they don't make em like they used to

Last week I sat down, overcome with gratitude for my mom, and jotted down a few thoughts about this woman. 

An amazing, courageous, beautiful, lovely, loving, rowdy, funny, sweet woman. My mom. My dad thought she hung the moon, and likewise.

Not everyone gets two parents. I know plenty of people out there with just one. And what if the one you’re left with isn’t strong? Isn’t selfless? What if the parent you have wants less than the best for you?

My brother & I are all set when it comes to parenting. Not that we need to be parented, but, let’s face it, we do. Just ask Sam Brasseau or a host of other friends.

She is a rock, our mom. She is not perfect & we push each other’s buttons plenty, but, I know so much of who I am comes from my mom, or seeing things that my dad loved about my mom & knowing those were qualities worth imitating.

My mom is one of the most selfless, warm hearted people I’ve ever met. Some people think she missed her calling as Paula Deen because she loves to feed others, wants them to be full & happy – and not just their stomachs. She wants for others to know the fullness of life – most of which was found living life with my dad.

Her new “fullness” might never be the same, but my mom has done anything but crumble. She has certainly been weak & tender hearted & only a few times a bit crazy since my dad’s death. Mostly, she has been sad but hopeful – clinging to the faith she & my dad built their lives on.

I’ve sat in church clasping her hands wondering how we’re going to get through this. I’ve sat in church mad and crying and unable to sing. But I’ve seen her lift her voice. I’ve seen her lift her eyes. I’ve seen her search for help, and not push it away. She has accepted friends and neighbors and family with such grace – I have learned so much about being a woman, and being a woman who puts her trust in God, from my mom. (and it should be noted she learned that from mighty women who have gone before her.)

I hate what my mom’s going through, and what Mary Chenoweth lives everyday, and I hate it for other women (and men) I do not even know. Losing a spouse is completely miserable, from what I’ve seen. A spouse who still had a lot of living to do, so much worse.

The best part about my mom, what I’ve learned most, is that we have to keep living. Though my dad was so much the center of her world, my mom has kept breathing in and out and trying to be fun and plan nights playing bingo and plan festive dinners out. She's helped me with fun wedding details and has thought of creative gifts for all of us this Christmas, she's said she feels so selfish lately, self absorbed in our grief, yet I see her caring for others right and left. 

And though I can see it in her eyes, because it’s a reflection of what I’m feeling in mine, she doesn’t always want to keep going. But she does. And that, I believe, is faith. That is the weeks upon weeks upon months upon years of church and Jim Jackson’s sermons and hymn lyrics and fellowship coming to life – hope in the everlasting, trust in the higher power, grace in the times of trial.

I could not ask for a stronger or better or more wonderful mother. And if there’s anything I’ve learned the past three months, it’s that love should not stay bottled inside. I should hug her everyday and tell her thank you and tell her how much she means to me and how much she’s pulled the rest of through.

She has always pulled us through, and I really, right this moment, could use a little extra pullin.

Thank you, Mom, for being the kind of mom no one deserves and very few get. 

down the aisle

In a world with a lot of unknowns, I am focusing on what I do know. 

My dad died in a plane crash on September 8, doing something he loved in his most beloved part of the country- the Texas Hill Country.

I cannot fathom why his engine stopped working, why his plane crashed to the ground, why his body never regained consciousness and why we’re forced to go on without him. Perhaps I’ll think about that more when there is more time, but it is likely we are not meant to understand, and the busyness of this time in life will keep us from wondering too much.

For now, as much as I can, I focus on what I do know. There is a God. God is love. My family is amazing. I am beyond blessed with an incredible fiance, who is a confidant, best friend, and partner in crime. My friends are some of the most loving, generous, funny people on this planet. My mom is stronger than anyone ever gave her credit for before September 8. My mom is weak and tenderhearted in the right moments. Our memories are incredible.

For now, I also know that there is a wedding on the calendar. My dad, along with my mom, gave his blessing for Drew Prochaska to ask me to be his wife. Drew asked. We planned – a venue, a date, a budget, worship songs, a plan – much of it was nailed down when my dad was still very much a part of our lives. I know that I am immensely thankful for the timing of all these wedding plans – we had signed contracts for a New Years Eve wedding and toured Union Station with my dad and my mom. We were ready to get this party started.

For now, I know this wedding is fast approaching, and that is just how my dad would want it. Though it is awful and often unfathomable that he will not be on earth for this wedding, it is what it is.

The calendar tells me that three weeks from today I will become a wife. My heart is conflicted. I could not be more ecstatic or more in love – literally, without a doubt, I am thankful for the peace that surrounds our relationship and the certainty with which both of us know the other is “it.” We make a great team and we’re ready to be officially married & make commitments to God and each other.

But my heart is sad. I’m still trying to wrap my brain around the fact that my dad died. We got an email today about my dad’s plane insurance claim- and in the midst of busyness at my office, I realized – it happened. His plane crashed. There was an ambulance and medical expenses and donated corneas and a cremation and a memorial service. There was a death. My heart hurts. My body physically feels pain. But, my heart knows something else – my heart knows that there is a God. God is love. One of my dad’s favorite verses is a promise, a mantra, a reality – Jesus said to a thief hanging on the cross next to him: “I tell you the truth, today you will be with me in paradise.” (Luke 23:43)  

I believe that with everything I have. There’s a worship song by a band called “Addison Road” that says “Everything rides on faith now, everything rides on hope, somehow.”

