The Story of my Mom Archives - Small Things Are Big Things

February 21, 2014 by: Kara Noel Lawson

How to Tell Your Kids About a Death in the Family {the death day a year later}

(I wrote this on 2/7 but was too busy crying to finish it and post!)
This morning last year I was holding my mom’s hand and watching the life slip out of her.
If it wasn’t so heartbreaking you would almost think it was uneventful.
Something we’ve seen a thousand times on TV and in the movies – sullen family members surrounding a hospital bed in a dim sterile white room with monitors beeping and flashing at random intervals.
If I close my eyes I can feel her hand and the smooth texture of her skin, as my thumb rubbed back and forth on her wrist.
Waiting.
I was thinking that this was the last time I would be in the room with my mom.
That the sound of her laugh would be a memory.
I was wondering how I could cook a meal without calling her with ten questions during the process.
There were are so many things I wanted to ask her.
And I was still hoping for a miracle.
Brad and I had been at the hospital in LA for 36 hours straight and our amazing friends were juggling our kids’ school schedules and naps and baths and everything. Actually, I wouldn’t even know if our friends were with my kids during that time. I mean, I was so checked out, they could have tossed cheerios on the floor and locked them in the house.
My mom left this earth, and we left the hospital.
The long ride home we were talking about how we were going to tell the children.
My mom was a big part of their lives. I still remember her last visit to my house just a few days before she fell and how they ran to the door to meet her.
How would we explain they could never run to meet her on earth again?
Would they… could they, even comprehend?
How long will it take them to forget her?
Brad and I decided we wanted to tell them outside the house so there wouldn’t be any distractions. We would go on a local hiking trail and have a picnic. We stopped off at Jack in the Box for breakfast food (pancakes – they are a buck for 8 and my kids love them), then went home and headed to the picnic.
While we were eating we told them Nannie died.
We explained that her body couldn’t keep her alive anymore, and about her liver failing. We talked about our faith in Jesus. And that we believe we’ll see her again in heaven because we believe in Jesus. We got to talk to them about their faith and that they can choose to believe what we believe.
And that we hope they will.

Eli: “So Nannie believed in Jesus?” Yep. “And she’s in heaven now?” Yep. “So since I believe in Jesus, I’ll see her when I go to heaven?” Yep. “OK!” Then he happily went over to some rocks and started throwing them into a hole.
Just like a man.

Cora Jane was sitting quietly the whole time. We asked if she was OK, and she asked if Nannie could visit from heaven to bake brownies with her. We told her no. Then her lip started to quiver and she broke down. Sobbing.
Just like a woman.

The younger kids were too little to understand so they were just playing and eating.

The hospital has a hospice program and they make beautiful blankets to put over the patients’ legs while they are dying. We had taken my mom’s blanket home and we told the children that whenever they missed Nannie, they could hug the blanket and it would be like hugging her. Cora Jane just held the blanket and cried.
It was so sad.

Then we went for a hike. It was a lovely morning and I know I needed to be outdoors after being cooped up in the hospital for so long. Even as the kids started to complain about walking so far, I felt good being outside.

The next morning we found Cora Jane snuggling the blanket because she wanted to give hugs to Nannie.

