It's mental health awareness week and I'd like to start by saying I was in therapy way before it was cool and socially acceptable to talk about. Jokes aside, I've seriously been in and out of therapy for a majority of my life beginning at age 11 and as most recent as last year.
The last time I sought mental health treatment was after Nick was born and right before I was pregnant with Jade. It changed my life, which may sound dramatic but undeniably true. It was a combination of therapy and medication that actually worked. I think it was the first time I was properly diagnosed, medicated, and treated. I was given skills and tools to carry into every day life and eventually completed that stint of therapy. Although I'm not currently in consistent therapy, I'm able to recognize when I need a "booster session." Given my history, I think it's been easy for psychiatrists to diagnose me with PTSD and/or depression and/or anxiety. When I see myself on paper, all of those make sense but I'm thankful for the resident psychiatrist who took a little more time during evaluation and diagnosed me with OCD. I received treatment under a different umbrella and it was the first medication I actually felt relief from. I was surprised by the diagnosis because most of what I thought I understood about OCD was based off stereotypes. I'm not compulsive about tidiness or cleanliness (if you've been to my house you know this). I struggle more with the mental aspect of intrusive and repetitive thoughts, especially when it comes to the safety of my kids and family. Being obsessive has lead to anxiety, shortness, irritability, and low frustration tolerance. It's not fun to live hand in hand with any of those things and the combination of medication and solid therapy/CBT tools have taken the edge off and let me live a lot more joy-filled life. What am I doing to best manage my mental health right now? Here's a few things: 1. I talk about it and make my needs known. Mental health conversations are frequent in the Stone household. I'm a very self-aware person and Austin has come to recognize when I'm not doing well too. He gives me time when I need it, to write, sleep, run, read, take a bath, go with friends, or hit up Goodwill. My family is also aware of my struggles and I receive so much support from them and love them so much. I get frequent breaks from motherhood and honestly don't feel too much guilt because I know they usually have more fun getting spoiled by their grandparents and aunties than they do with me. 2. I use the skills learned in therapy. One of my favorites when I'm anxious, "What is the worst possible outcome of this situation?" "What's the most likely outcome of this situation?" "How can I cope with either outcome?" 3. I don't follow fitness accounts on Instagram. My mental health is largely impacted by how I feel about myself. I know I'm on the cusp of transformative years of my life when it comes to defining health and instilling self-worth. Fitness accounts, "before and afters," health defined by weight, people trying to sell me products, just don't help me and make me feel awful about myself so why slam my feed with images that make me feel less than? 4. I'm learning to accept treated mental health and true healing may result in continued weight gain for me. Freaking hard but I'm doing it. So I move to move because I love to move. I don't focus on time or calories burned. I love myself most when I feel strong, smart, and capable. 5. I say no. It's the best part of being an adult. I take on less, and if something I committed to isn't working out, I'm honest about my shortcomings versus stressing out trying to perfect myself. So there's a snapshot of my mental health history. I share it with you in hopes of normalizing this: 1. Mental health effects so many people, you're not alone. I'm a MSW. When I was getting my master's I focused on interpersonal practice and mental health. I've provided paid therapy services to others. Textbook, I get it. Real life, I struggle with it. Nothing to be ashamed of if you do too. So many people do because life is hard, unexpected, and not always easy to navigate. 2. Therapy can be life changing. It's honestly a miracle I found myself in therapy as an adult. After many "failed" attempts throughout my childhood and teenage years, it would have been easy for me throw in the towel. If you've seen a crappy therapist, one who asked you if ambulances remind of your brother's death when they didn't but they do now, keep trying. There are so many incredible and highly trained therapists out there who can help you better navigate life. 3. Medication can help. This is the hardest one for me to admit. I've always started medication with the intent to get off of them as soon as possible, "when I feel better" which is usually when the medication actually started working (thank goodness I get that now). How's your mental health? How do you work to improve your mental health or cope with illness? Do a mental health "self check", check in with your family and friends (even the "strong ones") and be kind. "I am learning (slowly) not to force things, but to allow them. Less muscling. More opening, softening, making space. My white knuckle grip doesn't help anyone. And fighting for what matters usually looks mostly like letting go of what doesn't."
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I graduated from a private school with a really small class. We have already lost 2 classmates over the past four years. In high school and a few years after, we experienced several other hard and traumatic losses. For me, it started in elementary school, when my brother passed away. 17 years ago now which seems impossible.
