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The Tattoo

 

Jayson’s heartbeat

One night while I was at work, J called to tell me that he and a co-worker were going to get tattoos. I pleaded with him not to. I was convinced that a visible tattoo would ruin our lives. Who would hire him? He’d never get a respectable job. We’d live in that tiny, 400 square foot apartment for life. How would we raise children there? I’m pretty sure I hyperventilated and paramedics had to be called. Well, not really, but you would have thought he was robbing a bank, not getting a tattoo.

I spent more time on the phone that night than actually working. When he finally told me he couldn’t go through with it I was relieved.

White House here we come! Woo Hoo!

He told me how he’d sat in the chair, they poked him once and he was done. He proclaimed it just hurt too bad and his co-worker mocked him for it. Then he stopped by my office. All the fears and worries of never being about to go out in public with him came running back when I saw the bandage around his left wrist.  With the simple word “FORGIVEN” he had single-handedly set us on the road to ruin.

I cried. Not just a little, but in that overly dramatic way that a woman who has just realized that all her hopes and dreams were just crushed cries. J felt horrible. Undoubtedly, I was supposed to laugh and call him a wimp for not going through with it. I guess he didn’t know me that well back then. So, he did the best thing he could think of, he bought me a pretty bag. That was his “I’m sorry I screwed up our life” gift.  It was pretty and pink, so I told him we’d invest in a nice watch to cover it up.

Fast forward about 10 years. Jayson had been wanting to get to words “FOREVER” tattooed on his right wrist to compliment his forgiven tattoo. I would never agree to it. One was enough for me. But after his second brain tumor diagnoses, I came around. I shared with him how I would go with him and get, in his handwriting, “LOVE YOU MORE” on my left wrist. He ran through our friends home telling everyone. He was super excited. The more we discussed it, though, the more I realized how horrible his handwriting actually was. “LOVE YOU BORE” was one of the ways a friend interpreted how it would appear. Nevertheless, I made a promise and I was keeping it.

The day he died, I knew it was coming. That was the day I would have to give the ok to put him on life support and that’s something he did not want. With all his crazy and spur of the moment things he did in his life, he was very clear on his final wishes. That Monday morning, I asked the doctors to delay taking him off the ventilator. I left the hospital to get a shower and change clothes. I didn’t wanna smell funny my last few hours with him. I went to Target with my entourage and purchased sharpies. He had always wanted his friend to design a tattoo for him and I figured he could just free hand one on the fly.

I had been back at the hospital only a few minutes when the nurses asked me to come up. They told me, in private, that he was going on his own, cried with me and told me how sorry they were that I was losing my best friend. (His nurses became friends to me in just a few days.) I put on my best face, walked into his room and asked his parents to tell him good night. I was tired and wanted to rest. I asked one of our pastors who was there to pray him home, then everyone was gone. It was just me and my J. I called our girls and had them tell him good night. They knew he was in a coma, but didn’t know what that meant. I showed him pictures and videos of our girls and although I was told he couldn’t see or hear, he cried when our girls were singing Jesus Loves Me. I read him Bible verses a friend had printed out and put in a jar by his bed. I sang to him. I can’t remember all the songs, but I know one was Even if the Healing Doesn’t Come and another was Give Me Jesus.

Then I remembered his tattoo. I called my friend and asked her to bring me my bag. My friend Amy handed me a sharpie and my other friend Amanda helped me hold Jayson’s ginormous hand while I wrote the word “FOREVER” on his right wrist. I then drew a little heart on his hand just because I knew it would annoy him. They helped me back into bed , put his arm around me and left. He took his last breath just moments later.

Our last hours together played out like a Lifetime movie. I had asked him to wait on me and he did. I asked him to allow me to be in his arms when he took his last breath, and he complied. He was awesome.

One month to the day, I fulfilled my end of the deal and got a tattoo. I have his final living heartbeat forever on my wrist. Everyday it still beats. Everyday it shows me he lived. His heart will forever be one with mine.

Thanks for letting me share my heart.

Kelly

Therefore do not worry about tomorrow, for tomorrow will worry about itself. Each day has enough trouble of its own. Matt 6:34 NIV

My friends, Amanda and Brenda, who went with me.

