Category Archives: Healing Journal

Our Loved Ones Live on Through Us

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Life is energy. Energy is life.  Perhaps this is how our loved ones live on through us.  I am a believer in the Holy Trinity.  And what about our souls? Are our souls energy? This post isn’t to go deep in to the theology of it all.  This post is to wonder that, no, to realize that our loved ones do live on.  Through us. Let me give you an example.

Last week on the day after Thanksgiving Marie decided to decorate the house for Christmas.  All was fine until it was time for her to hang the stockings by the chimney. The reality that Emma would not be there to search her stocking Christmas morning came crashing down on Marie.  I didn’t know how to comfort her because I too was feeling suddenly at a loss.  A loss of our Emma.

You can only really grieve what you miss.  And we miss her deeply.

These last five days Marie and Piper and I took a trip to Tamarindo, Costa Rica.  I planned it to be a short vacation.  The trip turned in to a time of healing.  At least for me.  I saw smiles on Marie’s face I haven’t seen in a very, very long time.  Piper relaxed. Laughed as well. Enjoyed.

Healing from grief

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What I didn’t really realize was how much I would think of Emma.  All the time.  Not missing her as much as saying in my head “Emma would have loved this!” and “Emma would turn her nose up at this to eat.”  I mean literally just about everywhere and everything I did she was there.  All of the laughs and tears and anger and joy… all of it.

Her energy was with me. Her memory embedded so deep that I cannot escape it.  I don’t want to escape it.

For many readers here this will not make any sense.  For others, I suppose, this will ring true.  My mom lives through me in my behavior, DNA and core values of work, faith and perseverance.  Emma lives through me in compassion, patience and observation.

Somehow, however you choose to believe it, our loved ones do live on through us.  And that makes me smile.

The Choice To Be Grateful

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Each day I make the choice to be grateful.  Easy? No. Necessary? Yes.

Our youth pastor of our church gave the message last Sunday.  And as this twenty-four year old man stood there and spoke from his life experiences every bone of my body wanted to dismiss him…because of my superior age and all…yet his words were Biblical.  There were references to scripture and he tied it all together nicely.  That’s the thing about The Word; The message never changes even though we occasionally would like to bend it to our needs.

mental health advocacy

The message was about grateful living.  Grateful for what we have and what we don’t.  Grateful in sickness and in health.  Grateful in good times and bad.  Grateful living is a choice.  And I began to let my mind wander…

There was a time when I was really good at not being grateful.  Born in the USA into a Johnson County, Kansas home.  I had a bright mind, boundless energy and… well, I was really good at counting my lack and not my abundance.

Look around you.  You have abundance everywhere.  Need water?  You don’t have to go the local stream with a bucket.  No, you walk to the tap and flip it on.  Heck, reading this you are utilizing  the internet and electricity and a computer thought nearly unimaginable just two generations ago.

We lost Emma officially on February 16, 2018.  Unofficially, we began to lose her a year and a half to two years earlier as mental health issues began to creep in and then ultimately consume her entire thought process.  At the top of it all?  Lack.  Victim thinking.  Anger.  Jealousy.

That’s how Borderline Personality Disorder made her see the world. BPD turned her closest allies in to her mortal enemies. And then would make her yo-yo back again.  I would often remind her to think positive. To be happy with what she had.  That we all loved her.  Those words would only irritate her more.  If you live with BPD in some form or fashion, you know of what I speak.

That was a real life mental health diagnosis for Emma.  For most of us, however, choosing to live gratefully is really a matter of internal discipline.  A wise coach once told me that “You may not be able to control your first thought but you can choose your second thought.” 

And I’d like to leave you with that.  That most of us really do have a choice.  We can make the choice to be grateful.  Choose wisely.

Sleepless Nights: A Child Worth Fighting For

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I never fully realized that the Day I Met Emma there would be so many sleepless nights to follow in my life. As every parent knows every child blessed to us will makes us lose sleep for one reason or the other.  Adopting children, especially older children, out of the foster care system guarantees restless nights.

To be sure Jake, Brandon and Piper have caused both Marie and I their fair share of our sleepless nights.  This post and these writings are about Emma: A child worth fighting for.

