It’s very easy to wallow in sorrow and grief…and to forget that you have things that you’re actually grateful for. And it seems weird in the midst of intense grief to have a happy and joyful anything, much less a holiday.

But the facts are simple: I truly am grateful, not only on this day, but every day. Thanksgiving is just one day in which we get to catalogue and think about our blessings on the way to cataloguing and thinking about our holiday shopping lists for tomorrow. Pity, that. I think if spent more time counting our blessings and less time fighting crowds at the mall if our whole holiday season wouldn’t be different altogether. Scratch that–I *know* it would.

Regardless, in the midst of family trauma such as we’ve had, I’m so very grateful for the following:

*My family–all of us. Our little threesome is fun and there are so many things to celebrate on a daily basis, and our extended family adds much joy to the mix too.

*My marriage–although we’ve had some rocky times, it’s a good, strong relationship. I’m so grateful for that wonderful husband I have!

*My home–maintained by a job that we’re looking to jettison (another story), but even for that job that frustrates us many days, I’m grateful. For without it, this home wouldn’t be possible.

*My friends–some of whom are as close as siblings (twin siblings, to boot!), all of whom are loving, giving individuals, and all of whom without we would live a poorer life.

Now of course there are more things for which I’m grateful, and the fact that I’m counting blessings at all indicates that my faith is a major part of my life. For if I didn’t Believe, then to Whom would I give my thanks? But that’s another entry.

In the midst of a sad time, we spent a day with friends who helped us remember the sweeter and funnier side of life, and who were happy to take my $5 at the poker table. Ah well…what is it they say? “A fool and her money are soon parted.” Yep, well….What can I say?

May your Thanksgiving be more than a blur on the race to the mall tomorrow and may you truly count all the things and people which enrich and bless your life. Happy Thanksgiving!

It has been 18 days since we lost Emily Grace, and in last night’s mail was a CD and DVD of pictures that were used during the visitation and funeral. I made copies of the CD and will have a friend make copies of the DVD for distribution in the family. What I can’t believe is how much “life” goes on in spite of the grief and how callous that seems, even to me who has to go on with “life.” Despite the grief, my family needs to eat, bills have to be paid, and Mark must go to work. So I thought this was a good time to remember our niece and post some pictures as a bit of a memorial. I cannot watch the DVD yet–while I could during the funeral, I recognize that the numbness has worn off and it’s simply too painful right now. I also have a special project I’ll work on for Wendy & Brian, but at the moment, even that is too hard for me.

Pictures here range from infancy (with those gigantic eyes and silly smile) to early toddlerhood. She was a carbon copy of her Dada at birth and morphed in to the spitting image of her Mama, especially at the same age. It absolutely stunned me–this child was the exact image of her mother–her mother that I remember from our childhood! Her transformation kept us mesmerized, and she was the most vocal and vibrant of the Gutreuter family.

What a treat she was and how deeply she is missed. It seems as though the fog we are walking through is thick and memories hit us as inopportune times, yet we know how much harder it is for my sister and brother-in-law and their surviving children. Emily Grace (“of the beautiful face,” as my parents always added) will be held in our hearts forever and is missed deeply.

We await our reunion in Heaven, sweet girl. Dance in the arms of Jesus until we arrive!

So in the midst of our grief and pain at burying Emily, we had a few days which reminded us that life indeed does move on. And those days were so refreshing!

We spent some glorious (and chilly!) days in Dexter, MI–where it was actually *warmer* than in Nicholasville! Imagine that!

Nettie and Jay allowed us to be ourselves–talk when we felt like it, cry when we felt like it, and were just there for us. What a gift that is!

We spent time at the Hockeytown Cafe on Saturday (pic of the 3 girls), which I found fascinating and fun at the same time. The service left something to be desired and the prices surely didn’t warrant any standing ovations, but it was the atmosphere I was after.

I didn’t have the heart to go to church on Sunday, so we went to the Chapel of the Holy Boxsprings and had a relaxed breakfast and morning hike (pic of the leaf).

And since I owe Nettie a “decent picture” (unlike the one she protests at the upper right of the page), here’s one Jay took on our hike. (note the flawless skin!)

Monday had us house-looking (again), as Mark & I took advantage of free childcare and naptime for Brendan to poke around at open-houses on Sunday. We re-visited one house in particular and took multiple pictures; we also signed with a buyer-agent in Dexter. She seems to be very nice and full of integrity; we had peace after signing with her–almost as if another piece in the puzzle fit and that was one less thing for us to be concerned about.

We also spent time at a local haunt–Jenny’s Farm Market. The kids had a great time, but Buster wasn’t so sure about the donkeys–they kept braying at him (making him crazy) and it almost seemed as if they were trying to terrorize him. ;0 The ducks (see picture) kept us entertained; they kept diving to the bottom of their pond, but coming up with nothing. So this explains the duck-butt picture to the left.

