Monday, April 30, 2018


Four weeks from today will be two years since we lost Lacy.

I keep getting reminders on my Facebook feed of the last few weeks of Lacy's life.  The last year, I took a picture of him every week.  I wanted to make sure I could remember him, and the good - and bad - times we had together.

I feel a sense of dread about May 28.  I am thankful that it falls on Memorial Day, so we will not have to go to work. 

I am also thankful that we took every opportunity to spend time with him.  The last time was 5pm on May 27, 2016.  Nine hours later, he was gone.

As I drove away from the nursing home that evening, a scripture popped into my head: 

...that I may know Him and the power of His resurrection... (Philippians 3:10)

That power has sustained us for nearly two years.

Monday, April 23, 2018

So it's April...

I know I said I would be writing more this year, but just haven't had the heart.  It seems I start a post only to feel that it's just too banal.

What do I write about now that the reason my blog came to be was the journey the three of us - Lacy, Kenny, and I - were taking through this unpredictable life?  Our Lacy has gone home to be with Jesus, and Kenny and I are here trying to discover what life without Lacy is supposed to be.

I keep thinking...Lacy is in the rear view mirror.  He's getting farther away every day.  Time is healing our wounds, and we are finding new interests and thinking about the rest of our lives, but the ache never goes away.

We've found a new interest - Audio Theater - specifically the Northwest Arkansas Audio Theater.  This is old time radio with an audience.  Our group performs plays with just scripts and barebones costuming.  Like Reader's Theater.  Kenny and I have been in four plays now, and I am directing Treasure Island for performance in June.  We have a great partnership with the Arts Center of the Ozarks in Springdale.

Kenny and I have been going to counseling to work through our grief, and it has been very good for both of us.  Not only are we dealing with our grief in a healthy way, we are also taking time to work on our own emotional and mental well-being in general.  I'd recommend this for anyone walking through the valley of the shadow.  So much comes to the surface when dealing with grief and it helps to be able to talk to someone who can offer suggestions to lay aside the guilt and regret that naturally comes with the loss of a child.

In my personal spiritual life, I've been journaling. I try to write every day, even if it's just a little bit.  I'm also in the process of writing a devotional study of Psalms 139.  This is a chapter that has meant a lot to me personally for many years, and has given me peace when I have to confront hard times.  I think it will take me a while.  I have felt for a long time that I had to have it all together to write something like this, but I think the point is that I'll never have it all together this side of glory and that's part of the process.  I don't know this will be something I'll try to publish, or just to do for myself.  Time will tell.

In the last month, I've been thinking a lot of what it must be like for Lacy in heaven.  Especially since I went to see the movie I Can Only Imagine, I've been thinking of that moment when Lacy was suddenly freed from all the chains that bound him here.  I think Lacy was one of the rare people who probably just settled in - happy to be home at last and eager to tell Jesus all about his joy.

If you are like me, you sometimes wonder what it's really like in eternity.  We catch quick glimpses here and there, but nothing that can be grasped and examined.  Without that tangible proof, how do we really know?  I was reminded this week of Hebrews 11:1 - Now faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of things not seen.  Our faith is the proof, the tangible proof, of the promise of eternal life.

I am so comforted by the words of the Psalmist:  O Lord, You have searched me and known me.  You know when I sit down and when I rise up; You understand my thought from afar.  You scrutinize my path (or my journeying!) and my lying down, and are intimately acquainted with all my ways. (Psalms 139:1-3)  God sees me and He knows how I feel, how uncertain I am, and He knows my journey - where I've been and where I'm going.

Saturday, December 30, 2017

A New Year

Tomorrow is New Year's Eve, and I've made a resolution to post more to this blog.  But what should my focus be?  I don't know, but I'll find out as I begin to put pen - or keyboard - to paper.

This is our second Christmas season without Lacy.  It is harder than the first, because now this is final.  My greatest fear is forgetting him - his voice and his personality.  My heart aches when I realize how long it has been since I held his hand or hugged him.  I miss his voice and his love.  However, even when I feel this way, a memory will come to me, or I'll be reminded of a funny story, and I am comforted. 

Kenny and I have begun to explore interests we had put off for many years.  We are both getting involved in community theater, and we are becoming more involved in church and volunteering.  We are looking at retirement in the next (very) few years.  We are traveling and planning travel.  In July, we celebrated our 40th wedding anniversary with a trip to Canada. 

At last, I am ready to re arrange Lacy's room so that it is not a static memorial to him.  I want to distribute the pictures and artifacts around the house, and create a more neutral space for our guests.  While I can go in his room, shut the door, and see Lacy everywhere, I'm ready to scatter those sacred objects around our house now. 

