Come meet me!

Hey guys! I am excited to finally be planning the next conference. It will be in Rigby, Idaho (by Idaho Falls) on Jan. 9th, 2020. Thank you for your patience and love the last few months as I adjusted and recovered. I will add in this post a video of some of the fights we had this summer. Also I will link here tickets to the event for my non profit A Reason to Stand. It is not a big auditorium like we have been using lately, so don't wait to reserve your seat. Can't wait to gather and see everyone again. .... ....

Forgiveness and widowhood

Utah's Former Sergeant Derek Johnson’s wife Shante sharing her journey of widowhood and moving forward after loss and through grief. I love how she describes her forgiveness and how in a moment she was able to let it go. A great example for the rest of us who battle the anger and hate. 

A call to all fathers

A few months ago I met a new friend —after speaking at a church—who approached me and asked if I would be interested in sharing my message with a big group of business men. At first I thought, “what would I have to offer a bunch of men?...” and then he proceeded to tell me about a statistic he keeps finding every where he looks. When asked what is most important to them...he finds most business men instantly say, “my family” but after more conversation he learns that most of these same men only spend about 1% of their time with their families. 

The past few days I have been reminded why that statistic is something I am passionate about changing. Fathers...we need YOU. This video and post are about a little car ride and a note in the night that helped me remember a message I can’t hold back any more. 

After a car ride with six thirteen year old girls I spent the next two days struggling with some hard truths. There are a lot of kids with the same story.

This message is to all Fathers. You are valuable and your kids need you.

They  need your strengths and your gifts. They need you to wrestle them and throw the ball to them. They need your time and your love.

They  need you to show them what a real man looks like. If we want our daughters to find a man that treats them right and honors their promises, then we have to show them what that kind of a man looks like.

Love their mothers. Be kind to the woman in their life.

Respect and honor your family. Not by working your life away or running from your problems, but by showing up every day.

With love and honor and virtue. Live your truths. Be the kind of man you want your daughter to want to marry someday.

Yesterday would have been Emmett's 38th birthday. If he were here I know there are many things he would say to all the fathers in his life. And I am sure as he watched his five children celebrate, for the 7th time, without him . . . Emmett wants all Father's to remember this:

We only get one chance to raise them. Don't waste your days making extra dollars or bigger muscles, use your days making extra memories and more smiles. 

Children deserve a father who teaches them how to use grace, we don't need to be perfect, just humble. Children deserve a father who is there for them. Chose choices that keep you safe and go home every night. Children deserve to see their parents as often as possible. Children deserve peace. Do all that you can to give them stability and consistency. 

Be their friend, but also their father. Teach them to love others over themselves. Show them how to find their purpose, tell them every day that being their dad is one of yours. 

Believe in your kids. Encourage them, tell them they are good. Use words to lift them up, but always use actions to help them believe your words. Don't spend your days wishing they were different, I promise you will wish this time back someday. 

Live for them now, so you don't regret the life you didn't get to give them. Don't let the darkness make you loose sight of what is important, no amount of money, or flattery, or praise from the world will make up for the broken hearts who needed you. 

Never put another person, including yourself, above your family. They deserve the best parts of you. Your family will always remember the person you are today, but the man you show up to be tomorrow, they will never forget. Don't die with regrets . . . that is hell. And to live with purpose, that is how you find heaven. 

God gave you this gift of fatherhood, make it count. Take control of what really is important to you, and be that man today. We have enough fatherless children, go home and tell them you love them. 

Now is your time, please, please don't wait. Before it is too late. Make it right. No matter how far you have gone away, turn back and start again. 

No regrets. Love them unconditionally, that is the greatest gift they need right now, not money. The most important gift you can give your children today . . . is YOU. 

Be the man you always wanted to be. I promise you won't regret it. 


