotedly coming together every Monday night to pray for all the hate and evil and wrongs on this Earth. Doesn't that remind you of something? I wonder if that wonderful group of Charleston believers met every Thursday night to pray for the evil that permeates our society?

As you all know, these 9 Christians lost their lives during a Bible Study because they are African American. A white young man who is a racist that believes in white supremacy took their lives with a gun after spending AN HOUR in their presence studying the Bible.  

I have literally cried for days about this. I've read so much social media crap that my heart hurts for our country. But what sticks in my head is acknowledging and accepting something that no one has talked about. This evil racist who used a gun to kill sat in the room with these Believers for an hour before he opened fire.

He is an awkward white dude with a crappy hair cut. The Bible study participants are all African American with awesome weaves and hair. What do you think they thought/felt/did when this young, goofy looking white man walked into their Bible study? Did they tell him to leave? Were they nervous that he was there? Did they treat him differently or weirdly? No, no, no, no, no. These Saints were Christians to the end. There is NOTHING that shows us that these African American citizens were uncomfortable with a white man at their Bible study. They didn't call the cops for trespassing, they didn't ignore him or shun or embarrass him. In fact, they were so Christian to him that he almost didn't shoot them because they were so nice.

And now, after 9 innocent lives are senselessly lost, these families of the victims choose to forgive. THIS THIS THIS is the story. Not liberal or conservative, right or left wing, not Confederate Flag or not, not Fox News or Chicks on the Right, not gun control, not mental illness, not crappy parenting, not even racism which is truly prevalent in our modern society and the driver of this horror. The story is Christian love and forgiveness. #lovewins

What I want the world to know is that a dozen or so African American Christians welcomed a goofy looking probably socially inept white man into their presence for an hour without question but only with love. Because What Would Jesus Do? He would never, ever judge a man by his skin color or social acumen (and never, ever carry a gun but that's beside the point).

What would have happened at Epworth if on a random Monday night if a young, awkward looking African-American or Muslim or non-white person showed up at "Praying in the Parlor" when my Mama was there? She would have smiled, asked their name, held their hand and said a prayer to God of thanksgiving for bringing this person to this moment. She would never have worried about her safety or if this newcomer had a gun. She would have been so happy to have a visitor that wanted to pray with her.

Step away for a moment from the politics and rhetoric. Look at this situation from my point of view. What if that was your Mama running the prayer group at Mother Emmanuel like my Mama did every single week at Epworth? My Mom would never turned anyone away. She would have prayed with them. And, if she was a victim of a heinous hate crime, she would have wanted me to forgive. #lovewins #prayersforcharleston

There are trespassers in my perfectly peaceful vacation paradise.

The first came in the form of a friend's late-night Facebook post asking for prayers following a freak zip-line accident at a popular overnight camp. My friend had just hung up the phone with her 16-year-old daughter who is a counselor-in-training. The staff had just been informed that a 12-year-old camper passed away from injuries sustained that day when a zip-line failed. My heart broke for everyone.

• My friend's sweet daughter who has overcome so many of her own challenges this year and really needed nothing but happy from her happy place.
• My friend who has watched her daughter really struggle recently with some BIG issues and who now wonders what this tragedy could do to the delicate balance of her well-being.
• A long time church friend who is the camp's head counselor this summer. To imagine the weight of the world on this sweet recent college grad's shoulders seemed so unfair.
• And, of course, I felt physical pain and lifted up feverant prayers for the parents of this young girl gone too soon. Just imagining their feelings as I watched my own 12-year-old daughter collecting shells on the beach made my heart ache.
  

These "in your face" reminders of our children's immortality make me feel like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water on our summer plans. My older girls are headed to their beloved Camp Tekoa in three weeks where zip-lining is on the agenda. And they are psyched about it. I haven't shared the articles or told them what happened. Should I? Or should I trust that all overnight camps are on heightened alert and that zip-lines right now are the safest they've ever been?


Today was our last day on the beach for this trip. It was perfect - almost glass-like water with rolling waves, low-tide during the best part of the day and enough of a breeze to keep the heat wave at bay. It was a great day to bob in the water and that's just what my girls did, all the way up to their shoulders. Of course I didn't pick up my phone or glance away from the ocean the entire time they were in the water. I was hyper-vigilant looking for fins or any other signs of danger. But, they were oblivious because I hadn't showed them the link to the story. Should I? Should I terrify my beach babies from going in the water, or should I continue to teach them to be aware of their surroundings and always on the lookout. After all, aren't we the visitors in the ocean?