There is still a sort of survivor's guilt that wells up.  I'm alive, living, moving on, and Lacy is getting smaller in that rear-view mirror.  Still, he's always with us because he's always in our hearts. 

There will  never be a time when I won't feel that lump in my throat as I think of my son.  I'll live with this grief for the rest of my life, but I will still reach for life, and try to live in a way that honors Lacy's extraordinary capacity for joy, for life, and for happiness. 

See you soon on the computer screen. 

Saturday, September 30, 2017

The Fire Swamp

Buttercup: We'll never succeed.  We may as well die here.
Westley: No, no.  We have already succeeded.  I mean, what are the three terrors of the Fire Swamp?  One, the flame spurt - no problem.  There's a popping sound preceding each; we can avoid that.  Two, the lightning sand, which you were clever enough to discover what that looks like, so in the future we can avoid that, too.
Buttercup: Westley, what about the R.O.U.S.s?
Westley: Rodents Of Unusual Size?  I don't think they exist....

Grief is like the Fire Swamp in the movie "The Princess Bride."  Just when you think you've figured out the lay of the land, a new challenge appears.

I thought the year mark would be a turning point with grief, but it's just a new challenge.

I've found lately that this is common in the journey of grief.  There is a sort of shock in the first year and this allows you to emotionally and physically ease into life without the one you love.  Now,  as we are about half-way into the second year without Lacy, I find myself tearing up at the drop of a hat.  A memory comes and it's raw and sometimes filled with regret.

Recently, a friend asked me if Lacy had gone through public school.  I explained that when we adopted him, we almost immediately got him into an early intervention program.  Then, on the advice of the therapist, we put him in a local day care.  I thought back to those days, and realized how hard it was to give up time with my little boy for the sake of his development - and looking back I think it was not the best choice, but it was what we thought was best.  Harder still was the fact that I had to depend on others to take him and pick him up from the day care since we had only one car and Kenny worked about 25 miles away.  In return for Lacy's transportation, I held "Little School" in my home for friends' preschoolers.   Should I have kept Lacy at home and included him in "Little School?"  I don't know.  I do know that in spite of promises to bring my little one home, sometimes he was forgotten at day care - the only one left - and I had no way to get him.

I realize that I could have asked my in-laws to help.  They would have been glad to pitch in, but I felt so afraid - afraid my child would be too much for someone else to handle.

All these thoughts and memories came in split seconds, and I found myself wiping tears away in front of my friend.  She apologized over and over,  but I reassured her and begged that she not stop mentioning Lacy.  I don't want to lose him or the memory of him, I explained.  The pain of memory is a small price to pay for being able to remember and talk about a child you have lost.  

We don't get over the loss of our children.  We will never get over it, but a greater loss would be if no one ever mentioned Lacy, or remembered happy times - which we've done as well these last few months.

Lacy lived and touched the lives of so many people, even those he never met.  I'm thankful for friends who ask about him, or share a memory;  friends who are willing to walk through the fire swamp of grief with us.

Sunday, August 27, 2017

Losing and Finding

I wrote in my paper journal this week that I want to start writing for my blog more regularly.  Since Lacy's death, my posts have been sporadic.

I began this online journal to chronicle our family's journey as we dealt with the impact of our son's challenges.  When Lacy died, it seemed that much of my reason to write died with him.   Another blog that I began following shortly after Lacy was diagnosed with HD had the same sort of purpose: to document the impact on a family when a seemingly healthy baby presents with a deadly inherited disease.  After the death of her son, the author of this blog stopped writing.  What was there to write about?  The disease had taken her son.

Lacy died on May 28, 2016.  On August 14, 2016, I began a paper journal of my walk though the "valley of the shadow of death."   Each morning, I read that day's devotional entry in "My Utmost for His Highest" by Oswald Chambers.  I wrote about how I was feeling that day.  Songs or prayers that I came across are written on those pages.

On the first page of that paper journal, I taped a poem by my dear friend.  She's seen me at my best and worst.  Jenny and her family have been among our closest friends throughout our life as a family.  Jenny's a writer, and has written some beautiful poems and songs.  This one had spent many years on my refrigerator door, and now is the opening entry in my journal through grief and toward hope and healing.

"What IT is All About"

IT is about losing and finding.

Not finding the thing you lost,
But finding something you had not thought of.

Losing what you thought you needed
But finding something you needed more.

             ~ Virginia Giles, Copyright 2000

Tuesday, July 4, 2017

Year Two

We have entered the second year without our Lacy.  The anniversary date of his passing was very difficult.