Our time in Dexter wrapped up on Monday night with scooping out the goop in pumpkins and carving them–a wonderful family time in the Brooks kitchen and therapeutic to simply be a part of something so simple and full of wonder for the kids. In spite of reservations I have about this ‘holiday’, there is something about carving pumpkins and reconnecting with the safe part of childhood that Halloween used to be–once upon a time when we were kids, before we had any cares or concerns.

Oh, to be a kid again….

Yesterday was possibly the worst day of our family’s life–and that encompasses some pretty terrible days in general.

We buried Emily Grace.

The day was preceded by a night of visitation at the funeral home–people were kind and friends from far outside of Indy drove in and paid their respects and showed love to Wendy, Brian, and our family. It was touching. I had worked all day on flowers–well, most of that is true. I was waylaid with conversation before I even started on the arrangements (large sprays on easels), and when I actually got going, I found it hard to do. My hands shook and I was slow–very atypical for me. After all, I’ve designed flowers for 13 years now and this was not my first funeral piece, not by a long shot.

But it was the first one I’d done for a family member, much less a beautiful niece.

And I prayed. I prayed my heart out–for amazing things like a physical resurrection. I knew it was well out of the realm of possible in the natural world, but isn’t that the very definition of a miracle? And while I knew it was improbable and impossible to us, it wasn’t for God. And what would we hurt by asking? The worst God could say was “no,” right? If I had been Emily’s mom, I would’ve done exactly the same thing–this would have been MY BABY. And I would’ve questioned forever if I should have or if I put God in a box by *not* asking. So we asked.

The answer was “no.” We all would’ve passed out if the answer had been “yes,” but it was something we had to do anyhow.

So yesterday began with sending my boys off to Ann Arbor, site of The Job Interview for Mark and a place where Brendan would be well-tended and safe from the emotional upheaval that a funeral can be.

We dressed and checked out of the hotel and drove to the church. While it was great to see friends and relatives that we haven’t seen in a while, it struck me as sad that this usually happens when someone dies and that we don’t make more of an effort when people are still alive.

The service was beautiful, but it found me so deeply sad. Emily was my girl–she was smiley, active, and oh so beautiful–and she let me kiss the bridge of her nose (what I call “my special spot”). And of course when that happened, Brendan had to get in on the action, too–he had to have me kiss *his* “special spot” right after Emily did.

I’ve never touched someone in a coffin before–I never felt the need to do so. But this was different. This was my Emily and she was so precious–her sweet legs stretched out, socked toes touching the inside of the coffin, her pink fingernails, and the bruises on her legs from keeping up with her big brothers. Her delicate curls of strawberry blonde hair framed her face, and she just deserved all the kisses in the world. I was slightly surprised that it felt like kissing a porcelain doll, but just couldn’t stop pouring out my love and affection.

We drove to the cemetery and had a short ceremony there in the cold, drizzly, and otherwise blustery day. I was actually glad that it was cold like that–I was very cold (my mom said I was shivering, but I honestly don’t remember shaking at all), but it matched my state of mind. You shouldn’t bury a child–they should bury you. I would’ve been quite p.o.’d if it had been bright and sunny–although we know without question that Emily is with Jesus, it would’ve seemed like a mockery of the day and its events if it had been bright and cheerful.

Later that night, I learned a valuable lesson about why some people self-medicate with alcohol–it was incredibly easy to drink several glasses of wine and leave the heaviness of my heart behind. Of course it was still there when I woke in the middle of the night and again in the morning, but for a few hours, it was easier to sit and pretend it didn’t exist. I’m grateful for the fact that I don’t have a huge proclivity to drink, as well as for the new depth of understanding for those who do struggle with alcohol.

One last thing: as I awoke in the wee hours of the morning and reflected on the pain in my heart, the verse from 1 Thessalonians 4 (13) rang true in my mind: “…I want you to know what will happen to the Christians who have died so you will not be full of sorrow like people who have no hope….” Paul was so right–we don’t grieve as those who don’t know the Hope in our hearts, but sometimes I think we gloss over that and negate the grief we DO have. Our grief will eventually give way to peace and hope, unlike those who don’t share our faith. But the grief is still everpresent at this time, and it’s still necessary to work through for emotional health. It was an affirmation of what we’re all going through and what Wendy & Brian will continue to go through for years to come, and an understanding that Jesus feels the pain that we have (Heb. 4:14-16) and comforts us at the same time. It’s a strange tension, yet one that believers live with at all times.

Saturday morning found me up early, ready to get some work done. What it didn’t find me was expectant of receiving a devastating phone call from my mom.

She called with news of the death of our beautiful 2.5 y/o niece. She was healthy (except for some sniffles) and was running around when they put her to bed. My sister found her hours later.

