The wire shelves left some bigger holes in the walls inside the cabinet though and I knew they needed to be fixed. So, because I couldn’t text my Dad, I shot a text real quick to my best friends husband and The Godfather to my three and a half kids.
I asked John if he had an drywall repair, when he said he didn’t, he told me what I should buy and also asked if I wanted him to pick me up some from the hardware store. I told him no, I’d grab some. A little while later when I finally did get some and work on the holes in the walls, I sent him another text that I had worked on the pantry and I was pleased with myself. In true John fashion he said “Pics or it didn’t happen”. I told him I didn’t want to send pictures until I had sanded down and painted the spots I had fixed.
He told me he would be waiting.
And I pushed back sanding and painting.
And then John died.,
That morning on my way to Church I remember thinking about the way Daddy died…and how I remember every single detail about that night and the following day. At church I remember seeing John walk past us in the back and how Dean wanted to go say hello. I didn’t let him, I told him he would be able to after church.
I regret that nearly every day.
It has felt…hard to write about John. His widow and my best friend and godmother to my children does an excellent job sharing her grief journey and she’s so much articulate than I am. I have a hard time formulating my thoughts and ideas into something that makes sense. And I have had a hard time owning up to the grief I have felt about Johns death.
John was larger than life. He had the biggest heart and the biggest laugh and he was hysterical. And he loved my kids. He deeply and wonderfully loved my kids. He spent TIME with my kids. He MADE time for my kids. He helped raise Ellie while we tended to Dean in the hospital. John showed up to see Dean in the CICU and he came with Katharine the day that my Dad had the tumor removed from his brain.
John showed up.
And I feel the hole he left in my life, my kids lives, and in my husbands life.
Today I was able to stop at the Dollar Store and buy some cheap bins for my pantry. When I got home I started to take everything out of the pantry. Then I realized I should really take the time to sand, paint, and organize this pantry. Finally. 
I was mad that I was painting again too. After we moved in with my parents and we helped them fix their house to sell, I never wanted to touch a paint roller ever again. I would never trade that time with them, and I knew helping them was the right thing to do, however, it was a lot. It was a lot for my kids, a lot for my mom, a lot for my dad, a lot for my siblings. It. Was. A lot. We painted all the walls, fixed all the things, and my parents house looked beautiful. But by the end of it, I was sick of painting walls.
The kitchen looks like a bomb blew up in there. The entire contents of my pantry are strewn about the kitchen, the baby cried, I frustrated Blair, and I ended up asking for pizza tonight because I want to see this project get finished and I am determined.
But the whole time I was sanding, painting, and working I was just…mad.
Mad that I can’t text John to tell him I’m finally getting things done. Mad that I can’t send him this picture of the little girl he didn’t get to meet who shares a middle name with him.
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When we moved into our house here in Strasburg, I had no desire to paint any of the walls. I just didn’t think I had it in me anymore. So today while I painted, I marveled over the way sanding and painting my pantry made me miss two of some of the best men I’ve ever known.
My grief holds no eloquence. I can’t make it make sense. There are no patterns to it. I let it come and go as it pleases, and ride the waves as they come. It never ceases to amaze me that the weirdest things at the weirdest moments hit me like a force of nature.
I am not knocked over by it. It doesn’t force me under, it doesn’t drown me, its just there while I tread water.
Before my Mawmaw died, she always used to wonder if those in Heaven could see or hear what what happening here on Earth. I always maintained that Heaven would be the best thing because Jesus was there and I just wasn’t sure we would WANT to see what was happening here on Earth.
Today though, today I hope people can see small glimpses of what’s happening here.
I hope John sees my stupid pantry, all sanded and painted and awesome.
I hope he sees his daughter and that he marvels how he is part of her life even now.
I hope he sees his amazing, beautiful, courageous wife. How she carries his legacy and dreams with her, how she honors him so well while still loving God.
I hope he flies kites with Jesus.
I was honored to be part of his life, I was honored to have my kids be part of his life, and I am thankful that my sweet Daisy Rebekah Lee shares a middle name with them.
I hope that however bumbled my words are they convey the way grief has played a part in my life.
I hope it encourages those in the thick of things that ebb and flow eventually helps lull you to sleep, instead of pulling you further out to sea.