And now, somehow, I’m a bride with too many blessings to count. How many brides have great-grandfathers in excellent physical and mental shape who will attend their wedding? My great-grandfather Earl, who we call Popa, is 96. He is a man of character and substance and humor and above all, love. He and his wife, Mary Ella, were married for seventy-four years and I have written about them a few times. you can click here 

(me & popa on my first birthday)

I am so excited and honored to have Popa, a man I have admired for decades, walk me down the aisle December 31.

I have always loved his stories, and have very fond memories of sitting in his lap or leaning against him and admiring his hands. His hands are always soft, but manly, and seem to tell a story of their own – as if his long fingers and their wrinkles have had their own adventures over time.

He certainly has had his own share of adventures, traveling the world with my great-grandmother. He worked his way up at the Southland company (founders of 7-11) first handling tasks like delivering ice and then later becoming a senior executive as the head of their accounting department.

Popa has an air of humility about him – always a great listener, and if you want him to talk about himself, you’ll likely have to draw the story out of him.

In many ways, my dad and Popa always reminded me of the other – daring. Fun loving. Adventurous. Charming. Hardworking. Dedicated to family. Extremely loving. Devoted husbands. They’re both far from perfect, yet they seem to be magnets for others around them, holding families together, developing long friendships, and setting high standards for the men that follow after them.

(Popa &Dear, 1930s)

I love my Dad and think of him countless times every day, and I am in no way going to replace the giant hole in my heart the day of my wedding. But I know that God has taught me time on earth with loved ones is a gift. On my wedding day, I will be so thankful. Thankful to know how proud my Dad is and was of me, and thankful that I have this wise, amazing great-grandfather to help me smile on my wedding day. He knows loss well, since his wife just passed away last January. We both have fresh wounds, we’ll both be missing my great-grandmother and my dad, two people who would have LOVED to attend my wedding.

On the phone recently with Popa, I said, "I think Dear & Dad will be VERY proud of us together." And his reply was perfect, and turned my sniffles back to a big smile: "Well, of course! I think they damn sure ought to be!" And his cheerful laugh filled the phone. 

In a few weeks, a wedding will happen. 

We will not pretend we’re fine. We will not forget our loved ones. But we will not dwell in our sorrow or grief. We will not let the unknowns overcome us. 

We will find peace in what we know: God is good. God is love. Grace is everywhere. 

tiny coincidences

Have you seen the Sondra Bullock movie called “Hope Floats?” Sondra’s character is in her early thirties, and her mom dies suddenly of a heart attack. There’s a scene where things are going perfectly for Sondra’s character, and you can hear her say in her head:

“Okay, Momma, stop pushin’.”

Though her mom is dead, the character can clearly feel her mom’s presence, influence, connection.

I’ve had some similar encounters of late. Honestly, the more I think about my dad and the man he was and his character, the more I feel myself. More thoughts of my dad, not less, allow me to move forward. I think about the freedom he found in life and how he spilled love out to so many people, and I’m able to press on.

For those of you who have lost a loved one, you’ve probably experienced these tiny coincidences, where something occurs and you know you’re supposed to be thinking of that person, you know you’re exactly where you should be, you know somehow you’re loved even in their absence.

My fiancé Drew, a fellow Aggie, suggested a long time ago that we pick an Aggie road game and go, now that we’re in the SEC. The schedule came out and we started talking about it in May, and made definite plans over the summer to attend the Alabama vs A&M game. We ended up road tripping together, and I felt a bit silly for following through with such fun plans with so much going on with my grandfather. (In the wake of my dad’s death, everything with his side of the family turned to a complete, tragic mess.) 

However, we went to Alabama and I tried to smile and enjoy time away with just Drew.

As we entered the stadium, I realized that during the last Aggie game I attended, my dad was taking his last breaths. It was hard, sure, but I knew how much Dad loved Drew and was beyond happy I had found such love. I knew he would be horrified if I had canceled fun plans and just stayed home to be sad. I kept breathing in and out and was determined to have a great time. My fiancé, so patient and understanding, deserved more than a constantly weepy future wife.

We climbed the stairs to our seats and side-stepped down the row. I couldn’t help but feel very excited to be in this famous stadium, about an hour before sunset, the sky blue and the world turning orange around us. The breeze was blowing and fans around us were pumped. It was going to be a fun game, for sure. I felt glad to be there already.

There were two couples sitting together in front of us. They turned and asked if I would take their picture, then handed me their phone. As I handed it back, one of the guys smiled up at me.

“Are you Tom’s daughter?” he asked with a huge grin. Drew told me later how he got nervous, because he feared this guy did not know the news of Dad’s death since he was so cheerful.

I smiled and nodded, forgetting entirely to be sad and just thrilled to talk of my dad. “Yes!!”

He turned to face me a bit more. “I was at your dad’s service, and you did a great job speaking. So did your brother. Your dad was a great, great guy.”

Wait, what? This guy did not look familiar. I was a long car ride from Texas, surrounded by thousands of strangers, and the dude in front of me knew my dad, knew Tom. He had never met me but recognized me from speaking at my dad’s service. How was this real?  