It never seems to stop. At the beginning of this week, I found out a former classmate of mine passed away after a 5 year battle with cancer. He was 29-years-old. I wasn't close with him and had only seen him a few times since high school, but I feel so much grief for his family and friends. Friends of David, I have watched you from a distance over the past several years and I truly admire you. You have stood beside your friend at the peek of his physical health, winning football games with him and playing in the State playoffs. Cancer can make people uncomfortable. It is so difficult to watch someone you love so much lose their health, strength, and mobility. But you didn't stop standing next to your friend when his health was failing him. I have attended weddings where you helped him navigate a crowded reception venue with a cane or wheelchair, made his plate of food, and cut it up. You have visited him in the hospital, spent time with him and his family in their home, taken him for car rides, vacationed with him, and so much more. Recently, I saw pictures of you at his house, on the morning of your wedding, making sure he felt included. You wanted him to be there. That type of love is beyond words. It's love that is deeply true and has eternal value. You continued to weave your lives together and I can't imagine how difficult it would be in some of the best years of your life, to watch your friend struggle through his hardest years. I'm sorry you had to wonder if your best friend would be able to stand in your wedding or meet your babies. I'm sorry there will be future weddings and future babies he won't be here for or meet here on Earth. And it's not just the big things, I'm sorry for all the small things, all the little moments, you will miss him too. Both David and you did incredibly hard things as he fought cancer and there are some things cancer doesn't get to take from you. Cancer can't take your courage or your spirit. Continue loving hard and living for all the moments that fill you with hope, peace, and joy. Because you have fought cancer with someone, met them in their last moments, you have experienced a tenderness on Earth most won't experience until eternity. Let your "up close" experience with death lead to such a full and beautiful life. Cancer can't take away true friendship. It can't lessen your love. You probably have a million memories with David, cherish them. Tell them. Tell his stories. Share about his courage and faith. Don't stop spending time with his family. He has a niece who will know her uncle because you will keep his spirit and legacy alive when you tell your stories. Most importantly, cancer can't take your faith. David did not lose his battle to cancer. There is no losing when it means you are united with your Heavenly father, with a restored body, for the rest of eternity. Friends of David, keep the faith, as hard as you wrestle with it, cling to it. God will sustain you even when you feel like you can't take one more second of missing someone you love so much. The end of summer always means one thing: Labor Day weekend. Everyone squeezes as much summer into one long weekend as possible. For us, it means a trip to the Shack and a night at Cow Camp Rodeo. It is easily one of our favorite weekends of the summer.
Earlier this week, I found myself trying to explain the Shack to a coworker. Basically, it is a one room “cabin” built by my grandpa, dad, and uncles. The entire outside of the “cabin” is “decorated” with my grandpa’s favorite auction finds. He loved antiques. There is an outhouse and well. Everyone can appreciate the newest feature: a shower where the water is heated by a “jet pack propane tank thingy”. We sleep in tents, campers, and a few brave souls (who are not afraid of rodents) sleep in the Shack. You either love or hate a place like the Shack and it’s definitely a gamble bringing new guests. Let’s take a moment to wish Olivia’s boyfriend good luck for the upcoming weekend. During the day, the kids hunt for frogs and crayfish. They make fun out of playing with rocks and sticks. They run through the corn and take truck rides back to my grandpa’s favorite spot. The adults play cards, corn hole, and bocce ball. There is a never ending to-do list of projects we try to tackle. At night we do a fire, s’mores, and go shining for “reindeer.” The car always magically stalls during shining and scary stories about “Children of the Corn” or the “UP Mangler” begin. How did we come to love this place so much? Tradition, memories, and grandparents who valued/value Jesus and time with people they love more than anything. Every summer my grandpa would take all of the grandkids up to the Shack for a week by himself. Our days were spent catching frogs, shooting the BB gun, playing kick the can, throwing darts at balloons, trying to get a bite out of a marshmallow hanging by a thread from the ceiling, bobbing for apples, and trips to see my Aunt Henrietta for a vanilla ice cream cone. At night, he would have us work on memorizing different scripture or the 10 commandments and told us Bible stories. Our favorite was the story of the fat and skinny cows. He wanted his grandkids to know and love Jesus. Eventually, all 4 granddaughters would fall asleep on a pull out couch, the boys on bunks, and my grandpa on a cot. I can’t believe we ever got a lick of sleep, especially with his snoring. My grandpa created the best kind of childhood magic. The kind that has my putting pressure on my dad to get a pet goat for the weekend because that’s what my grandpa did. Seriously, one time he got a pet goat from the livestock auction that we lovingly named Kylie. He took us to see milking farms and had us chasing after greased pigs. He would hook up the covered wagon to the tractor and take us camping at Cow Camp where we got to ride horses and talk to all of the cowboys and cowgirls. My grandpa would strike up a conversation