The Pierced Heart and the Rainbow

September 26, 2018 (another year goes by)

Two days from now, September 28, 2018, marks the 18th anniversary of Hans Day, otherwise known as Hans' day of transformation, otherwise known as death. Hans is our third son (out of four). He died at the age of 11 1/2  of  brain cancer (glioblastoma mulitforme).

We had fought it with all we had for 16 months. Those 16 months were the best (yes, the sweetest) and the hardest our family has ever lived through. Hans gave the fight his best, best self....taking time to be grateful to doctors, nurses and chaplains that cared for him, taking time to laugh and joke and enjoy his life, even in the hospital. He was a beautiful soul, who in his short life managed to connect to the infinite presence that connects us all, otherwise known as Love, or God.

Today, Hans' two older brothers and one younger are grown men. Jacob is a teacher, married with a lovely 3-year-old daughter. Karl is also a teacher, married with a two lovely children, a 3-year-old boy and a baby daughter. Luke is a software engineer, single, and making music in his basement. These three young men are as stunning to me today as the day they were born. They are amazing human beings, full of light, joy, grace, kindness and love. I like to think that Hans would be on that same team, if he was here. I like to think he's doing victory dances everyday as he watches them grow from his view on the other side.

On my way home from breakfast with a good friend this morning, I was driving through Karl's neighborhood and couldn't resist stopping by just to see him and his little family. A few minutes and a few hugs was enough to give me that shot of fresh air to fill that huge empty Hans-sized space in the center of me. (How grateful I am, I could live this close)

Your kind empathy is well received but I need to say I wouldn't trade places with anyone. I'm a lucky wife, mama and grandma. In addition to an incredible husband (Pete), I have been given incredible children to care for. These four boys, men now, are such a joy. They are such a precious gift, that some days the love just cuts right through my heart, like one of cupid's arrows. My tears are filled with both the rain of the storm and the water from a fresh spring. Today is one of those days. It's so hard to describe that I often don't attempt it but today I really wanted to try.

Maybe it's like the moment when the sun comes through your window. My heart is a prism hanging in the window and the moment I think of my boys, of Hans and his dear brothers, as babes and men, is the moment that the sun hits the prism and all colors of the rainbow explode and spread everywhere in the room. It is a piercing moment. It's a releasing moment. It's a celebration and welcoming of all that has been and that will be, because these boys came into my life.

I do miss Hans. I wish he was here. And some days I miss the old days, making macaroni and cheese, driving car pools, sick days, watching baseball games and playing brain games in the car. But none of us needs to go back. We are all better people for the experience of knowing and having Hans part of our lives. I am a better person for knowing his brothers as well. It is a magical as the moment that light goes through the prism or the light shines through rain. Somehow, God took my love and my grief and made my life into a rainbow of color.

If this doesn't make sense to you, that's okay. It will always be hard to describe. It is enough to know that some of you are out there, sharing the rainbow with me.
It is enough to be in it for another year of life and love and pierced hearts.

~Jules

LOOKING FOR LIGHT AND LOVE

So something horrible happened yesterday and we can't ignore it. And something wonderful happened yesterday but we might have missed it. It is ever so subtle and yet powerful how each time tragedy strikes, our hearts grow a tiny bit closer to each other. We let down our shields for a moment and feel compassion. We open the door just a little bit more to the idea that we are connected, that we are truly one world neighborhood. In that brief moment before we've moved on to the next thing, love has a chance to grow. It doesn't feel wonderful but it is. Why? Because we need compassion in order to get to action, in order to get to peace. Because if a flame of love is ignited in each of us, we might just have enough light to find our way. I know it doesn't make sense. And please don't misunderstand. I'm not trying to gloss over the tragedy. It is indeed a devastating thing, one that will echo in our conversations for years to come, as others have. It is just that I hope the echo is love. Perhaps it's not possible to explain. All I know is that my heart has been broken through tragedy and loss, sometimes to the point of complete surrender. And each time, in that moment after I surrendered to the brokenness, when I put my hands up in despair, that's when the love came pouring in, from friends, from strangers, from the Spirit. That's when the love has grown the most. Leonard Cohen's "Anthem" consoles us with this phrase: "there is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in." That's where I feel a nudge to go today, to look for the light coming through the crack. So here we are again. Can you feel it? Where will love lead us now? What if we let our lights shine together?

Bitter and Sweet

Life is bittersweet at its heart, perhaps at its best. For it is in those moments of deepest sorrow or pain that we also are suddenly keenly aware of the amazing gifts and beauty of our lives.

I'll never ever forget the 16 months we had with our son Hans after he was diagnosed with stage 4 brain cancer (glioblastoma multiforme) the summer between his 4th and 5th grade years. I can't remember the excruciating pain without also remembering it as one of the best times of our lives. Being faced with the total and complete vulnerability of life for each of us (no matter how healthy) made all those unimportant squabbles and desires melt away. Money and success and being right ceased to matter. All that mattered was love and the moments.

Hans following one of his surgeries.

In some ways it seemed like time stopped. We suddenly had time to enjoy each other and be with each other in ways we hadn't before. We celebrated every day we had together. We went camping, biking, played games, laughed, hung out with extended family. We talked, we sang, we prayed. We hugged and cuddled. We fell in complete love with each other. Honestly, it was an amazing time for us. We lived with joy. Each day was so precious that we closed with a ritual of good night with blessing and goodbye.

Of course, one day we did say goodbye forever as Hans moved on to the next life. (September 28, 2000) And of course there was some pretty wrenching and dark days of mourning to follow. But even those gave birth to a deeper sense of gratitude and honor for this sweet person we were privileged to have among us, even for a short time. And eventually that expanded to a deeper gratitude for all of life, however flawed it is.

What I'm trying to say, is that the bitter and the sweet are so closely tied, that I can't separate them. I'm not arguing for cause and effect, just for the constant companionship of them both in my life. Bitter whispers in one ear with how tragic life is and Sweet sings in the other how fantastic and amazing it is. And peace grows in me, I am transformed, as I learn to dance with both these partners.

Peace!
Jules, 9/2/2016