We went on talking, to find that this guy was a third year New York Life agent, and my dad had led several trainings he attended. My dad was the Agent of the Year in 2011, so he’d also heard him speak and seen him at some annual award stuff. This guy was a young Aggie and had traveled with his wife and another couple to the game.

“Your dad was an incredible man. How’s your mom doing? How are y’all?”

I thanked him for saying hello and told him it meant a lot as he turned back to the stadium. The teams prepared to start the game.

My face was all lit up, I am sure, at the chance to talk about my dad and see his impact on people I’d never even heard of. Drew put his arm around me and squeezed me tight. “Such a small world.” He whispered.

I couldn’t wait to tell my mom and brother about this small world encounter.

My mom texted back right away. “That’s your dad, sweet girl, telling you to have fun!”

I don’t know enough about scripture to know if that’s the Holy Spirit, or my dad’s presence, or what, but, I do know this:  the Holy Spirit moves in us and is with us always, and perhaps knows how much I need to be reminded of my dad, need to be told it’s okay to smile, need to know he would want more than anything for the three of us to keep living.

Maybe atheists or others afraid to believe in things bigger than themselves would chalk this up to coincidence. But, I cannot believe that the odds of finding someone who attended my dad’s memorial service are anywhere near reasonable, in that giant stadium. I cannot believe its just chance. I think the God who created stars and causes the leaves to change and made the ocean so beautifully blue is desperate to love us, too. Desperate for us to draw near to Him.

I have been so blessed by others as I attempt to grieve for my dad, to pick up the pieces, celebrate his legacy, and prepare to keep living. I have been blessed by close friends I’ve known for decades, (how are we so old?!) and strangers in faraway football stadiums. My family has been so taken care of, and I do not think that’s chance. I forget too easily how much God yearns for us to talk to him, to worship him, to seek him. And for whatever reason, running in to a stranger who joyfully asked me “Are you Tom’s daughter” reminded me to thank God everyday that yes, I am Tom’s daughter.

We are all, thankfully, also God’s daughters and sons.

“You are all sons of God through faith in Christ Jesus.”  Galatians 3:26a

thanksgiving

Though I have never felt a greater sense of loss at Thanksgiving time, I have never felt more reasons to be completely flowing over with gratitude.

The first Thanksgiving after Jay Chen passed away was pretty rotten. We stood around the tailgate spot, forcing smiles, forcing jokes, enjoying a funny memory or two, and it was evident things were not the same. I wondered, how are we going to do this? How are his boys going to do this, year after year, things they once did with their dad and now can’t? How is Mary going to ever find the same joy without such a loving, devoted, hilarious husband by her side? My parents were so sad and trying so hard not to be; Jay’s brothers were the same.  I can remember, four years ago, walking around that parking lot by myself for a moment, a literal ache in my stomach, hurting for our friends and my family.

The Chenoweth’s have taught me many things, and I’ve learned that it is almost as painful to watch grief as it is to live it. So, friends, thank you. A hundred thank yous. We have been so blessed with people reminding us they’re praying for us, or telling us exactly how my dad and/or his memorial service impacted them. We have had so many ears to listen to us, share our joys and our sorrows, our moments of confusion and of clarity, of anger and of peace. I have never, ever felt alone, and I’m not sure Gentry or my mom has either. Thank you.

I get a daily bible verse emailed to me, I signed up for it while I was teaching with TFA – even if the verse wasn’t relevant to that specific day, it gave me 60 seconds to pause and think about our creator.  (You can sign up for the one I get at heartlight.org)

The verse recently was this: "Lord," Martha said to Jesus, "if you had been here, my brother would not have died." (John 11:21)

In the commentary, they ask “Have you ever been at the grave side of a loved one and wondered where Jesus was?” Jesus is with us in our moments of loss and grief. The Church is Jesus' Body and every act of kindness, support, comfort, and help is Jesus working to alleviate our grief.”

As I thought about those words, I thought, Jesus has been so good to me. I would never, ever have been able to fathom the number of notes, and acts, and prayers that we’ve received. Jesus has showered us with support & comfort. A few times I have wondered, what do the people who are not blessed with the friends and community we have do in times of great loss? I feel almost greedy allowing all of these people to love on us so well. Thank you for acting as Christ in our family’s lives.

It seems impossible to express my gratitude for Drew Prochaska. God’s timing, on so many fronts, seems perfect. Wait, isn’t that what the bible says? It has crossed my mind a few times how hard it would have been to meet someone after my dad’s death – I can be quite good at keeping people at an arm’s length, and I feel certain I would have lived with my mom until I was forty. But he was already here, already signed, sealed, delivered, and he’s not going anywhere. Thank you. A thousand thank yous.

As time has passed from that horrible night hearing the news that my dad was never coming back to us on Earth, I have found the magnitude of this loss weighing on relationships, decisions, small moments. It has been harder to simply celebrate his life, which is what we did in the beginning. It has become more real that my dad is gone  from our world – no more phone calls, no more advice, no more adventures together, no more laughing until your face hurts at something he said or did. That was it, and we must make the best of it.

But we have so many pictures, and memories, and funny stories, and practical wisdom ringing in our ears. “If it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” “You have nothing to lose by just asking.”

My dad lived large, and he made more than enough time for his wife, his kids, his family, and his friends. He took on us amazing trips and showed us the world. Even if he was just jumping off an old railroad bridge in the hill country, he showed us what it meant to live. Dad made it abundantly clear how much he loved all of us.