with anyone, and I mean anyone. When you experience a traumatic death at such a young age, the death of a grandparent in adulthood can be pretty uneventful. But then there are times where you are gearing up for a weekend at the Shack, the final hoorah of summer, and all you wish for is for your grandpa to be sitting in his chair of choice (wheelchair) watching his great-grandkids run around the place that he built such a strong legacy of togetherness, adventure, and love. Grandpa, thank you for memories that will last me a lifetime and for a place of tradition where my kids will begin to make their own. You were possibly the most non-materialistic, generous, and Christ-filled person I have ever known. You are missed. Missed as much as the amount of salt it took you to season a steak, jam to spread over a piece of toast, and butter to top a cinnamon roll. This song will always remind me of you ❤️ Don’t you dare go running down My little town where I grew up And I won’t cuss your city lights If you ain’t ever took a ride around And cruised right through the heart of my town Anything you say would be a lie We may live our lives a little slower But that don’t mean I wouldn’t be proud to show ya Where I come from There’s an old plow boy out turning up dirt Where I come from There’s a preacher man in a cowboy shirt Where I come from Where a couple boys fight in the parking lot No, nobody’s gonna call the cops Where I come from See that door right there, man I swear It ain’t never been locked And I can guarantee that it never will That old man right there in the rocking chair At the courthouse square I’ll tell you now He could buy your fancy car with hundred dollar bills Don’t let those faded overalls fool ya He made his millions without one day schoolin Where I come from There’s a pickup truck with the tailgate down Where I come from The pine trees are singing a song of the south Where I come from That little white church is gonna have a crowd yeah I’m pretty damn proud Where I come from Where I come from There’s a big old moon shining down at night Where I come from There’s a man done wrong gonna make it right Where I come from There’s an old plow boy out turning up dirt Where I come from There’s a preacher man in a cowboy shirt Where I come from Where a couple of boys fight in the parking lot no Ain’t nobody’s gonna call the cops Yeah, that river runs across that Oakland rock Where I come from Where I come from If you’ve read this car do you think the GOAT (Stevo) will get a goat? Last week we had the chance to be a host home for SpringHill Camps. We housed four boys throughout the week and hosted the entire staff on Tuesday night for their time of worship. Being on the "other side" of camp was good and provided a time for Austin and I to reflect on a season in our lives that was like no other. We haven't taken time to do that before because both of us felt really disappointed in how our last summer ended. Camp can lose some of it's magic when you're on the administrative side of things. So here are my top 10 favorite life lessons learned from my summers at SpringHill Camps.
1. You will form incredible friendships (I even got a spouse out of the deal although for the record, we are in no way a "camp couple." We started dating months and months after). Last week Thursday night, one of the boys living with us stood in our kitchen with tears running down his face after coming home from their Thursday night gathering. When I asked him what was wrong, he said, "I'm not sure how I'm supposed to say goodbye to these people. They are like my family." And they are. When you serve with like-minded people on a like-minded mission, with Jesus at the center, you form deep, lasting friendships really quickly. Some of our camp friends have become our best real life friends. People who have helped us through really difficult times as well as celebrated with us during times of joy long after camp ended. 2. You understand why Jesus valued children so much. Their honesty, genuine excitement, and abandon is so real. They want to know God, really know him, his character. Watching kids come to faith and/or strengthen their faith throughout the summer was such a privilege and helped shaped my faith during impressionable years of my life. 3. You will learn to deal with conflict. Real talk, anytime you work with parents of children you will learn how to deal with conflict because parents care about their kids, and want the best for them. Real talk part 2. anytime you work with 30+ high schoolers and college students you will learn to deal with conflict because all the hormones and limit testing. I am a stronger wife/mom, employee/coworker, and leader because of my summers at SpringHill. 4. Your strengths will be sharpened and your limitations will be highlighted. Did you before SpringHill I had never heard of social work? Seriously. I was studying psychology with a minor in Spanish before SpringHill. I'm so glad someone introduced me to the world of social worker-now, a career that I love and that's so obvious for me to be in. I'm so thankful SpringHill sharpened my skills of leadership, advocacy, communication, and empathy. I also learned through SpringHill I need sleep, I struggle giving up control (I secretly knew that one already), and have trouble seeing projects to completion. 5. You will value the support received by your parents/family and friends while you are gone. Being able to work at camp was a privilege (not in the sentiment sense). When I was working at camp as a counselor I think I made $120/week for one million hours/week. Not once did my parents tell me to pursue different summer employment. They supported me and often walked alongside me in ministry serving as a host home or large group gatherings. Also, being gone for a summer, you miss out on some things with your friends. I'm so thankful my friend group kept my in the loop and allowed me to open myself to other opportunities. as well as new friends. 