Getting there...

The absolute silence in the hallway is proof. School is officially out for summer! Yahoo!!

There are so many exciting things ahead for the Thomas' this summer!

-a week with my Mom in town
-preparing for a brand new third grade class next year
-beautiful pacific northwest exploring with my love
-a mission trip to Haiti
-numerous beach/coffee/shopping/lunch dates with some of my favorite people

And the list goes on...

But first I've got to get through this weekend.

Father's Day

I was trying so hard to ignore it until it slapped me in the face the other day.

I ran into the store to grab one thing and before I knew it, I found myself standing in front of the Father's Day card display reading my third card before realizing that I had no reason to be there.

I didn't need to pick out the perfect card this year. There is no one to send it to.

Then came the tears...not the soft, silent tears....the ugly cry tears.

I felt humiliated to be caught so off guard and to be experiencing such a painful moment in such a public place. And then I felt angry for letting myself be in that situation. It was not my proudest moment as I hung my head as low as I possibly could and made a bee-line for my car so I could finish this moment in private.

And from that moment, this weekend began to consume me...sadness, anxiety, fear, dread.

But I only let it control me for a few days and then I forced myself into a change of perspective.

I think that's a sign that I'm getting there...

While I am indeed broken-hearted that I have no card to buy or phone call to make, I am thankful for the 30 years of Father's Days that I did have to celebrate. Though he's not here now, I am thankful that I had a Daddy that I loved and that loved me so much that he was worth celebrating...he still is worth celebrating. I won't let grief take that from me.

So this weekend I celebrate him.

For all of the softballs tossed around in the yard.

For all of the gifts from the NASA gift shop at work.

For all of the tomato pies. (that he thought I loved, but I really only tolerated so as not to hurt his feelings) :)

For all of the dinners eaten together sitting on the couch while watching tv.

For all of the constant asking about how my tires and brakes were doing after I moved away from home.

For all of the roadtrip memories to the hospital in Texas.

For all of the late night Sonic milkshakes.

For all of the bags of chips that you can only find in the south (Zapp's & Elmer's) purchased at the "discount store" that were waiting for me when I flew home.

For all of the rocks skipped in the pond on the "old road."

For all of the drives sitting in his lap to Granny & PawPaw's.

For all of the $5/$10/$20 bills handed out over the years, even when I was 29 years old.

For all of "the claw's" and tickle fights.

For all of the worrying even when there was nothing to worry about.

For all of the "I'm proud of you's" and "I love you's"

For always calling me Fred.

For being my Daddy.

And for fighting so hard to stay with us.





Happy Father's Day Daddy! We love you. We miss you.

Love,
Fred

Why I Need Easter This Year

Easter is like the Superbowl for believers...and we win every single time.

It's a BIG deal.

And not just for one Sunday out of the year.

The story of Easter is a big deal the other 364 days, too.

God sending His only son to earth to live a blameless life and to willingly die the cruelest of deaths as a sacrifice for our sin...for my sin...it's a HUGE deal. But it doesn't end there. Jesus arose from his grave victorious over death. Oh, what a Savior! I am so undeserving of such grace.

But there's something about the Easter story that is more real to me this year than ever before.

Death.

That word.

It is still so very present in my life today.

For the first time, I understand just how much pain it brings. And while the focus of Easter is 100% about Jesus (as it should be), I find myself thinking about that time between death on Good Friday and resurrection on Sunday morning and those who were temporarily left behind on Saturday.

Saturday.

Oh, how I understand Saturday. The pain that his followers and disciples must have felt. The pain of his mother, his brothers. The hopelessness. The finality of it all. Death.


I wonder if they all stayed close together and retold favorite stories and shared memories.

I wonder if they were crying until they could hardly breathe one minute and then angry at the world the next.

I wonder if they found one of His robes and just held it up to their noses and inhaled deeply.


I wonder these things because I've done them all in trying to navigate through this firestorm of grief.

You see, I'm stuck on Saturday.

And I'm afraid of how long I'm going to be here.

My world is a world of hurt and pain all brought on by death.

