I'm sorry I haven't written in a while. Grief is exhausting. Life has been exhausting. Owning my own business has been an exciting ride, but I miss my dad as an advisor. He was such a tremendous strategist and coach. He gave me such a sense of calm when the waters were rough and such a sense of tenacity when work needed to be done. I miss that--terribly. Every day.
My daddy has been gone now for almost four months now--and life goes on, doesn't it? Children get older (Ava stuck a bead in her nose); pants get tighter (I'm afraid I'm eating my feelings); and the days get shorter (oh my GOSH is it spring yet?!).
This and I'm in my busiest season at work, which is both exciting and overwhelming for my clients. I love being a source of support and wisdom for my clients, but as you can imagine, it's time-consuming. I usually work 10-14 hour days during this season. I see my kids less, my computer screen more, and my fingernails get shorter and shorter with each passing day.
As we come out of this season, a very dear friend loans me her river house for the weekend where I can come and decompress from a tough season. I'm there now.
Here today in this beautiful location, I had a thought, and I wanted to share this with you.
I went kayaking today---being on the water was one of Daddy's favorite things. I saw the brilliant orange and golden leaves shining in their glory on the Virginia trees. I love this time of year--the soft afternoon glow of Virginia fall afternoons is one of the main reasons I love living here.
But as I looked down on the water, I noticed the reflection of the leaves on the water. I realized that the reflection of the tree on water masked all of the imperfections of the tree itself. The reflection was even more beautiful than the tree.
I almost felt like Daddy was saying to me, "I taught you everything I could. Now go shine, Boo Boo. Go shine. Don't make my mistakes--do even more than I could. Be the beauty in the reflection of me."
Then, as always, I think about my own kiddos. I hope I can teach them enough so that they can reflect even more beauty and hope into this world. I hope they can be more faithful to God, more hopeful, more determined, and even more focused. I pray God blesses me as I try to help each child grow every day.
Parenting brings out the best and the worst in us, right? I think we hold fast to the idea that God made parenting in a way that our children can be a reflection of us and Him, in that they shine so beautifully, they cover our imperfections and share their light with this world.
It all started with a phone call. My sister never calls me at 7 am, so you know something isn't right. Daddy died. What? MY daddy? The daddy that helped me start my business? The daddy that smells like pipe smoke and gives the warmest hugs you could imagine? The daddy whose laugh would light up a room? The daddy who could hang anything in any new house I ever moved into? The daddy who I'd call if I just needed someone to tell me I was awesome? That daddy? Yes, that daddy. My daddy died. He died in his sleep of a heart attack on July 7. And I'm heartbroken. There's no other word for it. I'm heartbroken. My heart hurts every day, every moment. I go to sleep heartbroken and I wake up heartbroken. There's no escape. Upon hearing the news, I called my husband and "my person," (ie my friend Carla). Michael said he'd stay with the children until his parents could arrive and I should get on the road and head towards my family (given that it's a 12-hour drive and we are in the middle of a national pandemic). When I called Carla, she immediately started packing. "I'm coming with you. You can't go alone." Within an hour, she and I were on the long road to mourn my father. If you have friends like this in your life, don't let them go. I admire my friends more than they'll ever know. The only words I could come up with on that first day of mourning was "He's free." Daddy was free of worry, shame, fear, and guilt. He was in heaven with his mama, daddy, brother, and many many friends who'd gone ahead of him. While I knew in my heart Daddy was free, but that didn't make the tears stop any sooner. The next day we foggily picked out songs and flowers for his funeral. When I was in college, Daddy and I always listened to "I Can Only Imagine" by MercyMe. We marveled at what God had done with our lives and couldn't imagine what we'd do once we got to heaven. We often quoted the song in text messages to each other. I knew I wanted that song played at his funeral-- it was our song.
The funeral came and I saw Daddy's body for one last time. I was afraid. I was afraid of what I would see and feel. But he looked peaceful, laying there in his UVA tie that I gave him. He was so proud of the education I earned (that he helped me earn). I told him how much I loved him and how much I appreciated everything he'd done for me. But most of all, I told him I would be ok. I don't know why that was so important for me to tell him, but it was on my heart, so I did. I don't feel ok right now, honestly, but I know God is close to the grieving. I wrote a eulogy b/c I cannot speak off the cuff like my sister can. She and I gave the eulogy at his funeral. I've attached a copy here for those of you who may want to see what we said: -----------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Whether you think you can or you can’t, you’re right.” Henry Ford said it first, but my Daddy said it the most.
