We gave a lot of bells to our grandmother, Daisy Bell Hand; her cabinets were full of them.. We'd buy them on our vacations or purchase her birthday gift from a gift shop at the local Metcalf South Mall. She treasured them, but darn if she wouldn't write our names on each one of them, even the expensive ones. Today, as I was sifting through another Harvey box, I ran across this old plaque. You guessed it...I found a Sharpie and scrawled "Mabel Gullickson," Rob's maternal grandmother, on the back of this beauty. 
I get it now; we want them to remember.

Remember the days of old; consider the years of many generations; ask your father,and he will show you, your elders, and they will tell you. 
Deuteronomy 32:7 ESV

I've really missed Rob lately. I'm not sure if it is the anticipation of moving back into the house alone, the recent loss of friends, the fifth anniversary of our cancer journey, or just a big jumble of all of the above. Again, I find myself anxious about life without him.
Author Lori Reynolds Streller jolted my inbox this morning with this one statement:

We've lost enough. Let's not choose to give more to death than it has already taken.

Anticipating the pain of the missing. It can be downright crippling...if we allow it.  

I'm sure I've written about my encounter with a seasoned widow minutes before we left MD Anderson for the last time. She was a soft spoken artist. She asked to draw Rob. In a rush to get him home again, I declined the kind offer, a decision I shall always regret. But as the nurse prepared Rob for his ambulance ride, this wise sojourner drew a picture on my heart. She assured me that I would never lose Rob. I would take him everywhere I went, not hand in hand anymore, but perched upon my heart.

She was right...and in a few days, I'll carry him along with the last boxes into a new chapter, a reset, an opportunity. Our memories will quietly grace the walls while new memories are made. May our home  be filled with joy and laughter, family and friends.

Death, I won't let you steal one more piece of my heart.

My dear friend, Becky, has collected for me the Houston Chronicle series about Hurricane Harvey heroes over the past weeks. Ironically, I'd not read many of the personal stories from those tragic hours of rising waters and dramatic rescues; I was living my own story, too overwhelmed and busy to open a newspaper or watch nightly news. 
The articles have deeply moved me, reminding me how important it is to tell our stories of pain, courage and joy.
The anniversary of Harvey collides with the fifth anniversary of Rob's cancer journey; it surprises me how this timing effects me. I'm slowly moving back home and as I unpack Rob's stuff, I grieve even more. I've been forced to clean out his upstairs closet of ignored belongings. You know, it's often easier to just shut the door, but eventually we must sort and let go.
One newspaper article details the rushing, chest-high water the night of many rescues. I must admit, I was a bit traumatized reading it, as I remembered my own encounter with the escaping reservoir.  However, nothing compares with the pain of living through this without my Rob and children. Like so many treasures lost in the flood, I can't retrieve precious moments or holidays forever lost with my grandchildren.  I've felt powerless, not being able to support my loved ones in their own personal hardships as well as achievements.  And the hardest hurdle remains: crossing, for the final time, the threshold of my finished home without the man who helped make it a home. 
As I share my personal thoughts, I'm reminded there are so many neighbors still waiting to even begin the process of rebuilding their homes and lives. Their personal storm stories continue and they need heroes who will continue to rescue them from the aftermath of Harvey. They will not have a hurricane-free day until the last box is unpacked. Consider unpacking some encouragement, delivering cookies, offering to carry off the empty boxes. My biggest cheerleader, Laura, handed me a Starbucks card during our VBS. Between house details and dozens of kids, I had no time to take care of myself. Her kind gesture fueled my frantic mornings. Dozens of tasks remain or have been ignored... energy sappers! A boat might not be needed now, but trucks, muscles and anything that beats this brutal heat are lifesavers. Most of us will not ask; you'll need to just show up!
Until the last home is finished...