Two months ago, I could barely stand, let alone walk, for more than five minutes. Sure, I had fluke occurrences when I could walk through a store one in awhile, but I would pay for it dearly for the following week or more. For at least 10 years, I went undiagnosed with inflammation and cycle issues -- both caused chronic pain and made my body a barely functioning prison. I started having issues after my second pregnancy, so I broke down and went to a doctor, who refused to help me. All he heard was "depression" and dollar signs lit up in his eyes. I had to bend his arm just to get a blood test to test my thyroid, which came back as normal. All he did was throw antidepressants at me, accused my husband of being unloving, and shoved me out the door. Unable to pay for another doctor, I gave up and accepted my reality: I was big, I was in constant pain, and there was nothing I could do about it. Because I hurt, I sat. Because I sat, I gained weight. Because I gained weight, it put more strain on my body. It was a horrible, vicious cycle I thought I would never be able to break. As my weight soared, I lost more and more freedom. I didn't fit in booths at restaurants. I couldn't walk through a store. I had to use a shower chair to bathe. Nothing fit. People stared. I missed out on time with my family. I just couldn't keep up. The pain -- mental, emotional, and physical -- was too much. I stayed home. I isolated myself. I was unable to exercise with any consistency because my body would seize up after one or two light workouts. I started to worry about my overall health. My depression worsened, as I faced a bleak future. Would I even make it to 50? Or would I finally give up completely and be successful with my next suicide attempt? I was angry, sad, and hopeless. I didn't even bother praying about it, because I figured it would be selfish and pointless. But God knows the desires of our heart, even when we don't ask for them. Long story short, He put the right doctor in my life at the right time, who diagnosed me properly, put me on the right medications, and, most importantly, gave me hope. He gave me my life back. For the first time in 10+ years, I'm not constantly hurting, I'm able to workout consistently (have been for the past three weeks), my cycles are under control, and I'm gaining mobility and freedom more and more every day.

Today, I walked a mile on the elliptical -- and not on the lowest setting! For me, that's HUGE, considering not too long ago I couldn't even walk to the kitchen on my bad days! At 425 pounds, the mountain before me is daunting, but I'm motivated to do whatever it takes to work it off. I know this will take years to accomplish, but today -- today I feel strong and proud. Today, I feel happy and hopeful. If you know me, that doesn't happen very often. I hope this encourages someone today. Someone who's facing their own mountain. God brought you here, God can bring you through it -- in His time and on His terms. Struggle and humility grows faith and gratefulness. Hope is never lost with Him. I'll pray for you if you pray for me.

Goodbye Again

In memory of Deane Callen
September 16th, 1933 - April 26th, 2020

I've tried to start this post several times, now. But I just didn't have it in me. Please excuse the disjointedness of it. It's the best I can muster.

I didn't anticipate to lose both of my grandparents in the same year. I hear it's common for couples, but it completely blindsided me. It all happened so fast. He was fine, and then he was not. He was diagnosed with late-stage cancer on a Sunday and was gone by the following Sunday. Thankfully, my family could be there, but it was agony watching him slowly fade away. I have never watched someone die before. I never want to ever again. He slept a lot, in his bed that Hospice set up for him in his living room. When he did wake up, he would just smile at us and wiggle his pinky in a little wave as he always did. Sometimes he would be lucid and sometimes he would say random things. I didn't see fear in his eyes, only the light of a man that was preparing for Heaven. I pray he's there, with her. I was told he "accepted Christ" and that's what I hope for. I'm sorry this post is more raw and random than my one for Grams. This one hit me harder, in some ways. They're gone. They're both gone. That major chapter of my life is over. And I'm having a hard time with it.

I was his shadow, growing up. I followed him everywhere. As soon as I came to live with my grandparents full time, I was everywhere he was: in the garage, in the barn, in his truck, in the wheelbarrow he was pushing, on the hay he was throwing. Everywhere. My favorite place was on his lap, where he would read the "funnies" to me. My favorites were the Sunday funnies -- those were in color. He would tickle me when he got to the punchline, causing me to laugh at a joke that went right over my head. I was his flashlight holder in the garage and eager co-pilot in the passenger seat of his "big red truck". Whenever he went to pick up feed from Spokane or deliver hay to someone in Rathdrum, I was there. "To the dump, to the dump, to the dump we go!" he would sing out loud on Saturdays, letting me know it was time to get my shoes on and accompany him to the local transfer station. I would lose my mind and come running, like it was the best thing ever. And it was, because he would tell me funny stories and teach me about driving. "Look out for the 'big M's', Jennie," he would say. "Big M's" stood for "morons", or people who wanted to "reach out and smack ya" with their car. He attempted to teach me how to drive stick when I was old enough and laughed at me every time I stalled it -- which was often. We went on endless vacations together, just me and my grandparents in their RV, every spring and summer break, it seemed. They always packed hot cocoa and Twizzlers for the trip. We had our own version of the slug bug game, only less violent, where we would loudly announce whenever a red barn came into view. I used to get up extra early with him, as he was getting ready for work, just so I could have breakfast with him. Poached eggs with toast and, if I was lucky, some Cream of Wheat to go with it. His face was always clean shaven, he smelled of Brut aftershave, his hands were rough from always working, flannel button up shirts made up his wardrobe, and he always had Double Mint Gum in his lunch box to share with me. He was a simple man and what he lacked in refinement, he was rich in humor and work ethic. He cracked jokes up until the day he lost his ability to speak and his last words to me were, "I want to give you a hug." He never emoted or showed affection much, but I know at that moment, he meant it. I was happy to oblige and I'm thankful I did.

