Months ago I sat down with Alan, Grace’s boyfriend, and talked with him about what was next. Something big was about to happen. It was evident to all. The tension was building, like the approaching apprehension of watching all the animals fleeing in one direction as you are rushing and falling toward the culminating unknown. Something massive, life-changing, is just out of sight. You try with all your might to prepare for the unpreparable. If I talked with Alan like I knew what was about to happen, it was a lie. I certainly didn’t know. I only knew of what I believed and hoped. It was easy to look at their life together and know neither had a clue of what was going to be. Even in their wildest dreams they could not comprehend the 90 degree turn their life was about to take. I wanted to help prepare him for what was coming. He had not seen Grace in a couple of days as she had been in the hospital. Also, Grace had chosen to go under hospice care and I knew the weight that would carry with him. My heart was broken for what Alan was about to face and I wanted desperately to try and help prepare him for her current condition. My own clarity, if I had any at the time, is eroded now. I will be the first to say the fork in the road has been taken and the bend has proven to be more challenging and diverse than I could have ever imagined. The change in my life has overwhelmed me, humbled me and there are times I feel completely lost and insignificant as I try to navigate on this new road.

Grief has many components. Few things in life are flat, without dimension, certainly nothing of value. Grief, like love, is multi-layered. Each layer comes with its own crispness of memories, mind numbing pain, confusion or understanding. Staring me in the face like a mannequin through a shop window is the vision of being at peace with the fork in the road. The thought of Grace is ever constant. Thoughts of our first moments together as she was freshly born and crying and I was out of breath and our last moments together when I was crying and she was out of breath. Random thoughts hold my attention of her childhood while my mind wanders as I wash dishes. My brow furrows with the knowledge of the college graduation never to come or the wedding dress never tried on or the grand-children never held. And I grieve. I wonder with quiet indignity when it will all go back like it was once before. In simple terms, I grieve for the fork in the road. Time marches on and I wonder again with rage and tears when it will all go back like it once was before?? I grieve for the loss of our Grace but I also grieve to be stuck on a path taken in which there is no turn around. I had become so accustomed to loving the forward progression of life. When the kids are little you look forward to the approaching years. You glory for each new step taken or driver’s license earned. And you marvel in wonder for what is next. But, now it seems, I want to get off this ride and go back. “Please, someone, turn this thing off and let me go back!! I feel sick and dizzy and I just want to get off!” And still the sun crosses the sky and the moon rises. And the fork in the gets further and further behind and you suddenly realize as the knot in your stomach grows and tightens, there is no going back. Life as you knew it is over. Who you were then when she was alive is gone. Mother of four is now mother of three. So, I grieve for the fork in the road because I have the understanding there is no option but to let the thoughts of who I was before the fork, die. The picture of what I had in my head of my family and myself and our future together has changed. I can grieve that understanding but in the end, if I am to have a future, I must choose to let go. It is one thing to grieve the loss of Grace and another to grieve the loss of the road I cannot get back to. Life changes. Sometimes that change is hard. Sometime that change is out of our hands. Both usually go hand in hand like rain and weeds. I miss Grace, but I know I will see her again and my grief lessens. I see her healthy and whole and I am joyful. The bend in the road is not hateful or bitter or against me, it is just a bend in my road. How I choose to walk out this bend or fork is up to me. I believe I could grieve the fork in the road for the rest of my life. I have seen people do it. I have seen no one do it well. So, the choice is mine. How do I walk out this road, knowing there is no getting back to what once was. Can I let those thoughts and hopes of “what once could be” go?

Slowly but methodically, I am coming to terms with the fork in the road. The past wants to hold us to waste away but certainly I can see there is no future in the past. I can not move forward wishing to go back. What a shame it would be to forsake a bright future for a past that can never be claimed. There are no clear and perfect roads for any of us. But, together we forge ahead and do not stumble to look behind. Together, we take one step forward at a time and choose to joy in the road we are currently walking.

“If we do surgery now, we will have to remove Grace’s spleen, part of her lower intestine, more of her stomach, part of her liver, part of her colon…” and my heart starts beating out of control, a buzzing sound fills my head and I’m trying to listen to what the doctor is saying. She is telling me something important, vital information about my daughter. “Focus!” Her lips are moving so I know she is still speaking but my world has stopped. Darkness gathers. I force myself up and kneel in front of Grace’s x-rays on the monitor and say, “Show me. I want to see with my eyes where it is. Walk me through this.”