There’s a note on my dad’s nightstand that he wrote my mom in his choppy handwriting, while they were in New York City together for a New York Life trip a few years back.

“I love coming to this city,” he wrote, “but only when you’re with me… I am thankful God put me with you.”

Many people wonder in this world, if their husband truly loves them. They wonder if their marriage is still worth it. Many children wonder if their dad is proud of them, or wants the best for them, or even enjoys being around them. We do not doubt any of those things. We do not doubt. For that, I am immensely thankful.

 ^“No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us.  For I am sure that neither death nor life, nor angels nor rulers, nor things present nor things to come, nor powers, nor height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God in Christ Jesus our Lord.”

Romans 8:37-39

a heart of thanks

Oh Lord, my heart overflows with gratitude today. You are good. You have been so good to us.

You quieted my heart today, Lord, and you reminded me you are wise. You are good. You are love. No, you are not only loving, but you are actually love. We love because you first loved us. (1 John 4)

My mom & I (and sweet patient Drew, for whom my heart is always grateful) watched an episode of a TV show called Parenthood today. A man who claims to be an atheist asked his son to help him pray. He bent his knees, talked to God, and took a leap of faith.

I am immensely thankful for the light of the Lord today. I am thankful for the Holy Spirit, moving in us, literally whispering in my heart the truths of God.

I do not deserve the faith I have. I do not deserve the comfort Christ and his sacrifice and his word bring. But through God’s grace, I am filled with this faith in God. Sure, it has felt stretched at time in the last six weeks. My dad’s sudden, unexpected death has brought anger, questions, and overwhelming sadness. The night my dad’s plane crashed, a few hours after receiving the news, I needed a paper bag to breathe into. I sat on the floor at the Carrigan’s house and could not catch my breath. My aunt, who had buried her son when he was just twenty-two months, talked me through the process of breathing when you do not want to breathe.

I still struggle to breathe sometimes. There have been days of late when I am alone, perhaps on the way to the office, and audible cries escape my lips. I am still so sad. I am still so sad for my mom, my brother, all those who loved my dad and needed him and brought him such joy. But through the process of trying to suck in some oxygen in those overwhelming moments, something tells me we’re alright. We are not alone. This life on Earth is temporary. This God we have that created our bodies and our cells and the stars, he loves us and nothing can separate us from that. (Romans 8:37-39)

I do not deserve the faith that I have. But I am so thankful, so grateful for it. I certainly did not put my faith in Christ just in case of bad times. God is not a bail bond, something you buy into when you need it. God is a foundation for the good times and the bad ones. But thank goodness I had my parents and YoungLife leaders and ministers and friends to push my faith over the decade.

I know some people out there struggling with faith. I know some people out there critical of Christ, of Christians, of believing in things unseen. Matthew 18:3 says we must have childlike faith. James 4:8 says draw near to God, and he’ll draw near to you. The more you pray or talk to God or worship in your car or sit and be quiet, the more God will draw near to you through all of those methods. Just try it. All God asks of us our faith – and everything that follows is a result of actively trusting Him.

When I sat in quiet today after a bike ride with Drew, alone for about 10 minutes, something jogged my memory about a trip with my parents in 2010. I remembered the day we hiked in Yellowstone National Park, just the two of us, while my mom waited for bears in a different part of the park. We saw buffalo, and beautiful views, and laughed as we always did when together on an adventure.

I realized today, echoing Jim Jackson’s words I posted earlier this week, that the time and adventures with my dad I was given was a HUGE gift. I’m undeserving- I know many wonderful people who never had that kind of friendship with their dad, or experienced the spontaneity and the love and the freedom that came from being around my dad. My heart, though sad, was filled with happy memories and rejoiced I was given such a chance.

I’ve tried in the last week or so to think what my dad would have done if he had lost his dad at my age. I know for certain he would have been devastated. I know how many times he called his dad for advice, to share a celebration or dilemma. And yet, I am confident, my dad would have continued living, likely with renewed fervor, and purpose, drive, and commitment to live fully. My dad would have packed in extra adventures knowing life is short. We must do the same.

While I can’t assure you we won’t continue to have our “let’s not get out of bed moments”, the Robinsons are trying their best to press on. We have two weddings coming up and tons of fun friends and family around us who will help us keep breathing and living and delighting in this life.

I am so proud of my dad, and so thankful for the chance to have called him dad. So thankful that I was one of the most important people on the planet to him. So thankful for God’s provision in this crazy time. So thankful for pictures and memories. And thankful for the legacy he’s left us all. Thankful for the love he had for my mom, always. Thankful for the example he was to my brother.

I cannot thank you enough for reading my words. The healing that has come from sharing our grief has been incredible already, though I’m sure the road ahead is long. Thank you, thank you.

My candle burns at both ends
It will not last the night;
But ah, my foes, and oh, my friends -
It gives a lovely light.

Edna St. Vincent Millay (quoted in A River Runs Through It)

what are we doing?

The minister at the church where I grew up, Chapelwood UMC, is amazing. Truly. If you don't know Jim Jackson, you should find a way to get to know him. You can sign up here:
http://www.jimsdailyawakenings.com/

Today's daily email from Jim definitely hit home - it's about a man dying young after spending his life doing incredible, interesting things. 