The year mark made his absence that much more pronounced.  This is real, and this is permanent.

We are also talking about him more, and the memories include so many happy ones.

Lacy loved to watch the clouds.  He was a weather "nut."  He knew the names of clouds and could identify them by sight.  For years, he would pour over the weather books we bought for him.  I find myself watching the clouds and thinking of how he would examine the skies and tell us what the cloud formations meant.

National Geographic magazines where his favorite reading material.  He like to collect them and put them in order by date.  He could pick one out of a stack of 10 or so and turn to a page that he wanted to share.  He memorized the covers and could tell you what month and year it was published.  One of our friends reminded me this week that when we went to visit, Lacy would organize all her magazines by date.

"Did you know..." preceded Lacy's often amazing knowledge of facts and trivia.  He knew who wrote and performed all his favorite worship songs, and the dates the songs were copyrighted.

It is these reminders of Lacy and his uniqueness that gives us a bittersweet joy and we enter year two without him.   We had so many challenges, and such struggles throughout his life, but he was our greatest joy and taught us so much.  We are thankful to God that He chose us to be Lacy's parents.

We miss our boy, but what a blessing he was to us, and how he enriched our lives and the lives of other people.

Saturday, June 17, 2017

To test or not to test? The gamble...

Many people unfamiliar with HD wonder why anyone wouldn't want to know about their genetic status.  Surely people want to avoid passing the gene on.  Surely you'd want to be able to make plans.  But the reality is that finding out - without a doubt - that you will develop the "cruelest disease known to man" is not an easy decision.


The decision to test our son, Lacy, was made when we began to realize that the changes in his personality and health HAD to be Huntington's Disease.  We had known when we adopted him that HD ran in his family - his maternal grandmother had the disease - but we put this knowledge to the back of our minds and we worked to support Lacy in being the best he could be in all areas.  We were advised not to seek testing when he was young, and this was a great advice.  The specter of HD would have clouded everything we did, and every push to help him rise to his best self.

However, ours is not a typical story.   Alys, Lesia, and Drew have different takes on the testing issue.  The decision to test is a personal one, and we cannot ask those at risk to make decisions that may alter their lives in ways they cannot even imagine.  A person who decides to be tested for HD must undergo months of counseling to determine if they are ready to hear the results.  The incidence of suicide among those testing positive for HD is high, especially in the early months and years of diagnosis.  Doctors will not put someone through the agony of testing if the patient is not ready emotionally and mentally to know their genetic status.  Even after a person is tested, he or she is given a choice to hear the results or to leave them sealed for only the doctor to know.  These results are not shared with anyone without a patient's permission.

Lesia Fry has chosen not to be tested.  “I am afraid to know.  I have a daughter who is 16 and I just want her to be a regular teenager without worrying about me or about herself.  There is no cure so why [be tested]?  If I have it, it will soon be clear and I will deal with it then.  I am 44 and seem to be symptom free.”

Drew Earls was conflicted about testing.  “My wife wanted me to get tested before we had kids, but I wasn’t ready.  At that time pre-existing conditions with insurance was a problem.” However, the idea of testing – and knowing – was also frightening for Drew to contemplate.   Eventually, Drew felt he was ready to cope with knowing his status.   “I finally felt spiritually strong enough to deal with the results.”  Drew’s test was positive.  He and his wife, Kellie, have two young children who are living at risk.

Alys Bloch and her brother decided to go through the testing together earlier this year. Both tested positive for Huntington’s Disease.  “We chose to get tested because we were both ready.  [My brother] was ready to think about starting a family with the woman he had been dating for a few years.  I decided we should rip it off like a Band-Aid and get all of the pain done at once.”  Alys says she feels it is a blessing to know her HD status.  “The bright side is [my brother and I] have vowed to have kids in ways that stop this disease right here.  We are done with this monster in our family.”    Adoption and in-vitro fertilization (testing embryos before implantation) are possible options for Alys and her brother.

“To somebody who does not know about HD, God bless you,” Alys says.  “I wish that was me.  I wish that was me so bad.  Please educate yourself and others on diseases [like HD] that are under the radar.”

For Drew, it’s the research he is most positive about.  “Research is very important.”  He is counting on a cure for his family.

Lesia sends this message to those who do not know much about HD: “This disease and its effects on families needs to be told.  I don’t know how to educate people more, but I would like to.  I just can’t get into it that much cause it depresses me so much if I do.  It makes you feel helpless.  My dad died from cancer at 52.  I would welcome cancer, or any other disease in my life, before HD.  That says it all if you ask me.  I beg to get cancer, diabetes, whatever over HD.”