What do you want your children's story to be? Today they are writing it. No matter where you have been, I urge you to figure out your crap and go show up as the one they deserve. I know it is possible!!! Fear will tell you it doesn't matter. But it does. Today we act for ourselves, instead of living out of fear. Fear is what takes a father away. Fear they need to make more money to be valuable. Fear they need to be perfect before they can go home and be the father their kids deserve. Fear they aren't enough, stops them from being anything.

To the many children who have felt abandoned, forgotten, or alone. This was not your fault. You are still lovable, and worthy of an amazing life. Forgive the one who didn't give you all you deserved and believe in the future. You didn't choose this story, and you can decide how it ends. Be everything for your children, and the people in your life, that they weren't for you. Turn it into good. You have the power to change their story.

The parts of our stories we can't control, are only a fraction of the ones we are meant to live. You can make a difference, in your story, and in the story of all the people you were born to love.

I don't know what to feel

“Rejoice and be exceedingly glad” Matthew 5:12

When someone suffers a great loss—no matter what the circumstances— they go through a grief cycle. Sometimes they follow the cycle just as it is explained in many books, but most people go through these cycles in waves that sometimes feel strange, or make them feel guilty for not being “normal”.

I want to talk about a part of the grief cycle that is always hard to admit. Mainly because it is a defense we want to shun. Relief.

When I sat on the couch the night of Emmett’s death—and those detectives finally finished telling me stories of infidelity and murder—my front door shut. My instincts told me to cry out in sadness, yell out in anger, curl up in humiliation . . . but if I am going to be completely honest with myself, my first wave wasn’t fear or pain or humiliation . . . it was relief—relief that I wasn’t crazy. You see. When your spouse is having an affair, they spend a lot of time in hiding—from you. You feel alone, and you feel abandoned . . . usually never understanding why. All the while blaming yourself for not being enough. Spending most of your time trying to change who you think it is your spouse no longer desires.

So my first moment of peace was relief that I wasn’t crazy. In that moment, I felt grateful to know that there was something really wrong . . . that all those months I had spent feeling—and being told—I was crazy . . . were part of his hiding. All those months I began to hate myself for not being someone else. All those months I had searched—like any normal crazy person—for answers that I never found. There really had been something wrong. I wasn't crazy!!!

I can’t say that wave of relief lasted long—or didn’t haunt me for years as evidence as a reason I should hate the girl he left that night. But it did come. And it was real. And what I wish I could go back and tell that girl—who felt relieved in a moment where the world would tell her she should feel sad—is. . . it’s ok. It was real, because the pain of the affair had hurt for a long time, even though she had no clue. And it’s ok that for that first split second—she felt grateful to know the truth. The truth can set you free—and in that moment, it set me free from a version of crazy I had believed I had become.

So sometimes—especially when a moment of trauma is so complex—we have to give ourselves a break, and allow grief to find a voice. Sadness isn’t always the first wave to come. And that has to be ok. If we want to heal, we cannot shun the real feelings . . . even if they feel very strange.

Maybe your child has suffered since the day they born, and you have carried the emotional, financial, and psychological toll of raising a child with special needs through years of heart ache and tears. Maybe your loved one has been stuck in the chains of addiction and you are finally given an answer to divorce. Maybe you spent the last four years taking care of a spouse with cancer—and as they took that last breath—you felt the weight of the burden lift . . . and for a split second felt relieved to have such a taxing calling end.

Whatever your journey was or is . . . there are going to be a lot of emotions that come when you suffer a loss. Don’t give up on the girl or boy who doesn’t feel them in the order the grief books told you—you would. Your timetable isn’t something anyone has written in a book . . . it is yours.

It is a course that you get to navigate with God. So whatever you are grieving . . . a loss that ended with death, a marriage that ended in divorce—or something else that has come to a point that you have to say goodbye. Grief is real.

Sometimes after a traumatic event—or a major loss—when the holidays or special occasions come around, we feel like we don’t know how to enjoy them. We get stuck between what we think we should be feeling and what we want to feel. So this year . . . if you are scared to find joy this Christmas because your story has felt broken and you find yourself trying to shun any emotion that isn’t utter despair—how about you give yourself a day off from grieving and just let light surround you. Not because you don’t have a million reasons to hurt, but because you might still have some reasons to feel excitement, happiness, peace . . . and even little glimmers of joy.