The Greek philosopher, Aristotle, was the boyhood tutor to Alexander the Great. One day Aristotle told Alexander he would have to make a choice between living a short but intensely interesting, productive life, or a long, boring life. Obviously, Alexander chose the former. He died at 33 after having conquered the known world.

If you had to choose between a long, boring life and a short, event-filled life, which would you opt for?

Real life is not measured by the number of our years, but by the difference we have made in the lives of others.

It's time to start asking, "Why am I here? What am I supposed to be doing? What difference am I supposed to make?" Once you have the answers to these questions, get on with it.

My dad was far from perfect, and we certainly didn't call him "Tom the Great" like Alexander, and he won't be found in history books, but... I am thankful for the light he brought into our lives by really really really living his life. What a call to action his death brings for so many of us still on this Earth. 

As always, thanks for reading. -CAR

sometimes you just know

It is comforting for me to say aloud that I knew something had happened to my dad before anyone told me. At first glance that may seem dark, however, I feel connected to my dad and my family when I remind myself that my body, my mind, my heart, were uneasy before anyone had told me he died. It is comforting for me to think back to that horrible night, Saturday, September 8, and remind myself: I knew something was horribly wrong before anyone said it aloud. My soul and everything inside me must have loved my dad so much that it knew before my brain was certain: something. is. wrong.

My dad died in a single engine, one person plane accident in Kingsland, Texas, not far from my parent’s lake house in Marble Falls. My brother and I were in Houston and my mom was on the dock in Marble Falls with friends from work. My dad had gone to take a final “joyride” in his “little blue plane” – a very small two-seater that he bought in 2007. He had flown it with dozens of people on hundreds, maybe thousands of beautiful blue sky days. He had flown that plane cross country from Texas to Yellowstone Park and Missoula, Montana to meet up with me and my mom. And now, he was selling it, and wanted one last ride through the air.

Saturday morning I woke up early and went to College Station with Drew, my fiancé. ESPN Gameday was there – the morning was awesome. We took pictures on our phones and texted them to my parents, razzing my dad about the Big 12 and the Longhorn Network. We enjoyed the beautiful sunshine in College Station, and during the game, Drew and I both noticed an airplane circling the stadium. It was a small, single engine plane, and it hovered over Kyle Field more than I’ve ever seen most recreational flights during a game.

“Your dad would love to be up there right now,” Drew said. I didn’t know he had noticed the plane, too, until he said something. We both had our necks craned to the sky, not thinking about the football field but my dad.

“Yea, looks like fun. My dad would love to do that over DKR in Austin. Maybe he’ll fly me down here during a game sometime!”

I watched the plane for a few minutes more, as it slowly continued to circle, and thought about my wonderful dad.

A few hours later, around 6:00, we headed back to Houston with Drew’s family. After we dropped his mom off at her house, Drew and I pulled into Taco Cabana to grab some tacos to go, and planned to go paint at our house in the Heights. I called my mom as we walked in.

She told me that Gentry had a really bad day, horrible day at work she said. (he and I had been texting about football and I knew he was at work but sounded fine to me.) “He’s at the Carrigan’s and he’s REALLY upset – you know how he gets. I’m thinking about heading home. Amy sent me a text. Can you go over there and check things out for me?”

I wasn’t super nice, to say the least. “Mom, if he’s with the Carrigan’s, why should I go over there? I’m sure he doesn’t want me over there.”

“Just go. Call me when you get there, Peachie.”

I got off the phone and told Drew what she’d said. “I guess Gentry and Amy are fighting and she wants me to go over there to check on things.”

I did not want to say the words out loud, but the way my mom sounded upset, I was worried. Had Amy had called things off with Gentry…or at least threatened it? I didn’t want to say it out loud. My mom is normally much calmer than she sounded on that phone call.

As we got our tacos, we were about 5 miles down I-10 from the Carrigans, but I wasn’t convinced we should barge in over there. I called my mom.

“Mom, if Gentry and Amy are upset with each other, the Carrigans won’t want me there.”

“They want you there, Peachie, just go over there.” We got off the phone.

I looked at Drew. “I think the Carrigan’s are going to tell me that something happened to Popa. My mom doesn’t want to tell me on the phone.”

I rubbed my forehead and thought about it, and something about the way my mom said “I’m thinking about coming home” – she was at the lake with my dad. Why wouldn’t she say “we?” Maybe Dad did not want to leave Study Group behind. My parents were at the lake with a group of New York Life folks that were like a work family.

My heart started beating fast. It wasn’t logical, but I looked at Drew. “We have to go. I think maybe something happened to my dad.”

On the drive, I turned on the radio and tried not to think about it. I began to cry, and then I said “Let’s not let my imagination run away with me. Let’s talk about something else.”

Drew’s hand was on my back as I leaned forward in my seat, feeling silly for my paniced thoughts. My phone rang, and a family friend was calling to check on me. I answered and she said “WHAT IS GOING ON?” She sounded flustered.

“I don’t know, my mom just told me to go to the Carrigan’s. Don’t tell me anything, we’re almost there.”

A forced happy tone came over her voice. “Okay, baby, well, just call me later!”

Drew was driving too slowly. As he pulled into the Carrigan’s driveway, he asked where he should park. I threw open the passenger door. “Courtney!”

“Drew, I have to get out!!!”… I ran across their yard.