How to Tell Your Kids About a Death in the Family

Be honest. We are all unicorns and rainbows around here but there are some things in life you just can’t sugarcoat. I took this lesson from Sesame Street and didn’t use vague words like “passed away” or ”no longer with us.” Nannie died.
Be simple. Don’t over-explain, your kids will tune out or go down a rabbit trail that has nothing to do with the matter at hand. Nannie died. (period)
Ask questions. This is a bit of an extension of the tip above. Instead of talking; listen. Asking questions will help you discover what you actually need to explain. Here are some examples to get you started: Do you understand? (duh) How are you feeling? What are you thinking about? What do you think death is?
Let them see you cry. It’s OK for kids to see you sad. Young kids might not know how to express deep sadness yet. You are modeling (normal/healthy) grief for them. About a week after my mom died, Eli was trying to silence Cora Jane because she was talking about my mom. He said, “Don’t talk about Nannie, it will make mommy sad!” After that, we talked a lot about why I was sad. About how thankful I am for all the wonderful memories. And that being sad isn’t a bad thing, it means that Nannie was important and happy part of our lives.
If you have a faith, share it. While so much of our faith is centered on serving others here on earth, a huge part is heaven. Now is the perfect time to explain your faith.
A physical reminder. I really can’t believe how comforting the blanket from the hospital is for our kids. They love it! We also planted a tree in our front yard and we call it “Nannie’s Tree.” It will bloom every year around my mom’s death day. Having a physical reminder about your family member will help with healthy grieving and is a great way to initiate conversations with kids.
Funeral? I’m sure there are strong feelings about both going and not going to the funeral and/or wake. But I highly recommend going. Death is a guarantee in all our lives, and teaching about it falls under the “parent” job description. I remember going to my great grandparents’ funerals and seeing their bodies and it wasn’t scary or weird. It just was. I think being exposed to that at a young age shaped a healthy perspective on death and my sharpened my faith early.
Understand they might fine. Kids are resilient and they probably won’t be crying the next 5+ months… like you will. And that’s OK. Was it satisfying when Cora Jane broke down sobbing? Yes! I felt like she understood the gravity of the her Nannie’s death. When Eli went back to throwing rocks, was I a little hurt? Yes! Be sensitive to your little humans, as they might process things differently than you!

I hope this helps you out my friends. And I also hope you don’t have to reference this post very often!

April 3, 2013 by: Kara Noel Lawson

Small Things Matter

I spoke at my mom’s memorial service. A lot of people said I was brave. But I didn’t feel brave, I felt sad. Overwhelmingly sad. And I felt proud. Proud that I had my mom as my mom.

Here is what I said:

Thank you for coming. My name is Kara Noel and I’m Suzie’s only child.

She got it right the first time.`

As I look around this room, I can’t help but think of how much my mom would have loved to be here with all the people she loved most. It feels like she should be walking though the doors right now… LATE… of course!

I wanted to share some simple stories and memories about my mom. A woman FULL of joy, life and happiness.

The week before my mom fell, she was over at my house. We made beautiful pillows together for my couch. We talked about life and love, and laughed together all day. It was probably some of the sweetest time we’ve ever had together. She told me in her proudest mom voice that I had done “so much” with my life by 32. Maybe she was referring to the amount of children I had in such a short amount of time!

Her statement resonated with me, and later that night I was thinking about all the things she had done in her life:

She put up with 3 younger siblings… and if you know them, that’s quite a feat!.

She was a leader among her peers.

She was faithful to her High School sweetheart.

She traveled the world… even climbed the pyramids in Egypt.

She was my Room Mom from Kindergarten thru 6th grade.

She was a vigilante for my High School.

She took in strays… cats and people!

She was instantly loved by anyone who met her.

SHE LIVED BIG.

But that’s not what made her awesome.

She loved the Mother Teresa quote, “Do small things with great love.” Even though she lived BIG, I feel like my mom was the master of small things.

A master of the details.

She made my childhood magical with Small Things:

My tooth fairy, named Melanie, wrote me letters and would leave a trail of fairy dust from my hair to the window sill.

After school on rainy days she would invite all the neighborhood kids over for popcorn and hot chocolate.

She made every class party special for every child.

She made homemade lunch for about 30 teens at my house every Tuesday my senior year of High School.

She made my adult life magical with Small Things:

She secretly decorated the front door of our tiny apartment the first year I was a married woman with homemade wreaths… that I still use and cherish today.

Every Christmas she would fill my stocking with hot glue sticks and my favorite Earl Grey tea. Something I have never had to buy in my 8 years of marriage… till last week.

She would fill Brad’s stocking with the “good Q-tips” that we were too poor to buy as a young married couple… because she paid attention to the details and knew he didn’t like the generic ones

AND I was BLESSED to see her do Small Things with my children (I just wish I would get to see more):

Baking brownies with a whole container of sprinkles on top.

Building legos and sticking stickers for hours.

Glitter! Because we all know parents don’t to glitter because it’s so messy.

Now I get to pass along all those special small things. Wouldn’t you know it, Eli’s has the same tooth fairy and she leaves sweet letters.

BUT the biggest Small Thing my mom did was listen.

