When I think of Christmas, miracles come to mind. So in the spirit of the holidays and special moments in our lives, Julie Hedlund is my guest for Friendly Friday. You can read more from Julie here and follow her on Twitter here.
I’m so happy that Julie was willing to share this with us today. This post is an absolute “must read” and really brings homes the meaning of miracles.
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Four years ago, in November 2007, my daughter gave me a precious gift.
My father had passed away at the end of that September. Immediately after returning from his funeral, Phil and I had to move into my mother’s very small home with our two kids (then 1 and 4) because our house had suffered some damage. The repair would be time-consuming and
Here are my children that same year.
costly and render the house unlivable for the next two months. It was clear to me that in order for us to recover financially, I would have to go back to work after having left when Jay was born. I had hoped to begin pursuing a writing career then (2007), but that dream would end up waiting two more years.
My mother and father had been divorced for many years, so while she was sad, especially for me, it was not the same as the oppressive grief enveloping me. The kids were too young to fully comprehend and while Phil understood and was also grieving, he was pulled back into that thing that doesn’t wait for people to “get over it” — life and work.
So even though I was surrounded by people crammed into this tight space, I felt like I was living inside of a black bubble that nobody could penetrate. The best part of the day was bedtime, when I could shut everything off for a while.
After a few weeks of this, we decided to take the kids and rent a house in the mountains for a long weekend. We needed to spread out and also give my beleaguered mother a break from our two energetic toddlers (not to mention my constant sadness).
Somewhere on the drive up, Jay had a diaper explosion of epic proportions, such that when we arrived, we had to strip him, put him in the bath, wash the clothes and the car seat cover and hose down the car seat frame. The next day, Michigan lost their football game. That may seem like a small thing, but since my father and I bonded over football, it made me even more depressed. I slept by myself in the cold basement because the slightest human sound (snoring, kids tossing and turning), kept me wide awake. So much for rest and respite.
The last day of our stay, I took Em to a little paved trail at the center of the house’s subdivision. This trail surrounded a small man-made pond. (Native Coloradans would call it a lake, but as a Michigander, I knew better.)
Em said, “Mommy, I want to go down to the beach and look for seashells.”
Me: “We’re not going to find any seashells here, Em.”
Em: “Why not?
Me: “Because we’re in the mountains, honey, so there won’t be any seashells here. Plus, this is a man-made lake, so there probably isn’t anything living in it that wasn’t put there on purpose by the people who made the lake.”
All she heard was “mwa mwa mwa mwa mwa,” like the teacher in the Peanuts cartoons. She was unrelenting. “Please, Mommy! I know we’ll find shells there if we just go look. Please, please, PLEASE!”
I did not want to walk down to the lake, only to spend an hour looking for non-existent shells. At four years old, Em did not take disappointment well and I could see an irrational outburst in my future. But I swallowed everything I wanted to say about how nothing could live in this tiny pond at 9000 feet, that Colorado hadn’t seen any ocean since the Cretaceous period, and that even if there had been fossils here at some point, they’d be long gone after the excavation and building of the subdivision. Off we went to the rocky “beach.”
Within one minute, Em came running to me with a small, gray shell in her hand. A shell that had clearly had an aquatic creature living in it in the recent past. I could not process what I was seeing. I dropped to my knees and started sifting through the rocks and sure enough, there were shells. Everywhere. Hundreds of them. Soon, the two of us were running around the beach, laughing and collecting as many shells as we could.
Here are some of those shells we found that day.
Although I didn’t realize it at the time, that event lifted a tiny bit of pressure from my heart and marked the beginning of my recovery. Grief can take you to very dark places. I’ve said before that you don’t ever “get over it,” but you can incorporate the loss and enjoy life again. That day, my daughter and her sheer force of “belief” reminded me that life is a miracle and meant to be lived.
We’ve kept those shells and they seem to move around the house. They’ve been inside the glove compartment of the car, in Em’s room on her dresser, in Jay’s closet, in a little Tibetan prayer altar I have on my dresser, on the kitchen counter. It’s as if they turn up in different places so we can rediscover them and replay that beautiful moment over in our memories.
Now, I am sure there are scientists out there who could give me a perfectly grounded and logical explanation for those shells – what they are, why they live in that pond, etc. If you are that person, please save yourself the time.
Because the fact that the shells exist is not the miracle. The miracle is that we found them.