As I got older, it was apparent that we shared the same hot-tempered, bull-headed disposition, and during my teenage years, we drifted apart. I didn't know who I was and I lacked support in the things I was going through. He was the only father figure I had for the first nine years of my life and I tested that boundary and was left wanting. It wasn't his fault. It wasn't any of theirs. They took on a task they didn't have to -- shouldn't of had to. But I see now that they did everything they could to give me a good chance at life -- better than my mother ever could, for certain. I remember the day I brought Matt home to meet them and told them that he had proposed, Gramps genuinely and heartily shook Matt's hand to congratulate him. I remember the day I told him I was going to name our first son after him, I could see tears welling up in his eyes. I remember seeing him hold Rob for the first time, looking so proud to be a great-grandfather. Drew was fascinated by him as a baby and he loved to pull up on his legs and stare, as Gramps would whisper unknown things to him when he thought no one was watching. They shared a special bond. He loved both of our boys so much and they gave him such joy every time we brought them over to visit. Even when his mind was slipping in the end, he always remembered the boys' names and would kiss them on the heads each night. As hard and as heartbreaking as it was for Rob and Drew, I'm thankful that they had those final days with him.

We butted heads when Matt and I got saved. Over zealous and ready to convert the world, we wounded many relationships in vain -- my grandparents were definitely two of them. We have spent the past handful of years trying our best to make up for that, instead trying to show them Jesus through love and service. Matt helped out by mowing their lawn, doing their Costco shopping, and doing various odd jobs around the farm. We were the first ones there when Grams passed away. Matt was the first one there when Gramps was taken to the hospital before the end. We were the closest family here, but we also wanted to love on them when they needed someone the most. We are poor examples of Christ, but we did our best to share Him with them how we were able and we attempted to repair what we had damaged. Before the end, he told Matt that he appreciated him, told us that he was proud of us as parents, and told me that he loved me. What I wouldn't give to hear that just one more time.

So, they're both gone, now. Three months in between. There was no funeral, because of this damned virus. Just a very small graveside service with our pastor at Grams' grave. He's been cremated and most of his ashes will be buried next to hers. Part of him sits on my side table beside her. I'm unable to look at them without crying just yet. My whole world feels upside down. Soon, the farm will be gone, along with the beautiful home Grams helped design -- the one they both wanted to retire and die in. I'm glad they got their wish. But no more big family holidays and visits to Grandma and Grandpa's. No more cookies and stories. No more buggy rides and yard games. No more laughter and too much food. No more Grandpa's jokes and Grandma's cackle. No more of what used to be. And I'm heartbroken and unsure of the future that lies ahead, with so much turmoil and uncertainty in the world today. I'm thankful that the virus didn't take them and I'm thankful I don't have to worry about them anymore. But my heart is so wounded and it's all so unknown. I've never been here before and it scares me. They were a constant, just like food and freedom were constant. But I know God is constant, so I'm doing my best to cling to Him right now -- no matter what. And I'm holding desperately on to the hope that when He calls me home, they will both be there to greet me.

Drew is TEN!

Goodbye, for Now

In memory of Phyllis Callen
November 13th, 1933 - January 3rd, 2020

It was just a somewhat normal Friday morning. I say "somewhat", because it was the boys' last Friday before school started again from Christmas Break. It had been a crazy holiday season and I was trying to sleep in, enjoying the feeling while I still had time. I had just taken my CPAP mask off and rolled over when my phone rang. It was Matt, which isn't completely unusual, but still sometimes unnerving this time of the day; I never know if it's bad news or just a simple "good morning". This particular morning, however, it wasn't the latter.

"Your grandpa just called me. Your grandma died last night."