She would truly listen.

Growing up we had a neighbor, who has since passed away, named Millie. And Millie would come over a couple of times a week and shoot the breeze with my mom for at least an hour. It would throw my mom’s day totally off and she would be stuck doing her chores late or not getting things done at all. I remember telling her, in all my infinite-teenage-knowledge, to just tell Millie that she had things to do or to just work while she chatted. My mom told me that she had made a promise in her head to God, to just drop everything and give Millie her full attention every time she came over. My mom felt this way about all visitors and would drop everything and give anyone who came over, her full attention. Not wanting to miss any divine appointments.

She actually cared and had true compassion.

When she was with my children she wasn’t pushy and wouldn’t try to force a special moment. The most precious moments would just happen as she listened. She would do whatever they wanted to do, all the while listening to whatever was going through their sweet little heads.

I. Miss. My. Mom.

I want her to hear the way Tess says her first new words.

I want her to chuckle over Cy’s latest mischief.

I want her to bake dozens of brownies with Cora Jane.

I want her to marvel over Eli’s latest lego creations.

I want her to tell me in all seriousness that each one of my children is a “true genius.”

When I first started I said I wished my mom was here… and I still do!

But in a way she is here because she left a great legacy.

My Aunt found one of my mom’s notebooks yesterday (what a precious gift). My mom had written this quote,

“The happiest people don’t have the best of everything.

They just make the best of everything.

Live Simply.

Speak Kindly.

Care Deeply.

Love Generously.’”

Please remember my mom when you do Small Things.

Because Small Things matter.

In fact, Small Things aren’t small at all.

Just look around at this big room of hundreds of people, here to celebrate the life of a my mom, Suzie – the master of Small Things.

###

So, that’s what I said at my mom’s memorial. (deep breath)

Before I spoke I was praying about something Jesus-y to say. Nothing came to me until about a week later. I suppose it wasn’t meant to be spoken there. But I’ll share it here, in another post soon.

I’m also doing a post about what to say (and not to say) to someone who has just suffered through a loss.

Here is a little tribute post I did for my mom 5 years ago. It’s sweet, so I thought I would include it here as well.

March 7, 2013 by: Kara Noel Lawson

She’ll Never Know {I wish my kids could know my mom}

In January I picked up an incredible wooden play-set from Craig’s List (for FREE). My mom had just fallen a few weeks before and things had been very touch and go, but she seemed to be on the mend. I was watching the kiddos play on their new “backyard park” and it struck me that Tessa would never remember a time without the play-set. Eli, Cora Jane and maybe Cyrus would remember the excitement getting it, then building it, but to Tessa, having a rad wooden play-park in the yard would be the norm. Then my mind crashed and I realized it could have been like that with the memory of my mom. Tessa may never have known life with my mom. I thanked God she didn’t have to walk that path.

As I said, at the time my mom was on the mend and soon would be starting the long leg recovery process. I even got to show her some of the pictures of the kids playing on the play-set and chat with her about how much the kids enjoyed it. We laughed that Cyrus would probably be the first one to jump off and break his arm.

Then things changed and we get to face that reality.

Tessa recognizes my mom’s picture and will excitedly exclaim “Nannie!!!” But I know it won’t be long until looking at my mom’s picture won’t incite actual memories but it will be as if she is looking at a picture of Mickey Mouse. Someone who is amazing but isn’t real. She might even wonder what life would be like if this “Nannie” person was still around.

I wonder everyday.

Tessa will never receive her yearly custom birthday party themed pillowcase lovingly made by my mom… probably sewn the night before the party.

She’ll never get to snuggle with my mom and read Go Dog Go 20+ times in a row.

She’ll never get to call Nannie after every successful poo poo on the potty.

She’ll never get the frequent care packages and “just because” notes.

She’ll never be hailed “truly a genius” for just being herself.

She’ll never get to show off the way she says new words, like strawberry… (“stawbedy-y”)

She’ll never know what it’s like to be my mom’s granddaughter.

We can (and will) tell her, but she’ll never really know .

It sucks.

February 24, 2013 by: Kara Noel Lawson

Crashed – the story of my mom’s death

My computer crashed on January 17th.

