THANK YOU and Discovering New Self

Before I jump into every-day details, there's something we want you to know. Since Hyrum's diagnosis, we've had a LOT of people reach out to us in different ways. Facebook messages, texts, phone calls, letters, packages, GoFundMe donations, treats, food drop-offs, hugs, prayers, etc. Michael has been pretty good at responding in a timely manner, while I have not lol We both share this sentiment, however: the best part of any offering is the opportunity to see your name, hold our shared memories for a moment, and remember the kind of people you are. Thank you for being and doing good, in all the unique ways you can.

We've been blessed with such good lives: simple summer days, playing basketball and walking to next-door piano lessons. Joyful high school lunches, laughing with friends. Crazy college single years, adventuring and more. Church missionary service, where rain falls fast and relationships run deeper. Early married years, with a small apartment and a big group of fast friends. Our first home, in a little corner of Provo that we never dreamed we could love so much. Oklahoma - a place my soul knew from the moment we moved here. And of course, family that has been with us through it all. We're really grateful. 

There's obviously a Hyrum update (completed 8 of 30 radiation treatments, lower steroid dose that has helped with emotions and muscle strength, enjoying short outings that boost his emotional wellness), but our biggest update is the invisible emotional one. As mentioned above, we've had a good life. But... we're about to lose our son. Can it still be a good one after this? 

I obviously believe that the answer is yes. Grief has begun to change me, and I've spent a lot of time this week observing and anticipating those changes. I can see the next me beginning to take shape - the one that constantly carries the burden of grief but isn't always in pain. The one that cries more easily and openly. The one that is wiser, gentler, and more quick to feel. This me knows that real joy doesn't just happen and chooses to make it. This me chooses to laugh and play while still carrying grief, knowing how to hold both. All of this... it feels simultaneously much more heavy and much more heavenly than the simpler life we've lived so far. 

We're very aware that we'll be carrying this for the rest of our lives, and we're reaching out for routines to sustain us. We're addressing the priorities inside our home. We're seeking constant guidance from God to even KNOW what those priorities are. We're talking together about hard things. We're praying together. We're studying scripture. We're getting outside. We're showering and getting dressed... most of the time lol We're going places and seeing people, even when the feeling isn't all the way there. We're asking for help. We're saving quiet space for those big, deep cries. We're recording memories and questions and lists. Inexplicably... we're still dancing in the kitchen. (Well, mostly me. That "Give Love" by Andy Grammar still hits all the right feels even though my life is really weird right now.)