When I reached the door, I saw Richard Colquitt, wearing a suit, and his wife in the front room. Richard is a close family friend, an attorney turned minister, who provides wonderful counsel. My mom would trust Susan and Richard with anything, even something as terrible as telling me my dad was horribly hurt.

I knew right away, he wasn’t coming back.  

“No no no no no no no no no.” I cannot count the number of times I was yelling the word no. Richard told me to sit down, and I remember him pacing a bit. I perched on the edge of the couch, and Susan sat next to me.

“Is he coming back?”

“He’s not.” Her face spoke unspeakable sadness.

I don’t remember anything that was said for a while after that. I put my head in my hands and was screaming “no.” At some point Drew joined me on one side and I think Catherine Carrigan on the other. They were both crying.

I started taking deep breaths and asked to talk to my mom. “Where’s Gentry?” I whispered.  

I hadn’t seen Gentry in two weeks, because he’d been in Colorado and then only back in Houston for about 4 days. He had a fuzzy beard trying to grow over his face. His eyes were swollen from crying and he looked crushed. He sat on the couch next to me.

I cried into his chest for a while, then pulled away and half-smiled. “You need to shave. You look like a goat.” Laughter filled the room. I knew we would be alright. I did not how, and I did not understand the peace washing over me, but I knew we would be alright.

I talked to my mom on the phone a few times and someone, either her or Susan, filled me in that my dad had taken off in the little blue plane, and it had done a nosedive soon after. He did not suffer, he was not in pain, but he never regained consciousness.

My mom was going to be leaving the lake very soon with some study group people to drive her here. People began arriving at the Carrigan’s. My brother and I floated between shock and denial. Drew sobbed openly for a few minutes, and it helped me know this was real.

I called Stephanie, who happened to be in town from Fort Worth. “I’m really sorry to be weird, but I need you to come to the Carrigans as soon as you can.”

“Why?”

“I’ll tell you when you get here. Just please come over here.”

Telling people out loud was harder than finding out myself. Soon the McClellans were there to hug us, and Luke Allen, and the Stuckeys, and some of my brother’s good friends like Drew Eckardt and Ryan Simpson.

Mary Chenoweth and the Francis’ and later John came over. I kept telling myself: “They’ve done this. You can too. They’ve done this. You can too.”

When my aunt Nikki arrived and my cousins, I wanted to know where Mike was. I couldn’t wait to hear his voice. He’d always been there whenever I needed him and I definitely needed him now. When my eyes met Brigitte’s, my heart ached for my mom. How excruciating this already was feeling…

Everyone that showed up that night meant so much. The easy thing to do when someone is so hurt is to flee. The hard thing to do is be there. People struggle with the right words to say…but if there’s anything I’ve learned, there are no right words.

How awful and almost guilty I felt much of that night thinking that we had this so easy. We had walked this road when Jay died. When Jay died, I struggled with doubt and questions about faith and yada yada. But I stood in the Carrigan’s house that night, filled with peace and absolutely certain of where my dad was – Heaven. The hard part was that we were left here. “I want to elope…” one of my first thoughts, I’m pretty sure. I could not begin to think about dancing or walking down the aisle – how would anything ever be fun again without my dad there?

Wick Stuckey and Josef Klam both came by from our church, Chapelwood, where my parents have been active members for more than 15 years.

Wick asked for all at the house to pray with him before he left. Maybe 20, 25 people at this point grabbed hands and began pray. A few minutes in to the prayer, I could not continue to stand. I dropped to my knees and begged God for comfort, for peace. I thanked him immensely for his promises of Heaven. For years, I’d struggled to memorize verses and be diligent in bible study and, just as they say, the foundation was now ready for me to collapse into.

Most of me hates how fast time is passing since my dad’s unexpected death. It is as though we are rushing away, rushing from his presence, his memory, his voice, his smell, his advice, his presence, his laugh. I want to stay right there. I am sure my mind will change, but for now, I want to be as close as possible to the day people told me he won’t be coming back. Because that means we’re closer to the day he was alive, and breathing, and loving.

It seems completely unfathomable to me that my dad has been dead for four weeks. Seriously, how can that be possible? How can we have survived this long? How will we continue to move further and further from his presence? By grace. For it is by grace you have been saved, not by works. Ephesians 2:18

  

happy birthday, amy clare

If the every family in the world had an Amy Carrigan among them, I am convinced we’d reach world peace very soon.

My future sister-in-law (yep, my brother is getting married!!!) is amazing. I’m not sure amazing covers it. She’s turning twenty-three on October 9, but she has the wisdom of someone much older.

My brother has been smitten with Amy for years. Sometimes it feels like I’ve been hearing about Amy for decades. How many times have I heard: I miss Amy. I love Amy. I think I messed things up with Amy. Amy loves me. I love Amy. I miss Amy. Amy is wonderful. Blah blah blah blahty blah.

But then you realize that Amy-itis is contagious. Amy is one of those people that you just want to be around more and more. Amy brings joy and comfort wherever she goes – literally, wherever. If it’s a ski trip, a weekend in the hill country, a Young Life trip, a mission trip to Africa, a mundane work night in Houston, whatever. Amy is exudes gentleness, kindness, love, mercy, and grace.

My brother is at peace around Amy in a way he’s never been with anyone else. He can be frustrated, stressed, rowdy, silly and telling jokes,  and you give him enough alone time with Amy… you’ll find him curled up on top of a bed, snuggly and cuddly and whispering things to Amy. She has magical powers.

