#myproject41 10/365: Missing Liam & Madigan (Greg Part 5)

Eric hit it off instantly with Jasper and Tei. 

  

They absolutely adore their Uncle Eric. Everyone who has known Liam and Madigan *and* Jasper and Teiley have actually been a little freaked out at their similarities. Not just in age (Jasper was 7 months older than Liam, and Madigan was about 16 months older than Tei), but in their personalities, mannerisms, likes, etc.

Both the girls were big into gymnastics, and sassy as heck, I'm told. Both Liam and Jasper were the sweet ones - thoughtful, kind, eager to please. And at the time, both boys were into martial arts.

Liam loved the movie Cars. (For Jasper, it's Planes.) To this day our family still watches it on his birthday, or on the anniversary of the kids' death. 

I've always left it up to Greg how to acknowledge those days each year - or I did until a couple years ago. For the first couple of years the whole Murphy family would go to the kids' favorite restaurant to remember them: Red Robin. 

Can I be real honest? I came to dread those dinners. 

When gathered all together, we're a large family. So we'd go to Red Robin (or one time, Tokyo Japanese Steakhouse), order a large amount of food, and we probably looked like a normal family just enjoying each other's company.

Inevitably, the unsuspecting waiter or waitress would always show up halfway through the meal and ask, "So, what are we celebrating tonight?"

*insert real awkward silence*

Suddenly we're all quiet, choking back the tears. Finally, one of us will gather the courage to vaguely share we're celebrating a birthday.

"Oh, fun! Whose birthday is it?!" always comes the reply from the kind waitperson.

*more silence*

How do you even answer a question like that in this situation? It almost seems unfair to me to put that on the poor guy or gal who is just doing their best to earn a good tip. Just bring us fries and run away, please! Finally, again, someone - usually Pat - will reply that we're celebrating the birthday of someone no longer with us.

You can see the waiter's face fall and change color some. This is always the part where I wish the earth would open up and just swallow us all whole. I can feel that person's confusion and shock. I can feel the pain of every person around me. He or she will mumble a sincere "I'm sorry", ask if we need more fries, and then quickly make their way back to where they came from.

It seems so wrong after that to eat any fries.

But after a couple years, after Eric moved back to Colorado, we stopped gathering as a family to acknowledge the big days. For a couple more years, Greg thought he wanted to just move along and not acknowledge them. Especially not the May date. I was more than happy to accommodate no longer suffering through the Red Robin fiasco. 

But approaching every March - Madigan's birthday...

...every May - their death...

...every November - Liam's birthday...

...a cloud would start to hover over my normally jovial husband. 

I wish I could say that I always had these dates in mind and was ready to help my husband through them with grace and love and compassion. But in truth, it always took me a week or more to stop being frustrated with his sudden frequent bursts of anger and impatience with myself and our kiddos.

And then it always hits us. 

OH. 

It's almost her birthday, or his birthday, or the anniversary of the day our family changed forever. 

Moving on after someone has passed away - especially in a terrible story like this one - doesn't always feel very right.

I'm certain that's a billion percent more true for Eric than it ever will be for me. And for Greg. It turns out he needed to keep acknowledging those days even when he didn't think he did. So last year we bought balloons in the kids' favorite colors and wrote messages to the kids on them, and then let them go from our front yard.

Greg thanked me for helping him put words to his pain. We're a good team like that. He takes good care of me in ways he's able, and I do the same for him.

And we still watch Cars on Liam's birthday. We still try to do something animal-related on Madigan's. 

I've always struggled with my feelings about Liam and Madigan. I often hear these voices in my head that tell me I have no right to have feelings about these kiddos I never met, that I am selfish for having any kind of feelings about the whole situation when I didn't "lose" the kids the way everyone else did. 

I believe these voices to be from the enemy of my soul, who is on the constant hunt for any areas of weakness where he can sneak in and try to separate me from those I love. So I talk about these feelings. I pray about these feelings. And my kind husband assures me my feelings are valid. My kind heavenly Father reminds me He is always with me and that He grieves when we do.