You are still here. You are still worthy of grace. You are still capable of feeling love. So smile today. Not because it is easy, but because you are worth it.

Loss does not define you. Yes it does change you, it teaches you, and some days it still hurts. But life keeps moving forward. You deserve happiness. And it is still possible. So today, rejoice and be exceedingly glad for all the things you still have—and simply, just for you.

Day 3: LOOK UP

Look UP

She stood at the edge of the cliff, watching the rocks fall beneath her feet. It was hard to see what was on the other side through the fog. She looked behind her—all that was left of the trees were trunks still smoking and black. She looked down the canyon—left and right—the water rushed through the gorge, the caps were white and she could feel the chaos that churned in their power—each rapid reminding her of the storm that raged inside.

At this point she had only two choices: jump—and never have to feel any of the pain ever again—let the water take it all away; or turn around and try hard to find her way through the wreckage— back to the place that took everything from her, alone to pretend life was worth living.

Time stopped as she stood at the greatest crossroad of her life. Looking down . . . nothing seemed promising, a fatal steep drop, the easy way out. Looking back . . . a darkened broken picture of what once was.  The view of the mess sent chills down her spine and a pit of fear in her stomach. She didn’t want to die, but she no longer could live as if she were dead. Her eyes didn’t know where to turn their gaze, every direction a reminder of her worthlessness. She was not enough. Yes, this was all the evidence she needed—this moment made everything so clear. For the first time in her life she had nowhere to turn, and worse . . . no one by her side.

Did anyone care she was alone? Would anyone notice if she wasn’t there? Her life—or her death—wouldn’t effect anyone else, so what did it matter? She wanted to just jump and make it all go away. Each thought and each glance brought about more and more fear. She was frozen, broken . . . and alone—her darkest hour. She thought about her life, each moment leading up to this day—all the broken promises and pain. She thought about her death and wondered if she had already been forgotten. She didn’t know who to be angry with: herself, everyone else . . . maybe God?

“Hey God . . . are you out there?” She could hear her voice echo through the canyon walls. “Can you hear me? Can anyone hear me?” She looked behind her again . . . no one. She looked down the canyon—right and left—nothing. She held her head down and stared at her bare feet. “I am going to die here . . . and no one will care . . . and no one can even hear me.” Her pleas began to grow loud, “I am going to die here . . . please don’t let me die alone. Please let me just have one do-over. I am so scared, and alone, and humiliated . . . and so . . . so . . . forgotten.”

Soon the fog began to surround her. It was so thick even the canyon view began to grow black—she looked back to more darkness. At the edge of the canyon the world went black and she was surrounded by her fear of being alone—she stood in the darkness battling her demons. Hours passed, each one bringing more and more panic for her need to look down and check behind her. Total darkness, utter isolation. Her eyes began to scan the world for any glimmer of light—and that is when she realized she would have to look up.

As her eyes gazed toward heaven she felt a peace unlike any she had ever known. For a few minutes time stood still and she could finally see. Like a movie playing on a screen, she could see herself living a life—her life. She saw a glimpse of light in her eyes, and beauty in her soul. A magnificent love surrounded her and for a split second she knew in her heart that God had a plan. In that moment she could see herself on the other side of the canyon. She was not only living, she was laughing and smiling . . . and she was standing tall.

But how could this be? A broken girl, with a broken soul . . . she could never be whole, or loved. She could never be enough. Or could she? With nothing but a glimpse of a promise, she set out on her journey in the dark. She decided she would move forward even if she had to take just one step at a time. For the first time in her life she would live each day with grace, knowing that she could not change the past . . . but she would have a future. She was still stuck in the fog at the edge of a deep canyon, but she was going to live.