I left my BFF on the lookout and took a paddle board out into the ocean. I was overwhelmed with the paradox of the perfect beauty of the waves and the sun and the breeze in contrast to the news pictures of severed limbs and bloody waters. I didn't dare stand up on the board, just hung out on my knees, because A) I have questionable balance in still water, so why risk it when there are waves and B) I did have a fear that was gripping me and I didn't want to fall in. I didn't want to know what was lurking underneath the still ocean water.

I could feel the fear rising up in my throat and my head started playing all the worst case scenarios of a day spent in the ocean. And then, just like that, a wave came out of no where and sent me crashing into the sea. I got my bearings, pulled myself up on the board and realized I was okay. Could something bad have happened? Oh yes - there could have been a jelly fish or a Portuguese Man of War waiting to sting me right under the surface, or a shark that felt threatened by my sudden arrival. But my fears weren't confirmed and I slowly felt myself relax and enjoy the blessing of paddling on a board in the middle of a beautiful ocean.

My big girls greeted me in the waist-high water when I came back. Each one wanted to go out on their own. Call me crazy, but I said yes. It was a great learning opportunity to talk with them about respecting the ocean and all the creatures in it. And there were the other subtle life lessons too. How sometimes you have to row against the waves to get where you want to go, how the hardest part of the journey is getting through the times when the waves crash right on your head and how once you get through the scary, frustrating part then the view and the ride is pretty darn spectacular.

I'll keep praying for zip-lines to stay untangled and sharks to stay away while I let my daughters innocently enjoy their summer.

I've been a beach baby my entire life. There is nothing more peaceful, relaxing and thrilling as that moment when you see the ocean for the first time each visit. I love the constant wind, the sand in my toes, the salty smell and the beautiful views of sunsets and stars.

My behavior at the beach is truly a paradox. I'm usually the girl who cannot sit still. I hate watching movies because I spend the entire time thinking about all the other things I could be checking off of my to-do list. I actually work better when I am standing with my laptop on a counter. I pace during all telephone conversations and conference calls. And for all those who wonder, the secret to my Fitbit numbers is that I walk almost everywhere I go.

But at the beach - I sit. And I lay. And I stand with my feet in the water watching the fearless 4 year old jump waves trying to keep up with the Bigs. I don't want to play bocce ball, I don't want to fly a kite, and I prefer for you to find someone else for your flag football game. I can spend hours in the ocean riding waves, or in the sound on the paddleboard. But mostly I like to sit and take in the view, or walk along the shore appreciating the eternal consistency of the waves.

My Mom always loved the ocean. It was her happy place too. We spent many Thanksgivings together at the beach after my parents divorced and it was the one place she was able to visit often in the final months of her cancer battle.

Last year for spring break, by BFF graciously let me bring Mom and my girls to her family's ocean front condo in Pine Knoll Shores named "Seaglass." My Mom was fascinated with the glass vases filled with seaglass and shells that decorated many tables. Tamira's family came down for the day to see Mom (and ultimately say goodbye). Tamira and her husband, Brandon walked for what seemed like hours showing Mom how to search diligently and find the seaglass. They left her with a challenge to find more and that goal filled those moments when she was strong enough to go on the beach. She was so proud of the pieces she found and I was honored to give those back to the Tate's after Mom passed. It was natural that this was the place she picked for us to distribute her ashes. Our Turtle Experience this past New Year's Eve with the Tate's solidified my spiritual connection to the sea. Especially here on the Crystal Coast where the blinking of the Harker's Island Lighthouse reminds me my Mom's presence is palpable.

In fact, Mama Betty literally greeted us when stepped on the beach for the first time yesterday. After a car ride made too long by road construction detours and too many potty breaks, we finally arrived at Seaglass. My girls and I have spent the first days of summer with the Tate's at the beach for as long as we can remember. After quickly unpacking, Camden was anxious to look for shells so she, Cailin and I headed down the the beach. Camden ran ahead, stopped at a group of shells and bent down. She picked up the first thing she saw, turned around and came running back to me with a huge smile on her face. In her hand was a tiny, blue green piece of seaglass. Why hello, Mama. Nice to see you too. I miss you, but I know you are always close by. Especially during beach days.