For me, the deaths of Liam and Madigan are *only* sad and tragic. Not that they are anything other than that for anyone else...but I never got to meet the kids. So when the family starts reminiscing about the good times with the kiddos, it only breaks my heart. When I look around and see their pictures that never age, or the sweet memorials in various places...they only hurt me. I don't have the sweet memories of them to buffer the pain of losing them. It took me about 5 years to work up the courage to watch the memorial video their Aunt Kristie made of them. And as Eric and Greg cried and giggled together, I could only silently sob.

I mean, their deaths, as cold as this seems to say, didn't change my day-to-day at all. But I believe it changed the future I was picturing. And when I think about what good friends Liam and Jasper could've been...when I close my eyes and imagine the sweet cousin sleepovers and summer visits that Teiley and Madigan could've had...well, this is where it's hard for me not to get angry. Sometimes, when I think of it - which is admittedly less and less as time goes on - I feel robbed. I feel like my kids got robbed. I know Eric was robbed. And Greg - he was an amazing uncle and so close to Liam and Madigan. I know Kristie was robbed. I know Pat and Carol were robbed.

It is so hard to make sense of a tragedy like this. And by that I mean, it doesn't make *any* kind of sense. Not to us humans at all. 

The best I've been able to come up with is this was the Lord protecting Liam and Madigan from what I assume would've been a very difficult life on this earth, with a mother as sick and selfish as theirs became. I tell myself this to stay a little more sane. But it's probably arrogant of me to even consider I have a clue why the Lord allowed this. 

All I really know is, the kids are in heaven and they are good now. They are celebrating and partying with Jesus. It's only hard for the rest of us. Only the rest of us suffer. 

This kind of event is where my faith in God is tested and tried, and I have to just repeat to myself over and over that the Lord has plans and I don't need to understand them. I am not promised I will understand His ways, but I am promised that His ways are not mine (Isaiah 55:8).

So in my suffering, I can choose to stay angry. Or I can choose to believe that everything He allows is for our good and His glory. And I choose to believe this because His very words tell me so, and because in other situations, I've actually seen this to be true. 

And later, Greg and I would see this horrible situation as preparation for another one.

Xoxo.

#myproject41 9/365: My Uncle Joey

I have an uncle who is younger than me. 

Growing up I was the oldest of the grand kids on my mom's side, followed by my brother Shayne, cousin Donnie, brother Aaron, and finally, little Uncle Joey. Until I was 17, I was the only girl.

Left to right: Shayne, Aaron, Uncle Gary, Donnie, Uncle Joey.

The family joke is that my Mom was pregnant, then my aunt got pregnant, and my Grammy (who also goes by Grams and Gibby) felt left out, so she she got pregnant too. 

We've never called him Uncle Joey seriously, though. Only when we're being hilarious.

Though Joey was the youngest of 6 kids (my mom is the oldest), the age gap between he and his next sibling is so big that Joey was raised as an only child. I spent a lot of time with my Grammy as a child, which meant that once Joey came along, I spent a lot of time with him, too. 

I lived with my Grammy for large chunks of time, from what I remember. Summers, I think, and lots of other visits. I took piano lessons and Joey would want to suddenly touch the piano because I was. We'd watch Annie for hours and hours and hours and knew every single word by heart. We'd play Rainbow Brite and My Little Ponies (the cool original ones, not the creepy new ones!) and with our Cabbage Patch Kids (to this day I still have both of them somewhere). 

Joey and my cousin Donnie were as close as brothers to me. As we grew up, we grew apart. It was hard for me, getting older, when the boys all started getting mixed up in activities I didn't want to be a part of. I became the annoying goody-two-shoes, the only girl so naturally the family favorite and that attitude that was passed down from the adults in our family became a real source of contention between all the boys and I. It was unfair, to be sure, the amount of positive attention I was paid compared to my brothers, and I felt that pain from them and from my mom as well. I wore the label of "good girl" like a heavy blanket.