And that is what she did. Some days she could barely see with so many tears in her eyes; some moments she couldn’t breath with so much pain in her heart, but day-by-day she began to find herself. You see, the angels couldn’t just pick her up and set her down across the canyon . . . but they walked with her through darkness, they battled with her through the valleys and the streams. They showed her the pathways to take and the hurdles to cross, and eventually they helped her find how to become that girl—the one smiling and standing on the other side of the canyon. 

She saw many miracles in those dark days, but the greatest gift she received was the rocky course—the bumps and the bruises—that taught her how to fight.  It isn’t until she hit rock bottom that she realized she was only half way living when she was at the top. Strength came when she had to find—for herself—just how strong she was. That fight is what showed her that she had worth—that she was enough for God. It wasn’t an easy road, or a paved path . . . but she fought every step of the way. And as she looked toward heaven, she was reminded how—not why—her journey was different than the one she had planned, and she knew without a doubt that she was never alone. He was there through that fire, He was standing with her by that raging water, He was catching the pebbles that crumbled under her feet, He felt every pain, He heard every fear, and He wiped every tear. He was always there, but the moment she could finally feel Him . . . was when she decided not to look down, not to look back and wish for what was, but . . . to LOOK UP.  

 (pic by Holly Marlin)

Anything but normal

Last night I was getting frustrated with my washing machine. A few months back it started acting up and wouldn't add water into the tank. I experimented and found that if I ran it on the delicate cycle it worked just fine. Then I tried the bedding cycle—worked perfectly. So I tried, on the third load, to go back to the normal setting and run it again. Nothing. Dry as a bone. 

So for the last few months—instead of calling a repairman like a "normal" person—I have just run the machine on all the settings, except normal. Yesterday my frustrations were reignited when I forgot and tried to run the machine on the normal setting. Figuring out at the end of the cycle that the machine hadn’t even begun to do its job. The clothes had gone through the cycle, but since no water had been added to the machine they were still dry . . . and dirty.

What is normal? A destination we want to reach? What we think others are—and we should want to become? Is the ideal of “normal” something that inspires us to set goals, or just a word that makes us believe we aren’t good enough the way we are?

 Normal. It is just a setting on my washing machine, but as of right now, even on my washing machine “normal” is pretty useless.

What is normal in an individual? And in a family? I think we all have an idea of what a family should look like—an ideal setting in which we want to strive to live. As individuals we set goals to become something we are not currently living as, and hopes for what we want others to become. Only in families, when we have our heart set on “normal” we almost always fail, because the truth is: “normal” isn’t real.

NONE of us are normal. And just like my washer, no matter how many times I try to force it into that “setting”—or we try to live in the belief of becoming “normal”—or mistakenly forget that it doesn’t work for us—but accidently try to start using it again—something is going to go wrong. We stop living life as us, and begin aspiring to an unachievable goal. And we go through the motions—of the “normal” life . . . but in the end we are still just a pile of dirty clothes. Sometimes wondering if we are in the wrong place because our path doesn’t look like we thought that it should. Our families feel anything but normal and we start to wonder if our need to feel “normal” would better be achieved somewhere else.

So where do we reach that goal? Can it ever be achieved in the un“normal” settings we have all been placed in? We want to be happy, but our belief that we first have to be normal . . . is making us miserable.

Look at your family. They are everything but “normal” right? Ya. Me too. But they are right where we belong.

Every family looks different. Some have only one parent. Some have no children. Some families are two families blended together into one. Some kids have to go back and forth between two houses—other kids wished they had a house to live. Some children have a birth mom and live with parents who look nothing like them. In some households everyone looks almost exactly the same. Some couples wished they could have a baby—others don’t know what to do with the news that a baby is on the way. 

Humans. Not one of us is the same. We each have a story—a unique journey that has made us who we are. Some of us were planned—some of us were surprises. Some of us have dark skin— others have light. Some of us have brown eyes, and others got their blue eyes from a father they have never met. But not one of us is normal. And we were never supposed to be. Unique and different from one person to another—and one family to the next.

