Sky Park

Sky Park!! Skypark? SkypArk.

Annea's first time in the swing. She could have taken-or-left it, not too excited.

Eliana's hair in the tube slide. This is me trying to get a prize-winning picture of it.

Fall Photos

Eliana and Eliana posed for a photo.

Annea and Eliana leaned on each other.

My girls!

Annea's smile: beautific but hard to photograph. (Not that you will tell from today's post, full of her sweet grin, but believe me we have mannnnny pictures that miss her smile.)

Tired girls taking a nap.

She's part of our fall decorating, lacquer box lid as hat.

Pumpkin patch! Officially the start of the holidays for us.

How amazing is this picture? It's our best one of all three girls to date. Amazing!

We are doing well. Adessa is loving kindergarten. She seems totally herself, eager and bright and she absolutely couldn't care less what the other kids think of her, which I love. I wish it could stay forever, that strong sense of herself. Calvin worked in the classroom and overheard her telling another student: "Well, that's the way you do it in your family, but that's not how we do it in our family." Matter-of-factly explaining herself.

Eliana is loving Playschool, too, and I love my mornings off with her and the baby. The other morning as we were getting ready to get everyone out the door to their respective places of care or learning or work, Eliana marched into the kitchen. "Mom," she said, "so, listen to my plan: the sound machine is still on."* Good plan, Eliana!

*I've been lying and telling the story that she said: "So, Listen to my plan: the alarm clock is going off." because who has a sound machine? We do, none of us can sleep now without blasting white noise of some kind. It seemed easier to falsify the story to make it more easily understood, but then, here for posterity, I had to come clean.

Annea is a human package of slobbery softness. She is talking, mostly very high pitched, and also into making a gargling sound(?). She is rolling around, has found her feet and loves those fun things I put on them, so tasty--we've had some seriously soggy socks. She enjoys grabbing and scratching at things, most disturbingly my food, now. Yes, that time has come, I'm washing her hands if I don't get my plate away in time. She loves watching her sisters entertain her. She is sooooo tremendously easy. When she does squawk, it entirely derails my plans, because I have now figured-in her calm, quick-to-sleep, no complaining/no fussiness, to my expectations of life. As long as I keep on top of feeding her and giving her frequent naps, she is a dream. And even her version of crabbiness is pretty dreamy, too. Thank you, God. I am thanking God for her mellow nature all the time.

We have had colds, pretty significant ones, and by the time Calvin gets home from work after his long day, I am wiped out. I see the difference having three kids makes as I'm a little more tired, and there are a few more interruptions of sleep when kids are sick. It makes me glad we're having three, glad to be done and just raising these girls. (Every time I write something like that I feel a little bit wary, like I am tempting fate, and like I had better do something quick! and permanent to make sure that I don't eat these words later. We are planning to do something permanent, but it just isn't happening quick.)

I am in a different kind of funny space about my mom. I wasn't planning to write about her, but am inspired to write about her just now because I had a pang of sadness that she won't be reading this blog anymore. She was my loyal follower, and after every post she would get excited about what I wrote and the pictures and the funny things my girls were doing.

My different funny space is that I feel like her sick self supplanted her regular self in my mind, and I don't miss her sick self. It was five months of sad, weird, traumatic, or all three. It was stressful. It was hard to watch her deteriorate before our eyes. I'm not sure how long I'm going to allow relief to be my dominant feeling, but for now I'm keeping sad at bay. There are glimpses of how much I am going to miss her healthy self, but I can't handle much more than a glimpse right now. I don't know how good that's going to be for me in the long-run of grief over all, but I'm trying to maintain space for whatever my strange process decides to do. Sometime, soon probably, the missing of her is going to seep its way in. And that will be okay, too.

No More Grandmas

So in the end, she did it. My Mom did die. It took her body a long time to let go, and I got to be there for most of it. It was hard to watch. It was hard to loose her in small bits. Five months of cancer, that was it. Five months of super-fast, unbelievably fast deterioration. New bad things kept happening, week by week, until by the end it was as though our mom vanished day by day and hour by hour, disappeared into her laboring body. And we washed her and dressed her. We took her to church. And then we had her funeral, and buried her. Which is still unbelievable to me. I'm attributing that to having kids, being distracted by them made it somewhat difficult to process. My girls were right up in front during the funeral being distracting, to me. I wanted them to be a part of everything, with me there gently to guide them through it, but instead I was over-the-top mad when they needed something, didn't they understand what was going on!? (No. Of course not.)I fed Annea during the graveside service, which we were late getting to. I stopped feeding Annea mid-meal because they were lowering the casket into the ground, and I felt I better see that part. That is an important part, and I wanted to be right there, and I wasn't. I sort of stopped registering things around then. I kept thinking: "How am I supposed to get through this with meaning, if I'm worrying about my hungry kid?" Life goes on, I guess? Overall, I felt discombobulated, which is probably quite normal, but I was in the wrong spot many times, or felt like I was missing things, or that I wasn't going to do justice to mom somehow in my bumbling way of grieving her, in my distracted way of parenting while trying to be present at the funeral. I don't know. What are you gonna do, anyhow? It was what it was. A hard day. A day full of so many kindnesses and generosities and love and tears. So many wonderful, life affirming hugs. So much shared grief, as my mom was loved by many. My chest cavity is heavy and my lower back feels weak, like I prefer the fetal position right now over any others. Because I miss her, already, and I know that I am going to have to get used to missing her, and I don't want to.