6. You will learn innovation. Any downtime at camp is spent singing silly songs and playing games to capture attention. Our own kids know camp songs and we often sing them when we our on hikes. PSA to anyone in the UP next week, you may hear us. Also, we have definitely utilized the games at the shack, during car rides, while waiting at restaurants, etc. 7. You will know how to make a mean tie-dye. 8. You will learn how to pack so stinking efficiently. Austin and I were responsible for packing the huge trailer every week to move to our next church host. This skill has served as well and we always love a good packing challenge. 9. You will be loved by complete strangers who open their homes to you. Until becoming a host home, I had no clue how much went into housing camp staff. The grocery bill last week was $$$, our kids were adjusting to new faces, and we realized how loud our doors really open and close. I've had more host homes than I can count. Strangers who fed me, did laundry for me, and took the time to hear my story and love me far beyond camp. My first ever host home was my favorite, and although I don't see them often now, I know the next time I see them will be just like it was the last time. They had lost a nephew/cousin and our stories of grief weaved together at exactly the right time. 10. You will experience incredible spiritual growth. I remember walking away from camp my first summer very unsure of how I was going to fit back into the "real world." I felt like I grew spiritually more in one summer than I had in the past 10 years of my life. I still feel those 3 summers housed more spiritual growth than I have experienced since ending camp. SpringHill Lovin', there's nothing quite like it and we loved being back in the game for a little bit last week. Your childhood feels like a mental photo album.
A million clicks. Snapshots of memories and little moments I never want to forget. Often you are right in front of me. Very much alive. Yet, I still sit frozen and watch. Like I would old home videos. Ones of better times. When you were still here, all mine. This is what my childhood has taught me to do. To click. Because tomorrow it may be all I have left of you. Today you ask a question from the backseat. I turn around to answer and am staring back at you. I’m met with your sweet, genuine, scrunched up face. The one your curiosity makes you make. You twist your entire mouth to the right side of your face, and toss your hands up by your shoulders. Click. Because if I lost you, I wouldn't want to forget, all the ways I love you, so click. Click. Click. Click. Grief-for all I’ve lost and all there is to lose. Click. Rejoice-for I have you here, right now, and hope I always do. And just in case, I have you for a lifetime, because in my head, I can scan my memory, all the clicks before today. Earlier this month, I had the opportunity to run the Reeds Lake 10K with an incredible group of kids and adults who are part of the No Surrender Run Club. I was paired with a young girl who had never run before. I am so proud of her work ethic, determination, and consistency despite significant stressors at home. I really can’t imagine having to worry about basic needs being met, helping contribute to family finances, and facing deportation/immigration issues as a 15 year old. At 15 my biggest worry was how quick I could get up to my best friend’s cottage to go tubing and snack my face off. Despite all her adult responsibilities, this sweet (yet very sassy) and determined young woman made training a priority and crossed the line of her first race-a 10k.
When race day came, I had the GRL PWR temporary tattoos picked out (I liked her choice pictured below better) and sent several reminder texts about what time pick up was and reminders of what to bring. I was in total coach mode and looking back, I realize that’s where I thrive. I’m not sure the kids who particapted in this program have heard as much encouragement in their lifetime as they did on race day. The whole race, I was spewing all of the positive things said to me when I first started running. “Strong legs up the hills. Isn’t it cool how strong your body is? We are so capable. You are doing this. You trained for this your body knows exactly what to do. Halfway-no turning back now. 4 miles, your body has been moving for 40 straight minutes, that takes strength.” Then we see the finish line and she goes for it and I still get goosebumps writing about it. Hand in hand we cross and I am so proud (and tired, these kids can book it). There are medals, food, drinks but better yet kids high fiving kids, probation officers giving hugs, camaraderie, and all the feels of watching someone be part of something bigger than themselves for the first time. I had to duck out of the post-race festivities early to join my family for a weekend camping trip. I couldn’t stop talking the whole drive up north. I remember saying to Austin , “This is the best mental health day I’ve had in a long time-I’m so genuinely happy.” The rest of the drive we talked about our family’s dreams and hopes for the future and how often we forget nothing in this world really matters if we follow what we’ve been called to. Money, success, stability-why do we care about it so much? It’s not a coincidence it was such a good day following the race. When you spend an entire morning speaking encouragement, truth, and positivity-confidence, peace, and joy follow. The whole you are what you eat (dumbest saying) should be more like you are what you think. Invest in the life of a child who needs a caring adult-they will change you more than you can ever “help” them. Also, speak kind and bold truths to yourself and others, you might be surprised how powerful it is. Tuesday night I posted a picture with the caption, “Summer mode means pre-bedtime dips in the pool that totally count as baths.”
