Tuesday, January 27, 2015

Sunday

Yet another dream.
This time I am walking into a hospital, and when I enter the double doors I am immediately in a large room lined with hospital beds and children are everywhere. I know that they all have various forms and stages of cancer, but you wouldn’t know it by the way they are acting.
They are talking, laughing, playing.
In the first bed there is an adult, and he is a bit sicker than everyone else. He is talking to a doctor who somehow I know though I never see his face. He is gentle. Compassionate.
As the doctor walks away from this bedside to go to the next, the man in the bed looks to me. He knows he is at the end but there is no fear. He is ok. Even content. I see this as we talk for a moment.
I am there to find Carli. I have a bouquet of yellow flowers to give her but I know she is not on this floor. She is somewhere above, I believe on the top floor. I would go up yet I have never been here and I am not exactly sure where she is located.
The nurses are all busy going from child to child so I stand there waiting for one to give me a moment. Waiting for directions and permission to go on up.


This Sunday was my last at this small church Templo Betel. I can’t really find the right words to tell what this place has meant to me. What pastor Montero (my second spiritual father), his wife and the people here mean to me. How grateful I am to have been allowed to be a part of music and worship team.
How I fell in love with Sunday mornings.
My favorite day of the week.
Their love has been a balm of medicine for my soul.



Friday, January 16, 2015

23

I called to check up on her. 

Today’s Carli’s birthday and I knew it wasn’t going to be any easier on her than it is for me. One of two worse days of every year.
Sadly we will always share this. Not the way to share a child's birthday.
Edith had taken today off but still had some work to do. I didn’t take the day off. With my upcoming move there is just too much to do. Anyway, today is a good day to stay busy. Better not to think.

I get the questions, with my move to NC do I think we’ll get back together. I don’t see it happening. People are surprised when I tell them we’ve been separated almost three and half years now.  She is going on. Trying to. We both are.
It was good to hear her voice. I will always love her.  

Didn’t tell her about the dreams. Two nights, two dreams.
The first was of Carli in her hospital bed. This was the rougher dream.  Surprisingly. Thankfully. I don’t often dream of her like this. A heart aching dream to wake up from.
The second dream on the second night was of all my kids, but they were all very young. Carli was maybe 5 in this dream. With that sweet smile. And that mischievous sparkle that always in her eyes.

She would be 23 today.



Kevin

Monday, December 29, 2014

The Letter

It did not seem real until now.

Not the new job. Not the search and then the deposit on the new rental. Not even telling my family the decision made.

Like tonight’s fog. Everything is there but still appears very distant.
When handing in my resignation letter, letting go of this anchor, it now becomes real.
I’m heading home. Returning to the deep rich greens of North Carolina.

I had started to doubt. Certainly my family did. Every door that appeared seemed to close as fast. I stopped even mentioning the possibilities.  
Suddenly here I am. Handing in this letter.

Well not so suddenly. Not really.


Kevin


Friday, November 14, 2014

Dizzy

My son has come down to Florida to visit. More his friends than me, J but I am glad to see him. More than he knows.

There is an old song by Keith Green “Your Love Broke Through” and part of the words go-
“Like waking up from the longest dream, how real it seemed
Until your love broke through
I've been lost in a fantasy, that blinded me
Until your love broke through
All my life I've been searching for that crazy missing part
And with one touch, you just rolled away
The stone that held my heart
And now I see that the answer was as easy”

For me, since Carli’s passing, I have felt like I entered a dream. A collection of disjointed dreams. Where nothing is solid. Nothing is truly stationary. The meetings are random. The conversations ramblings. I could not tell you what is real or what has true meaning.
Those things that I held to be so sturdy, solid, dependable, I feel my feet slide over them, slipping on loose sand.