It's been just over three months since we said goodbye to Daddy and sometimes (let's be honest, most of the time) I feel like I'm still on day one of processing this. It's been three months of mental agony. And it's felt like three years. I knew it would be hard...I just couldn't have imagined how hard it was going to be. I want so desperately to feel back to normal, back to the me I was before January 8, 2014.

It's another thing on the list of things I grieve: my old self. The happy, joyful girl I have always been. I smile on the outside, but my soul is crying on the inside...and sometimes it screams...loudly. The denial stage of grief didn't really last very long before I plunged headfirst into anger. So much anger - and sadness. And I am NOT an angry person, which is probably why I don't know what to do with it or how to process it. I am so angry that my Daddy had to die. I might be even angrier that he had to endure such a terrible cancer for so many years. I am angry that my Mom has to live alone. I am angry that he won't see my baby sister graduate from college next month. I'm angry he won't ever get to hear his grandchildren call him Paw-Paw or tell them stories about fishing on the river. And frankly, I'm angry that I can't pick up the phone and call him or laugh at one of his atrociously spelled text messages.

Seriously, the list goes on and on and on...

Sometimes I wonder if I'm really just learning how to polish up the outside so that everyone around me thinks I'm moving on quite nicely. Maybe that's what you're supposed to do? When sweet friends check in on me to ask how I'm doing, I struggle with whether to give the usual "I'm okay" or to actually vomit up the truth because how I'm really doing is so real and raw that I don't want to burden anyone else with it. So most of the time, I give the usual. Sometimes it's the truth. Sometimes it's not.

In a conversation with one such friend who has been especially compassionate the other day, I may have done a little of that vomiting (oops). I shared with her that nothing really feels normal. Even the things that I love, like going to church. Here's a confession for you on this Easter evening - most of the time in the last three months, I haven't felt like going at all. Public gatherings are terrifying. They are emotionally compromising. Particularly because the old me loved to belt worship songs at the top of her lungs until my eyes get all teary in just love and adoration for a God who loves me so much. But lately if my eyes tear up for any reason at all (whether it's from singing a song of praise or a rousing rendition of Frozen's "Let It Go") I cannot control the flood that follows. So I don't belt as loudly. And I miss belting.

So does that mean I am angry at God? I don't think so. But that's because I have a relationship with Him. And that relationship is good.

"The Lord is near to the brokenhearted and saves the crushed in spirit." Psalm 34:18

Don't get me wrong - there have been moments that my anger has been directed at Him and I am certainly full of questions, but He has always been right there. In those moments of despair, I feel His presence more than ever before.

And that brings me back to why I need Easter.

Saturday was painful, but Sunday is coming.

On Sunday, Hope came back to life. And all the tears and hurt of Saturday vanished. Because of Sunday, the atonement for our sin was complete. A God who loved us in our broken sinful state allowed His only son to die in our place.

And this Easter, I need a hope like that. A hope that it is going to get better. A hope that holds on so tightly and never leaves my side. Jesus is that hope. Praise the Lord for Sunday!

And tomorrow, no matter what, I am belting this song.

Because He lives, I can face tomorrow,
Because He lives, all fear is gone;
Because I know He holds the future,
And life is worth the living,
Just because He lives!

Love in Every Language

There is such a helpless feeling that comes with watching someone you love lose someone they love.

There really isn't anything you can do to take away the pain or bring that loved one back. It's heart-wrenching to be on either end. People are constantly asking "What can I do for you?" or saying "Just let me know if there's anything I can do." And it's hard to know how to answer that.

My best advice: Love them.

Love them in any language you can.
Smother them with it.
Love them with the kind of love that takes action steps.
Love them with the "hands and feet of Jesus" kind of love.

Just love them and love them and love them some more. Because they will keep hurting and love will honestly help them heal.

Several people asked me before I came back - what can we do for your Mom? And I said the same thing to them. Love her.

Don't forget about her. Check in on her. Take her out of the house. When you're setting the table and there's room for one more, think about her and invite her to fill that spot.

That verbiage of love heals. It says that you are thought of, cared for, remembered, and loved.

Because after all, love is a verb. Saying it carries a certain weight, but showing it speaks volumes!


One of my all-time favorite books is "The Five Love Languages" by Gary Chapman.

Incredible read. It's all about the different ways we are uniquely designed to both speak and receive love.