 

Amanda had FOREVER tattooed in her hubby’s handwriting. They have an awesome testimony and this word has more power than any of us could have ever imaged. Brenda’s wasn’t real. She just wanted to freak out her husband.

 

Tough chicks

 

My littles needed tattoos like Mommy. Lulu said daddy would love them!

 

My Life Group

Some of you may find this surprising, but I used to be a bit high-strung and somewhat snotty. So much, in fact, that 2 of my dearest friends, let’s call them Brenda and Vanessa, did not like me. “Brenda” has been quoted saying that if you would have told her 10 years ago that she and I would be the best of friends, that she wouldn’t have believed it. To be honest, I probably wouldn’t have either. We were all in a small group together that my husband drug me to every week. Everyone loved him. They tolerated me. I was stuffy and tried to be prim and proper. They all liked to have fun and were way more outgoing than I was. That small group didn’t last long after they cancelled one night and forgot to tell me. I stood on the front porch and watched our small group leader leave his house. He drove right past me and MY CAR sitting in front of his house and never stopped. Man, I really felt the love.

Somehow, J and I again ended up in a couples small group with the same 2 women and their husbands. (Different leader this time, THANK GOODNESS). They would plan outings and I would attempt to invite myself along. Somehow, eventually we all became friends and more people joined our group. We all sat together at church, had lunch at the same Chinese restaurant every Sunday, then were still excited to see one another and catch up Monday evening at group. It was as if we had a second family.Over the years, most of us have started families, some have moved churches and a couple of friends have moved away. But, one thing has always stayed constant, our unwavering love for one another.

When J was diagnosed with his 2nd tumor in June, we were devastated. These were the friends we turned to. They threw a party the weekend before his surgery just so we could be together for fellowship and prayer. He took part in the Ice Bucket challenge that night and danced a little penguin jig while we all laughed. When he was in surgery, they were there. Not everyone could be there physically, but the calls and texts proved that they wanted to be. When he took a turn for the worst, friends drove through the night to be by his side. When he died, they were there to hold my hand, offer encouragement and hold me at 2am when I completely lost it. You know you have a true friend when she instructs you how to breathe when you feel like you’ve forgotten.

My girls on the worst day of my life. This was taken that afternoon before J passed away.

 

I am so thankful that God made these people apart of my life. They have been there through the best and worst of days. Most people can’t say they have 1 best friend. I have a community of believers by my side, encouraging me, helping me raise my children and loving us through the worst season we have yet to face. It is the best gift my husband could have ever given me and I’m glad I  broke out of my shell and accepted it.

This was taken the day after J’s Memorial Service. These are my people (minus a few).

 

Sunday after Church at Chuy’s. The Chinese restaurant couldn’t hold us all.

 

6 years ago…

 

This year’s Christmas party. We opted for low-key. Someone’s presence was sorely missed, but he would have been angry if we broke tradition.

 

Monday…

Monday.

 

 

To say I am displeased with this day is an understatement. Monday is that day I have to wake up before my children if I want a shower. Monday starts the week in which I will have to drag my oldest out of bed, physically dress her myself after threatening to send her to school in her jammies, frantically get out the door to get her to school on time (without breakfast) and maybe her teeth and hair were brushed. I don’t know, but I know this truancy thing is serious business and some days I think my daughter wants me to spend some time in the slammer just so she can sleep in. That’s Monday folks.

Every Monday morning I start my healthy eating campaign. “No Chick Fil-a this week”  I’ll tell myself. HA! After dragging a child out of bed and making sure she at least looks like someone loves her, who has time for breakfast at home? My waist line hates me. But, the girl at the drive thru LOVES my glasses and knows my order. She could be my newest best friend.

Monday is also that day that people are gonna say things to me that make me want to poke them in the eye. For example, one Monday a few weeks ago, my girls were being particularly spirited while trying to get in the car after school. I had a moment and raised my voice (Southern woman don’t yell. We raise our voice) as another mother was passing by with her perfect angels. “I have a copy of (insert parenting unruly children book title here). Looks like you can use it!” GRRRR. In my head I instructed that mother, very kindly, where she could put that book and that what I really needed was for my husband not to be dead. However, in real life, I just kept my back turned and continued buckling my children into their seats. Thank you kind woman for being so encouraging.

Mostly, I loathe Monday because it took my husband.