Emma fighting for fun

Emma Lengquist enjoying a day at Camp Barnabas.

Here I sit at 2:24 am on a Saturday. It’s been 239 days since I received the call that Emma had lost her life by her own hand.  Of all the many brave battles she had fought and won, this one she had lost. I’m different because of this event. I used to sleep like a baby knowing I had worked hard and trusting that God had a plan.

God still has His plan. I still serve him.  But I don’t sleep like I used to. My dreams are different.  My remembrances have new priorities.

Emma had her cerebral palsy to overcome that challenged her physical ability and her cognitive powers. And make no mistake, adoption was a life event she was challenged to overcome, as well.  Then, as her mental illness progressed, there were new battles to fight on top of the ones she never fully conquered, or accepted.

Simply put, it was all too much in the end.

When I wake in the middle of the night it is with those rush of thoughts that come right before your eyes open to the dark. The rush of memories can be startling; the times we fought, the times we laughed, the times we cried, the times we hugged…and the times I could have, should have done more…though I don’t know how I would have or could have.  Those raw emotions come screaming forth; anger and laughter, sadness and love, regret, all in one tangled mess.

How do you sleep through that?

I miss her. Each and every day. I know that as some read this they fight their own battles with the recollections they have of their loved ones who bravely fought and lost.  There are those readers here that are still fighting those battles.  To each of you I say to stay as strong as you can and fight each day, each hour to remember the good. Fight for that right to remember the good.  And search for purpose. We may not understand God’s will or allowances for the events we face or have experienced.  We can, however, wake up each day with a vow to move forward and to honor their memory or recognize and do our best to forgive their present.

Emma has caused me many sleepless nights since the day I met her and she still does.  Emma was worth fighting for.  The child you love is worth fighting for.  Any child is worth fighting for.

Happy Birthday, Emma

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Today should be Emma’s twenty-first birthday.  Oh boy, did she have plans!  She was finally going to drink a beer that she liked…never-mind that when we were in Mexico she tried and hilariously turned up her nose to beer, margaritas, pina coladas, etc.  In her mind, twenty-one meant that all the sudden she’d like what her dad drank.  (No amount of explaining that she didn’t have to like alcohol seemed to matter.)

She had other plans, too.  Some too wild to put in writing. Some funny.  Some serious.

And here I sit today thinking about what could have been.

Emmaisms

Emma Lengquist celebrating her birthday at Red Robin

Six plus months have gone by since that day.  About a month ago I began to drift back into myself.  My humor began to return as did my outlook.  Yet, not a day goes by that something doesn’t just stop me in my tracks and remind me of her;  smiles and snuggles we shared as well as traded words that both of us immediately regretted.  Thoughts of what I could have done, should have done…

However each day I wake up, fight through the “should haves” and choose to focus on the memories that reinforce my love for that child who became a woman in front of my eyes.  How I longed to see her outgrow and overcome that mental illness. How I longed to see her lead a happy and fulfilled life though saddled with challenges none of us would ask for.

I choose to focus on how she hunched over and giggled while watching Snow Dogs or the way she would say with exasperation “Daaaad!” when I shared with her a joke that I thought was funny.

Today Marie and I will stop by Costco, pick up some paper towels and disinfectant and deliver it to Emma’s favorite animal shelter, Unleashed.  It’s also fitting that today Inclusion Connections marches in the Old Settler’s parade. She loved doing that.

Tonight many of the people that loved her and fought for her will eat at Red Robin to celebrate her memory and maybe tell an Emmasim or two.  She loved the endless fries and the colorful restaurant.  We’ll toast to her memory and talk about the day we will meet again.

Happy birthday, Emma.  I’ll always love you.

From Tears to a Smile

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Last week I stopped by Sweet Tee’s Coffee shop in Olathe and when I came back out to start the car the song that was on my Sirrius/XM radio was “Teach me how to Dougie.” And that is when I realized that my grief had evolved from reminders making me cry or stop and sadly reflect every time. At least most of the time, my healing has moved from tears to a smile.

special needs

I was all smiles and giggles as I drove to work. Quite simply, I cannot hear that song and not think of how much Emma loved to “dougie.”  Heck, I’m still not 100% sure I know how to “dougie” even though she showed me a thousand times.  Then there was the ever famous inaugural “Night to Remember” Special Needs Dance where her an I had a contest.  (That is worth following the link to view, if you have a moment.”