Daddy was a big believer in confidence—strength of mind and strength of spirit. I think that came from his can-do attitude. You see, Daddy could fix almost anything. Well, at least he thought he could.
That is, until he met baby furniture. Then…..things started to get tricky.
But I digress.
Daddy believed in the strength of mind and strength of spirit. I think some of that was due to his upbringing with his dad who was a craftsman in his own right and a mother with a heart of gold. I’m comforted today knowing that Daddy is sitting on the beaches of heaven with his mama, his brother, and his daddy talking about old times and telling them all about his grandkids and how we’ll all be together someday.
To any little girl, Daddy is superman. Ours really was. He could build it, fix it, dream it, or at least drive it to wherever/whatever/whenever you needed it to go. Once in college, I told him I was going to be living in a 12x12 room with two other women—one from Greece and one from Indiana. He said, “no problem.” He built me a custom lofted bed with a desk and a closet underneath it.
Well, after he drove it all the way to the University of Virginia, he then got out his five-dollar bills and paid some fraternity brothers to unload it for him. But that was just ingenuity—as he called it.
He was Superman, I tell you.
(Insert Merrill Story)
Daddy was a smart man. He believed in the strength of the mind. He educated us to best of his abilities and would tell anyone who had time just how much our education cost him.
But, we loved him for it. He worked so hard to give us the education we so desperately wanted and needed. And Daddy was a smart man. He built Cooper Brothers Construction into a thriving business and then became a very savvy consultant.
What means most to me, though, is that just recently, I started my own business. Daddy was so proud of that. He started to call me LT for “Little Tom.” When I’d start to grow impatient with the bank, he’d say, “Ok, LT, just hold your horses.” He was there for me when things didn’t go right. He was there when things really didn’t go right. He was there for me on my first day at CEO. He was always coming up with new ideas and affirming me in ways no one else could. I’ll always be his LT and I plan to continue his legacy as long as God puts breath in my body.
But more than a businessman, he was a father and a grandfather.
I remember when we first brought my children home from the NICU in Arizona, I was standing in the front hall, holding a baby on each hip, doing deep knee bends to keep them from crying. I hadn’t showered in days and I’m pretty sure make up hadn’t seen the light of day in quite some time. Daddy looked at me and said, “I’ve never seen you more beautiful.”
Daddy knew love and love knew Daddy.
(Merrill insert story)
Daddy was funny. If you knew him, you can still hear his laugh in your head, just like me. It was like music. Now, usually, he had his pipe in his mouth, which I still don’t know how you laugh and smoke a pipe, but Daddy did. He loved and laughed so much.
As kids, he used to follow us up the stairs singing Willie Nelson’s “TURNNNN OUT THE LIGGGHTS. THE PARTY’S OVER.” We used the giggle at how ridiculous it was. Both the song and the singing. Mama would roll her eyes and each night would end with a smile from all of us.
Some times he would sing Seven Spanish Angels just to get on Mama’s nerves, but his favorite was Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to Be Cowboys. We still love that one. Even my kiddos know that one.
Daddy, we’ll miss you. As the teller of ghost stories and the driver of the boat in the summer. Mr. Fix It. The steering wheel percussionist on long drives, you were everything we needed in a father and everything we could’ve ever dreamt of in a Daddy.
As your Mama, Clara Bolton, once said, sometimes things get hard and just have to wade through them. So Daddy, we miss you, but we’re going to wade through, because that’s what you would’ve done. You would’ve made a list, gotten up early, and waded through. So we will, too. And we look forward to the day when we’re all together again.
The eulogy was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but I wanted to do it. I wanted to honor him. I'm glad I did it.
I stayed with family for the week last week and returned to Virginia on Sunday. Returning was one of the hardest parts because normal is now non-existent. Even when I do the work that I love, my heart is heavy. I miss talking to dad early in the mornings (right about now) about business plans and next moves. I miss calling in the evenings and hearing he and mom tease each other about something senseless.
I think it only appropriate he went to be with Jesus early that morning on July 7. It was his favorite time of day.
I also think it's interesting..the last time I was faced with grief in a miscarriage, I was angry with God. I was angry with God for taking my baby from me (which I now know isn't what happened).
But, I'm not angry with God about Daddy. I wish I'd had more time with Daddy, but I also know the time we had was meaningful. When I went to visit Daddy's graveside later in the week last week, he assured me he was ok. There are two trees that overlap over Daddy's grave and as I sat down, the sun peeked through those two trees and warmed my shoulders. It was if Daddy and God were assuring me he was ok and just as I'd said days before, we would be ok, too.