Dizzy
The walls around
will not hold in place
Circles
Round and round
Erratic
Up
Down
Back again
Blurred motion
Focusless
Grab something
Anything
But it is not just my eyes
The very earth
Is moving
Unsteady
Undependable
Joyless
Not the spin of a child
On the merry-go-round
No giggles
Or laughter
Instead
Nausea
Twisted knots
Stomach
To chest
Hurling
Wurling
Sick
afraid
Dizzy

When I allow time to think, I often have this sense of being in the wilderness, like Israel in the dessert. Just holding. Waiting. Not sure if this is where my story ends (I don’t think so), or if there is another chapter or chapters to be played out.
You don’t really find peace in the wilderness. You’re not really suppose to. Because there is always the unease of not being “home.”
But that said, you can acclimate. Adjust. Settle. Shed some things.
Maybe even grow.
Hopefully learn.
It’s funny, but when my daughter was sick I never felt like I was in the wilderness. Oh I was at times afraid. But I never felt lost.
Even by a hospital bed, her hospital bed, I felt like I was home.


Kevin

Tuesday, October 28, 2014

24 Years Ago Today

Seeing her this past weekend for my Uncles funeral was the first I have seen her since last Christmas.

She is her own person now. A woman. And has been for a while.

While dealing with Carli’s illness, Cassie’s needs got somewhat left behind. She started college without the normal parental presence and support a child should have.

And still she has become this amazing person. So determined to show how strong she is. Determined to be strong.

It is strange. This is what you want, your child to grow into an adult. For them to find their own strength and vision. Yet it also makes you ache and wish they were just your little girl for a little longer.

How I love this little girl, this young woman, my daughter.


Kevin


Another of my favorite pictures. When she was yet brand new to the world.


 Yes, I once had hair.

Another of my favorites.

This last weekend in NC at my Uncle Ben's funeral.

Monday, October 6, 2014

Another dream... 10-6-14

I know, it has been a while.

It is not that I am too busy. It is certainly not that I am not thinking of Carli or my other children. I can honestly say “every day.”  Can’t tell you how much I miss her. How much I miss all of my children.

I dreamed of Carli the other night.

You might think I dream of her all the time but I don’t. Not very often. This is probably good as each time I wake up and realize again she is not here is just too much.

This is part of the reason I no longer write about these things so much. I find that reflecting to deeply does not give me peace. It actually takes me somewhere dark, into ache and anger.  

But the other night I did dream of her. I think this is the first dream I’ve had in which Carli was not a little girl.

 In this dream we were in the hospital. She was laying there, eyes closed, and at first I was very fearful. But she open her eyes and gave me that infectious smile of her. She began talking about something, laughing. I turned on the TV and laid down beside her.

When Carli was in the hospital I would never lay beside her in the bed. The hospital beds are not very large (and I’m not the smallest guy), and I was always afraid to move Carli around for fear that it would hurt her. Edith though would lay down with Carli all the time. She was fearless with Carli and I’m so glad she was.

Carli of course would complain. But that never stopped Edith. Edith needed it. That closeness. To love on her. And Carli needed it too.

So do I.




Kevin


Tuesday, June 24, 2014

Twenty Feet Away

Not twenty feet away. Directly in front of me. I sat there reading a book, completely unaware that a child had struggled for his life. That a child was now dead.
The news would state he was in critical condition later that evening, but I knew the truth. It was too late. It was too late even when he was pulled out of the water.
A medic and a nurse happened to be at the pool but it was no use. He had been in the water too long.
I would later hear the nurse share to someone that she had seen how distended his stomach was when lifted out of the water. That it indicated he had been under at least 5 to 10 minutes.
The hanging question of course is how it happened.
I was earlier in the exact same spot with my sisters, youngest daughter, niece and nephew. On my knees my head still easily cleared the water. The deepest spot in the pool was 5 feet and at this spot it was only 3 to 3½ feet.
Though the pool was not packed as reported there were at least thirty some people present.
Yet we all somehow missed him.
Truth is we will never know what happened.
I don’t re-account this to make anyone feel bad. I share this to simply state the obvious. Watch the kids. Not just your kids but your neighbors kids. It doesn't matter if their your responsibility. We are in this village together and have to watch out for each other.
As a father I can tell you, children are prone to make mistakes. Often costly mistakes. The real miracle of childhood is that we survive to adulthood.
Sadly, this last Father’s day we came up one miracle short.

Kevin