My life crashed on February 7th.

The computer has been fixed for a few days. (Hence this post.)

My life will never be the same.

My mom died.

I absolutely hate that that is part of my story.

I absolutely hate that my mom won’t get to read this blog post.

Or any new blog post I will write. (She thinks thought I was so clever.)

I’m sad (understatement). And I’m sure I’ll be writing about it. Along with all the other things this blog is about. But for now, I’ll write about how it happened. Because it’s a story worth sharing. And it’s my story (deep breath).
Here is the story of my mom’s death:

My mom broke her leg falling off a curb, and was getting better. We spent Christmas and New Years in the ICU (wrapping presents on the waiting room floor above) Then she wasn’t getting better and was transferred to Cedars Sinai. At Cedars we found out her body was rejecting the metal hardware put in to fix the broken leg. It felt (feels) very tragic and unfair.

We became quite popular among the nurses because we brought treats every visit. (Thank you to those of you who helped me out!) Even though things were so dire, I really felt like God was working. My mom was somewhat stable and my heart thought once the hardware was gone she would start to recover again like she did from her initial leg surgeries. It felt like God was trying to get as many people involved in his miracle as possible.

We prayed. And prayed. And churches all over the country prayed. We made the decision to remove the hardware. Which meant we needed to remove the leg. The leg she broke was her “bad” leg. The one that was really unhealthy from her diabetes so it really wasn’t the hardest decision to make. Especially because the alternative was give up and wait for her to die. She had less than a 10% chance of making it though the leg surgery.

She made it!

Glory to God. He was working. It felt big. And horribly wonderful.

Now we just needed to wait.

It took about 10 days from her broken leg surgeries to get back to talking and eating again, and I was prepared for about the same amount of healing time. Three days went by and she was overriding the ventilator and her blood pressure was normal – even during dialysis.

Then it wasn’t.

Her blood pressure was dropping and she would no longer sustain dialysis. We had a family meeting with her doctors and they told us there was nothing more they could do. And the week of healing ended up being the week she died. It took 3 days for her body to finally give up. She is was the strongest woman I have ever known.

I was holding her hand when she breathed her last breath and for her last heartbeat. The people she loved most, sung her favorite hymns and ushered her into forever.

It was beautiful, and a peaceful way to enter heaven.

But I wish it had never happened.

I can’t believe it has happened.

From falling off a curb.

I can’t believe I’ll never get to sit at my dinning room table and sew and chat with my mom. I can’t believe that my younger kids will never remember being adored by her. And that my older kids’ memories will be mostly prompted by old photos instead of last week’s visit.

My heart hurts and my head keeps thinking that this just isn’t the way it’s supposed to be.

I feel very alone.

My heart knows she is in heaven rejoicing and my head says it’s not fair that such a truly good person is gone from earth.

I feel like 60-years-old is too young to die.

Jesus said to her, “I am the resurrection and the life. The one who believes in me will live, even though they die; and whoever lives by believing in me will never die. Do you believe this?” John 11:25-26

My mom believes believed this. Do you?

January 16, 2013 by: Kara Noel Lawson

A Brand New Day {taking this coma one day at a time}

I’m a little late on the New Years bandwagon. (I’ve been going through some stuff and more stuff)

You may have noticed I’m slowly changing things here on the Eli’s Lids Blog. We are rebranding the business name (to Every Moment Clothing) and I’m starting to write from the heart here. This has always been more of a personal blog for me, so it just feels right. I wanted to share my New Years Resolutions and let you know what’s coming up around here in the new year.

I usually don’t make New Years Resolutions. It seems too broad to say, “this year I’m going to lose 20 pounds” or “I’m going to save more money.” It’s most effective for me to make daily resolutions. I can do anything for a day. When I gave up soda, I did it for a day. Then I did it for a day again, and again and again and again… before I knew it, it had been over a year without soda. Crazy.