So many nights I have cried with a prayerful plea that I could just be “normal” again. Some of these moments have been a cry for the pain to be taken from me; others a hope that my past could be erased. Some days have been a wish that one of our daughters didn’t have to flip flop between two houses, and the others didn’t have to know firsthand what murder was. “Normal” began to be a destination I thought I could fight to reach—but every day I see that it is a mystical place that no one was ever supposed to be.

Satan uses it as a goal we are supposed to strive for, so we always wonder what is wrong with us. Never fully living in our own truths—always having a thought at the back of our mind that our differences keep us from that goal.

So in light of our very un“normal” blended family’s anniversary I petition that we ban the normal setting in our minds—just like my washing machine—and start seeing the good that comes from looking at our families, and ourselves, with the delicate setting as our goal.

God believes in you. He believes in families. He believes in love. He believes in making right our wrongs. He believes in us . . . as broken, blended, delicate, fractured, and imperfect as we are.

So to all my un“normal” friends. Thanks for loving the broken me, that has shared my heart with all of you. Thanks for believing in this far from “normal” blended family that I get to call mine every single day. Thanks for living your stories, as hard and emotional as they have been. For sharing your struggles and triumphs with me and helping me understand how special each journey can be.

Normal really is just a setting on a washing machine—and if you ask me it is over rated. You are delicate, and your life is beautiful. With all the bumps and bruises, and smiles in between.

Five years ago Shawn and I made the biggest decision of our lives. We became a blended family.

Has it been easy? Nope. Were we prepared for it? No. Has it been perfect? Not at all. Have there been days when one or the other of us has thought we made a mistake and wished we could just be "normal"? Absolutely.  

But I would do it all again . . .

The crazy part of life is that we never know what it has in store. We can try to map it out, and create plans but the truth is, the only thing we can plan is that our map will have some twists and turns. 

Be prepared to take some leaps. Be willing to jump. Have faith that God's plan will be greater than the one you always thought you would live. And then live it. Own it. And make the most of every moment. Like it was all on purpose. 

Happy Anniversary to the man who has stood by my side through the hardest of days—but also the sweetest of memories. I don’t know how we made it through, but I am so thankful I am here with you. There has been nothing normal about our life, but I love that we fight every day to live it.

Love you Shawn.

Post about our marriage: 
http://www.themomentswestand.com/2014/05/what-if-i-jump.html

Some would ask why I stand

Some would ask why I stand

by Lisa King

When I was young I had my whole life planned out….I wanted to be a teacher, I dreamed of traveling to the USA (which was pretty much the furthest place you could go from my home in Tasmania, Australia), I would get married and have a family – two boys and two girls sounded perfect.

I was lucky enough to be able to travel and study in the USA for 13 months, and then I came back home to Tasmania, and continued studying to be a teacher.   It was during this time when I met Aaron as he had started to come to church with a friend. 

Nine months after we met we were engaged, and nine months after we were engaged, we were married.  For our first four years of marriage I was finishing my degree and then started teaching, while Aaron worked full time. 

I loved my job as a teacher but Aaron would wake up every day and just dread going to work.  He had worked full time since he was very young and didn’t go on to study any further past year 11.  I couldn’t understand how someone could just keep getting up day after day, to do something that they didn’t like.  I started to talk to him to go back to school as a mature age student and after lots of encouragement, he finally decided to apply and was happily surprised to be accepted to our local university.

While he was studying I became pregnant with our first child, so it was a very busy but also exciting time.  When our first son Jalen was born I gave up my full time teaching job and stayed at home full time.  Almost two years later we had our second son Noah.  He was a beautiful baby but from three days old he screamed non-stop – day and night.  It wasn’t a regular newborn cry, but a very high pitched distressed cry. 

After weeks of going back and forth to the doctor, we were finally able to see a paediatrician.  He didn’t tell me at all what I was expecting to hear – he thought that Noah was having seizures and wanted me to bring him into hospital for some tests.   Just over twenty four hours later we couldn’t believe what we were hearing – Noah had a condition called hydranencephaly.   Most of his cortex (brain) was missing and replaced with fluid from a possible stroke in utero during the second trimester of my pregnancy.