The devastation is so complete–we were shocked, horrified, and hysterical all at the same time. How in the world do you adjust? How do you cope?

Emily was vibrant, vocal, and active. Her place in our family was set–the strawberry blonde with the impish smile, trying to keep up with her big brothers and being a mother-hen to her little sister. She is deeply missed and the hole she left will never be filled.

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The arrangements include visitation on Wednesday and a funeral on Thursday. We are currently in Indiana with family, and I will do flowers for family. We covet your prayers as we say our final goodbye and grieve our loss. For local readers, Max Vanderpool has information regarding our plans with the instructions to disseminate freely.

I have always gotten ‘bumps’ from mosquito bites; the normal, red, itchy bumps. Pesky, but they go away. And as of the last few years, they go away exceedingly quickly, as the zyrtec in my system seems to dissipate them more quickly than normal metabolism of the stuff that skeeter injects in me. ::ick::

I’d heard about others who got “allergic reactions” to mosquitoes, but I honestly just thought it was an overstatement of a normal bite. That is, until MY kid had it.

[As an aside, why do we have a tendency to take things less seriously until we experience it ourselves? A natural bent towards skepticism?]

Brendan had normal mosquito bites last year; exactly like what most people experience. This season started off with what I thought was him scratching bites to infection. So I treated the open sores with neosporin and band-aids and a stern talk about not scratching and keeping his hands washed. Turns out it might not be that at all!

Several weeks ago, he got another crop of bites (they always seem to happen when he’s sleeping) and I put Caladryl Clear on them. Unlike what you (and I) expect, there is no benadryl in Caladryl–they changed the formulation and it’s pramoxine HCl. Several hours after the application of the Caladryl, he had blisters in the middle of the bites. So we (naturally!) assumed he was allergic to the pramoxine, and I bought benadryl cream.

Today he woke up with yet another batch of them, and didn’t want any cream on them, so I left them alone. Guess what was in the middle of these bites by lunchtime? Yep–plasma-filled blisters. ::double ick:: So I pierced the blisters (lest he do it while scratching) and put cortisone ointment and bandages on them. Once I put him to bed, I immediately googled “allergic-reaction+mosquito-bite” and came across a site run by Princeton University in which many, many people posted about their extreme allergic reactions to mosquito bites.

I am so grateful I found the site; there’s nothing a doctor can do, although there is some thought that taking singulair might help reduce the reaction (this medication reduces leukotriene reaction, part of what makes up an allergic reaction). I will talk to his ped when we’re next in; in the meantime, I may start coating the child in Skin So Soft before bed. I know it doesn’t do a huge amount in terms of repelling mosquitoes, but I don’t want to dip him in bug spray and put him to bed, either. And as long as we have this Eternal Summer down here, they’re not going to die any time soon. Argh!

So that’s our experience with the killer-mosquitoes–I don’t know what’s different for Brendan, except to think that it might be linked to his development of seasonal allergies. Even more reason to hike out of the Ohio Valley, where all allergens and pollens land on us!

Ever have one of those weeks when you look back and realize it’s been a jumble? Much has happened, but to characterize the week as “a good one” or “a rotten one” just doesn’t seem possible. So in that vein, here are some random thoughts about my week….

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So last week saw the anniversary of the 9.11 attacks. And last Sunday found me sitting in front of the keyboard, staring at images of that horrible day, getting terribly emotional, and crying. When Brendan got up from nap, he noticed my eyes and sniffles and asked why I was crying. What do you tell an innocent 3 y/o child about terrorism?

I responded that when he was still inside of me, some very bad people did a very bad thing and crashed airplanes in to buildings. They hurt a lot of people who didn’t do anything wrong, and when I remembered what happened, it made me sad. It was the best I could do at the time. (So much of parenting is on the fly!)

I knew his little 3 y/o mind couldn’t wrap itself around that, but it satisfied his curiosity and got me a tissue and a kiss from my little sweetheart.

Later on in the week, he said, “I’m sorry, Mama.” I asked why he was sorry and the reply came back, “I’m sorry that when I was in your tummy some people did a bad thing and made you sad.” Insert collective “awwwww” here….

Kids can’t grasp what happened that day, even if they were directly affected by it. But one little boy’s attempts to comfort his sad mum did a lot to brighten my outlook and put a smile on my face. If it didn’t, then wouldn’t the terrorists have won? For our future is locked up in these cherubic faces, not in the evil that these criminals have perpetrated upon us in the past.

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Have you ever expected the worst, only to be pleasantly surprised (nay, shocked!) when just the opposite happens? I was, today.

I had the lowest of expectations of an individual and was very happy when I was able to cast aside my preconceived notions. It truly did change my perspective (immediately, I might add) and my attitude as a whole; everything immediately seemed less gray and despairing. I guess that should be my lesson to never underestimate an individual’s work ethic and God at the same time…!