I think I'm most grateful for the family lake trip we took just two weeks before Daddy died. That is how he'd want to be remembered. But Daddy is probably also annoyed with me and my family that we're so overwhelmed by all of this. He would tell us he's free and for us to enjoy the time we have left on this Earth and then to come be with him in Heaven on God's time. He'll be the one singing Willie Nelson songs.
Wow, right? We couldn't afford to stay in this house, but the owners were amazingly generous and offered us a rate that made sense for our family. Good people are still in this world. The owners have been so responsive to our every need--I couldn't recommend this place more. If you want a large lake home to rent--this one is for you!
Above and below are some photos from our trip. Was it restful? Not even. This is where I fight the anxiety monster (ie Satan). He says, "You'll never feel rested again. You never get a normal vacation. You now have to go back to your life which is harder than this." I try to tune out this exaggerating voice in my head and enjoy the children I have wanted for so long, but it's a challenge. Because, well, I am tired (mentally and physically). But, I tell myself that their ages are temporary and they won't always need me like this. Still, the anxiety monster is real. I just have to recognize him and tell myself that each day is a gift from God and God gives me the tools and the family/friends to help me through each day. One day. Daily bread. That's what the Lord's prayer says. So, that's what I try to think of (but often fail). So, I may be going home a bit less refreshed than I hoped, but my heart is full. Here are some more photos from our fun trip:
See? Not Gratitude. I feel like gratitude is one of those words like passion that was overused so much in the last several years that it's lost some of its meaning, so I'm choosing "Good Stuff." Really I'm borrowing this from my friend Kate who's been diligent about noticing the "good stuff" the quarantine and the virus has brought her. Her words really inspire me on some days, so I thought I'd (hopefully) do the same today for you. There have been several days, especially at the beginning of the quarantine, when I was racked with fear. My worries about my special needs son seemed to chased me into a darkness I couldn't make sense of--I was lost. Working full time from home, being a parent to five toddlers, trying to serve as my autistic son's therapist, grocery shopping, saving money, sanitizing, exercising (?!), missing my friends....it all hit me so hard that anxiety and sadness felt like words that could never quantify what I was feeling. So, what do we do? As my dad's mom, the original Clara Bolton (not my Clara) would say, "we just wade through." We wade through each day and we do our best and hope that someday we will get some perspective. And I think maybe I finally have some. I finally started doing FaceTime dates with friends. I figured out a better plan for Luke's therapy sessions at home with our au pair. I established a better work schedule (yes that includes getting up at 4:00 am, but I revel in the quiet). I forced myself to take walks. It's not the rigorous exercise regimen I usually do, but it's something. I'm facing my fears about germs, and I'm slowly realizing that I'm just going to have to be happy with saving whatever money as I can. Feeding five toddlers plus a husband and an au pair is expensive. That's life. So, onto the good stuff, shall we? Let's do it. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- After a family Zoom call with my family last Sunday, Millie said, "I love our family. They're the best."
Helmets at a campfire? Safety first!
As we sat down to dinner on Thursday night, Isabelle put her hands together and said her own blessing.
Luke used the word "corner" with me--that's a huge word!
Clara is getting so good at riding her bike.
Cwara, as she says, loves owange. That's her favorite color.
Ava loves helping me. She's delighted to help put away dishes and clean up whatever mess I'm cleaning. She also loves her Daddy more than life itself.
Luke is OBSESSED with the song "I Have a Dream" from Tangled. He calls in the "Dream" song. He especially loves it when my Disney-ballad singing husband belts it out for him. These are the perfect two men to live with all of these ladies.
My Disney Dudes
I love that I have the relationships I do with our au pair and our mother's helper. They are such amazing women who love my children so much. They make me laugh, think creatively, and feel gratitude in ways I never thought I could. I am enjoying commuting less and giving my face a break from make up. I am also enjoying a break for the constant go-go-go schedule that I usually run. Clara makes us laugh so much. Michael calls her his Goofball. She really is. I don't know where her sense of humor comes from, but I hope she never loses it. I gave her a Mickey shirt I ordered off Ebay yesterday, and she said, "Oh Mommy, Cwara thinks it's bea-ti-ful!"
Millie still wants to get in my belly like she's a baby. So once I have on my pajamas, she'll crawl under my shirt and snuggle in like she's in utero. Weird, but sweet.
Isabelle was made to be a princess. She walks around with a crown on most days.
Ava may end up working for a government agency looking for criminals--she loves finding lost things: pacifiers, toys, our dog, whatever it is--Ava is UP for the task.
That's it for now. Sending you love and good stuff.