Every step of Grace’s journey was fraught with challenge. Not a fluid mass but a 10lb tumor, we re-group. Terrible reaction to one of the chemos after the first round, we re-group. Can not go home for treatment, we re-group. Tires are stolen, we re-group. After six rounds of chemo and two months off chemo, tumors have quadrupled in size, we re-group. Surgery is not an option, we re-group. If the next round of chemo works, we will have six months at most together, we re-group. Grace decides not to take chemo, she has six to eight weeks left, we re-group. She is gone in four, we re-group….without her.

“What else could we, should we have done?” My mind wanders these dark corners time to time. “Did we do everything? What did we not think of?” But, from the very beginning there was purpose in our hearts of one direction. The three of us together held onto the anchor of, “No regret!” Every decision was made from a place of peace, rest and agreement. “Father, what should we do? What are Your thoughts? Show us your way.” So when the dark thoughts come now, there are only Light and Brilliance to fill those dark, murky corners. Thankfully, there is no wondering to cause wandering. From beginning to end on this journey, Grace lived with ‘no regret’ as her foundation. She lived in only peace and victory. The revelation of “No regret”, transformed my life. It is an experience that I will not only cherish but choose to build upon. The first step of ‘no regret’ is faith. There can never be regret when you have acted upon faith. Faith is the first step to pleasing God. Regret can not abide in a heart that chooses to please God above all else and follow after Him. We lived our faith out loud. In spite of the doctors reports and the unbelief of others, we boldly held on to Him and His word to us, “Live, little Girl, LIVE!” We never doubted nor kept our mouths shut at any opportunity to proclaim His power and love.

Our Grace died. And I have no answer for that. I am not trying to come up with one. What I wanted and prayed for desperately never came to pass. I feel like a fool. What I thought I heard from my Father was not meant to be. That door now has closed and there is no going back and changing anything. And what would I change? Eric and I would change absolutely nothing. We three lived in one mindset in unison. “Don’t hold anything back! Do what is in your heart to do! And do it with all your might.” Don’t let the thoughts of others cause you to live in the shallow places of your heart or faith. Live your life and faith out loud. I don’t want one opportunity to slip by that would result in regret. Sometimes in life, most of the time in life, I have learned we do not get ‘do-overs’. So, do it right the first time, in that moment. You know the moment…when your heart is beckoning you to go deeper, love more or give it all. Give all of your heart, your faith and action to see beauty here on this Earth. In that moment, choose to live well; choose to live with “No Regret!”

Greetings to the blogging world. As you may have guessed right off the bat, I am new to the blogging world but I am in great expectation it is wonderful and gratifying frontier. 

I have posted several things on Facebook and am jumping into blogging mid stream. I do not consider myself a poetic writer nor a profound thinker. But, I am inspired. I believe…. and hope you do not have to be an inspirational writer to create an inspirational blog. In my case, I hope I can just write about a life changing experience and about an inspirational person that brought that change.

Grief: a keen mental suffering or distress over affliction or loss; sharp sorrow; painful regret.

While that may the definition according to Webster, those words remain one dimensional, sparse and elementary in comparison to truly understanding the depths, convexes and concaves of the reality of the experience of grief.

When there are no words to speak during this time, I have found I can write. My expressions through the written word fall short of my feelings. Most of the time it is like a dam filled to the brim just to overflowing and it is only seconds away from bursting, but then a twig moves and a simple stream of water leaks out. The amount of pressure changes little, the bursting is still close, but there is hope. As long as the trickle of water continues…there is hope that the dam will not burst and cause phenomenal devastation to all those around. May that small trickle of water bring life and hope to all it touches. And eventually, in time, the pressure will ease from the dam and all will be well again.

This post and the ones that follow will be in honor and memory of my 20 year old daughter, Grace Erin Smith who on May 9, 2013 at 5:30 am, passed from this world into the next.

Before we headed to Hilton Head after Grace’s funeral, Eric and I decided we and our children would go to Grace’s graveside. I didn’t want the graveside to become a taboo place or for it to become something placed on a pedestal that would interfere with our sight of our Father and His healing power and comfort. We gathered around her place and looked at all the beautiful flowers. We each took a rose from the arrangement the kids sent, grabbed the two pandas sitting amongst them and headed on. The baby panda sat on the dashboard the whole time we were gone. The larger panda was passed around throughout the vehicle. I kept the five roses in a vase on the kitchen table until we left. Then I gathered the petals and brought them home. She wasn’t with us on that first trip, and it was hard, but her presence was felt with every rub to the tiny dashboard panda or with every squeeze of the bigger panda or the sight or sniff of the roses.

