What Happened to the Babies?????

Suddenly, two of them look pretty grown up and one looks a lot like Samuel.

 

 

Kaysha, age 16

 

Daniel, age 14

 

Anna, age 9

 

 

We're still kicking around.  Everyone is well.  Still seems odd to post pictures without Samuel.  Some things never change and this is one thing that I doubt will.  He would be eleven next weekend.  We try to imagine that.   Cannot really.  When Mark saw him in the dream he had just shy of a year after he went to Heaven, he thought he looked more like 12 than nearly 7.  That is the image he saves in his heart. 

 

Samuel is ever always around.  We still "notice" him and for that I am grateful.

 

I miss having "the babies," when there were four of them.  But I am enjoying the freedom that has come with their becoming young adults.   They are gentle children overall.   Kaysha is learning who she is as a young adult, making and taking great strides as such.   She continues to be very artistic and in more ways than one.  Daniel is a gentle giant, dramatic to the point that you cannot stop laughing sometimes and then he hams it up more.   He calls me "Mommy," even in front of his friends and I love it.   Anna is still a cross of Samuel and Delma but adds her own flavors into the mix.  She is very cheerful, helpful and mature for her tender age of 9.

 

Mark is still working at the University and that is going well.  We took up kayaking in addition to our hiking and camping adventures and are absolutely loving it.  I am still doing what I've done for years now.  Loving my family, schooling, sewing, you know, the usual.  

 

Bud turned 20 this year and is doing the best we've seen since bringing him home in 2008.  He acts like a 5 year old with the digestive tract of a 20 year old, that's all.  I know how to keep him safe from his overeating issues.

 

The dogs, all five of them, are the best!   It's good to have a "large" family of humans and critters.

 

We live a quiet life raising gentle, kind children and we enjoy that immensely. 

 

Hope you are all well.

The Girls

The girls are 7.5 years apart.  Seems like they'd have little in common with that kind of spread especially now as Kaysha is nearing 16 and Anna has just turned 8.  Well, age is not an obstacle to love.  Their bond formed from the era when Samuel was still with us is still as strong as ever.  Together they intertwine a wonderful mix of beauty, innocence, and attitude. 

If you are wondering where Daniel is, he's still has camera phobia. 

Four Years

The dogs woke me up at 5:30am this morning.  The sun streaming into our bedroom is their alarm.  I really wanted to sleep longer.  Normally, I am not so keyed in as to what day it is so immediately upon rising but today I knew.  I saw the time and thought that four years ago, Samuel had only 28 more minutes to be with us on Earth.  It was at about 5:30am that he woke me up and said so desperately that he needed me.

At 5:39am as I was pouring the coffee into the French press, I noted that he now had 19 minutes left.  About this time four years ago, Mark and I were at his side and he was drifting between here and Heaven, sometimes playing with us for the last time, and sometimes mumbling words in a language we could not decipher.

At 5:50am as I was pouring my second cup of coffee, I noted that he had only eight minutes left.  Eight minutes was probably the amount of time that elapsed between the first seizure that I am sure removed his spirit from his body, and the second seizure where with my hand over his heart, I felt it finally stop it's seemingly endless struggle to keep fighting to stay.

At 6am I thought about how I had lived my first two minutes without him.  We were still talking to him as if he were with us knowing that the spirit may linger to listen and see.  We removed all the medical horrors from his body and dressed him in clothes he would have liked, incidentally, it was pajamas I had two sets of.  One set is saved, one set was worn for the last time ever and is no more.

At 8am, now two hours and two minutes after he went to Heaven, I was sitting in the bathtub thinking it all over.  The way it was, how bad it felt, yet how relieved we were that he had finally gotten out of that body, such impossible emotions to reconcile.  I believe that four years ago at 8am I was also sitting in the tub, in shock and in relief yet in a hurry to get in and get out before the man came to take his body away.  I wanted to sit with him for every last second I could but I also wanted to be cleaned up and dressed for when the man arrived.  I wanted to touch Samuel's body for what remaining time we had left with it, to memorize it, for all the good that did, but I did it anyway because I knew that all too soon all that would remain of Samuel were his things, and a seemingly endless supply of pain.   How was it possible that just three days before he was sitting on that couch coloring me a dozen pictures and for a few hours, we were able to pretend that the inevitable wasn't going to happen?  How was it possible that just a year before that, we thought we had seen an end to the worry of a relapse?  How did it all go so viciously wrong?