To be honest, I didn’t love the picture of me at first but I’m trying to show real pictures of women in real life, and couldn’t stop smiling at how happy Jade was. Summer time means pool baths and It also means it’s media’s favorite time to chime in on health, wellness, and getting your body ready for summer 🙄. For almost a year, I’ve been on the cusp of “getting it” when it comes to self-acceptance and love, and positive body image. Of course I still struggle with what media is constantly trying to tell me about how my body looks. Or my favorite, what they are trying to sell me to change my body to look a certain way. However, there isn’t a single product I could buy, or change I could make to my body that could buy me this moment with my daughter giggling in the pool before bed trying to keep her toes out of the cold water. This isn’t my mom bod, it’s just me in my body at age 28. It looks different than it did at 16, 26, and it will look different at 36. Because that’s what bodies do. They change. Sometimes they are smaller, bigger, less-toned, firm...you get it. Sadly, we are always and only praised when we get smaller. I hadn’t considered that some of the weight people gain is exactly what their body needed to heal (from trauma, restrictive eating, disordered eating, and ridiculous lies masked under achieving wellness”) until I came across different resources for anti-dieting. Women, I promise you can be in a swim suit this summer and love the moment you are in and the memories you are making. It’s hard, and a daily (hourly) process of replacing lies with your truth about your body. Trust your truth, it will heal you. Last week, I took the kids to watch our favorite player, B, as he started his first season of coach pitch. My mom, who attends all of B's games, mentioned she hoped they didn't play there again on Saturday because it was the last field her Nick umped at before he passed away. Her words hit me hard and I choked back tears all the way to the car. There were little boys in baseball uniforms everywhere, and I could picture my brother in his black Jack's uniform smiling at the camera as he put on his catcher's gear.
To be honest, before my mom mentioned it, I didn't realize this week would be the same progression as it was in the year 2002, the year my brother died. Sunday, May 12, 2002, my mom's last Mother's Day with all 3 kids Earth-side. Monday, May 13, 2002, my brother's last day of school, last track meet, last time on a baseball field, and last night sleeping in his own bed. His last normal day. Our family's last normal day. I don't have any specific memories from that Sunday or Monday, because who does have memories of regular, ordinary days, 17 years ago? I do have the picture below of Mother's Day 2002. Wasn't I cute in my Tommy Girl jean jumper? Although I don't have specific memories, my mom told me a little bit about what happened on Monday. My brother went to school like normal in the morning. He had a track meet after school, and went straight from track to ump a little league game. When my mom picked him up, he asked for Spadz pizza because he hadn't eaten between sporting events. I actually don't know if they went or not. I do remember what happened on Tuesday. My brother left the house to catch a ride with a friend and his older brother. Like he did every day. Before he left, I remember wanting to tell him he did a good job at his track meet, but I didn't say anything. Next, I remember hearing sirens but didn't think anything of it until the phone rang. On the other end was the mom of the brothers my brother was going to catch a ride with. She told my mom there was an accident at the corner, and Nick hadn't made it to their house yet. I remember my mom running out the door and I took my younger sister out to the bus stop. I think this is where my need to parent/protect my younger sister started. I feel I pushed aside my own grief for a long time, in my mind, as I tried to hold the family together. I remember watching the scene of the accident from several houses away, I was not aware of the severity of this situation at this point. To mention, my dad was working driving truck and was hours away from home when he got the call. He received a police escort to the hospital and my mom rode in the ambulance with my brother. My sister and I went to school, where I was eventually pulled out of gym class by a family friend and taken to the hospital. We were sat down in a small room where we were told "the news" by our pastor at the time, and scripture was read. I remember not wanting to cry but not being able to help it. I know there was a prayer service for my brother at Calvin Christian Middle School on Tuesday night. My memory tells me I went but I can't say that with certainty. I slept the night at a friend's house, it was her birthday. I still feel guilty about the fact I slept over a friend's house, on her birthday, while my dying brother was in the hospital. Her mom tucked us in her bed together, and read Psalms 23. I felt physically safe that night, but also scared. Wednesday: I went to school the next morning too. The teacher asked for someone to pray. I volunteered in my typical type A fashion. I didn't pray for my own brother, because it felt oddly selfish to me but also maybe because I held out hope. After all, the paramedics told my mom he would be okay. I went to the hospital at some point later that day and remember the social worker engaging my sister and I with different projects that now serve as mementos. We made posters that said "We love you Nick," with a bunch of stickers. The social worker also had