We were told that the damage to his brain was so severe that he would not respond to us, he was having seizures, he would be blind and deaf, he would rely on us for everything his whole life, and if that wasn’t enough to hear, we were also told that his life would be very short.  He would possibly only live for two to four years.

Aaron and I were devastated and our life as we knew it came crashing down before us.  I remember thinking that this was something that always happened to someone else – I couldn’t believe that just the day before we thought we had this perfect (but unhappy) baby, and now we were taking our disabled son home, and we had no idea how long we would have him for.   One thing I do remember is looking at Aaron and saying ‘we can do it together’ as I was just so glad that we had each other.  I knew that our life was now going to be very hard and not at all what we had planned, but I also knew that our relationship was strong and together we could get through anything.

Having a child with a severe disability is exhausting emotionally, physically, spiritually and financially.  There were many days when we were just so drained, and it could’ve been easy to just say how unfair it all was.   But we also knew how blessed we were to have Noah with us, and for us to have the responsibility of being his parents.  His body wasn’t perfect, but his spirit was.   As a couple we decided that no matter how long Noah was with us for, we just wanted to give him the best life that we could.   It could’ve been easy to let it all overwhelm us, but we grew to appreciate the little things.  Instead of celebrating milestones such as crawling, walking and talking we were so grateful for the little smiles that he started to give us.  We really appreciated the little things.  Our days were full of appointments to therapists, doctors, chiropractors and naturopaths – all helping us to give him the best life possible.  Noah used a wheelchair, was fed by a permanent tube in his stomach, needed numerous medications and therapy every day, and had seizures every day of his life. 

We were so happy to learn that his hearing was perfect and even though he was cortically visually impaired (his eyes were okay, but his sight was hindered by the messages going to his brain) he would have times when his sight seemed very good.  As he grew he began to giggle and laugh and we knew what a miracle he was to be living and also responding, because of the damage that he had to his brain. 

Aaron finished school a couple of years after Noah was born, and started teaching in a High School close to home.  He loved his job and it was so good to see him wake up and look forward to going to work.  We had always wanted to have more children, and had two more boys – Harrison and Kobe.  I always wanted to have two boys and two girls, but absolutely loved having four boys.

Noah continued to surprise the doctors and even though he had many admissions to hospital during his life, we celebrated his tenth birthday in June, 2011.   As Noah got older the smiles and giggles came less and less. It was obvious that his body was becoming more and more tired as he had to deal with many illnesses throughout his life. 

In October 2011 we took him to hospital just like we had many times before, as we could tell he had another chest infection.  However this time was different to every other time.  I had never seen the doctors move so fast as they worked out what to do to help Noah.  For the first time in his life the doctors decided that he needed a tube placed to help him breath and then they talked to us about flying him to a hospital which was hours away, so that he could get the best treatment possible in a paediatric intensive care unit.

After a week in the PICU and lots of ups and downs, it became very obvious that Noah’s body was shutting down.  He could no longer breathe on his own and needed a lot of medical intervention to just keep him alive.  It was the time we had dreaded his whole life.  It was time to say goodbye to him and let his beautiful spirit leave his tired body.  

The next day was the hardest, longest but also shortest day of our lives.  Our family and close friends came to say goodbye to Noah and we sat around him, held onto his hands and stroked his beautiful face as we spent our last moments with him.  Our hearts were broken, but we also felt so much peace as we knew that it was his time to go, and that we had done all we could to give him the best life possible while he was with us. 

The next few months were so hard to adjust to.  Aaron took a month off work as we spent time together going through his medical supplies, returning equipment that he no longer needed, and just grieving together.  When Noah was alive we were constantly watching the clock to know when Noah’s next feed or meds were due.  Without Noah we now had so much more time and we didn’t know what to do with it.  All we wanted to be doing was caring for Noah again.  We missed getting up in the night to change his position in bed.  We missed suctioning him day and night, we missed putting on his body splints to keep his muscles from getting tighter. We missed doing physio therapy, and having to lift him in and out of his wheelchair. We would’ve given anything to have all of that back.  Our family just wasn’t complete without him.

