3 Years Later

I was in high school before Donnie and I became friends. First, he visited my church and then my home. My parents reached out to him, and he reached out to us.  It wasn't too long before Donnie spent Saturdays with us.  Then, he found his way into suppertime and sleeping on our couch.  He came to our family birthdays and Christmases.  Santa even dropped some gifts off at our house for him.  He quickly became an important part of my life.  More like a brother than a friend, really.  


I've never had a brother, so I could be mistaken, but I've heard that they show up at inconvenient times and irritate you and tell stupid jokes and make you laugh and make you want to hit them in the face and they're sometimes quite messy, but more than anything you love them so deeply that the thought of losing them takes your breath away.  Isn't that what it's like to have a brother?  I imagine it is; at least, that's what it was like having a Donnie.  Donnie was all of those things to me, and even more.  We would sit and talk for hours.  We would solve the world's problems and talk about our families and our friends and our God and our weekends and our schoolwork.  He is the only person who ever made sure to ask in nearly every conversation if Hub was treating me right.  We dreamed big dreams together, had a lot of fun, laughed a lot of laughs, and cried a lot of tears.

I was in college when Donnie died.  It was Saturday, and he shot himself between the eyes.  

It was the first time I'd experienced such loss, hurt, confusion, and anger all at one time.  In one breath I could bid him good riddance for his selfishness, and in the next,  I'd beg him to come back for a do-over.
Never will I understand why he decided to end a life so full of promise.  If he was at the end of his rope, I would have given him mine.  So many people would have.  He was, he is, so deeply loved and so deeply cherished.


Sometimes I dream that the buzz at the door is him, and I'll answer, and he'll come inside.  He'll sit on the couch, and I'll offer him something to drink. We'll spend the afternoon talking and laughing, and Hub will come home, and I'll fix dinner, and Donnie will eat three plates, help me clean up the kitchen, and be on his merry way again.  But that never really happens.


Sometimes I wish that when I picked up the ringing phone, it would be him on the other line calling to see how life is in Kentucky.  But that never happens, either.


Sometimes I imagine that I'll get a letter in the mail apologizing for missing my college graduation and my engagement and my wedding and a promise to come and see me soon.  But that never happens.


They won't ever happen, these things I dream of and imagine and pray for in the still of the night.  These things won't ever happen, and it's his own fault.  It is a dark and unsettling place when the person you have lost, the person you so desperately want one more conversation with is the same person who caused all of this pain in the first place.


Sometimes I look up to heaven and I think, "Donnie Ferguson, if you can see me right now you'd better be sorry, buddy. I hope you see all of us down here and you feel bad for what you've done and all of this pain you've caused.  Because you should.  You should feel terrible."


And then other times I look up to heaven and thing, "How is it that a person so loved by so many could feel so desperate, so alone."  And I feel guilty for his death, like it was my fault somehow because I wasn't right there the moment he needed me.


Most of the time, though, I just hope and pray that he is happy.


Before I ever had to think about it, I knew that losing him would take my breath away.  That it would rip me open and scrape me out and shake me up.  I was right.  I carry on, though.  I carry on knowing that if he could go back and change the circumstances of his death, he would.  I carry on knowing that if he could see the pain and the torture he had caused the ones who loved him, he would put the gun down and back away.  That's what I tell myself, anyway.  And maybe I am wrong, but I know who Donnie was and how much he cared, so I believe that if he really understood the consequences of shooting himself in the head, he wouldn't have.  He would have stayed alive and protected the people he loved, the people who loved him.


When I tell my children about my precious friend, I will make sure that they know his death was not the definition of his life.  That although he had many struggles; he had many more victories.  I will make sure they know that even though he had a temporary, life-altering, and terrible lapse in judgement that he was a brilliant and loving human being who changed my life, and many others, for better.  More than anything, I will make sure that they know they are loved and cherished, no matter what, and if the desperation ever comes, that suicide isn't the way.  

Because suicide never heals.  It only creates more anguish.

If you or someone you know is struggling, please call 

1-800-SUICIDE 

or visit 

www.hopeline.com 

because there is always a way out, even you can't see it just yet.  

Dear Whoever You Are,

In lieu of Sunday Snippets, I'd like to share a heart wrenching story with you.

Tesney and her husband Greg, along with their biological son, Clayton, have been on a long and exhausting journey to adopt a little boy named Kirill.  Kirill lives in Russia, and he has Down Syndrome. On March 17th, after several hours of testimony in court on behalf of this loving family, a judge rejected the adoption because she believed Kirill to be "socially unadaptable" due to his his disability.  The family is heartbroken and fearful, but in an effort to bring their son home, they are appealing the judge's decision.

Although the judge's ruling may evoke an emotional response in you filled with anger and confusion, as it did me, it is important that we remain optimistic and not slander the judge.  Hatefulness will not help Kirill be brought home; it will only hinder the process.  Therefore, Tesney has asked that people "PLEASE do not be mean or slander the judge.  We LOVE her and want to show her CHRIST in our response to her ruling.  It will HURT our appeal if negative things about the judge are associated with our case.  We can say that we disagree with her decision and that it is an injustice to deny a child a family because he is "socially unadaptable" (has special needs/DS0, but please don't be hateful."