bracelets made and impressions of my brothers hands. We went home later, I don't remember saying goodbye to my brother. I don't think an 11-year-old knows how to say goodbye to their brother but I'm sure my parents did their best at letting us know that was the last time we would see our brother. I remember listening to CDs when we got home and my mom's friends staying with us and I think putting us to bed. One of them told me I was a fast typer. Why do I still remember that? Wednesday night: My brother passed away, surrounding by the strongest and most selfless people I know, who Nick Stegeman and I both got to and get to call mom and dad. They decided to donate all of his organs. A decision I am so proud of. I have several emails between Nick's pancreas recipient and I, the only recipient we've had the chance to meet in real life. I have no memories of Thursday morning. As cliche as it sounds, it's all very much a blur from there on out. I have clear memories of a few things. I remember being able to pick something of my brother's to sleep with (a Mike Piazza Mets shirt) and sleeping on my parents's floor for weeks to come. I remember practicing my flute at a close friend's house to play at my brother's memorial service. I wore a red polka dot dress. I remember being taken to every single store in the mall looking for something to wear to my brother's funeral and ended up with a dress I hated, jean on top, yellow floral on bottom. Someone gifted my sister the cutest outfit from either Macy's or Limited Too and I was so jealous. I remember speaking at my brother's funeral. I still have the slip of what I said in my memory box. I talked about watching WWE with him, staying up late on Christmas Eve, and the three made up words he created with my sister. I remember the months to come. Non-stop food, lunches packed for the rest of the school year, cards, flowers, lawn statues, picture frames, Christmas ornaments, did I mention food? The community really rallied around our family and helped us grieve and remember. There were baseball tournaments, golf outings, home run derbies, birthday celebrations, things left his grave, prayers by name in church and at school. We were truly blessed to be loved so well in the hardest time of our family life. I also remember the shift in grieve. To no one's fault, but rather the normal progression of life, I remember it feeling like life was starting to move on in the years to come. Did anyone remember my brother? My loss? I think I felt desperate for attention (something I've been embarrassed about for a long time but when you're used to being the girl who's brother died and literally everyone in the community knows you, to feeling like people forget, it's hard. Even in the past 5 years I've been surprised when I introduce myself by my maiden name to Calvin people and they don't know the story of my brother). 17 years later and sometimes it feels like this never happened. Other times, like when I start writing about it, the tears are leaking out so fast and so hard I can barely see. Who would I be today if I had an older brother? What would my family look like? I miss my brother, and that's weird and tricky because I was 11 when my brother died and he was 13. I'm an adult with 2 kids now, but have parts of my life frozen in time that my mind can go back to instantly. We used to talk through the vents in our rooms on Sundays or when we were sent to our rooms when we were in trouble. He was the first to pick on me but wouldn't let others. He had the biggest smile and loudest laugh. He wore his heart on his sleeve. In 5th grade, he befriended someone who needed a friend and had him over to our house. I remember them playing with these guns that shot out foam discs and laughing so hard. My family all has their own memories, their own things they miss they most. Please, ask them about my brother. It doesn't make us miss him any less or any more than we already do. We have struggled. We have grieved differently. We all have loved and lost, hard. At times, we have become forms of ourselves our present day selves would not recognize. There has been anger, bitterness, hopelessness, darkness, unbearable grief, and so much hurt. There has been comeback, new life, light, joy, and a sense of peace knowing full restoration will be brought when we are together in Heaven. I'm thankful for the comeback. It makes days like today, so much brighter when they used to be standing in church on Mother's Day wondering who was going to lose it first and what emotions would play out throughout the day. That's just the reality of grief. Nicholas Scott Stegeman. I'm thankful for your life, and although my memories are now spotty and infrequent, I know your death, but more importantly the way you lived your life has changed me. Losing you has formed our family into the people in my life I'm proudest of. My dad, my mom, my sister, my grandparents. They are incredible. Thanks for loving with your whole heart, choosing Jesus, and having an unforgettable laugh. I'm missing you a little extra lately and wish you were here to meet my kids. Last week, I took the kids to watch our favorite player, B, as he started his first season of coach pitch. My mom, who attends all of B's games, mentioned she hoped they didn't play there again on Saturday because it was the last field her Nick umped at before he passed away. Her words hit me hard and I choked back tears all the way to the car. There were little boys in baseball uniforms everywhere, and I could picture my brother in his black Jack's uniform smiling at the camera as he put on his catcher's gear.