I want you to know that in the realm of the soul, there is no remedy for such agony.   There is no thing in this world that can even remotely make this okay.  To watch, no, to help the purest love you've ever known in your life die after you've spent four years trying to help him survive all the while fighting screams inside yourself to do the exact opposite; it's an indescribable torture.

And yet...

As I sat in the bathtub at 8am this morning, I realized that it had been 4 years and two hours and two minutes that I had lived without Samuel.  It was in that revelation that the sorrow for this day turned into praise to God.  Praise because I have learned to live without Samuel and by live, I mean in the abundance that Jesus speaks of in John 10:10.  Life isn't just "hurry up and get done" but instead there is much joy even in the midst of sorrow.  I can live with joy because I know that through Jesus, Samuel also lives and his joy is fully complete.  Not the shadow of the joy we experience, but the fullness of joy.  By God's mercy and grace, I have experienced the evidence of Samuel's life and joy in Heaven as well as his continued concern for us on Earth.  Our love and devotion to each other remains well intact even if Samuel does not inhabit a physical body anymore.  And thus I can attest that only Jesus is the remedy for the horrors we endured throughout Samuel's life, as well as the torturous end to his life and the loneliness we still encounter because he is no longer physically here.  That said, I must also strongly testify that it was my choice to allow Jesus to mend my soul's woes spiritually.  It did not just happen. It took a great deal of effort, sorrow and tears.  It was not an easy process but it was a process that was well worth the effort and continues to be.  It's a process that I will continue on some level until I am with Samuel again.

To have chosen to remain in a perpetual state of grieving for the rest of my life would have taken no effort at all and thus no actual healing would have taken place either.  The wound today would be just as raw as it was in 2008.   I also believe that had I rejected the comfort and healing offered by our Savior, Samuel would not be allowed to "visit" me as he does.  It wasn't until I fully gave all of the mess of Samuel's life and death to God as well as the reins to my own life that He began to let me "feel" the glory of Samuel in Heaven.  Those "gifts"from Him healed my soul like nothing in this world ever could.  I continually chose to hang on to them when sorrow wants to creep in or when a walk down a tribulation lane seems inevitable.  I hang on to them on days like today and as you see, they lift me out of the pit of sorrow so I never reach the point of no return.

For the first year or so after Samuel departed for Heaven, we found fun little surprises he had left behind but those little tangible gifts are not more.  You know, things like the banana peel thrown behind the stereo speakers, a book that was discovered with his handwriting in it after all the rest were packed away, or the best one, his headprint in the wall from where he used to play dinos with Anna.   I think we have finally reached the end of these things until someone rips out the drywall all the way down to the floor in our room where the doorknob put a hole in it and Samuel and Anna thought it was great fun to fill the hole up with toys that would fit.  Ode to those days!  

Similarly, one might think that we have reached an end to the lessons he taught us from birth to death but thankfully this is not the case.  I believe the lessons I have learned, and continue to learn from Samuel will continue until I am reunited with him in Heaven.  For these things I am so grateful.   It would take me another hour or two to list all the amazing things he taught me about myself, about being a mother, about trusting my gut, about trusting God, about love, etc, and you can read the archives of this blog and find many of them in it.  However, again I must stress that a great many of these things were learned after and/or because he died; because I chose to allow Jesus to mend my heart.  Had I remained in grief, these amazing lessons and blessings would be unclaimed, possibly lost forever and my life and my heart would still be a wreck.  And worse -and worse is still possible- the healing that God has done (is still doing) in the parts of my life that have nothing to do with Samuel would also be nonexistent had I not chosen to allow Him to mend my heart because of Samuel.  Samuel changed my life - for the better, in spite of all the horrors and sorrows.   And so Romans 8:28 has been proven in my life.  And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to His purpose.  

And speaking of blessings, pieces of Samuel's spirit continue to live on in Anna. You might find it most interesting to know that she, the child that has the fewest memories of Samuel, displays many of his personality traits.   While she might not remember as much as we wished she might, the very fact that she literally grew up a few feet from him at all times is evident in her mannerisms.  So we make it a point to point out to her the things that she instinctively does that were learned from Samuel.  A piece of him is surely in her.  That's a pretty special gift, not just for us to witness, but also for her to have within herself.  