My whole world just imploded. My voice stuck in my throat, as I tried to push out the words that were spiraling out of control in my brain. Matt rattled on with more information, but I don't recall what it was. I was desperately trying to make sense of everything, but the fog of shock consumed me. "Sa...say it again," I managed to squeeze out. "Say it again, so I know this isn't a dream." My dreams are so vivid, sometimes. "Your grandpa called. Your grandma died. I'm heading home right now."

I ended the call and sat up. The room was spinning. She was fine. I just texted her last night, thanking her for the electric skillet she gave us for Christmas. Christmas. I just saw her a little over a week ago at Christmas. She was sore and feeling her age, but she was okay. Alive. Laughing. Here. Now she was gone. Just like that. I started to sob, but quickly got up and wiped away the tears. The boys. I had to keep it together, just for a little longer. Just long enough to get through the nightmare that would be breaking the news to them. They would be heartbroken.

I walked past the living room and glanced at them sitting there watching TV, not a care in the world. That was about to change, very fast. I looked at them with sad eyes. How on earth could I tell them? They adored Grams. I continued forward, to the bathroom, where I quickly lost it again. My mama popped up on my screen and I declined the call. "I'll call you back," I texted. "I have to tell the boys." I composed myself in the bathroom and walked into the living room. I sat in Matt's chair and called them to me. Great concern shadowed their sweet faces. They knew. They knew something wasn't right. My voice threatened to leave me again, but I fought it. "I have some very hard news, my loves. I wish I didn't have to tell you this, but you need to know. Great-Grandma passed away last night." My children, despite sharing the same genes, react to things very differently. Rob is controlled and doesn't emote right away. He is very much like his dad. Drew, on the other hand, is me. He immediately started bawling, which made me start bawling. Rob just stood there, staring at me, tears welling up in his deep, brown eyes. My heart broke. "I wish I could take this pain from you both. I wish I could shelter you from everything, including this. But I can't. Some things, I just can't. I'm so sorry." It was an honest sentiment. I want to protect them from everything this world has to throw out them. But I'm only human and death can't be stopped by mortal hands.

We sat and talked for a little while, as Matt walked through the door. I immediately stood and wrapped my arms around his neck. My earthly rock was home. I lost it again. I couldn't believe this was happening. It's not like we didn't expect it to happen one day, and I attempted to mentally prepare myself for the eventuality. But it was futile. Nothing fully prepares you for something like this. That hallow ache in your chest that just doesn't wane. A deep, shocking sadness. The desire to be near to someone, knowing you never can be again. That's a special kind of hurt.

Matt and I briefly talked. He hugged the boys and then headed out the door to go be with my grandfather. When he arrived, he was met by a sheriffs deputy outside. He was told that my grandmother was still in the back room and they were waiting on the coroner. He sat with my grandfather, who just sat in his chair, staring out the window. Matt probed him for more information. Grams wasn't feeling well the day prior and ended up going to bed early. Gramps offered to take her to the doctor, but she refused. I'm not at all surprised by this -- they are both so stubborn. When Gramps woke up the next morning, Grams wasn't up by the time she normally was. He went into her room and noticed she wasn't awake. She wasn't completely covered, so he went to cover her, expecting her to stir. But she didn't. She didn't move. He touched her, trying to wake her, but she was cold. It was then he knew something wasn't right. I am certain he was panicking as he called the paramedics. When they arrived, they confirmed his fears. She was gone. We surmise that she went to sleep and never woke up, peacefully passing in her bed. The coroner later confirmed that she had a heart attack, which probably explains why she didn't feel well the day prior. I pray for her sake that it was quick, that she didn't suffer. Looking at her spot in the bed, the outline of her small frame still visible as we stripped the bedding, she didn't thrash or struggle. Just simply went to sleep. And her poor husband of 68 years was the one who found her. Oh, my heart.

My mama and aunt purchased plane tickets and made their way north as quick as they could. They were there by the evening. We sat with Grandpa until they arrived. I had all day to sit and think and allow the shock of it all to sink in. I removed myself from the room, giving them space and time to deeply mourn with their father. The pain and tears ripped at my chest. I lost a grandmother; they lost their mom. Yes, she took me in at four, when my addict birth mother decided she didn't want me, and gave me a stable home. She raised me as one of her own, as best she could, especially when she didn't have to. But she was never a replacement for my mother. She was still Grandma. Extremely dear to me, but still Grandma. I could only imagine their heartache in the moment. Someday, I will fully understand. I won't foolishly attempt to prepare myself for that one. Absolutely nothing will buffer that blow.

