A New School Year Without Her

Rory would be going into 5th Grade this year.

Dax was in 5th Grade when Rory died.

I’ve spent the last week thinking of what she would be doing and what she would be learning.



Writing 5 paragraph essays


We’d still be working on her handwriting, I’m sure.

Ugh. I got sad thinking about it.

Then I had a new thought.

Rory, this is what I wish for you this year:

I hope you’re continuing to learn.

I hope you make new friends.

I hope you skip through fields.

I hope you give lots of hugs.

I hope you visit us in important moments and in the everyday.

I hope you feel our love constantly.

Here’s my hope for us:

That we see you and feel you surrounding us.

Love you, baby girl.

Promised Blessings

As a family we were reading Romans 8 today.

A verse stuck out to me. Which was already highlighted so must have stuck out to me before.

Verse 18:

“For I reckon that the sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”

What an amazing promise!

The minutes since Rory’s death have been painful.

The days of missing her feel so long.

The years feel overwhelming.

Decades, unfathomable.

Is all of this worth it? Was Paul right that our sufferings will not even compare to the glory we’ll have in the next life?

That’s the hope.

That’s where faith comes in.

Faith that she still lives.

Faith that she’s happy.

Faith that she’s with Jesus Christ.

Faith that we’ll be together again.

Faith that the second I die Rory will be running into my arms.

I day dream about that moment.

Yearn for it.

I don’t know that there is a greater promised blessing than that for me.

My girl. In my arms. Never to be parted again.

Blaming God

I was talking to my son the other day. He told me how he felt guilty about Rory’s death. That he should have done more.

Then he expressed that he wanted to be angry at God and blame Him for Rory’s death.

I said, “Do it. Blame Him for a while.”

Heavenly Father didn’t say only come to me when you’re happy.

Only pray to me when you’re in a good place.

Only seek me out when you have all the answers.


He said come to me for comfort.

Pray to me when you’re struggling.

Seek me when you have questions.

I believe our Heavenly Father would love to take that blame and guilt away from my son. God would be happy to hold that for him until he’s able to forgive himself and heal as much as he can.

God’s love is unconditional.

That love will survive the anger we feel when we’re thrown into things we don’t understand. When we’re just barely getting by.

That love will be there when we find happy again.

I think He wants to be there for us through all of it.

Ultimately, my son doesn’t feel like he can blame God.

After all, He’s been where we’re at.

He watched His Son die.

Painful Todays

The past month has been painful.

There have been triggers that I can point to that take up mental and emotional space. Which is already limited for me.

But I think a big part of it is: a settling in and a question.

In my mind this is what I’ve allowed myself to think:

Rory has moved on.

My baby girl passed away.

But I’ve expanded my verbiage to include:

My daughter is dead.

Those all mean the same thing. Different words. But words are important to me and I haven’t allowed myself to use that word much.



They’re final.

My daughter will never walk through my door again.

Done. That’s it.

It’s not a new thought! I’ve been living with it for one year, seven months, and nine days.

What I’ve been getting stuck on is this.

How do I live the rest of my life with my daughter being dead?

It feels endless. The pain. The waiting. The getting by. It’s endless.

How do I live a whole life with my boys when I’m broken with pieces missing?

People do it.

Bereaved moms have reached out to me. They’ve survived decades now without one of their children.

I just struggle to understand how I’m going to do it. My ultimate hope of being with her again is death.

That’s what I’m straddling. My life here with the boys is important. I want to be here! But the life I hope to find in Heaven with Rory is equally important. I want to be there!

I have one foot planted firmly here on earth, loving my family. And one foot ready to jump to the other side.

It’s overwhelming.

I’ve been trying to take a step back. To focus on today.

Love today.

Care today.

Hug today.

Give cuddles today.

Spend time today.

Serve today.

I can make it through today.

Then tomorrow I’ll start again.

I’ll put that on repeat.

Though, I’m broken and not the mom or wife or woman I once was, I love my boys and husband with all I have left.

I can’t foresee the struggle between the two worlds ever changing.

But I’m working to bring a little Heaven to earth.

To include Rory in my work from day to day. To serve and love with her and for her.

Jesus Christ is my Hope.

He lives.

She lives.

With that hope, I’ll make today count.

And tomorrow.

And every day I’m gifted after that.

Time Will Tell

“All will be well.

You can ask me how,

But only time will tell.”

–Gabe Dixon

A couple of months after Rory passed, I cried to Lance that we needed to have another baby.

Not that any child could replace Rory. She’s irreplaceable. One of a kind.

But I couldn’t see happiness in the future.

I wasn’t ready to stop being a mom to a young child. I wasn’t ready to not have a baby anymore.

My baby is gone. She’s gone.

And babies are hope. I mean, they’re a lot of work! But they encompass love, innocence, joy, and progression. Hope.

I’m not announcing anything here. There’s no baby in my belly.

As Lance and I talked about it, prayed about it, and talked to the boys, it felt okay.

It felt like having a baby is a righteous desire for us.

But it also felt like it wasn’t the only way we could go. There are other things that Lance and I could do in our future. That it wasn’t going to be as bleak as it felt.

I got the feeling that we’d be able to love and care for people. That my mothering wasn’t going to end as the boys left the house.

I have no idea what our future holds. It’s not something I allow myself to think about often. I still struggle to see joy in my future.

But somehow.

All will be well.

Only time will tell.