However, there are some truths about Monday that I have to share. Every Monday I am privileged to wake up with 2 precious loves snuggled up against me. Monday is the beginning of my work week and I adore my job and the women I get to do life with there. Monday was my last glorious day spent with my J. Monday was the day of our last kiss. It was the day of our last good morning and our final goodbye. Monday is a good day. Monday did not take my husband. Cancer and a worn out body did. Monday was the day I realized just how much God loves me. He showed me just how strong I really am. Monday is the day God revealed just how much the people in my life really care. Monday was the day I knew everything would be ok. Monday was the day I changed the way I see God. It changed our relationship. I’m not sure just how yet, but I’m sure it will be revealed in time.

Oh, and someone paid for my meal at Chick Fil-a this morning. Monday, you are redeemed.

Happy Monday!

Kelly

“Be who God meant you to be and you will set the world on fire.”  -St Catherine of Siena

Perfection

Laughter has always been a staple in our home.

 

perfection3

Some crazy college kids…

perfection2

The same crazy kids, but grown up.

 

 

 

I had a touch of OCD when my husband and I first started dating in college. We rented our first apartment and eventually, we got married. He was bound and determined to break me of my compulsion for perfection in those early years. He would come in and shed his shoes, socks and shirt as he walked, leaving a trail of clothing through our tiny apartment. He would deposit the contents of his pockets onto our entertainment center, then sit and relax. HE WOULD SIT AND RELAX. RELAX! I, on the other hand, would see the clutteration (not a word. I know and I don’t care.) of our 400 square foot apartment and lay in the floor and cry (I was also a bit dramatic). He would tell me to get over it and he would go along with his relaxing. This went on forever. He said that one day, when we had children, he would teach them to tilt all the pictures in our home just enough to drive me insane.

He never got the chance. Our girls are 6 and 2 and he left this Earth 3 months ago to spend eternity with the Lord. His infatuation with trying to cure my perfection complex never stopped and now carries on with our children.

J and his goofy grin....

J and his goofy grin.

Right out of surgery

Jayson had an infectious laugh. People around him couldn’t help but be caught up in his joy. He loved life, God, his friends and especially his family. His girls were his world. He was a father, a husband, a friend, a son, a brother, an uncle, a youth leader, a mentor, a jokester, a technical support guru, a lover of history and guns and always willing to help someone in need. He once gave a teen at church the shirt he was wearing because the kid said he liked it. There was another kid who changed the spelling of his name to match Jayson’s because J told the kid it was the “right” way. He influenced those around him. He was amazing.

He died on a Monday in September from surgical complications. He had been diagnosed with a brain tumor in June. It was the 2nd in 4 years. The first surgery was successful. There was really no reason to believe this one would be any different. He came out of surgery in great spirits. He was smiling and goofy. He was amazed that his nurse had hazel eyes, just like him. The recovery seemed to be miraculous compared to the first time. Our oldest, LK, was even able to visit him in the hospital. But that was the night everything went downhill. He slowly stopped talking and was staring off into space. He became violently sick late that night and the next day we discovered that, not only did he have a very aggressive form of brain cancer, but he also had bleeding on the brain. He was moved back to the ICU that afternoon and had a massive seizure that he never woke up from. He died 3 days later with me in his arms.

It all played out like a movie. People came from all over to lay hands on him and pray. I begged and pleaded in the hospital chapel in the wee hours of the morning, just knowing that God was going to heal my husband. We were good people. Bad things happened to us, but they always turned out fine in the end. I asked, so I knew I would receive. I believed, so I could move mountains. I kept the faith and stayed strong. I put God in a box. I held Him accountable to my standards. I acted as if He owed me. As if He served ME! Funny, huh? I was trying to make God conform to my idea of perfection, when He is perfect. God works miracles, He heals, but not always in the way we expect. God healed my husband. He gave him a new, healthy body. Our girls did not have to watch him suffer. They did not watch their daddy deteriorate. They remember him loving and strong, funny and kind. They remember him, not his sickness. I believe that is the true blessing in all of this sadness. I believe that our new life is all part of God’s perfect plan.

This is how the girls remember their daddy, strong and full of life.

This is how the girls remember their daddy, strong and full of life.

“Trust in the Lord with all you heart, lean not on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will make your paths straight.” Proverbs :5-6

Our first trip to the beach

Our first trip to the beach

Kelly