It taught me so much about myself and about loving others in a language that they understand. It also taught me about ways to speak love to my husband and other special people in my life. Seriously, you should just read the book. You won't regret it.

The Five Love Languages Are...



Want to know what yours is? You can take the quiz by clicking here.

I am a tie between two of them: Receiving Gifts & Acts of Service

Both are pretty similar, but they are described as this:

Receiving Gifts
Don’t mistake this love language for materialism; the receiver of gifts thrives on the love, thoughtfulness, and effort behind the gift. If you speak this language, the perfect gift or gesture shows that you are known, you are cared for, and you are prized above whatever was sacrificed to bring the gift to you. A missed birthday, anniversary, or a hasty, thoughtless gift would be disastrous – so would the absence of everyday gestures. Gifts are visual representations of love and are treasured greatly.

Acts of Service
Can vacuuming the floors really be an expression of love? Absolutely! Anything you do to ease the burden of responsibilities weighing on an “Acts of Service” person will speak volumes. The words he or she most want to hear: “Let me do that for you.” Laziness, broken commitments, and making more work for them tell speakers of this language their feelings don’t matter. Finding ways to serve speaks volumes to the recipient of these acts.

In other words, I feel most loved when these two languages are spoken to me. Likewise, these two languages are my default languages of speaking love to others. And it's so true! I try to never ever give gift cards for special occasions, the joy of picking out the perfect gift is something I thrive on, much like the feeling I get from being able to fill a particular need that someone may have. I can't fill every need or sometimes any need, but if I can, I will. And I truly love it.

But there are also three other languages that one might use to communicate love: Words of Affirmation, Physical Touch, & Quality Time.

From the moment I arrived back in Washington, I have been loved in every single language.

It looked like this...

-groceries purchased and left in our pantry
-meals prepared and delivered to us
-gifts left on the porch
-hugs, so many hugs
-flowers sent
-a mailbox full of sweet cards
-conversations with friends who just show up, just in case you need them (and you DO need them, oh how you need them!)
-text messages
-invites to dinner
-tea parties
-lunches and days out of the house with a friend
-coffee shop visits
-pedicures
-facebook comments and messages
-being prayed with and for

And the list goes on.

Part of coming back to reality after dealing with such a great loss is finding a new normal. Normal is the hardest thing in the world to find in the midst of deep pain. There were days that I would look on facebook to see friends at parties or dinners or family outings and it was sometimes too hard to see. My world was turned upside down and I felt that I was barely treading water but there sat pictures and posts about such great and wonderful lives. A life that I had experienced in the not so distant past but a life that felt light years away. I needed help to find it again. And slowly I am finding it...because of love.

Knowing that I had not been forgotten but was surrounded by love has been the biggest healer of my hurt. And on the days that I am still overwhelmed by the pain, I still need that kind of love. And it usually shows up...in the form of one of those text messages or invites or front porch drop off gifts or seats at the dinner table. It's pretty incredible and such a beautiful picture of the love of Christ. I am so thankful, so undeserving, so very blessed.

And just being around other people who are living life in their "normal" helps me find mine.

We don't love because we have to, we love because we get to...because we are called to, and because HE first loved us. I am challenged to be this kind of love to others.

Because love changes everything.

"Love one another, as I have loved you." John 15:12

A Letter to My Dad

**I started this post the day after my Daddy passed away and I've been adding thoughts to it ever since. Today, one month from the day he arrived in heaven, I feel that it's complete and ready to go out there for all the world to see. Thank you for your willingness to read the musings of a broken but mending heart...I love you all.**


January 10
It's only been one day and people are already asking how we're all doing or how are we holding up or some version of that question. And even as they ask it, they know as well as we do that we don't have an answer yet and that the answer we might give will change the next time the question is asked.

But I know that more than anyone else, you would want to know how we're doing.

So I suppose that's why I find myself here...blogging at 3am on the day after you took your last breath Daddy.

And first, let me just say how sneaky it was of you to take that last breath in the only thirty second window where you had ever been alone in your entire hospital stay. Mom was just outside the door checking on your saline bag because she knew you didn't like it when it ran dry. But I think you planned it that way.

And it was a good plan, Dad.