I don't know this family personally, but their story has been tugging on my heartstrings. I am fervently praying that little Kirill be brought home in a timely manner so that he can learn what it feels like to have a family of his own.

I am asking you to do the same.  Whatever you do for people in need, do it for this family.  If you pray or send good thoughts or pass along positive energy or meditate or fast or run or sing, do it for Kirill.

If you have any social or political connections, help this baby out.

To hear this amazing story from Tesney's point of view, follow the link below to her blog, which is where I stole the sweet picture from.

http://oureyesopened.blogspot.com/2011/03/kirills-story.html

If you're on Facebook, follow this link to check out the group made in Kirill's honor:  http://www.facebook.com/home.php?sk=group_160513784005050

Wildflower Honey, The Finished Product

I would like to take this time to point out that I did participate in the actual painting.  I begged my husband about a million times to take a picture of me painting, but he didn't.  (Don't be surprised at this; I wasn't :). 

 

Once we finished taping, we got started on the first coat, and we let it dry over night.  We tackled the second coat the next day, and when it was good and dry, we put it all back together.  The entire project took us about 3 1/2 hours of actually working.  I didn't include dry time because we got to sit on the couch and watch t.v. or sleep, so it doesn't really count as "project time."  I have to admit, I was pretty impressed; I was afraid it would take us more like 3 1/2 years.

Here are pictures of the finished product!

Now, if only I could do something about those cabinets. . . 

Wildflower Honey

A too-long while ago I told you about how in one weekend Hub and I turned our tiny little home into Project City.  One of our projects was painting our kitchen. The other two were organizing my closet and painting a canvas to hang above our bed, but today is all about the kitchen, so let's get back to that.

When we moved in, our apartment was two colors.  A very light taupe, which had a little too much pink in it until all of our furniture calmed it down, and a bright, glossy white.  The kitchen and bathrooms are white, and taupe runs throughout the rest of the apartment.  

From the moment he laid eyes on the place, Hub knew he wanted to paint. He's an ambitious little devil.  We talked about painting all the time.  What colors would we choose?  Which rooms did we for sure want to paint?  Which rooms would it be better to leave alone?  How much would this endeavor cost?  Could we even paint a room?  These questions and many of the like creeped into our conversations for weeks, months I tell you.  It was getting ridiculous.

I think the good Lord knew I couldn't take all this paint talk without action anymore because one day we randomly went to Home Depot and found the perfect color for our kitchen, Wildflower Honey.  We chose it, bought it, and were on our way home within about thirty minutes. 

When we got home, we tore everything out of the kitchen and started taping.  

These pictures really don't capture how bright and terribly glossy the white walls were, but, let me just tell you, it was not the best choice.

Come back tomorrow to see some in-progress photos and the finished product! 

What I'm Reading Now

Drawing heartbreaking beauty out of the simplest of details, Ann Voskamp invites you into her grace-bathed life of farming, parenting, and writing—and deeper still into your own life. Here you will discover a way of seeing that opens your eyes to thanksgiving, a way of living so you are not afraid to die, and a way of becoming present to God that brings you deep and lasting joy.

Voskamp's words weave a web of beauty, gratitude, understanding, and salvation that will lovingly nudge you into a better, more fulfilling life.  After a precious friend recommended this book to me, I have been enthralled with its genuineness and its profoundly simple message.  As I near the end, I find myself reading fewer and fewer pages at a time, just to savor its wisdom. 

...and had a Big Party...

When Hub saw pictures of our cake, he said, " Wow!  Our cake really was pretty. I bet it tasted good, too."  We wouldn't know.  That's right, ladies and gentlemen, the bride and groom missed out on the cake.  It's a hard life.

This is the moment we thought the band was playing the wrong song.  Turns out, we were mistaken.

Once we figured out it really was "our song" and we should be dancing, we decided to forgo the steps we'd learned at dance class and just sway.  We felt only slightly guilty.  The slight guilt left us when friends promised to tell our instructor that we had done a beautiful job.  That's what friends are for.

We were briefly instructed on how to cut our pieces of the cake.  Personally, I found the instructional help to be lacking, as we followed directions, but it didn't seem to go properly. Therefore, we had to have assistance.  At least we look like we know what we're doing in the picture, right?

This is how much cake we had.  Really, you can't even call it a piece.  It was more like the tiniest of tiny crumbs.

This is the little Princess singing, "and I was like baby, baby, baby, ooh. like baby, baby, baby, nooo. like baby, baby, baby oooh, thought you'd always be mine, mine....and i was like baby, baby, baby, ooh. like baby, baby, baby, nooo. like baby, baby, baby ooh, thought you always be mine, mine...and i was like" for the fiftieth time.  Such a precious memory, as well as my favorite part of the wedding video.

They caught my bouquets!  Kanis actually caught two.  We still aren't sure what that means.

We danced a little before we left.

Then we walked into our happily ever after.

...We Tied the Knot...

