Empty Chairs

Our table is not as full as it once was. There are missing pieces in our family dynamic at home. With each empty chair, there becomes and empty place in my heart. A place of longing that fills the very caverns in my soul. Charles, well, his seat will forever be empty in this life. But now my children are flying more consistently away from the nest too, as they continue to get older. Having them go away on their adventures causes very mixed emotions, and I am left feeling very melancholy, as they spread their wings and fly.

Daniel (he is 14) is still at Scout Camp. I am really starting to miss him. I miss Daniel, but Sammi really misses him. Sometimes Sammi and I will watch videos of him singing to make us feel better. Sammi keeps saying, "I miss Daniel, and I want him home now." I feel the same way. I am ready for him to come home. He still has a few more weeks left.

I am all for him having this great experience out there in the woods, learning how to work, and be away from home. (Great mission preparation, for both of us!) And he has been loving it there. Daniel is a people person, and he has been surrounded by loads of people. He also loves the outdoors like his dad, and so he is in his dirt-filled, rugged, manly, element.

I am happy he is happy.

But we do feel his absence in our home. He has been the man of the house since Charles died, and that role has fallen on William's capable 10 year old shoulders. Of course we have managed just fine without him. But we miss his charisma, strength, and silliness. Sammi especially misses singing with him... the house has been so quiet without his presence. It is funny how just removing one child -- any child -- seems to make a difference in volume. Daniel has a particular skill at projecting his voice, so his absence has left a very audible difference in sound decibels.

I am keenly aware of the great changes that are creeping their way towards my family, as the children keep growing closer to adulthood. We continuously enter new and uncharted territory. For example, Sammi is taking Driver's Ed, and soon will be hitting the road in a car (hopefully not hitting anything with the car!). Also, Sammi can date, and that is ummm... fun? The very dramatic changes just won't stop, and they all seem to be coming at me all at once.

The other night, I sat out under the stars, and I wondered what it would have been like had Charles not died, and he were here for all of these big changes in our lives. How would it be different? How would he handle the events and decisions I have had to make alone? How would he talk to Sammi about boys, and to Daniel about girls? How would he treat William as he continues to grow and ask so many questions? How hard would he laugh at the sound of Henry's contagious giggles?

Sometimes I wonder if I am doing right by him, and teaching the children what he would have them know. He is not here to question my methods, and parenting style. I do feel like I have been hardened, to some degree, with him not here. I felt like I was a softer mom when he was around, I had more room for squishiness and play, when I was not constantly fighting against loss and grief, and trying to take care of everything alone.

I try so hard to keep my head up as a mother for my children -- we have loads of fun and happy times -- but sometimes I just get so lonely for Charles. It can be all encompassing, and I will have to retreat to my room for some privacy and peace. I wish I could just chuck grief off of my shoulders and be done with it; but I think that would involve removing my heart and going numb.

Grief presses in on the heart making it feel heavy and weak. When someone dies, they are gone for an entire lifetime, and that is a heavy load to carry for those left behind. If the grief ever fully goes away for me, I will let you know. From everyone I have talked with, it ebbs and flows over a lifetime. Of course you can be happy and sad... at the same time? At least I know I have felt that way. I have cried tears of joy and pain in the very same moment. I believe the trick of grief is learning how to shoulder it with faith and hope, and most of all trust in Heavenly Father. But it does literally feel like my cross to bear in this lifetime, and so with the Lord's help, I find the courage to continue. And the more I turn to the Savior, and do his work, the more he comes to my aid, and lifts the cross with me.

Life was once so simple with just young children around, with Charles here at my side. The world was rose-colored, and I was happy in my non-widowhood naiveté. Oh, how I miss the simplicity of those times. Now I feel my children slipping away from me, and even though that is the whole point of parenthood, it does not make these transitions any less uncomfortable, and sometimes deeply emotional. For me, as each child prepares to leave the nest, I become one step closer to being truly alone. And that thought is daunting.

I love being a mother. I live for it. It is my purpose; greater than any other purpose. It is my great calling here on earth, and even though it is devastatingly brutal sometimes, there is nothing else I would rather be doing. I do not claim to be an expert mother, but I do claim to exquisitely love motherhood in all its magnificent glory. And my children... oh, I love them so much it aches!

As the clock keeps ticking, I will continue to stand with the courage that I want as the hallmark of my life.

When all my children are gone, and I am the very last one at my table; I will pull out all the empty chairs, and with open arms exclaim:

"Come to me, my beautiful grandchildren!"

And my table will be full once more.

P.S. Daniel singing this song gives me chills, I thought it was worth sharing again. And, of course, Sammi hiding under the blanket playing the piano is classic. I can't wait for them to sing together again soon!