I keep reading the letter you wrote that you want Mr. Huey to read at your funeral.



It's beautiful and I can hear your voice each time I read it. And I guess in a way, this is my letter to you.

On the day you found out you were dying, you held Lauren and me by the hand and through teary eyes told us that you loved us and you were so proud of us.

What you may not have known or given yourself enough credit for is the fact that WE were proud of you. We are proud to be "Greg's girls" and we are proud to call you Daddy. We always will be.




You told us to go through life and try not to make any enemies. You told us no matter how good someone else treats you, treat them better.

Those are great words to live by and we will do our best to follow them. It was obvious by the countless number of family and friends and co-workers who came by the hospital to see you that it was just how you lived your life. What a testimony Dad...



And just like you said in your letter to us, we will be sure to tell your grandkids about you though I know that a lifetime wouldn't be long enough. That is probably the biggest thing that really breaks my heart - that you won't know your grandchildren in this life. We'll be sure to take them down to the river, because that was your favorite place to be. As a young adult, I always imagined what a fun paw-paw you would be. You would be a softy, of that I am sure. You wouldn't stand a chance. :)

While these last ten days were not at all what I expected when I packed my suitcase and boarded that airplane in Seattle on Christmas Eve, I couldn't be more thankful that I was able to be here to help you fight this battle all the way to the end...that I was able to walk you home. You will never ever know how much that meant to me.



I heard you say it many times while you were fighting these last five years, "No one walks in my shoes." And while that is true Daddy, you should know that you were never fighting alone. You were taking the heaviest brunt of it all, but we were fighting right along with you and wishing over and over again that we could take this pain and this burden from you (because I know you'd wish the same for us).

In fact, while in the Sunday School class that Derek's Dad was teaching the day before we went to the hospital, there was a question in our book that said,

"If you could switch places with one person for one day, who would it be?"

Though we didn't answer out loud, my answer was you. I wish I could have switched places with you so that you could have had one more perfect day of life - to be down at the camp on the river fishing and running lines, to hunt, to garden, to eat whatever you wanted, to have a fish fry, and to just enjoy a healthy life if for only that one day. I really did, Dad. But I know that even if it were possible you would not have let me do it because you wouldn't want me to suffer an ounce of what you were going through. You were always trying to protect us - another of the reasons you were such a great Daddy.

I keep asking myself if there was anything else I could have done - any question I could have asked the doctor, any cancer research I could have investigated, any prayer I could have prayed and I know that the answer to that is "no." But I keep asking...

I'm so sorry Daddy. I'm sorry that cancer found its way into your body. I'm sorry you had to be sick. I'm sorry that despite how hard you fought, cancer fought harder and spread faster. I'm sorry that your life ended so much sooner than any of us had planned. I'm sorry for the pain you felt. I'm sorry you had to leave us.

You were so brave and strong and tough from the very beginning to the very end. I'm so proud of you.

And I know that if it were up to you, you would have stayed. I want you to know that the best gift you could have left us with was putting your trust in Jesus (just a few short days before leaving this earth) to forgive you of your sins and to save your place in heaven where we know you are at perfect peace and we will see you again. That one decision is leaps and bounds the best thing you ever did for us and the best thing you ever did for yourself. And GG is so glad you wanted her in the room when you made that decision and spoke that prayer - thanks for letting her be a part of that Daddy, she will never forget it.

And because you made that decision, it made letting you go a little more bearable. Because I know that when you took your last breath, Jesus was there to meet you and take you home with Him. And while I knew that you were instantly in a better place, my heart was screaming "Come back!" And in that moment, the same Jesus that was taking you home was holding me at the very same time.

So how are we doing?

We miss you so much Daddy. I miss you. Mom misses you. Lauren misses you. Lexi is looking all over the house for you. Your brother and sister miss you. Jared and Zack and Josh miss you. Mr. Smitty misses you. And the list goes on.

But I think we're all doing okay, or at least we're getting there.

It doesn't seem possible that you are really gone. I miss you so much it hurts to breathe. I miss you so much that my lifetime of memories with you are hauntingly hard to think about...but they are the only thing my mind wanders to. I miss you so much that in just the day that you've been gone, I have dreamed about you and awakened with my heart pounding and my pulse racing. I keep dreaming that I can't find you...I am always in a long hallway and frantically searching every room for you but you aren't there. I just keep reminding myself that you are with Jesus...and with Granny and Paw-Paw and Mam-Maw and so many others that you love so much. I'm a little jealous of that.