To be honest, before my mom mentioned it, I didn't realize this week would be the same progression as it was in the year 2002, the year my brother died. Sunday, May 12, 2002, my mom's last Mother's Day with all 3 kids Earth-side. Monday, May 13, 2002, my brother's last day of school, last track meet, last time on a baseball field, and last night sleeping in his own bed. His last normal day. Our family's last normal day. I don't have any specific memories from that Sunday or Monday, because who does have memories of regular, ordinary days, 17 years ago? I do have the picture below of Mother's Day 2002. Wasn't I cute in my Tommy Girl jean jumper? Although I don't have specific memories, my mom told me a little bit about what happened on Monday. My brother went to school like normal in the morning. He had a track meet after school, and went straight from track to ump a little league game. When my mom picked him up, he asked for Spadz pizza because he hadn't eaten between sporting events. I actually don't know if they went or not. I do remember what happened on Tuesday. My brother left the house to catch a ride with a friend and his older brother. Like he did every day. Before he left, I remember wanting to tell him he did a good job at his track meet, but I didn't say anything. Next, I remember hearing sirens but didn't think anything of it until the phone rang. On the other end was the mom of the brothers my brother was going to catch a ride with. She told my mom there was an accident at the corner, and Nick hadn't made it to their house yet. I remember my mom running out the door and I took my younger sister out to the bus stop. I think this is where my need to parent/protect my younger sister started. I feel I pushed aside my own grief for a long time, in my mind, as I tried to hold the family together. I remember watching the scene of the accident from several houses away, I was not aware of the severity of this situation at this point. To mention, my dad was working driving truck and was hours away from home when he got the call. He received a police escort to the hospital and my mom rode in the ambulance with my brother. My sister and I went to school, where I was eventually pulled out of gym class by a family friend and taken to the hospital. We were sat down in a small room where we were told "the news" by our pastor at the time, and scripture was read. I remember not wanting to cry but not being able to help it. I know there was a prayer service for my brother at Calvin Christian Middle School on Tuesday night. My memory tells me I went but I can't say that with certainty. I slept the night at a friend's house, it was her birthday. I still feel guilty about the fact I slept over a friend's house, on her birthday, while my dying brother was in the hospital. Her mom tucked us in her bed together, and read Psalms 23. I felt physically safe that night, but also scared. Wednesday: I went to school the next morning too. The teacher asked for someone to pray. I volunteered in my typical type A fashion. I didn't pray for my own brother, because it felt oddly selfish to me but also maybe because I held out hope. After all, the paramedics told my mom he would be okay. I went to the hospital at some point later that day and remember the social worker engaging my sister and I with different projects that now serve as mementos. We made posters that said "We love you Nick," with a bunch of stickers. The social worker also had bracelets made and impressions of my brothers hands. We went home later, I don't remember saying goodbye to my brother. I don't think an 11-year-old knows how to say goodbye to their brother but I'm sure my parents did their best at letting us know that was the last time we would see our brother. I remember listening to CDs when we got home and my mom's friends staying with us and I think putting us to bed. One of them told me I was a fast typer. Why do I still remember that? Wednesday night: My brother passed away, surrounding by the strongest and most selfless people I know, who Nick Stegeman and I both got to and get to call mom and dad. They decided to donate all of his organs. A decision I am so proud of. I have several emails between Nick's pancreas recipient and I, the only recipient we've had the chance to meet in real life. I have no memories of Thursday morning. As cliche as it sounds, it's all very much a blur from there on out. I have clear memories of a few things. I remember being able to pick something of my brother's to sleep with (a Mike Piazza Mets shirt) and sleeping on my parents's floor for weeks to come. I remember practicing my flute at a close friend's house to play at my brother's memorial service. I wore a red polka dot dress. I remember being taken to every single store in the mall looking for something to wear to my brother's funeral and ended up with a dress I hated, jean on top, yellow floral on bottom. Someone gifted my sister the cutest outfit from either Macy's or Limited Too and I was so jealous. I remember speaking at my brother's funeral. I still have the slip of what I said in my memory box. I talked about watching WWE with him, staying up late on Christmas Eve, and the three made up words he created with my sister. I remember the months to come. Non-stop food, lunches packed for the rest of the school year, cards, flowers, lawn statues, picture frames, Christmas ornaments, did I mention food? The community really rallied around our family and helped us grieve and remember. There were