I made 3 resolutions this year and it just so happened that one is financial, one is physical and one is spiritual… (my brain likes that there are categories)

Cloth Diaper. This year I’m going to cloth diaper at home, one day at a time. I’ve started doing it and I actually love it. I have 6 diapers and at .25 cents a pop, I’ll be saving $547.50 by the end of the year. It feels great to be saving some money, not to mention my crazy environmental guilt for all the diapers we have put in land fills.
Run in 3 5Ks. Since running the Chapman 5K in October, I’m a total runner. I would also love to run in three 5Ks this year. This one is a broad resolution, and it’s already stressing me out. So I think I need to be more specific and pick three to sign up for asap.
Fast. I’ve fasted out of obedience before and it was always kind of a burden. But recently I’ve fasted with passion for a prayer. It’s rad. Like REALLY rad! Brad and I have wanted to try doing it once a week and I think this is the time to do it. (This one is worthy of a full post in the near future.)

Simple, right? We’ll find out!

On the blog…

Pretty. I’ll continue to transition to a personal blog… with pretty colors and maybe a fancy sidebar.
House DIYs. I’m going to start sharing all the projects we’ve done in the house. I keep waiting till a room is done to share, but I’m realizing that I will probably never have a “done” room. So I took pictures of every room in my house, in various states of messiness (I always keep things real here!) and I’ll start going room by room. Then by the time I’m done I’m sure I will have added so much I can start right back at the beginning again.
Cooking. I’m learning to cook. I suck, so I’m going to share the journey. For accountability and because I’ve stumbled across lots of easy recipes that might help other gals out.

For the biz…

Rebranding to Every Moment Clothing.
Debuting the Bohemian Lid! (Would have happened if things weren’t crazy right now) And so much more!
New visions for the charities we work with. Not sure what it is yet. As we grow, I want to be sure what we give makes a difference.

So that’s the New Year in a nutshell. I’ll be taking it one day at a time! Thank you for your support with the biz and with life.

It’s a brand new day.

What are you going to do?

(I love this song right now. The video is silly, but listen to the words. Totally motivating.)

January 14, 2013 by: Kara Noel Lawson

Pray, Wait and Hope – going to Cedars Sinai

“I’m so sorry I didn’t RSVP sooner for the party, it’s been a crazy week… we thought we would have to pull the plug on my mom… (awkward science on the other end of the phone line)… but we didn’t have to. Sooooo that’s super good. See you at the party…”

Then I hung up the phone and thought, why in the hay did I say that!?!? I don’t even know this mom from Eli’s school. Now I’ll be labeled “the crazy drama mom.”

But I haven’t been through this before and I’ve never been one to hide my feelings. I’m transparent toward friends (and strangers) and I like to think that makes me enduring… but I’m probably accurately labeled “the mom who shares too much, too soon” among my acquaintances.

I shared about my mom’s broken leg after Christmas and she was getting better. Then she wasn’t. She was getting worse. Much worse.

Her liver started to fail and she started to have living nightmares. Then hallucinations as she was falling in and out of consciousness.

Then she coded.

And I got a call from my dad who was weeping. He told me to come to the hospital because we were going to have to meet with the doctors and make some “decisions” about my mom’s healthcare.

Brad came home from work and we arranged babysitting for the kids. I slowly got ready for the day. I put on my clothes thinking, this is the outfit I’ll be wearing when my mom dies. Today, I’m going to have to make the decision to kill my mom. I thought of all my friends who have lost a parent already. I was about to join their ranks and I hated it. It was raining and I felt like the earth was weeping with me. I cried out to God in ways I never had before. Didn’t he hear my prayers and the prayers of literally hundreds of others? Wasn’t I being faithful to fast and pray without ceasing?

We got to the hospital and it was like a bad dream. We waited with about a dozen family/friends and the Dr called my dad and I aside. He said, “Things are looking serious with Suzan and I think it’s time we think about a transplant because a bed has opened up at Cedars Sinai.”

WHAT!?!

Before all this, my mom had been working through Cedars Sinai to get a liver transplant in the next 5-10ish years and we had been begging pleading trying to get her transferred there for the past week. Now she was being transferred!

A close family friend (a second mom to me and Yaya to my kiddos) was standing next to me and we collapsed into a hug and cried and praised the LORD. That hysterical relief cry when you can’t breath or talk or see or think. I didn’t have to say goodbye to my mom today. God, you heard me! Little-nothing-me. You listened! You chose to answer my prayer. My mom was being transferred. It’s not over. There is hope. Hope.