So, like the rest of the boys, Joey had experienced a rebellious youth and quite frankly, grew into the youngest grouchy old man I've ever known. So I think our whole family was pretty excited when, after life and heartbreak, Joey finally found a woman who could handle and challenge him.

In June 2011, Joey and Lindsey got married in Eastern Washington. I was a groomsman (but in a pretty dress!), my kids were both in the wedding, and this was going to be the first time Greg was going to meet all of my family.

But it was barely a month since his niece and nephew had been killed, and he wasn't exactly in a partying mood. 

He's a good man, though, so he went anyway. He pasted a smile on his face, met my large, loud, crazy, family, and endured the nonstop looks of concern and sadness that he was inevitably greeted with. And then he slept for much of the day in the car.

At least that's how I remember it. And I've seen zero pics of him at that wedding, so I know I must be right.

We don't actually get to see Joey and Lindsey that often since they live on the other side of the mountains and we're all just busy.

But just 9 months after our Quinleigh was born, they had Camden, who is just a doll. We all spent the past Thanksgiving together and Quinleigh and Camden were inseparable.

Watching Joey grow and mature into a husband and then a Daddy has been really special to me. In areas he was selfish before, now he's giving and generous. He's beyond patient with Camden, even as a work-from-home-Dad, and it was kind of fun to commiserate about the joys and hardships of being an at-home-parent. He's a fantastic cook, too, and it's a joy to watch him work. He made a ridiculously delicious gravy this past year, and the brined turkey was insane.

Joey is still a grouchy old man, but I adore him.

Xoxo.

#myproject41 7/365: Greg (Part 4)

Greg and I had been dating for one day shy of 2 months when his niece and nephew were murdered.

We were shoved abruptly out of our honeymoon phase straight into a terrible Lifetime movie. 

And suddenly, I didn't know my role.

If you've ever met Greg's parents, then you already know you're family in their book. I've not met more loving, generous, accepting humans. Need a ride to the airport? A hot meal? Something fixed? A visit in the hospital? A place to stay? To be prayed for? Some Biblical wisdom? To feel loved? You call Pat and Carol. I seriously scored in the in-law department with the Murphy's, and actually refer to them as my "in-love's". So they'd already welcomed myself, 11-year-old Jasper and 4-year-old Teiley into their family.

But their only grandchildren had just been taken from them. And while I've not actually had this conversation with them so I'm totally theorizing, I imagine the best way they knew to protect themselves from further anguish was to put a wall up with me and my kids, who were not yet a "sure thing" as far as staying in their lives. To be honest, I'm not even sure they knew that was happening. 

The difference was noticeable. I was suddenly allowed only at arm's length, and it was painful. But it was understandable. I've never once felt anger over that, but I didn't know how to fit into this family now, this family who was grieving so heavily over children I hadn't had the privilege of knowing. 

Within the week, Greg and his sister Kristie joined their parents and Eric for the memorial service. I felt completely disconnected from Greg and that was really difficult for me. I'm a quality time kind of gal, and to be separated from Greg during something so painful for him was awful. I knew it wasn't about me, but I was struggling for sure. This was definitely a growing opportunity to be less selfish and put the needs of Greg over my own.

Nighttime was the worst. Greg was busy with family hundreds of miles away, and I was alone once the kids were in bed. This was around the time the book "Heaven is for Real" came out, and I lost myself in the story of young Colton Burpee's journey to heaven and back. It wasn't an easy read for me, though. Envisioning his parents in the hospital as he was in surgery, them fearing their little boy was dying was just too much. I cried out to God. I needed to feel Him with me.

I turned the page and BAM.

Do you remember this story? This painting of Jesus was done by an 8 year old girl who lived across the world from Colton. Months later, after his life was saved through prayer and skilled surgeon's hands, he told his dad that this was a picture of the Man who was with him during his surgery.