Still, I see her everywhere. Yesterday I was blessed to be surrounded by people I know, love and respect.  Yet, I couldn’t walk around their swimming pool without seeing Emma floating around for hours, catching the football, telling me she only likes Doug’s shrimp because he knows how to make them right and asking for a few more minutes when we said it was time to leave.  I readily admit some of the visions made me smile.  None brought tears.  A few made me pause.

Because still, I want to talk to her and hold her and let her know how much she meant to me.  Still, I long to see her again…one day. I don’t know when that day will be. Tomorrow or forty years from now, it is not my timeline to know.  However, I don’t fear that day like I did as a young man. My spiritual beliefs and research tell me all I need to know. For me it will be a day of rejoicing.

In the mean time, I cannot wait to celebrate Emma’s memory, all of her positives and challenges at the Emma Lengquist Memorial Puppy Parade.  We are now only 29 days away.  This is gonna be fun. Get registered today so we can raise awareness for physical and mental disabilities, raise money for Inclusion Connections and share some smiles and some memories.

Emma Lengquist Memorial Puppy Parade

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Am I a Father of Four of 3/4 of a Father?

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Today is Father’s Day, 2018.  Of all the things that raced through my head, and continue to echo, in the days following the death of my daughter, Emma Lengquist, was/is “How do I answer the question of how many kids do you have?”

emma lenqquist

Do I just say “Four” and move on?

Do I break the casualness of the question by explaining in great detail “Four, but…”?

Do I really have to be reminded each and every time someone asks a basic societal question that part of me is missing?

Spiritually, I know where Emma is. And I’m happy for her.

Selfishly, and very much so, I miss what she could have been.  What she was.  And what she still is to me, if only in memory.

I feel I have a clear picture of Emma.  The real Emma. Not a made up tribute-memory. With all the ups, all the downs and in-betweens, I’d take her back faster than any thought you could ever have.

Today will be fun.  I’ll grill out a bit.  There will be a long dog walk.  I’ll work as the later evening approaches getting ready for my week.  I’ll spend time with my sons, the women that they love, my daughter and my wife.  It will be good day.  I’m appreciative of each of  them in my life. Of that, there is no doubt.

And I’ll wrestle with the question, “Am I STILL a father of four, or 3/4 of a father?”

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The Emma Lengquist Memorial Puppy Parade is
August 4, 2018

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Why Do I Visit Her Grave?

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I lost my mother in February of 2013.  I was fortunate enough to be by her side when she drew her last breath. And I like to visit her grave on or about her birthday each year.  I don’t really know why I chose that day. Good as any other, I suppose.  She is buried in Rockville, MO so it does take some effort to get there.

From a spiritual point of view, I realize that I do not need to visit her grave to remember and laugh and, heck yes, just to talk.  Yet once a year I go.  It’s a need, really.

why do i visit her grave

Emma and Marjorie Lengquist

On the other hand, Emma is buried close.  She is interred here in Olathe, KS and once again I found myself standing there last evening in the middle of a a cemetery talking to my daughter.  Why do I visit her grave?

Losing my mother wasn’t easy.  I still miss her.  She gave me life.  She instilled in me my work ethic.  She took me to church.  She showed me how to care for people even if they didn’t necessarily deserve it at that particular moment.  No doubt, she is a huge reason I was on board for adoption when Marie brought it up.

Losing Emma was something altogether different.  A child going first isn’t how we write our stories, or build our futures, or…  Losing a child is like losing a piece of yourself.  Is that why I visit her grave and talk to grass?  Logically and spiritually I know anything I can say to her there I can say anywhere.

Emotionally, that seems to be another story.

Heck, earlier this month I treated myself to a convertible.  The first thing I did was swing by her grave-site to show it to her.  Does that make any sense to anyone?  Why do I visit her grave?

To be closer I suppose.