(our feet in the ICU waiting for the transfer)

She was transferred that afternoon (Thursday) and within an hour of being at Cedars they had done a procedure to train 3.3 liters of fluid from her tummy and had a dialysis plan. We get to visit every 2-3 days and it’s hard to see my mom like that. We tell her stories about what the kids are doing and are blessed with slight fluttering of her eyes after each one. We play her favorite song (100,000 Reasons by Matt Redman… video below… watch it.) and can see her lips trying to sing the words. Daily she is going through tests to officially get her a spot on the liver transplant list. The liver is a crazy organ – a pill or machine can’t replicate it’s function, but it can regenerate.

Pray boldly, dear friends, that my mom’s liver would heal itself. That we can baffle the doctors with God’s GLORY!! Pray that while she is in the coma she has peace, rest and healing. That her body can heal properly from the five surgeries weeks prior (and specifically a yeast infection in her blood). That if she needs a transplant her body will be well enough to handle the operation and that the perfect liver will come up at just the right moment. I’m so thankful this isn’t over and I get the privilege to intercede on my mom’s behalf and I’m so thankful you get to too.

We will pray. We will wait. We will hope.

December 30, 2012 by: Kara Noel Lawson

Christmas Feels Trivial {we thought my mom was going to die}

We are coming out of Christmas and my head is spinning. Not because of big family meals, gifts galore or touching church services (though I did experience all of the above), but because the whole holiday feels insignificant. My mom fell, broke her femur, and I thought I would be planning her funeral through Christmas.

I’m not.

Because she is still alive and slowly coming out of her 10 day medically induced coma as I’m typing this post.

Late on the 19th she fell off a curb after her Bible Study Christmas Party (oh how us Bible Thumpers can get wild) and her femur snapped like a twig. She was rushed in an ambulance to the ER where one of my High School friends happened to be the doctor to admit her. That was cool. My mom was happy-loopy on pain meds in preparation for the next day’s surgery. The surgeon attached a steel plate with 10 pins into her leg and ended up having to do a second surgery right after the first to to drain her leg of fluid with a vacuum. My sweet mom, who already has all sorts of health issues, now had three open 10” incisions on one leg. When I visited her the next day she was ventilated, restrained (because she wanted to pull out the terrible breathing machine from her throat) and terrified. We were surrounding her bed weeping and when she heard our voices her back would arch, her eyes would bulge and she radiated fear.

That’s when I knew she would die.

She would be moved for 24 hour dialysis. She would be put farther under for sedation into a medically induced coma. She would end up going through 5 surgeries in the days to come. Her organs would shut down and technology would be keeping air in her lungs and poison from her blood.

We rearranged Christmas with extended family (which was met with very little compassion… which was totally lame), but we felt like we couldn’t rearrange Christmas morning with the kids. No matter what happened. On the eve of Christmas Eve we had to go to the store for a gift for Eli. We had just left the hospital and I was stifling sobs. I was watching the other people in a daze. Shoppers were frantically looking for last minute gifts or coveting things on their wish lists or laughing at novelty items. It was surreal. And I wanted to get on the loud speaker and scream at anyone who would listen, “Don’t you see how trivial this is? Can’t you understand that this ‘holiday’ is a joke? Did you know that the most wonderful person ever is dying while you are shopping for that aunt you only see once a decade? A light is fading from this earth and it will be gone forever!!!! I would trade every Christmas if she could survive this. And you would too, if you met her. Because she’s amazing. And she’s mine. And she’s dying. I want you to wail and shout ‘UNFAIR’ with me. And most of all I don’t want you to be happy.”

Dramatic. I wasn’t in the best place and I didn’t come out of that place till yesterday, when I was truly sure she would live.

She is happy-loopy on pain medication again. But she’s alive!

She’ll have to be in an extended care facility for about two months before she can put ANY weight on her leg. But she’s alive.

She is alive.

And I’m going to go visit her right now.

I GIANT thank you to YOU! My friends, followers, pastors, prayers warriors. Without you she would be dead. And something precious would be gone. Of that I’m certain.

(Picture of my mom this Halloween with Cinderella.)