baseball tournaments, golf outings, home run derbies, birthday celebrations, things left his grave, prayers by name in church and at school. We were truly blessed to be loved so well in the hardest time of our family life. I also remember the shift in grieve. To no one's fault, but rather the normal progression of life, I remember it feeling like life was starting to move on in the years to come. Did anyone remember my brother? My loss? I think I felt desperate for attention (something I've been embarrassed about for a long time but when you're used to being the girl who's brother died and literally everyone in the community knows you, to feeling like people forget, it's hard. Even in the past 5 years I've been surprised when I introduce myself by my maiden name to Calvin people and they don't know the story of my brother). 17 years later and sometimes it feels like this never happened. Other times, like when I start writing about it, the tears are leaking out so fast and so hard I can barely see. Who would I be today if I had an older brother? What would my family look like? I miss my brother, and that's weird and tricky because I was 11 when my brother died and he was 13. I'm an adult with 2 kids now, but have parts of my life frozen in time that my mind can go back to instantly. We used to talk through the vents in our rooms on Sundays or when we were sent to our rooms when we were in trouble. He was the first to pick on me but wouldn't let others. He had the biggest smile and loudest laugh. He wore his heart on his sleeve. In 5th grade, he befriended someone who needed a friend and had him over to our house. I remember them playing with these guns that shot out foam discs and laughing so hard. My family all has their own memories, their own things they miss they most. Please, ask them about my brother. It doesn't make us miss him any less or any more than we already do. We have struggled. We have grieved differently. We all have loved and lost, hard. At times, we have become forms of ourselves our present day selves would not recognize. There has been anger, bitterness, hopelessness, darkness, unbearable grief, and so much hurt. There has been comeback, new life, light, joy, and a sense of peace knowing full restoration will be brought when we are together in Heaven. I'm thankful for the comeback. It makes days like today, so much brighter when they used to be standing in church on Mother's Day wondering who was going to lose it first and what emotions would play out throughout the day. That's just the reality of grief. Nicholas Scott Stegeman. I'm thankful for your life, and although my memories are now spotty and infrequent, I know your death, but more importantly the way you lived your life has changed me. Losing you has formed our family into the people in my life I'm proudest of. My dad, my mom, my sister, my grandparents. They are incredible. Thanks for loving with your whole heart, choosing Jesus, and having an unforgettable laugh. I'm missing you a little extra lately and wish you were here to meet my kids. You all know how much I love a good DIY project. Actually, if you know me well, you know how much I love to start a DIY project and how painstaking it is for me to finish it. I usually recruit help from my husband, sister, or parents to get the job done. So naturally, I decided it would be a good idea to try gardening this year (insert nervous smile).
I'm hoping this garden won't be a one month DIY project I don't see through because as Austin and I have gotten older, we've realized how few hobbies we have. It seems like we are in the same routine of work, family time, bedtime routine with the kids, cleanup, and then scroll/watch tv. The later part of our day is not the most life-giving to say the least and I've been thinking a lot about how I can better spend my time. We love grilling vegetables throughout the summer, being outside, and the backyard is our favorite part of our new house, so starting a garden seemed like a good starter hobby. But the more I thought about it, I realized gardening would actually be a really big challenge for me. I'm NOT patient. If I start a project, I want it done the same day (please have some sympathy for my husband who has spent many nights up way too late finishing projects that sounded like a really great idea at 8pm. I've even been known to drive to Lowes at 7pm for paint and insist on finishing a room before bedtime). I'm also results driven. I want them instantly. Guess what? Seeds take time to turn into plants, and plants take time to produce harvest. A lot of time. Needless to say, this is going to be good, but it's going to be rough. I'm a few weeks in, and my little seedlings are already teaching me things. Time and consistency creates change and growth. It has been so fun to watch seeds turn into small plants. I'm praying project green thumb will grow nutritious food for my family but also grow my patience, consistency, and outlook on what success means. Tonight as I planted my carrots, cauliflower, and green beans, I noticed how nice it was to work with my hands, with my little helpers, and get fresh air. As I physically transferred some seedlings into the ground, I prayed I would learn how to transfer what I'm learning from my new hobby into my daily life in pursuit of a richer, more joyful life. Wish me luck, I know I'll need it. |
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Hi! I'm Haley. Archives
May 2019
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