This is beautiful. You had me fighting back tears on the last line. Thank you Julie for sharing and Jennifer for having her as a guest poster. I’m going to be sharing this on Twitter and my Facebook page. I believe in miracles too 🙂
Marcy,
That is exactly how I felt, as well. Beautifully written and touching in so many ways. It always amazes me how wonderfully innocent and wise children are!
Thanks for stopping by.
Jennifer
Thanks Marcy! Sometimes I still can’t believe it happened, but I have those shells whenever I need a reminder. 🙂
Beautiful and inspiring!!
I have tears in my eyes. Just beautiful!
Thanks Coleen and Ashley!
Such a vivid depiction of your grief – and hope/things looking up when your little girl found the shells! Snails, who’d have thought? Just goes to show the healing power of belief and imagination! Thanks so much for sharing this with us – and thanks to Jennifer, too, for hosting.
My daughter is wise beyond her years, and has brought me many miracles in her short life. Children are great spiritual teachers if only we truly listen to them. They are yet to be jaded and marred by cynicism. This is the greatest gift my kids have given me – to remember what life was like before all that “realism” set in.
Snif….snif, beautiful, snif.. Thanks so much for sharing your miracle with all of us. May this season bring you many more miracles and joys. 🙂
Same to you Prudence. Thank you for reading!
Beautiful post, Julie! I remember finding a shell in our land-locked backyard while digging as a child. My mother tried to give me all sorts of explanations about it, but I still remember the awe and joy. Maybe that’s why I became an archaeologist years later. I’ve read one of your imaginative children’s tales, and I’m so happy you’re writing them now. Thank you for sharing this.
Debra – that, too is an incredible story. We adults are always trying to find logical explanations for things. Lately I prefer to let things be – believe in the magic. 🙂
Thanks for a moving and meaningful post, Julie. And the beginning of the miracle is that you were willing to look for them with your daughter. What a wonderful experience to share with her and us. Merry Christmas to all of you
Louise,
I’m laughing at the use of your word “willing.” It was more like capitulation. But in the end, it was indeed one of the best things I (we) ever did.
Jennifer, thanks for having me on your blog! I am truly honored. I put a link to this post from my own blog today, so I hope you get some more visitors. Have a very Merry Christmas!
Julie,
The honor was definitely mine! The moment I read this post I had no doubt that I wanted to share it with my readers and friends. Thank you so much for letting me share it!
What a lovely, inspiring post. I am so thankful I clicked over to read it, Julie. Your daughter understands some things most folks never do. A lot of things help us in our recovery when we lose someone dear. I am very glad you were given a special gift by your daughter. (((hugs))) Merry Christmas!
I have read this post on Julie’s blog, and it moved me to tears then — and it has moved me to tears again today. Thank you for featuring Julie, who is a wonderful person, and thank you for allowing more people to share her miracle, which came at a time when she needed it most.
And now I’m going to go and get a tissue (especially since I read your post about depression before I read this Miracles post, and I saw so much of my own struggle with depression, my own decision to step away from my job, and my own joy in writing. Thank you for sharing.)
Elizabethanne,
I had to have a box of tissues beside me when I posted about my depression. I decided to keep the box right beside my computer since I had to use several times when I first read Julie’s post and again when I shared it on my own site. It was such a touching experience and I’m so glad that Julie allowed me to share it.
I find myself amazed over and over again by some of the experiences people have which help them through tough times in their lives. Miracles do happen and some come to us in ways we least expect.
Thank you for stopping by!
Jennifer
Jennifer, I’m a new follower. So glad to meet you this way! And Thank You for sharing Julie’s miracle!
Julie,
I hadn’t seen this yet on Write Up My Life, and truly Love it. Small miracles are not so small after all. Sometimes all it takes to adjust our thinking is a child’s wondrous perception of this world. It is a gift. I believe.
The more I read of you, the more I like you!
Love!
Merry Christmas to All and To All a Goodnight!
Hi Scarlett!
Nice to meet you as well! Julie really is a gem and I hope to be able to host her again sometime. She has such powerful words!
Thanks for stopping by!
Jennifer
This is indeed a beautiful post. Brought me to tears, its true what they say…..”out of the mouths of babes….” so touching and meaningful. May many more miracles touch your lives Julie and Jennifer. Merry Christmas to you both.
Thank you Diane!
Thank you, Julie, and Jennifer for hosting her. This is such a beautiful and moving post. It can’t have been easy to write. Wishing both of you a new year filled with miracles.