2nd Annual Memorial Pheasant Hunt

I never seem to have time to get on to post much more these days. It's like I have a house full of kids or something. Oh, wait...

Anyway, I wanted to take a minute to post the pictures from this weekend. Some of Jeremy's dearest friends hosted the 2nd Annual "All the King's Men" Jeremy King Memorial Pheasant Hunt. It was a beautiful day, and I continued to be humbled at the ways people remember and honor Jeremy. My biggest fear is that people will forget his life, his legacy, and the mark he made of the world and those around him. But my heart feels at peace surrounded by those he loved when we continue to remember. With this crowd, I know he won't be forgotten.

 

The men who hunted - including Jer's dad, best friend from Canada, and people all across the board who knew him or knew of him. 

Jer's best friend, Andy. Such a great guy, and I'm so glad he could make it!

Even my dad came out to hunt, which was very special.

My aunt Nancy, Uncle Rex, and Dad :)

All the beautiful kids who came out for the yummy food!

I love the way Steve continues to support and honor Jeremy as well. What a guy!

My momma King. Don't know what I'd do without her.

Thank you to everyone who participated (including those who came just for lunch and those who helped prepare food) - you'll never know how grateful I am to see Jeremy's legacy live on.

Grief will always suck

No matter how good life can get, grief will always suck.

And that sneaky little bugger grief always pops up, whether you're ready or not (when are you ever really ready?)

And the other thing about grief - it's life long. Just like love. And you when you lose someone you love, the hurt never disappears, even when it doesn't hurt to breathe anymore. And that love never goes away either, even when you find more room in your heart to love again.

This week grief has been following me around. It popped up in different places: in the faces of my children, in hearing stories of others' tragic losses, in my early morning prayers while I'm out running, going through stuff in the basement...nearly everywhere. Like someone kicking the back of my knee each time until finally I fall down.

The other night, Steve took our three girls out on a date. Since the boys and I weren't feeling all that well, we were just going to stay in, but Caleb asked if we could go on a "sick date" - how could I say no? We grabbed some food and headed to Jer's memorial stone to eat with Daddy at the College. I love getting to chance to have one-on-one with our kids, and Caleb is so much fun to talk to - I never have a dull moment trying to figure out where the heck he comes up with half the stuff he says. But I also love hearing him talk about his daddy. How much he misses him, what he thinks daddy might be doing in Heaven, what he wants to tell him, and his favorite memories of him. He is just the spitting image of Jeremy, it hurts my heart sometimes.

I sat in front of Jer's stone and watched the boys play while tears filled up in my eyes. What an odd place to watch my sons play - at their dad's memorial stone. I love being able to go there and spend time in that place, but it will never feel right to be there.

Every once in awhile, the kids ask to watch the videos on my desk top that were taken days before Jeremy died of the kids with a whoopie cushion. The sound of Jer's his voice can confuse me like nothing else. This morning when Caleb asked to watch it, my brain couldn't make sense of hearing his voice right there but knowing he's not here anymore. He sounds so close, still so real like I could reach out and touch him. Only, I can't.

I tend to be too hard on myself sometimes, thinking I should be ok and grief shouldn't overwhelm like it still can sometimes. But then I remember that it hurts so great because I was loved so great.

I try to let myself have the bad days, because sometimes...it just sucks.

Death week

I am in the midst of one of the toughest grieving weeks of the year for me. Last week it began with my wedding anniversary with Jeremy. Then, Friday I received the news that my Grandma Wanda passed away due to some complications after a surgery. Devastating. Today (Wednesday) is her birthday, and also the death anniversary of my brother, Brian. This week my mom will have her birthday as well. Needless to say, it's been a rough week.

One of my favorite memories of my Grandma Wanda took place while preparing for my brother's graduation party. Jeremy and I were down in the basement with Brian, putting together a decorated box to collect all the cards for the day. Upstairs, my other very rude Grandmother started bickering about how I wasn't helping and how ungrateful I must be while my parents would be paying for our wedding (Jeremy and I were engaged). These accusations were of course ungrounded and false, but she just likes to have something to complain about. My 4-foot-something spitfire Grandma Wanda starts yelling from the basement sticking up for me and telling her to shut her mouth. And then began to tell Jeremy how much she liked him and not to worry about haters.

I share this story because it hit me suddenly yesterday while I was sharing it with Steve that 3 out of 4 people involved in that memory are dead.
Not here anymore.
How is that possible?!

It was too much for me to understand. It's just not right. And to top it all off, it's all flooding me in the same week, at the same time. Three precious lives that have meant so much to me in different ways no longer exist. Yesterday, I'm pretty sure I cried at the drop of a hat - all of it was weighing on me.

Today I had made plans to stay distracted. But what was really pulling on my heart was to face grief. I needed to spend the day with my parents and grieve this horrible day last year when I felt my brother die in my hands. I wanted them to know how much Brian was and is loved. I want them to know I'm still here, still hurting with them, still healing. So we cancelled our plans and headed to my hometown to my brother's grave. What a sight it was to see today:

So many people had already been there today. Notes, pictures, flowers, plants, keepsakes - everyone leaving pieces behind. We added to the bunch with letters from the kids, flowers and balloons.
It felt right to be there.

Inevitably, when I face grief, it all gets mixed together - I grieved for Brian, Jeremy, and Grandma Wanda today.
It was heavy, but necessary.

You'd think the more people you lose close to you, the better you'd get at figuring this stuff out. Turns out it doesn't work that way. It just sucks every time.

I'll be glad when the week is over.

Memorial

This Sunday, the Rochester Church of Christ is canceling classes as our congregation walks next door to the campus of Rochester College, where my husband worked, together to dedicate a memorial to him in honor of his service there.

Already, I was blown over by yet another incredible thing to honor my love. But oh no, it's not just one thing. It's a hundred things and a hundred people coming together to make something else happen. What started off as an idea for a stone and a maple tree (for Jer's canadian roots) to be placed in his honor became an entire sanctuary space of beauty and memory. Three maple trees, a beautiful giant stone and inscription, a bench and decorative stones....all facing the lake where Jeremy worked and fished, and next to where we lived when we first got married and where we've spent many hours together. It's above and beyond anything I could have ever imagined. Even though Jeremy would have never believed it could all be for him, I know his presence is already there, approving this memorial that is soooo him.

Our dear friend John, who, among the countless other things he's done for my family, was setting this all up and asked if I'd like to have the kids and I place our handprints in the concrete that set the stone before they covered it. Are you kidding? What a great idea I never would have even thought of! It will mean so much to us for years to come. I can already see us years down the road looking back on this day, talking about how big the kids were when they put their hand prints in the cement. And how Faith freaked out cause she didn't want to touch the sticky cement but I forced her to anyway cause I knew it would be important to her later. And how Carter had to put his footprints in because he was so small and I couldn't unclench his hands enough to get them in the concrete. And how the kids got to have a ride in "Daddy's Kubota."

I'm so proud to have stood beside a man who through many flaws and weaknesses, revealed Christ to so many. And through his life, brought a community to its knees. I can't wait to feel Jer's presence on Sunday in that place.

We were lucky to have a friend capture the day for us, so I will leave you with some of our moments.