The below video is footage of our first hike of the season at Snoquera Falls.  Mark and I visited it last fall.  Anna has been expressing interest in hiking with us this year.  The last hiking she did was with us when Samuel was here and she really seemed to be a trooper.  But then all the kids enjoyed it at that time.   Last year, however, Daniel wanted to go with us but did not enjoy it at all so we weren't sure if she wouldn't do the same thing he did.  Whine way too much....but thankfully, we were pleasantly surprised.  Little hiker Dee is back after about a four year hiatus.  We did this four mile trek and she never complained even once.  She led the way just as Samuel enjoyed leading the way both literally and metaphorically.  There were so many pieces of Samuel evident in her on this hike that I wanted to share it with you.  (I just got the camcorder, still experiementing with settings and a good way to carry it the footage doesn't look like a drunk took it.)

To my baby, just a thought away. 

So many gifts you left behind for us to discover.  Thank you for all of them.  The end of your physical life was certainly not the end of you nor the beginning of a neverending sorrow.  I was so wrong about these things and I am glad that I was.

I'm also glad that you gave Little Dee so many pieces of yourself in your short life.  Though she certainly is her own person, she acts a lot like you.  I cannot think of a better role model for her to have had for the first four years of her life.  Those are some of the most important as you well know. 

I miss you.  I can hardly wait to be with you for eternity.  But until then, it is as I said it would be on this day four years ago, I know where you are and you know where I am. And you have certainly fulfilled your promise to check on us every day.  Thank you for that most.

With more love than can be expressed.
Mama

For Samuel

For My Baby, My Beautiful Cutie,  My Little Nutty.

 

I miss...

I miss you all playing together.  I miss being a mom to four kids.  I cannot believe how much Kaysha, Daniel and Anna have grown since this video.  You, however, seem frozen in time.  I wish I could have frozen time when you were here but it was bound and determined to move forward to a place where you were no longer in it.  Six birthdays have now passed that we were not able to celebrate with you.  You would be ten today.  You barely got to be six.

Oh, I miss this so much!  So much!  No one can do this.  Anna forgot how to slide down the stairs like this.  Everyone walks now.  Or runs.  Or jumps.  And occasionally when they think I am not looking, they slide down in boxes, laundry baskets or sleeping bags.....right into the washer.  Then I hear them and it's all over.  But no one slides down the stairs on their tummy quick as lightening.  I miss this so so much.

And this.  Your swimming lessons.  I miss watching you learn.  I miss your excitement.  Anna watched this with great delight.  She took swimming lessons in the same pool.  Jumped off the same edge.  I see you looking to see if I am looking after you entered the water.  You know I was always looking.  You always had my eye and my heart and soul.  How do I live without you?  It is often so hard to believe it is possible.

  I miss you just playing as if nothing was ever wrong.  As if nothing ever happened.  I miss you on the swings.  No one enjoyed them like you.  This is the first time I have shared this video of our family.  It is the day after the day we found out you'd relapsed.  It is video taken as if it could be the last.  Video of you enjoying life in the midst of death knocking at the door.  I tried to keep from sobbing at times on this day.  It was just so hard to imagine you would not grow up here.   I miss the "googies."  No one can do that either.  You had your talents, that is for sure.  You made your own language for sheer joy and it is recorded here.  Of course, in this video, we had to remind you to do it so that it was forever captured, but when you were most happy, it just came out spontaneously.  It was a baby thing that you carried until death.  We loved it.  I miss it.

I miss holding your hand.  I miss taking you places and you taking me places.  I still feel naked when I leave the house without you.  Even after all this time.

I miss the songs you sang. The songs you sang and everyone could not help but sing along with you. No one sings now, even still. You used to sing in the van wherever we drove, you had a song. Song may still play when we drive along, but they are not yours.

I watch this and feel like you had to have known your life would be short. "Life is but a dream..." for what was so often, a nightmare. You always found the bright side. That nightmare is but a dream to you now. I am glad for that. Yet, as long as I live on this side of eternity, it will be with the knowledge that your birthday was also the day that two years later your first chemo cast the die that lead to your death. That was and is no dream for us. It was a nightmare of unimaginable pain. Pain that we still can hardly comprehend we endured and survived. Your love and our love for you was more powerful than pain, and even now, more powerful than death. 

.

Your love raining down on us from Heaven is the only way we can live. 

I miss your hugs and affection.  While I know you are only a thought away, my arms still ache to hold you. My ears throb because they don't hear you speak.  My eyes leak when I look back on our lives since you left and think of all the joys we have missed out on because you are not with us. 

But.....