Since then, Eric and I visit Grace’s grave site every week, sometimes several times a week. We both comment that we don’t know why we go, she is not there. Not the part that truly matters. Her body is there, just six feet below our feet. There is no way to convey the bizarre and surreal feeling of your child’s physical body to be so close and yet her be so very far away. I told him I thought it was more the thought of, “Grace, baby, you may be gone but you are not forgotten. We love you still and we make time in our day to remember you!” It has become a special time for Eric and I to sit together in peace and re-affirm our love and commitment together. I usually end up in his arms weeping while he holds me close. I wipe his tears away as he in turn wipe mine.

“In sickness and health, through life or death.” Of course I added that last part. When I was taking my marriage vows of course I couldn’t see down the road to the death of a child, our first-born child. These are the roads you discover and navigate together. The commitment to the vows we made almost 23 years ago, now encompass more than just me and Eric. The vows have stretched themselves out to cover over our precious family. Our children were born underneath those vows. “In sickness and in health, for richer or poorer till death do us part” has become a strong yet tender, impenetrable yet flexible, fierce yet comforting tent we live under together, as a family.

Before I talk about my worst day before Grace died, I have to tell you about the few days that preceded it.

It started on a Thursday. I had been sitting at Hospice with Grace all day. It was not a good day. She was back to hurting and I was back to not doing well with it at all. To the point, that when her dad showed around 5:00 p.m. at Hospice I met him in the parking lot, my bags in hand ready to head home. He was shocked at my demeanor but I couldn’t help it. I was doing so badly that I couldn’t even bear to speak to a dear friend who had come from McRae to visit with us. I left Eric with the visitor and the care of Grace and headed home. I cried all the way home. Upon entering the city limits of McRae I dried my tears because I didn’t want my other 2 kids to have to bear the weight I was carrying. Later that evening when I was alone I let it all out. I kept asking God all kinds of questions, just pouring out my heart and my hurt and my anger and frustration. My heart was broken and I was tired. A precious friend had texted me earlier in the day and given me a word concerning Grace. I could not even bear to consider it. I read the text, closed my phone and cried myself into the oblivion of sleep. The next morning I received another text from another friend that mentioned the previous text so I went back and re-read first text. It read, “God will show Himself strong on Grace’s behalf on her third day.” I texted her back and asked, “When will that be?” She texted back, “Sunday.” I jumped in the shower to prepare myself for the day. It was now Friday. I told God I could hold on to Him for another two days. I could make it with peace in my heart and strength in my soul for two more days. I put a smile on my face, washed my tears away and walked into Hospice with new found hope and confidence.

I shared with Grace what the text said and we both waited patiently and with great expectation for Sunday. Friday passed much like Thursday. Saturday was a little better. Eric went home Saturday night so he could lead worship Sunday morning. So, it was just me and Grace. We chatted Saturday evening, watched tv and got ready for bed. I pulled my bed right next to hers. I made our beds the same height so we could hold hands during the night. As I was doing all of this Grace kept hearing things. She’d ask, “Did you hear that loud noise? Or, “Do you hear all that talking?” I kept replying no. But, I started a journal of all the things she was hearing. Mostly she heard people talking and children laughing. I went to bed holding her hand excited about what tomorrow had to bring. I also went to bed pushing her morphine pain pump button every 15 minutes as was our custom.

She awoke at 6:00 a.m. the next morning. She sat up in bed. I followed suit. As any care taker can testify, when the one you love stirs and move you are right there tending to any need they may have. She looked at me with great big eyes and said, “Today is the day!” I enthusiastically agreed with her. She stated out of the blue she wanted to take a bath. So, I moved her cords, found some smell good body wash and lotion her dear friend and Aunt had brought her and helped her to the bathroom. She ,of course, didn’t want my help and endeavored to do everything by herself. She looked in the bathroom mirror and commented on how small she looked and that she didn’t like it. Her tiny arms and legs didn’t match her swollen belly. We chatted easily through the shower curtained as she bathed and I stood there waiting and ready to help. She dressed in a shirt her Aunt Angel had recently brought her and climbed back into her bed. I had just changed out her sheets so they were nice, clean and crisp feeling. I slathered her in Paris lotion as we talked and listened to music. I went to the bathroom to ready myself for the day. I asked her if she wanted to listen to some praise and worship music. It was about the same time her dad would have been leading at service. She readily agreed. The music blared as the windows were opened to the outside so Grace could see out. (My mom had put a bird feeder right next to the window facing Grace’s bed so she could easily watch the birds. But actually, we watched the squirrels climb the feeder and do somersaults to the ground.) I peeped at her from the bathroom doorway and watched as she was sitting cross-legged in the bed, staring out the window, as she conducted the music with her hands in the air with a huge smile on her face. PRICELESS! I thought again, “Today is the day!” “Her miracle is coming today!” I asked if she felt up to me putting make-up on her. She grinned and said, “Yeah! That would be awesome.” She even let me fix her super-fine short hair. I sprayed it and spiked it best I could. Soon, she was taking pictures and posting on Facebook.