I woke up early this morning feeling rested (what?!), so I decided to take this opportunity to blog. As most of you know, I struggle with anxiety. I worry about dinner. I worry about the cost of college. I worry about the health of my son. I worry about my daddy being too stressed. I worry about my sister being too tired. I worry if our rental house will rent. I worry if we will be able to afford our aging dog's very expensive medicine. I worry about my mama being lonely. I worry about all of it. I worry. So, as a result, I see a wonderful Christian counselor who's a God-send, and I walk. I walk outside as much as I can and I listen to music (after I call my mama).
She's one of my best friends and confidants (and the best florist I know).
My girls also love their KK.
This week, in listening to music I was brought back to a song that I listened to frequently after my second (and very traumatic) miscarriage. This is the song, Closer to Fine, by the Indigo Girls. One of the lines says:
Well darkness has a hunger that's insatiable
And lightness has a call that's hard to hear.
Isn't that true? Especially in these days of COVID-19, the darkness IS insatiable. At least it is for me. One of my good friends was telling me she was listening to a sermon online, and the preacher said that being in quarantine is similar to the Saturday before Easter Sunday. Jesus was supposed to have risen, but He wasn't (yet). And it was dark, and scary, and uncertain.
Maybe that's how you're feeling today. But, I would encourage you to listen for the soft call of the light. Granted, it's difficult for me to hear because I have toddlers who are currently doing front flips out of their beds at 6:31 am (insert eye roll), but let's keep listening and keep waiting. The light's there. It's coming.
One more anecdote I wanted to share. I'm reading Max Lucado's book on anxiety, which is terrific by the way. And he reminds his reader that when your car is broken, you take it to the shop, right? Then, you leave your car and you go home, knowing that the expert will fix it. You don't take your car to the shop, unfurl your sleeping bag, and stay there, asking questions, biting your finger nails, until it's fixed.
No, you take your worries to the expert and you leave them. Knowing they're handled. (My mind was blown. Not sure 'bout yours). Are you prayers like that? Can't say that mine are? I'll work on that.
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How are the kids these days? Whew, they're a handful. Age three is NOT for the faint of heart. I'll give you an update by kiddo.
Ava: whew, this child is either going to be a CEO or an FBI agent or wind up in some trouble someday. She is SO motivated, SO stubborn, and SO insanely observant and smart. She was reading a book about Paris yesterday with her Daddy. But, she's also competitive (ahem, can't imagine where that comes from). The girls were playing Hungry, Hungry Hippos the other day and Ava didn't get any marbles. She fell into the floor crying because she couldn't win. This girl has best actress in. the. bag.
Clara: Daddy calls her Goofball. Because she is. But she also has the temper of Tom Bolton (my daddy). She has a fire hot temper over the smallest things--I can't wear shorts during a freeze warning? Tantrum. There's no candy inside this boiled egg? Tantrum. The nightlight isn't charged completely so it doesn't change colors? Tantrum. She's also silly Clara. She has her own language that no one really understands but everyone loves.
Clara loves doing thumbs up!
L to R: Ava, Clara, Isabelle, Millie
We call these two sisters (Ava and Clara) Bugs and Daffy. They are silly and (usually) at odds while being playful.
This little girl also has a special relationship with Daddy.
Millie: Oh my Millie. At night, after we've put the girls to bed, Millie "reads" from memory books to her sisters and makes sure they can all see the pictures.
She constantly asks me to "snuggle" and she tells me she loves me all the time. Lately, though, Millie is having a hard time doing what she's asked, which makes me sad, but I know it's part of the age. Hopefully, it will pass soon.
Luke: I know I blogged about Luke last week, but he's such a fun guy (not the mushroom--hut hut). He loves playing in our big family "bus." He loves going for walks. He loves reading and he loves PB&Js. Since the girls have been watching Tangled NONSTOP, he's also taken to the song, "I Have a Dream." If you haven't heard it, it's quite catchy. But I love that he likes it because I want him to have dreams, no matter what disabilities he has. He can have whatever dreams he wants. And I'll be there to help him every step of the way.
Lukey and Grandma also have a very special relationship.
Isabelle: Oh, princess Isabelle. She is TOTALLY the princess of the crowd. She's always been my baby baby (the youngest of my babies) and she knows it. But she's got some behavior issues, too. She takes toys without asking. She tinkles on herself for attention and she'll refuse just about any request just to see your reaction (Grrrrr). But, she's my baby, baby. She makes up these little songs about whatever she's doing. She says please and thank you without prompting, and she still gives me eskimo kisses when I ask for them. There's nothing I'd trade for that little diva.