Gentry and Amy are a great fit for the other, a compliment to the others personality and needs. God has shown his capability to redeem others through their relationship. He has shown his ability to bring peace to all situations through Amy’s love for my brother. He has shown his ability to design us to find strength in our weakness through my brother’s vulnerability when around Amy. (Sorry, can’t think of a less cheesy word than vulnerability.) Their smiles when around the other are contagious. 

Amy delights in others so well – her family, her three sisters, my parents and even myself. Her friends and her nieces – Amy is loyal and caring always. Her ability to forgive others, including myself, baffles me. She defies worldly reasoning in arguments and always takes the high road.

My brother may have stopped reading at this point. He is surrounded by people who recognize Amy for what she is – amazing. He is told constantly how lucky and blessed he is to have her in his life. I’m sure at this point he’s thinking “she has faults, people!”

These I do not doubt. For Amy to be able to function in my family she often tunes Gentry and I out (ie while talking about books) and then we ask her a question (about a previously mentioned book) and she’ll say “Sorry, I stopped listening a while ago…”

Also, she can be a “pushover” - sometimes too patient or nice for her own good. For example, she recently let her niece sleep in her Halloween costume instead of PJs and stay up way past her bedtime. Her own children I’m sure will pull off all kinds of stunts.  

Regardless of minor faults, I am thankful for Amy Carrigan daily. And recently, through the unexpected death of my dad, I am thankful for her hourly. My brother would be much more of a wreck without Amy to walk through this with him. I am excited to see what the next twenty-three years hold for sweet Amy (probably lots of vacation time and double dates with me!!! She is undoubtedly thrilled…)

I know if God has already worked so much for his glory through her, I can’t fathom what’s next. The entire Robinson clan (and a Prochaska) is blessed to call Amy family, encouraged from being around her, and comforted by her patience.

We love you, Amy!

Happy, happy, happiest of birthdays!! 

maybe there's hope

His watch continues to count the hours and minutes as they pass. His dress watch sits on my brother’s arm and his work-out ironman watch sits on mine. His watch does not tell time for him, but counts the time that has flown by since his spirit left the earth.

It has begun to sink in, as I wrap his watchband tightly around my wrist, wishing I could tightly wrap my arms around his living and breathing body, that he is not coming back to us.

The bible and our faith promises us, assures us, that there is more. Faith is hard and confusing and weird, but if it were easy it would not be real. If there was no need to trust, what would a relationship with God look like? There are things we are not meant to understand and questions we must learn to stop asking. God has wrapped us with the goodness and faithfulness of our family & friends, but we still must ride this rollercoaster, strapped in with no exit.

The rollercoaster has moments with beautiful views, memories, wind in our faces, but also moments that leave your stomach feeling as if it is a few feet below you, your heart racing, palms sweaty, praying you’ll survive. Life would certainly be boring without the high highs and the low lows of this rollercoaster, I get that. We would cease living if everything felt flat like a pancake or Midwestern prairie. We must live, not fearful of death or completely changed by it, but aware that life is precious, each day a blessing. 

What made my dad so loveable and why he is missed so much is because he lived with energy, excitement, faith, compassion, love. He signed up for the rollercoaster and he did not chicken out- he did not sit on the sidelines. He loved. He cared. He hooped. He hollered. He danced. He laughed. He made others dance. He made others laugh. He filled us with warmth. He reminded us to pray. He inspired us to work hard. He loved so well.

My mind is filled with maybes. Maybe he’s not really gone.  Maybe it hasn’t actually been more than two weeks since he breathed in oxygen. Maybe his plane didn’t crash.

Maybe he will be there to walk me down the aisle. Maybe he will be around to hold his grandchildren. Maybe he will still sprint past me at the Marble Falls triathlon. Maybe he’ll still hold my mom’s hand as they drive down the highway.

Maybe he’ll come home and lay on his side of the bed so that I won’t have to. Maybe he’ll still meet my brother to play golf. Maybe he’ll still call William in a funny accent or to ramble about baseball. Maybe he’ll still take inventory of Mary’s pantry when we go out to the Chen’s house together. Maybe that buzzing overhead is not a stranger in an unknown plane, but my dad, buzzing the house.

Maybe he’ll build that fence with Drew like he talked about. Maybe they’ll still go smoke cigars and have a man date before our wedding. Maybe we’ll still text about if we’ll dance to “Johnny B Good” or “the Wobble” at our wedding.

Maybe this is not happening. Maybe, maybe, maybe.

Just when I think this can’t get more painful, just when I find it too hard to breathe and have to concentrate really hard to swallow, hope forces its way in with those maybes. It’s not a huge amount of hope, but it’s there nonetheless.

Maybe we can get through this. Maybe my mom is as strong as she seems. Maybe all those prayers are paying off. Maybe peace that goes beyond reasoning or understanding exists. Maybe life is not fair, but life is still good. Maybe accidents happen and there is nothing we can do. Maybe if others have done this, we can too. Maybe God’s timeline is vastly different from ours, and days and years have a whole different meaning in Heaven. Maybe He loves us more than we know. Maybe we must press on.