I wouldn't trade this pain of separation for the missed opportunity of being your Mama.   Ever.  Ten years ago today, my life changed for the better because you came into it and I give thanks to God that you are my son and that I am your mother. 

Eternally.

But until then, I miss you.   I wish I was with you.  I wish we were all with you.  We all love you and cannot wait to be with you again, in the flesh.

Mama

Adversity Day

Out of the blue a few days ago, Anna said, "I feel really sad."  Mark and I both asked why.  She replied, "Because I didn't get to go to your wedding."  We both laughed a bit and said that it wasn't all that great and she didn't miss much.  Fortunately, a wedding ceremony has no bearing on a marriage's success or failure and this is something we stress to our kids when the subject of our wedding comes up so that they don't make the mistake of equating our disdain for the ceremony with our love for each other and the gift of being married.  

Our wedding was filmed and we did tell Anna she could watch the video if she wanted to but we didn't recommend it.   If you watch the video, you'll get a little sense of why that is. 
Picture little wedding chapel at the Reno Hilton.  It's pretty enough.  It wasn't the chapel that was the issue.  It was the guests.  Not all of them.  Just some.  The first thing that happens in the video is I walk down the aisle as fast as I can walk in heels, alone.  My father attended the wedding, but he did not walk me down the aisle.  This was a big deal when the planning of the ceremony took place.  Who will walk me down the aisle?  Well, let's see.  Should my father who is embarrassed by my pregnancy and feels my marriage will fail in a very short time walk me down the aisle and give me away?   I think not.  I, at least, had the good sense to NOT allow this lie to be a part of this ritual.  Should Mark's father walk me down just so that a father accompanies me, you know so it "looks" right to those not in the know?   No, this didn't make sense either.  So the music starts and I come flying down the aisle.  In the background, you can hear one of my mother's friends calling her attention to this "travesty."  My mother already knew this was going to happen but ignored her.  Mark also was clueless about this until it happened.  He later commented that I should have told him and we'd walk down the aisle together.   It just didn't matter at that point.  The whole thing wasn't about us if you want to know the real truth.  It was about being able to say we were married before people could see that I was pregnant and unwed.  This was a ceremony to keep my parents from being embarrassed by my, their 23 year old daughter's, sin. 

Now, mind you, Mark and I were engaged well prior to my getting pregnant.  In fact, we were planning to wed in his parents gorgeous backyard.  They were very much into gardening back then and their yard was picturesque.  We were even going to figure out how to get Bud there so I could ride him down the aisle.  This was planned for August-ish of the same year.  The pregnancy was cause to move it to April instead, again for the sake of my parents more than anyone else.  To be clear, Mark's parents were supportive of our marriage and wedding wherever and whenever it took place.   Had my parents been like Mark's parents, our feelings about our wedding day may have been much different.  But I digress.  It's in the past.  There was really no good solution.  The "happiest day of my life" wasn't.  I won't lie about that part of it.   I certainly learned a lot from it, more every year that passes.  I put these kinds of memories into the file in my mind that is labeled, "Things I won't do to my own kids." 

The best thing that came out of our wedding in Reno was that Delma was able to attend.  Delma, the one and only person I knew fully supported me, period.  No matter what.  She was well pleased for Mark and I, never once saying a word about the strange ceremony.  I am pretty sure she knew what was up and I am also certain that if she had been in my place, she'd have done the exact same thing.

While neither Mark or I think much of weddings at this point, we are quite grateful for our marriage.  We would not change any part of it for the world.   When we met, we were two broken people who immediately found in each other pieces that began to mend our hearts and our souls.  That mending began the process of marriage well before we ever had a ceremony.  We knew pretty much immediately that we were made for each other.  It was obvious in that we had a hard time being separated.  This is still true today. 

I cannot help but think back to Delma telling me over and over that I just needed one person to truly love me in this life and that is how I would not just survive but also thrive.  At that time, she was the one and only person that fit this bill.  Then I met Mark and for a time, I had both of them.  I had two people I could count on to love and stand by me 100% of the time.  The true hand off for the care of my body and soul at our wedding was from Delma to Mark.  Neither knew it at the time.  This is clear now.  Delma died less than a year after we wed and I believe she went to Heaven certain that I had found the one person who would love me through the rest of my life.  While she may not have believed her time to go to Heaven had fully arrived, while she might have wished to stay a little while longer, she left knowing I was in good, reliable, loving hands.