Aaron was taking Noah’s death especially hard.  A few months later we decided to take our annual family holiday, and invited my extended family to join us for the first time.  We were worried about going for the first time without Noah and hoped that having them there with us would make it easier.  Our first day there was spent at our favourite beach.  We laughed and jumped in the waves together and Aaron made a comment to me that he felt like his heart was being healed by being there with my family.   We both talked about how even though life without Noah was so hard, we knew that it could be good again, and we knew that Noah would want us to be happy.

That night after Aaron went on a short fishing trip, he had a massive heart attack right in front of us.  He wasn’t able to be revived and was pronounced dead, just three and a half months after Noah passed away.  I remember pacing the floor and looking towards Heaven asking ‘why is this happening!?’.  I still don’t know and I don’t think that getting the answer will make things any easier.  Instead I decided to not look for answers, but to just try to deal with it the best that I could.   

The last four and a half years have been very hard, especially as I have had to help my three boys through their own grief, while going through so much grief and trauma myself.  When Aaron died, I knew that I could question why, and I could get angry and say life wasn’t fair and sometimes I do.   But I knew that if I let myself be consumed by all those negative thoughts there was no way I would cope with what had happened.  It was hard enough just living without them and suddenly being a widow and a single Mum. 

There have been many, many tears over the last four years.  I know I’ll be with them again, but it doesn’t necessarily make things any easier.  I do believe that families are forever, but a third of my family is not with me right now, and that’s so hard.  What I have learnt through all of this is that grieving is okay and there is no timeline for it.  It’s hard to watch someone grieving.  It’s hard for people to know what to do or say.  It’s easier to just sometimes avoid it. 

But people shouldn’t be expected to ‘move on’ or to get over it or to be okay because of the faith that we may have.  When my boys are having a hard day, I have learnt that it’s okay to just allow them to have a hard day. Sometimes the only thing that helps is to feel whatever we are feeling at the time.  Grief cannot be rushed and I’m so grateful for beautiful friends who know this, and allow me the time and space to just grieve or talk about what we are going through, or to talk about Aaron and Noah.   

When Aaron and Noah died I knew that I had to live my life to make them proud, and have tried to teach my boys that as well – we now had to live for them.   The first two years were very hard, but I did all I could to make new happy memories with my boys, and to try to see the positives in our lives as that’s the only way I could cope.  We went on our first big holiday together, we would fill our weekends with activities that we couldn’t always do when Noah was alive.   If we were having a really hard day, we would often just jump in the car and go and do something fun to try to cheer ourselves up.  It didn’t mean that we stopped feeling grieving, but it helped us to get through another day without them, and the weekends we used to dread because they were long and sad, we now look forward to.  

On especially hard days such as birthdays, anniversaries, and other celebrations we would go somewhere that we hadn’t before, or would go somewhere special for dinner.  We would release balloons on their birthdays and spend the day with beautiful friends who would drink Aaron’s favourite drink with us around his grave, as we shared silly stories about him. 

It’s now four and a half years since Aaron and Noah passed away and it’s still hard without them, but we now have a lot more happy days than sad days. 

It’s such a long and lonely road no matter how many people are supporting you, but all of these people have helped us to stand again.  I believe that for someone to stand again, they need time, patience, love and someone to lean on until they are steady on their feet again.  When you are going through something so hard in your life it is also easy to fall again at different times. It takes a long time before you really feel steady on your feet and can stand without needing as much support.

I am grateful for amazing family, friends and even strangers who have helped us over the last four and a half years, and who have helped me and my boys to stand again.




Read more about Lisa's journey: 
http://www.lisajking.blogspot.com.au/







Related stories: Silence Breaks