Maybe this is just a stage in the grieving process. Maybe someday I’ll think of my dad and not want to cry out in sorrow, or hit something. Already my smile is genuine, not forced, when I think of the love he had for his family and the zest he had for life. Maybe we are called to emulate that, and move forward. Maybe we are to have more faith, and fewer questions. Maybe we are to have fewer possessions, and more memories and actions. Maybe we are called for more, and we must answer that call. 

where we are now

Where we are right now…

It’s starting to feel real. I think of funny things to text my dad, but I can’t. I have a quick question and want to call him, but I can’t. I miss my dad with every fiber of my being. People ask “how are you?” and I want to shake them by the shoulders and yell “HOW DO YOU THINK I AM!?” 

And yet, I’m beyond grateful for all of the people who have written cards, who have known exactly what to say, who haven’t known what at all to say but have shown up, who’ve brought food or toilet paper or plants or flowers or made donations in my dad’s memory.  I’m thankful for all the people who have checked on us, who have told stories, who have shared our dad’s life with us. I’m thankful for all the people, through the love of God, who have reminded us to keep living, keep breathing.

 My family, the three of us plus our new two, (Mom, Gentch, Amy, Drew) are beyond blessed. We have been SO prayed over. I have never felt more at peace. Yet, this week has been painful. My entire body hurts. My mind is scattered. It is a rollercoaster to be sure, and though doubt has not crept in about the power or love of Christ, the missing and grieving my dad’s amazing presence in my life has started.

The more I continue to fall deeper in love with Drew Prochaska, and prepare to become his wife, the more I realize what my mom has lost.

I am thankful for what we all had with my dad – the blessing of an active, involved, funny father, and a loving, devoted, passionate, quirky, hilarious, loyal husband. I wonder, how many people are not even given that gift?  I groan or feel sorry for myself, for my family, that we’ve lost him so young, so early – but at least we had him at all. Many people have absent or abusive fathers, or loveless marriages, or flames that have gone out – not us. My parents marriage was alive and well (though full of feistiness) and my dad was about as great as they come on this planet. Neither their marriage nor his parenting was flawless- but he was so real. He was so alive.

I am so thankful and find myself rejoicing that we have something to miss.

It’s getting painful over here, this breathing in and out every day. But it’s also so amazing to see the legacy my dad left, the impact he had, and the work God has been doing in all of us since Dad’s death.

I’ll close these ramblings with a final thought:  anyone who finds the concept of the “trinity” or “holy spirit” weird or full of hocus pocus is really missing something. I have never felt “the Spirit” more alive and well as the days since my dad’s plane crashed. I feel uplifted through prayer, I sense the power of God through others’ words, I feel myself and my family beginning to heal. The healing is excruciating, but it is real. I know I was able to speak at my dad’s service only through the grace of God and the power of His spirit – and though that may sound crazy, I know it to be truth.

Thank you, thank you, thank you for all of your prayers, kind words, support, love, and friendship. I pray you’ll continue to ask how we’re doing, to check on my mom, to love on my brother. We are strong because of the Lord’s provision and the outpouring of friends.

Romans 8:26

In the same way, the Spirit helps us in our weakness. We do not know what we ought to pray for, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groans that words cannot express.

dad

*I wrote this in November 2011, and posted it for Fathers Day in June. I'm filled with gratitude that by God's grace I was able to see my dad for what he was: a gift. A funny, hilarious, wise, feisty, devoted, adventurous, loving Dad. 

"Life is either a daring adventure, or nothing." -Helen Keller

I hate that it takes me losing something to find out just how much I loved it. The thought of losing my dad, after watching some of my closest and dearest friends lose theirs, well, the thought makes me feels as though someone has hold of my insides and is twisting their hand and clenching a fist.

I have my dad – a wonderful, loving, giving, funny, fireball of a man – everyday. To call or text or harass or hug. Everyday. What a gift.

He went to Mexico for four days last weekend to see his dad, a man he learned much from, about life and loving well and parenting. I thought of my dad in Mexico as I sat at my desk in Houston – a desk and a job I would not have if not for my dad (and mom, too.) His influence and encouragement to “give back” and “love your country” and “swing for the fences” fueled my application to intern at the White House, and that opportunity has led me literally everywhere else after.

I thought of my dad, barely taller than me yet so much wiser, and longed to hug him. Longed to tell him how much he means to me and how much he defines me and how truly blessed I am to have known him twenty-five years.

I was not worried he would not make it back from Mexico, just as I do not really worry my pilot father will die in a plane crash – he’s living life. Why would I want to worry about doing what we’re called to do: live bravely?

My friends and my students who are less fortunate than I remind me that my hero of a dad is  not something everyone’s got at their house, in their corner, in their world. As a teacher with Teach For America, I saw numerous kiddos with absent dads, or dads who brought pain into the lives of their children. I came to appreciate mine in a way I never had before. That day, sitting at my desk, I wanted to hug mine. I’m not great at hugs, something I most definitely inherited from him. So I did what I can do: I wrote.

I remember being carried on my dad’s shoulders often as a child, sunlight all around me, my five year old feet dangling with his hands safely wrapped around my ankles. I did not think, there on my dad’s shoulders, of one day being an “adult” nor what devastating sorrows and delightful joys life would one day bring. I did not know, either, that I would, in many ways, be propped on my dad’s shoulders for always.

The founder of the charter school where I taught in 2009-2011 often talked about building upon the work and success of those who have gone before us. He says: “We stand on the shoulders of giants.” My dad may not literally be a giant, but for me, that is an everyday truth.