wishing you a little bit of giddy
a whole lot of happy
and a smidgen of peace
with love from
kris, garth and ellis
with love from
kris, garth and ellis
12.24.2009
12.21.2009
honesty is hardly ever heard
Countless people have approached me this season- smiling- saying, "I bet this will be your best Christmas yet". And I want to enthusiastically say, "YES! You bet". I nod, and give everyone the expected response, agreeing that it will be very special. Because of course it will be. But this year, and maybe every year, will be a mixed bag. One rich in blessings for all that we have together (most importantly, each other) and all that we've gained becoming this beautiful family of three.
But not for a second does it go without notice that there are elements I wish were different. Gaps and holes that cannot and probably will never be filled, at least, not in the way any of us would hope. I love Garth. I love my daughter. It doesn't change the fact that I have guilt about asking him to give up so much to move here (though I don't think he'd trade it) or taking our daughter from her birth country, her heritage, and uprooting her to this foreign place with foreign parents. I am watching her first language slip away and I hear her using it less and less. This overwhelms me with sadness. Isn't it enough that she lost her China mom and China dad? How can I help her hold onto her roots? I know we can buy the books and put up the lanterns and make the moon cakes, but what is that really? How will it measure up to that loss? The truth is, it won't. Nothing will. Losing your parents is a loss that never leaves you. Is she strong? Resilient? Brave? Amazing? Yes. Do I think she'll be able to integrate this loss and make it a positive part of who she is? I don't know. It's my hope, as I truly believe that unresolvable pain has the power to transform us, bringing us closer to ourselves- to God- to each other. As my good friend Hayley pointed me to, in this quote, pain can ultimately be our source of strength. I know this because I've lived it. So have you.
I find myself wanting to rewind the clock, and be a different kind of wife. A different kind of daughter. I know my siblings understand that. That each of them wishes they could have the last 6 months of her back again (this picture was taken 6 months before my mom's death). That each of us would give our limbs to do it differently. But that not ONE of us would wish her to suffer those 6 months again. Because truthfully, this is the last picture I have of Mom looking really "alive" and present to us.
We had other business we were meant to care for, and that she would have wanted us to aspire to- loving ourselves and each other the best that we can and know how. To let her go. To not be "ridiculous" :O) and move on with our lives. I'm not sure she understood how hard it would be without her, even though she drove us nuts at times. But nothing has proven to be quite as difficult. And that is such a gross understatement.
I had the privilege of knowing her. With all her cracks and flaws, insecurities, the things that make us human. I had the honor of hurling with her hand on my back, soothing my wretches. The advantage of her cool hand on my feverish forehead. The sound of her hum guiding me to sleep. The affirmation of her devotion every time I called in tears. Her unwavering support when I changed my major too many times to count. My daughter will have these things too, I know that.
We are an amazing threesome. We're good albeit flawed parents. But the one thing I want to give her, this Christmas and every Christmas that follows, I will never be able to give her... those first parents.
I'll be all of the things my mom was to me. I'll carry all the best parts of her into my own "motherhood". I'll make mistakes. And I'll never be able to replace the ones she has lost and may never have the honor of knowing. The generation upon generation of holes that come with that. Who she looks like, who has her quirky sense of humor and her brilliant smile. Who has her eyes. Her perfect lips.
Do I think this Christmas will be incredibly special? I do. Absolutely. I am so lucky. WE are so lucky.
That doesn't negate what we miss or will miss. The grandma that won't know her granddaughter in quite the way we imagined. The parents that don't know their child is safe and loved. The daughter that will never come to terms with losing her mom. The daughter that has yet to understand all that she's left behind.
In a few days, our first Christmas will be here. I'm going to embrace it fully. Every part. The joy that it brings and the melancholy that won't seem to leave. Isn't that present in every Christmas, regardless of our own outlook? The manger always lying in the shadow of the cross? The cross always hanging in the light of hope? Resurrection and new life?
But not for a second does it go without notice that there are elements I wish were different. Gaps and holes that cannot and probably will never be filled, at least, not in the way any of us would hope. I love Garth. I love my daughter. It doesn't change the fact that I have guilt about asking him to give up so much to move here (though I don't think he'd trade it) or taking our daughter from her birth country, her heritage, and uprooting her to this foreign place with foreign parents. I am watching her first language slip away and I hear her using it less and less. This overwhelms me with sadness. Isn't it enough that she lost her China mom and China dad? How can I help her hold onto her roots? I know we can buy the books and put up the lanterns and make the moon cakes, but what is that really? How will it measure up to that loss? The truth is, it won't. Nothing will. Losing your parents is a loss that never leaves you. Is she strong? Resilient? Brave? Amazing? Yes. Do I think she'll be able to integrate this loss and make it a positive part of who she is? I don't know. It's my hope, as I truly believe that unresolvable pain has the power to transform us, bringing us closer to ourselves- to God- to each other. As my good friend Hayley pointed me to, in this quote, pain can ultimately be our source of strength. I know this because I've lived it. So have you.