*goosebumps*

And as soon as I saw this picture, my heart breathed a deep sigh of relief. A peace I couldn't explain washed over me. I knew the Lord saw me. I knew He was there. He heard me, He answered my prayer, and I drifted off to sleep.

I didn't know my role in the Murphy family as a whole, but I could be there for Greg. 

I've never shied away from others' pain. My own sometimes, sure. But sitting with someone else who is hurting is a comfortable space for me. It's a blessing and a curse. I'm not afraid to cry with someone who's hurting. I'm not afraid to just be quiet with someone who's hurting. So I knew how to be someone he could lean on during this time. It wasn't about me or my needs, it was about how I could make a horrifying situation a little less horrifying for a man I already loved.

So when he asked me to go to Colorado with him to meet his brother just weeks after the kids' deaths, I nervously said yes. I was honored to be asked to join him.

I remember feeling excited to go on a trip with Greg, but so sad over the situation. Eric met us at the airport and grabbed Greg in a big bear hug while I stood awkwardly by. I wiped the tears from my eyes watching the brothers reunite, and waited to see how Eric would approach me before I made a move. He turned to me and pulled me into a bear hug too. I melted into him and we both cried.

We all got to the car and Eric drove us to a cool little restaurant. I made an inappropriate joke on the way - I wish I could still remember it - and Eric laughed heartily. He turned to Greg and declared, "I like her." 

I was so incredibly humbled that Eric would be brave enough during such an agonizing time to welcome someone new into his world. Greg and I spent a few days with him, my first time in Colorado. We hung out with his best friends, spending several nights around a bonfire playing Words With Friends. He took us to where Liam and Madigan were buried, and showed us the new headstone that had been installed. Being there was overwhelming. The cemetery itself was beautiful, perched high on a hill, overlooking all of Castle Rock. We cried together. I stepped back and gave both Greg and Eric time with the kids. We were quiet. 

On our way back to where we were staying, we drove by the prison where his ex-wife was being held until trial. Eric was understandably battling intense anger towards her, and seeing the prison itself caused a visceral reaction. Emotions were high throughout our trip, but when our trip came to a close, I left feeling like I'd just gained the big brother I'd always wanted.

So I was incredibly excited when Eric made the decision to move to Seattle not long after.

#myproject41 6/365: Greg: An Answered Prayer (Part 3)

Greg is a recovering alcoholic (12 years clean and sober!) and had dabbled in some heavy drug use during difficult times in his life before we met. So I knew my dad's concerns were valid. At this point Greg and I had been dating maybe 6 weeks, so my best answer was that I had no way to know how Greg would be in a tragedy until I saw him through one.

I had no idea that in just two weeks, I would be given that chance.

On Monday, May 23rd, 2011, I had just landed at SeaTac and was waiting to deboard the plane. It had been a long, early morning flight with my bestie and her two young daughters as their family moved from Texas back to Washington. (She's since re-abandoned me and moved back to Texas.) 

 

I was doing that thing where you stand at your seat, cramped, totally unable to move or leave the plane yet. I turned my phone on and it immediately buzzed a few times, informing me I had some texts. Greg had stayed at my house with my kiddos during the long weekend I was away, and I knew he'd taken the kids to school by now, so I assumed he was checking in.

I opened my phone to a panicked-sounding text from Greg. I let him know I would call him as soon as I was off the plane, and my mind began to race. What could it be? I was nervous.

I still remember the exact spot in the airport I was standing, just outside a bathroom, waiting while Tress took her girls inside. I called Greg, palms sweaty, totally unprepared for what I was about to hear.

"Liam and Madigan are dead." 

Greg's words were barely understandable through his sobs.

My throat closed. My eyes welled up. "What?!" I barely managed to squeak out. I suddenly forgot I was in public, tears streaming down my cheeks as Greg tried to explain.

Liam and Madigan were his niece and nephew. Liam was Jasper's age, Madigan was about a year older than my Teiley and Greg and I had been excited for them all to meet, because Greg was sure they'd be instant best buddies.