I know these next few days are going to be incredibly difficult, but I'll be trying my best to keep making you proud. I'll try to be strong because you were strong. You taught me to always have a plan, and I'm going to do just that.

Thank you for being my Daddy. I'm forever grateful that I was your "Alissa Fred" and that I got to walk through this life with you and that I was able to be here to walk you home.



Until we walk together again...

I love you.

Walking Daddy Home: The Hard Part

Before coming back to our home in Washington, Derek and I met our Aunt Tanya for dinner, and she mentioned something that her father (Derek's grandfather) said as he knew his life on earth was coming to an end. And although much of the last several weeks are blurry and foggy, I remember exactly what she told us his words were...

"Dying is easy. Living is the hard part."

It is so true. Life does become harder when you have to do it without someone you love.

Watching Daddy in his final days was not easy for any of us, but it was peaceful for him. Death is not something we have control over - goodness knows if we did, things would be different. Sometimes it comes quickly and catches you off guard. Other times, it comes in incredibly slowly and you might even wish you could hurry it along. And then there are the times that you aren't expecting it to be so close, but there it is and you have no other choice but to get prepared.

We were the latter.

We walked into that hospital five weeks ago hoping to get a therapy/treatment that would bring some relief to the pain and discomfort Daddy was feeling...we had no idea that he would get the ultimate relief and that we would leave there without him.

Living through that was hard.

When the doctor told us that this was the end, and we knew we had the weight of walking back into that hospital room and telling Daddy that he was dying, we sat on his bedside and held his hand and somehow through shaky voices and tear-filled eyes, we told him that his battle with such a horrendous disease was ending.

Living through that was hard.

In the ten days we spent by his side at the hospital, we did everything we possibly could to make him comfortable. We made heavy decisions about breathing apparatuses and medications and treatment options and were even told that we weren't going to be able to stay at the hospital but would need to look into moving him elsewhere. It gave me ulcers.

Living through that was hard.

When he took his final breath and we again found ourselves sitting on his bedside, holding his hand, and in a waterfall of tears, the pain felt utterly unbearable and the void was instant.

Living through that was hard.

And in the days that followed as we began life without him, it was harder still.

Sleeping was hard, eating was hard, and sometimes even breathing was hard. Sometimes it still is.

Preparing for a funeral and burial was hard. We truly wanted to honor him and celebrate the wonderful man he was.

Picking out what clothes he would wear (or I would wear for that matter) was hard.

And you might think this sounds weird but in some way, I was anxious for the evening of the funeral home visitation to begin...just so I could see him...because staying in our house without him was hard.

I missed him so very much. We all did. We all do.

And when I gave him the last kiss I would ever give him on his chilled forehead and stared over the shell that was his soul's home for 54 and a half years and said goodbye, it was almost unbearably hard.

*almost*

I understand now what others meant when talking about the passing of a loved one and saying, "It nearly killed me." Because that is how deep the pain hurts. And it does feel almost unbearable.

*almost*

But because of the love shown by so many family and friends and the countless prayers they have said on my and my family's behalf, and because of the love of my Savior and the grace and mercy he relentlessly bestows, that word *almost* exists.

And it changes everything.

The hard still exists...but it is bearable.

Living without my Daddy is hard, but it is happening.

And I know it's all possible because of Jesus. Because after all, He himself is love (1 John 4:8). And it's because of His love, that we love (1 John 4:19).

And that love is what motivates us to keep living through the hard.

Dying is easy, living is the hard part.

Coming back to Washington was hard.

Returning to work was hard.

Going to the grocery store was hard.

Not texting my Daddy during the Super Bowl was hard.
(Go Hawks!!! Sorry Daddy, under any other circumstance I would totally cheer for the Mannings, I swear.)

Dreaming about him and waking up only to have to grieve all over again is hard.

I know there is alot of hard ahead of me...a lifetime of hard. But I'm ready. And I'm not doing it alone.



love,
alissa