I find myself wanting to rewind the clock, and be a different kind of wife. A different kind of daughter. I know my siblings understand that. That each of them wishes they could have the last 6 months of her back again (this picture was taken 6 months before my mom's death). That each of us would give our limbs to do it differently. But that not ONE of us would wish her to suffer those 6 months again. Because truthfully, this is the last picture I have of Mom looking really "alive" and present to us.
We had other business we were meant to care for, and that she would have wanted us to aspire to- loving ourselves and each other the best that we can and know how. To let her go. To not be "ridiculous" :O) and move on with our lives. I'm not sure she understood how hard it would be without her, even though she drove us nuts at times. But nothing has proven to be quite as difficult. And that is such a gross understatement.
I had the privilege of knowing her. With all her cracks and flaws, insecurities, the things that make us human. I had the honor of hurling with her hand on my back, soothing my wretches. The advantage of her cool hand on my feverish forehead. The sound of her hum guiding me to sleep. The affirmation of her devotion every time I called in tears. Her unwavering support when I changed my major too many times to count. My daughter will have these things too, I know that.
We are an amazing threesome. We're good albeit flawed parents. But the one thing I want to give her, this Christmas and every Christmas that follows, I will never be able to give her... those first parents.
I'll be all of the things my mom was to me. I'll carry all the best parts of her into my own "motherhood". I'll make mistakes. And I'll never be able to replace the ones she has lost and may never have the honor of knowing. The generation upon generation of holes that come with that. Who she looks like, who has her quirky sense of humor and her brilliant smile. Who has her eyes. Her perfect lips.
Do I think this Christmas will be incredibly special? I do. Absolutely. I am so lucky. WE are so lucky.
That doesn't negate what we miss or will miss. The grandma that won't know her granddaughter in quite the way we imagined. The parents that don't know their child is safe and loved. The daughter that will never come to terms with losing her mom. The daughter that has yet to understand all that she's left behind.
In a few days, our first Christmas will be here. I'm going to embrace it fully. Every part. The joy that it brings and the melancholy that won't seem to leave. Isn't that present in every Christmas, regardless of our own outlook? The manger always lying in the shadow of the cross? The cross always hanging in the light of hope? Resurrection and new life?
12.18.2009
macrology
this is my greatest love in photography. i enter into this... divine space when i'm out there with the macro. an absolute peace and exhilaration are present in equal amounts within me. i can spend... who can measure the time really? the eternal moment on one leaf in the light. my partners that came for the walk will be miles ahead, and i'll still be there- captive to that one leaf, oblivious to anything else. one eye in the viewfinder. finger on the trigger. shooting.
(and i finally mastered the swirl technique that has alluded me since garth came into my life. this last photo of dad and m-n-m walking is in no way altered. i did that all by hand and can thank garth for teaching me- though it took over a year to finally get with the SLR).
these pics are from a month or more ago. time to get out and into the zone again. it's been too long.
12.16.2009
under the weather
we're just a band full of sickies over here. all of us fighting a tough cold that has accumulated in lots of missed work, icky sticky boogers, and some sore throats and joints. now m-n-m (who brought home all of the above and was turning the corner and getting over her yuckies) has been hit with something else which has a whole new set of germs to unwrap: fevers and no appetite. spiked to 103.6 today. after 10 days with the cold.
these are the times you wish your kisses could take it all away. in spite of how awful she feels, she still finds reason to smile and be silly- even if she was just crying 10 minutes ago. such a trooper.
and how very much i love this little girl.
12.13.2009
12.09.2009
12.07.2009
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“Tragedy should be utilized as a source of strength.” No matter what sort of difficulties, how painful experience is, if we lose our hope, that’s our real disaster.
~ His Holiness the Dalai Lama
After those three years of doing the hard work of my grief, I eventually had to ask myself- how do I want to live in light of my losses? What have they given me that allow me to live more fully? My answer to the first question was simply that I wanted to live abundantly. That I wanted to soak up all that life has to offer: the amazing, the good, the bad, and the ugly. And the answer to that second question? I've gained a greater sense of self. I've grown to understand the power of love- of myself, of others- and even those that some would deem undeserving of that love. Have I lived this epiphany? No. I fail miserably, a lot of the time.
I take those I love for granted. I get stuck in my own baggage. I take everything way too seriously. I lack trust in those I should trust implicitly. I harp on a past I can never change. I get angry. Upset. Despondent. I lose focus- of myself, and hence God and all those I care about the most in my life.