Sixteen years have come and gone. Some years were sweeter than others as far as the trials and tribulations of life go but one thing that was never in jeopardy was our marriage.  Our love was and is strong and true no matter how disappointing the wedding ceremony was.  No matter how utterly devastating Samuel's cancer diagnosis on this day eight years to the day after the wedding was.  We got through both of those days cleaving together as God intended.  April 20 seems forever marked as a day of adversity for us.  There just is no way around it for now.  But thanks be to God, adversity hasn't broken us.  Instead it strengthens us and draw us closer together.  This is something even our children can clearly see.  Clear enough that one wishes she was able to attend our wedding.   Now there is a gift you don't get every day.


Happy Anniversary "Adversity Day" to my beloved Mark,

I am yours and you are mine.  Unconditional love is all that truly matters in this life.   I'm glad we both knew that from day one.  My heart is ever always yours no matter the circumstance.  I am blessed by God to be your wife.  

With all my love,
Jen

It is Happening......

They are learning to drive.....

Kaysha



And Daniel too....and if you think he looks almost as big as Mark, you'd be correct.   He is 5'10.25" tall.  6' with boots on.

Nothing like a little friendly competition, eh?

Put on your seatbelts, this is gonna be a bumpy ride.

Toni Erickson

Toni Erickson, my beloved midwife, relocated to Heaven on Good Friday which was also the first night of Passover.  I, of course, find this symbolic of her life and quite fitting.  Her obituary is here. 

              
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Dearest Toni,

Some might find my writing you now that you are with Jesus odd as they will assume I am too late and you will never be able to read these words.  I know nothing could be farther from the truth.  I have Samuel to thank for that.  Please thank him in person for me, will you? 

It is so comforting to know that you are no longer suffering but are now rejoicing.  I imagine your reward is well beyond my comprehension.  I only know of what you have done for me.  You came into my life at a place where it seemed as if everything was falling apart.  In what should have been a joyous occasion, all I was surrounded with was doubt, frowning faces and dis-ease.   I remember feeling like a caged animal at the "mercy" of it's captors.  I felt like I had no good choices for care during my pregnancy and didn't deserve any.  It was Mark's sister who suggested I contact you.  For that, I will always be grateful though I know she was only half-serious.  As I said, our "support" was half-hearted at best.  I was 15 weeks along when I called your office/home and left a message.  I truly did not know what to expect.  I know I did not expect what I got from you which was compassion, joy, excitement and most of all love.

I was sitting in the bathtub when you called.  Mark was working nights and I was alone.  I'll never forget you being so excited to meet me wanting me to see you before my next OB appt but never pressuring me to make a decision.  I knew I'd choose you within only a few moments of our conversation.   Meeting you just confirmed this decision for Mark. 

I remember us coming to your house.  It was much easier for me than going to the doctor's office for a variety of reasons but most of which came back to you being you.  The environment of your home was peaceful and joyous.  That was all I truly needed.   Mark and I were both immediately at ease and at home in your home.  You treated us as if we were your long lost children never blinking an eye at how we had only been married a few weeks and did not plan on this pregnancy.  It was water under the bridge.   Any concerns Mark had about the pregnancy, the prenatal care or the home birth were eased at this first visit with you.  Your excitement for us was infectious and we both could not help but to steal some of your joy for us and call it our own.  You changed the direction of our lives on that day.  You showed us the love and compassion of Jesus and that changed everything.  For me personally, you rescued me from a dangerous pit of despair which would soon lead to disaster.  I don't know if you knew that.  I am betting you know the full story now, possibly better than I.

I looked forward to visiting you.  In fact, I loved being pregnant because that meant I got to see you more often than when I wasn't.  I know you probably got that a lot.  How many times did you tell me that if I'd keep having babies, you'd keep delivering them?    When you retired, I began to have dreams that I got pregnant and had to look for another midwife.  These were not good dreams.

Mark has stated on many occasions that our homebirths are some of his most pride-filled moments.  I know that our homebirths bonded us together as a couple and solidified our relationship in a way that nothing else could.  We needed that bond and trust in each other in order to care for Samuel.  He needed parents who could always be on the same page and do the hard things.  We have you to thank for helping us become those people.

I always appreciated your honesty and integrity. I could ask you the hard questions and you'd answer them.  If you disagreed with a choice I or another made, you had no problem saying so.   In so many respects you were like my Delma, have you met her yet?  I have always told Mark that while he only met Delma very briefly, he got to know her through knowing you.  Thank you for that.  Not having you here is like losing another Delma in my life.  It is such a great loss.  I can only imagine the pain of your own family as they grieve for you.