Greg's older brother Eric - whom I hadn't met yet - had been going through an ugly divorce. That Monday he was scheduled to be in court for the judge's final custody decision, but after the expected kiddo exchange didn't happen that weekend, police were called and they discovered the bodies of his kids, asleep forever in their beds. His ex-wife had decided she wasn't going to share custody with Eric.

Greg was beside himself. He'd gotten the news from his dad just after dropping Jasper off at school. Unsure of where to go next, he found himself in the parking lot of my work, having a panic attack in his car. 

On Mondays at Bellevue Christian School, the District Office staff - which I was a part of - met together to pray. I instructed Greg to go in and join them. The Murphy family had a long, beloved history with the school and they would take care of him until I could get there.

Tress and I raced to get her luggage and car seats and all the toddler-paraphernalia. I was distracted and just wanted to get to Greg. We met her dad at Arrivals and I was quiet, totally in my head on the ride to Bellevue.

As soon as we parked at the school I grabbed my stuff, hugged Tress and her dad and raced towards my office. I found Greg in the Superintendent's office with my coworkers, the air tense and somber. He looked up and leaped into my arms. We sobbed together and the room cleared out around us.

After a while we calmed down and talked about what to do next. Greg called his sister and we agreed to meet at the Redmond Pancake House. I'd never been there before, and I haven't been since.

#myproject41 5/365: Greg: An Answered Prayer (Part 2)

I left the shop that day feeling more certain than ever that I was on the right path. 

My heart was full with visions of all the women I could help take back their own power in this not-so-small way. For the next couple of Saturdays, I showed up in more shop-appropriate attire with a can-do attitude and a desire to soak up as much knowledge as my new teacher had to give me. A couple more ladies started showing up as well.

One Saturday I arrived early, I guess, and saw the shop all locked up. I waited in my car for a while and a second vehicle arrived. In it was an older woman I didn't recognize. I'd been there like 20 minutes and still no sign of Greg or the shop being open. I checked my texts: nothing. My hot pink flip phone didn't have email capability.

Eventually I walked over to the other lady in the car and asked if she was there for the group. She said yes. We'd both been waiting over 30 minutes by now and decided group had been cancelled and we missed the memo. We decided to walk down to a coffee shop and get to know each other. We ended up having a fantastic conversation about tithe and other Biblical topics, and it felt like a very God-appointed time. 

I wish I could say I still remember her name and that we remained close, but that isn't the case. But I don't believe in coincidences. We each fulfilled a need for the other at that time, and I'm grateful for that.

Meanwhile, I texted Greg to check on him. It wasn't like him (from the short amount of time I'd known him) to just not show up and I wanted to make sure he was ok. Later at home I found an email he'd sent that explained he had to leave town suddenly and was sorry to cancel group that day. 

The next week, Greg apologized to our group, and sadly explained that the week prior he had been engaged to be married, and now he wasn't. 

Up until this point, I hadn't looked at Greg with any intention beyond knowing he was a human who had things to teach me. I mean, I was content with my life and focused on this new path I was on, and I knew from the get-go he was engaged. Plus I'd had my heart bruised not too long before I met him. So romantic involvement wasn't even on my radar.

But when I saw him sitting there, clearly emotional, his sad, forlorn eyes facing the broken concrete at his feet, his cool chain tattoo on his forearm...well, I suddenly had an urge to care for this man.

I jumped up to get him some water. I don't know why. I just needed to *do* something.

Later that night, he was on my mind. Still not in a romantic way. I'm serious! But my heart hurt for him, so I reached out.

"How can I pray for you?" my text read.

"Pray I don't feel so angry towards her," came his reply. "Pray for patience for me."

"Well, I believe praying for patience is praying for trials, so how about I pray that whatever it is you're supposed to learn through this, you learn it quickly so you can move on?" 

He liked that.

We kept texting for a while. For a few days. About everything. And nothing. It was fun. 

One night, after group, he called me. "How can I pray for YOU?" he asked me. 