The morning faded and early afternoon was upon us. Alan was there visiting with Grace. Other visitors were coming and going. During a certain episode, it was just Grace and me in the room; she could tell I was becoming impatient with the whole, “God is going to show Himself strong” part. She told me, “Mom, you just can’t rush it. You have to be patient.” I smiled and nodded that she was right. The late afternoon came and went and now it was early evening. And I started to feel the bitterness wanting to rise. With large amounts of sarcasm, I thanked God that He waited until the day was almost over before doing anything. And still we waited. 8:00 p.m. turned into 9:00 turned into 10:00. Grace prepared herself for bed and with great peace she said, “Goodnight.” As I took her hand to hold through the night I felt sick to my stomach. Nothing had happened. I was angry and disappointed and bewildered. I watched the clock as it passed from 11:59 p.m. to 12:00 a.m. and the hope of Sunday and greatness was gone. Her miracle had never come. I was to the point of retching I felt so sick in my stomach. I passed the night in great sadness, watching Grace and pushing her pain button every 15 minutes, just as I had done the night before.

Later, Monday morning as Grace and I were chatting she stated, “I don’t know how God showed Himself strong yesterday.” I grimly stated I didn’t either. But, then she looked at me, cocked her head sideways and said, “Well, actually Mom, you don’t know how bad off I would have been yesterday if God had not shown Himself strong for me.” In that moment, with her revelation given with such peace and tenderness, I nodded my head in humble agreement. “No, baby, we sure don’t know.” But, under the surface, violence was tearing my insides apart. On the one hand I was amazed and proud and humbled by Grace’s great faith and perspective and wisdom. On the other hand my fists were beating the floors and walls and doors of my own soul with anger and frustration at my own lack of understanding, perspective, wisdom and faith. And the fact she was good with her Sunday. In her there was found no regret of anticipation, no anxiety about still hurting, just calm and peace with her understanding, that just doubled my own hurt and exacerbation with God. So, much like the Thursday before, I am waiting and watching for Eric so I can head home and find some relief from the burden of my soul. I head home around 2:00 p.m. so I can be home when the other two kids get home from school. We decided when I left that I would return later that night. Grace wanted me there with her even though Alan was spending the night at Hospice as well. So, I would return after I put Alese and Jared to bed. Needless to say, again I cried myself all the way home. Dried my tears at the city limits and enjoyed my time with my kids. Alese and I lay on the sofa together. I play with her hair as she dozes resting on me.

My personal time is usually my shower time. Music is on; water is running so I can cry undisturbed. Usually, I end up on my knees in the bottom of the tub pouring my heart out to my Father, water mixed with tears while I am covered in soap. Baths have always made me feel better. I have some of my best talks with God in the shower. This night was no exception. As I poured my heart out to Him of my anger and frustration and brokenness, He softly began to speak understanding into my heart. I had been begging for His perspective and wisdom. My own was getting me nowhere but deeper in the hole. He gently began to talk to me about my yesterday, Sunday. He said, “Laura, when was the last time Grace was able to get out of bed and shower?” My response was, “Weeks and weeks, Lord.” “When was the last time she felt up to putting make up on?” “Weeks and Weeks”, came my response again. “How about taking pictures and chatting with people on Facebook?” By now I was getting His point. I was humbled by His goodness and kindness. But most of all I was undone by His gentleness with me after I had been so ill and upset with not only Him but also the dear friend who had sent me the text in the first place. I cried tears of repentance and shame and love. I had been so busy looking for His great power demonstrated through a great miracle. I wanted to see something big and ‘super-natural’ so badly I had missed His goodness and presence in the small things He was doing all day long.

Now, when I look back at that Sunday, it is one of the days I hold most dear. Grace was right. She had it right all along. It took me a while to catch up. I just didn’t know how bad her Sunday would have been if God hadn’t shown Himself strong. The time we shared doing mother/daughter stuff that day means everything to me now. I will never forget the sight of her sitting in bed crossed-legged as Casting Crowns played, grinning ear to ear as she literally bounced with the music, her hands dancing in the air. Seeing her like that, full of hope and peace and love, is the closest picture of her in heaven I can imagine.

The last picture she posted on Facebook was from that Sunday. She was bright-eyed, hopeful and smiling, her inner beauty radiating for all to see. She died four short days later, the following Thursday morning. God is merciful and kind. By His grace, my worst day imaginable became one of the dearest and most cherished days of the last days with my Grace.