I will never forget you sharing with me some of the pain of having the babies you helped deliver die, whether stillborn, or due to defects that made life outside the womb impossible.  I would ask you how you got through that and you said you and the mom cried the whole time but you got through it.  I tear up just remembering this.  I think of the last days of Samuel's life, people asking me how I got through that and I say that I cried the whole time but I did what had to be done for him.  The day after he died you told Mark and I that we were heroes because of the level of care we were able to provide to Samuel.  I learned a bit of this "heroism" from you.  Because you weren't afraid to share the hardest things and you weren't afraid to feel them deeply either.  This is something that moves my heart more than anything else on this earth.  I thank you for being able to do this.  I know it is a rare person who can.   Thank you for showing me it could be done before I needed to do it.

A bit after Samuel died, I called you up to ask if death of loved ones ever got any easier, you know seeing as how you had more life experience than I.  You said that they were all equally hard.  It never got easier.  For you, the comfort came from knowing that you were getting older and would soon join them.  Of course, that was a "comfort" I did not have knowing I could potentially live several more decades before seeing Samuel again but I was both happy and sad to know that a death is grievous no matter how old one lives to be. 

You shared that you believed it was an easier life to live for a very intensely sick person that it was for their caregivers who had to helplessly watch them suffer.  It's hard to know Samuel's sufferings and believe this but I trust you as I know you spoke that to me from direct experience.   I know these days will be so painful for your family as they process the emotions of relief that you are not suffering and sorrow that you are now gone.  I don't envy them that.  I do know that it is easier for me to live now knowing Samuel is no longer suffering and safe in Heaven than it was to live knowing he was here and often miserable day after day, year after year.  I have reconciled these emotions.  Relief won.  I loved him enough to want him to live free.  I still miss him of course, but I know he is just a thought away.  Closer to me now than ever.  Just as you are now.

You shared with me that you believed Christians get a chance to decide whether to stay on Earth, or go on to Heaven as you'd had this experience earlier in life.  This comforted me knowing that it sure seemed like Samuel, in his final moments was trying to decide this for himself.  In many ways, I think this was a hard decision for him.  Probably just as hard as it must have been for you.  He knew how much we loved him.  He know how much we needed him.  I know you would have known these feelings as well.  But in the end, he made a wise choice.  A choice that spared him and us more suffering.  Suffering of the Earthly kind.  Suffering the unknowns of a disease with no real cure.  Suffering watching him suffer.   Heaven was the only cure for that and I know you both knew that.  Still I know your hearts were torn between staying and going......

The pain of separation is hideous most especially at first.  We all know it.  We all fear it.   John 11:21-27 records Martha's reaction to Lazarus's death:

Martha then said to Jesus, “Lord, if You had been here, my brother would not have died.  Even now I know that whatever You ask of God, God will give You.”  

Jesus said to her, “Your brother will rise again.” 

Martha said to Him, “I know that he will rise again in the resurrection on the last day.” 

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life; he who believes in Me will live even if he dies, and everyone who lives and believes in Me will never die. Do you believe this?” 

She said to Him, “Yes, Lord; I have believed that You are the Christ, the Son of God, even He who comes into the world.”


What Jesus said to Martha, that HE was the resurrection and the life, that those who believe in Him would NEVER die.  That those who believe in Him would NEVER see the grave. That even if their body died, that person is instantly with Him and NOT dead is a promise that was fulfilled with Passover.    This is why I find it so fitting that your exodus to heaven was on the first night of Passover week.  It is a wonderful reminder that though your body has died, you are with Jesus and more alive now than ever on Earth.   Toni, I pray your loved ones are convinced of this already so that the pain of separation will be eased by this knowledge.   This knowledge is how I live without Samuel and how I will now live without you. 

To close and say "I love you" simply does not justice to the way I feel about you.  Certainly, a good majority of the kindest words ever spoken to me or about me came from your mouth.  Those words are treasured more than treasure so I am at a loss to express my deepest love to you now.  I am certain that there are better words for my hearts utterances there than here.  Perhaps Samuel or Delma can speak them to you and give you a Heavenly hug in my place.  Will you check on me once in awhile?  I'd like that.  I always wished I was your daughter. 

Will keep your family in my prayers.

With all my heart, all my admiration, all my love and all my gratitude.  Jen