The days following were nothing but a blur. Somehow, I was able to get up, take the boys to school, and continue breathing, all while Mama and Janice got Grams' funeral and Gramps' future in order. Matt and I helped where we could, calling on our sweet church body to help fill in some of the gaps. They rose to the occasion, providing meals and words of comfort along the way. I will forever be in sincere gratitude for them. Our pastor stopped by Grandpa's house one night, to provide comfort and to gather information for her funeral. Grams had split from her church a number of years ago, so I knew the pastor wouldn't be able to provide a decent service for her. Thankfully, my family agreed to have our church host and our pastor preside. He is a loving shepherd and dear friend and actually knew my grandparents from past hospital scares. I knew he would do right by her and, more importantly, by God. He sat in my grandparents' living room, surrounded by family and wild stories about my grandma. I assumed it would be a sad affair, but the more stories we told, the more raucous the laughter became. How could you tell a sad story about someone who provided so much joy? She touched so many lives and did so many things. It was fun to share that with someone. She was definitely one-of-a-kind.

The day of the funeral arrived and we were met with snow and sunshine. My church family had gone above and beyond preparing the church to receive our family and friends. Pepsi had so generously donated drinks and members of our church had provided food. The church was bright and decorated with Grams' pictures, one of her best paintings, and the aroma of sweet smelling flowers filled the sanctuary. The service itself had a simple elegance to it. Yes, it was sad, but just like the night we sat down with Pastor Bear, it was also filled with laughter and precious memories. Her favorite songs were played on the piano and a slideshow of her life was shown, prompting even more tears and laughter. Our pastor presented the gospel and told of Grandma's deep love and trust in her Savior. Her faith became sight that night and she will be with Him, forever -- praise God!

Our time with family and friends dwindled to a close, as folks started to file out. Grandma was cremated, so there was no graveside service. I have never experienced a cremation in the family, so it threw me a bit. But it was also kind of welcome. Death, ironically, weirds me out a little. I do not feel comfortable around occupied caskets, but her urn(s) were a little less threatening. For whatever reason, I agreed to take a small one home with me when my mama offered. Maybe it was an emotional response. Maybe I just didn't want to fully let go just yet. Who knows? Currently, it is sitting on my side table near photos of her, but I have plans to take it with us to the Oregon Coast, to "our" cabin that we stayed in for our honeymoon. She was so excited to hear about our trip and so badly wanted to experience it, as well, so I decided that I would take "her" with me next time and spread her ashes on the beach. My aunt and mama plan on doing the same, spreading her ashes on the beach in Hawaii and at the pier in California, respectively. Why not take her to the places she loved or always wanted to go? She adored the ocean -- what a great way to honor her, I think. The rest of her ashes will be spread on the farm and the majority have been buried in a plot adjacent to my uncle, Russ. Someday, my grandfather's ashes will join her.

The next day, we (the immediate family) had a small memorial at the cemetery. It was a beautiful, clear day and the snow sparkled like diamonds. It was cold, but the wind was calm just long enough for us, almost as if she had nudged Jesus and asked Him for a small favor. I could see her doing that, for sure. We sat before her beautifully decorated urn, placed next to a vase of flowers that could have easily came from her own garden. It was quiet and peaceful. Perfect. The 23rd Psalms was read by my cousin, Emily, Matt said a prayer. My aunt, Janice, unfortunately, became ill and had to settle for Facetime from the couch. Thank goodness for technology. It was hard knowing this was our final "goodbye, for now", but it felt right. It was closure; permission to move on and make more stories. Personally, I am driven, more than ever, to stay here and have one heck of story to tell her when I get there.

Before we left, I pressed a kiss to my hand and placed it on her urn. She has been a constant in my life since the beginning and I will miss her every day until the end, when I, too, get to go home. Yes, we butted heads from time to time, only because we were so much alike in many ways. But I will always love her and appreciate what she did for me. I will miss sharing my boys with her. Miss her phone calls. Miss making her laugh, which was was too easy. She was such a fun grandma and I know she loved me, even through my rough parts. She always had a game to play, a story to tell, or a craft to make. In fact, I'm pretty sure I have her to thank for my love of creativity. There will never again be anyone like her and I bet you anything she's sitting at our Savior's side right now, eyes twinkling, laughter cackling, telling Him one of her wild stories.

The broken parts of my heart are being softened with time, but they will always be there. I pretty big chunk was taken out and can't be replaced. But God will fill it someday -- the same day I get to feel her warm hug, again. I love you, Grams. Forever and always.

- - -

The day that Grams died, I sat at her computer, her possessions all around me. Time had paused for her; everything was where she had left it the day before. It was an odd experience. I happened across a notepad, filled with phone numbers, important dates, and quick math. But then I saw this. It was the reassurance I needed to know she was okay. She was with Jesus.


Later, my family came across this note penned by her. It came during a time when I felt lost and uncertain of the future.

I swear she was leaving these notes just for me. Thank you, Grams.