To say that walking down the aisle was surreal would be a gross understatement.  It was a moment I had longed for and dreamt of.  I took deep breaths  and tried not to walk too fast.  I studied the crowd, the chapel, the flowers, my bridal party, and my groom. I did everything I could to burn pictures into my mind so that I would be able to keep the moment locked away, a treasure buried deep within me.

When Daddy left me up there with Hub and the ceremony officially began I wanted to say, "I am getting married right NOW! Can you believe it?!"  But, I didn't.  Instead, I swayed back and forth and listened to the wisdom presented to the two of us.  I said my vows without choking up; that's what I like to call a sweet little miracle from God, in case you were wondering.  Hub put my wedding band on upside down, and I had to fix it.  I repeatedly winked my eye and stuck my tongue out every-so-slightly to amuse a few of the groomsmen.

Our wedding ceremony was better than the ceremony I had hoped for.  It bubbled over with good advice, tender words, solemn vows, and sweet memories.  

Walking back down the aisle on my husband's arm, in our first few moments of marriage, I felt a sense of relief, buckets full of joy, and a rain shower of hope.  Relief that we'd made it this far, joy that I had been so blessed, and hope for the bright, beautiful future we had just committed to.

July 24, 2010: We All Got Ready...

I woke up on the morning of my wedding earlier than necessary but pretended to still be sleeping.  I couldn't field questions from my mother about how I was feeling or see my father's sentimental glances my way as he tried to change the subject.  I know that's what it would have been like because that's how my little family of three operates.  I bet my parents were secretly a little happy that the bride-to-be didn't come bounding down the steps before necessary, too.  They needed time to think just like I did.  When I couldn't wait any longer, I got out of bed, finished packing my suitcase for my honeymoon, set the suitcase outside my door, and locked myself inside.  I looked out the window a little and sprawled myself out on the bed.  My thoughts were too many, too fast, so I hushed them.  


I took a long, hot shower.  When the water cooled enough to stop tingling my skin, I turned the knob for more heat.  Once I had washed my hair and my face and my body, I cried.  I cried tears of joy for the path of life I'd be choosing to follow, and I whispered prayers of gratitude for how blessed my life had been.  I cried for the paths of life that I had chosen not follow, the paths I had turned away from.  I cried for all the people I loved so dearly who had traveled so far to see Hub and I get married.  I cried for all the people who couldn't be there, the ones I needed so desperately.  And once I was done with my sadness, I turned my heart back to joy and gratitude, and I cried a little more.  


After my shower, I dried my hair and brushed my teeth and put on my "getting ready pajamas," and I made my way downstairs.  My parents and I made small talk over a bite to eat.  My mother and I went over the day's itinerary for the millionth time.  We watched a slideshow of pictures and got a little teary eyed. 


My bridesmaids arrived for lunch, and, for the first time, I was really nervous.  I thought it unwise to alarm anyone on the morning of the wedding, so I sat quietly as my mind spun webs of insecurity and fear, and when I had had enough of that, I shut it down.  I made my thoughts line up, and I worked through each of them until I was satisfied, until I knew for certain that I what I was about to do was right.  I rejoined the party while we finished lunch and flipped through the channels and laughed.


All the getting ready went just fine.  Well, mostly fine.   We ran a little late.  Mom's dress was altered incorrectly in the front, but after some creative snipping and pep talking, she looked stunning.  Too and Kitty put me in my dress; God bless their hearts.  They were troopers.  Just before we started our girl pictures, the house was a wreck.  Everyone was running in a million different directions, and every need was urgent.  Charles found my misplaced lipstick, Kitty helped me in my shoes.  I secured my veil with the proper tips from all my girls.  


The pictures with my bridesmaids and parents went well, and they all left to take their proper places.  Daddy and I stayed behind.  Martha, the wedding planner's assistant, was more nervous than we were, I think.  She kept running outside and back into the kitchen and worrying over how to get the doors opened and shut and locked.  Dad and I laughed about her.  I think she was good comic relief.  I don't remember what else Daddy and I talked about while we stood in the kitchen and waited for our time to go.  I just remember that I was happy, and I was ready.


When Martha came back for the hundredth time, it was finally time to go.  Daddy and Martha helped me get myself all tucked in the golfcart, and I kept praying that my veil or my train wouldn't get loose and be run over. Some teenage girls passing by told me how lovely I looked, and I thanked them. I stayed properly tucked in for the one hundred foot drive and took my place in line behind the bridesmaids.  Everyone smiled and told me I was gorgeous.  Too hugged me and Kitty held my hand.  I took deep, steady breaths as each bridesmaid vanished inside.


After the last one was in, the wedding planner shut the chapel door.  Daddy and I were positioned and my veil was fluffed.  Then my wedding planner gave me the best advice.  She said, "Okay, Jessica.  It's time.  This is all going to go really fast.  So, take a deep breath, and pay attention.  You want to take this all in, look at everything, or you'll miss it.  And you don't want to miss the best day of your life.  Take some mental pictures, make some memories."


I took my deep breath. When she asked if I was ready, I nodded, with a smile, and she opened the door.