I shared with him again my desire to run a mechanic's shop so that I could help other women in my position. I told him how I thought it would be fun to have it be a mechanic's shop and spa or something, so the ladies could be cared for while their cars were.

He excitedly shared with me that for a decade, he'd wanted to run a non-profit mechanic's shop, because it made him so angry the way a lot of mechanics took advantage of people who didn't know better. He especially had a heart for single parents in this position.

"I've been told I was crazy for wanting to do this," he explained to me. " But I always wanted it to be a mechanic's shop and *something* - like a daycare? I really want to help single parents. But I don't really know any!"

My heart was pounding. I was glad he wasn't there in person, to be honest. 

"Well, I love crazy. And I have the list of the 343 Single Parents at our church," I confessed to him. "I'm your girl."

We made plans to connect at church the next night, and hung up.

Sunday night, I saw him walking towards me in his greasy navy mechanic's jacket, and was shocked when my stomach did a flip. What?! No. NO NO NO. I didn't want to like him! I didn't want to like anyone! I was good! I was content! I just wanted to learn to fix cars, for crying out loud.

We continued texting, getting to know each other. One night I was watching Edward Scissorhands with the kids in a fort we built in our living room. Greg asked what we were doing and when I told him, he found the same movie to watch at home. 

Tei was too scared of the movie and we had to shut it off after about 15 minutes. 

Greg and I continued to text. And one time, after something I said, he replied...

"I think this conversation would be better continued in person. Maybe over lunch? Or dinner?"

My stomach flipped again. 

*pause*

"Um," I texted back, "Did you just ask me out?"

"I think I did."

*swallow*

"Ok. 3 things," I informed him. 

"1. I'm not dating right now." 

"2. I am NOT interested in being your rebound."

"3. I AM NOT DATING."

He chuckled.

We agreed to have lunch soon at a place near his work, on a weekend I didn't have the kids. Mexican food at this cool little hole-in-the-wall that sadly doesn't exist anymore. It was a little awkward but mostly fun and we just talked and talked. He paid for my meal. It was March 24, 2011.

I figured neither of us were kids, and I wasn't interested in playing games with anyone. So I gave him my rules about how often we could see each other, when he'd see my kids (or  not), and how we wouldn't spend time alone together for quite some. 

"I like you, but I need to take this slow," I said. He agreed.

Life has a funny way of making a fool out of us sometimes, doesn't it?

The very next Friday, when my kids were gone at their dad's, I invited Greg over to watch a movie. 

And we saw each other every day after that.

Now, any time I hear the song "Dog Days" by Florence and the Machine, I'm instantly transported back to the summer of 2011.  

"Happiness hit her, like a train on a track

Coming towards her, stuck still no turning back"

Those lyrics were kind of the soundtrack to that season.

Hot breezes flowing through the shop in downtown Bellevue, where Greg and I spent any free time we had. It was just down the street from my work, so he came by for lunch often, or would pick me up to take me to lunch. Together, sometimes with the kids, we got to help my sister, my best friends, their friends. I kept a log book of all the women we helped and at the time, we even paid for all the parts that were needed. Greg never charged a dime for his labor.

My heart was full. 

We knew within a couple of months that we wanted to get married, but we didn't want to freak our families out, so we just kept waiting and praying.

After a couple more months, I texted Greg's sister to ask if it would be ok if I maybe went out with her brother? 

"I think that would be fantastic," she replied. "He says some weird stuff sometimes, but he's a really good guy. I wouldn't let you date him if he wasn't."

She told him later that even when he was engaged to another woman, and even before he and I had met, she had me picked out for him. But she never said anything to either of us.

I remember a conversation with my dad in May of 2011. I was in Hawaii, on a trip I'd planned for myself before I'd met Greg. My step-mom had mentioned to my dad that I'd shared with her about wanting to marry Greg. 

"How can you be sure so soon?" my dad asked. "How do you know how he'll handle a tragedy? What if something bad happens and he doesn't stick around?"

*******************

How does an hour go so fast?

Xoxo.