The girls are doing okay. They often talk about not having any more grandmas, and that makes them sad. They list the people that they do have, Grandpa and Abba, aunts and uncles and god-parents, and that makes them feel better. Eliana cried, appropriately, during the shutting of the coffin, and when we started putting earth on Eema's coffin, and lowered her into the ground. She is a sensitive soul. Adessa's much repeated comment was: "When can we go home so we don't have to be sad anymore? This is sad!" It was sad. I now want to be with my family like never before. I want to be with my siblings and my dad and just be sad with them. We're going to make sure and do that.

Eliana's First Day of Playschool!

Okay, admittedly it was two weeks ago, but it was noteworthy nonetheless and I want to get it up here on the blog ASAP before other news overshadows it. Eliana started Playschool and loves it. She already knew many of the kids, and the teachers, and the format from tagging along with Adessa. It was painful for her to watch Adessa start school at the end of August, and have to wait until the middle of September for her school. She loves it! She loves having stories to tell us about her day when we get home, all kinds of things she did on her very own at her very own school. For which she proudly wields a backpack. And to which Amanda and Gracie and Charlotte kindly pick her up from the babysitters house and take her, and from which Grandpa generously picks her up and walks her home to the babysitters house for nap time. Thanks, Team!

Walking to school with Gracie! First day!

Daddy took the day off from work to drop her off and pick her up on the first day. So sweet!

Happy to be painting.

Five Months of Annea

Annea rhymes with Isaiah. I think that's how I'm going to try to help people remember her name. My uncle can't remember it, and can't remember how to remember it, and the last time he visited he told me that it isn't too late to change her name to something easier. Funny uncle!

Annea herself is soooo sweet and easy and wonderful and cute. She has been quiet and adaptable and easygoing now that I've been spending every spare moment down at my parents' house. She is a dream, and I'm enjoying her immeasurably. Laurel calls her "Therapy" and soaks her up, appreciates the tiny-joy-bundle that Annea is.

It feels okay, this family of five, these three girls. We are a good fit, we are going to figure this life out together, and I am happy. It is what I always wanted. We are taking some hits this year, some big 'ole losses, of Calvin's mom and my mom. That's rattled us, but I feel that we are strong, we are committed to making it through as best as we can muddle. The girls don't know what to do with my tears, they run to me like it's an emergency and hug my legs. (I guess, actually, they do know what to do when I cry. Thanks, girls!) I keep thinking: "As long my girls are okay, as long as Calvin is safe, I can go on." but God doesn't promise things like that; there is no quota that you fill of loss and then are guaranteed a break. And if the worst happened, I would go on. I've been wrestling with that a bit, and my fears. I've been reading a most wonderful book called 1,000 Gifts, I highly, highly recommend it. It takes you through loss, to gratefulness, and then looks at how a good God could allow bad things to happen. Basically the conclusion is that "All is Grace", it's all here for us to learn and grow and journey toward God, become more Christlike. Which is so comforting and amazing to think about, it all starts with gratitude, and giving Glory to God in all things.

Back to Annea- It's soooo easy to be thankful for her. She's the exactly right amount of chubby soft drooly babyness that I adore, just like my other girls were minus the drool. I was worried that she was behind in some developmental milestones, like using her hands, but she has caught up. She delights us as she learns about her hands, waving them in front of her face with an astounded look on her face like she's thinking: "Are these things mine!? Attached to me!?". She slings her hands around on the end of her arms to try to touch or grab at things, slobbers all over her hands, and now picks up and holds toys. Yay! And she rolled over! From back to front, just when I was starting to worry. I haven't kept very good track of when she should be doing what, but I was pretty sure she was a little slow with a few things. I am reassured that she will be fine, she's just so busy being sweet and easy that some milestones might come later. And that is fine! Happy Five Months, Annea!

Annea with my mom about two weeks ago. My mom hadn't held her for about a month before this photo was taken, but reached for her, held her up in the air, even.

While hanging out at my parents, I propped her up on the couch and ran to do something. Laurel rescued her from the couch cushions, but only after taking this picture, first. We win mom- and aunt- of-the-year awards, I'm sure.

Tummy time! She's getting stronger and playing longer on her tummy.

She's still a hot item to hold around here.

Adessa discovered a new use for Annea, hatrack.

My girls.

Thank you, Lord Jesus! I am so grateful.

Heaven Nears.

This dying is hard to accept, it has been at every interval. At first, I didn't want to hear the diagnosis, a crushing blow. Then I didn't want to see the changes, or the pain of chemo. Now, I don't want to miss out on any lucid moment, and I never want to say goodbye. I don't want to think about her actually leaving, her last moments, empty shell, gone to Glory. It will be the hardest thing to receive her funeral as the gift that it is. How could we ever close the lid of the casket for the last time? It will be hard to follow her to the graveyard, agonizing to stand by her grave and watch her lowered into it, and heartbreaking to help cover her with handfuls of earth. We will have to say "Memory Eternal" about her, my mom, who loves me better than almost anyone else. We will have to admonish her to "Rest in Peace." We will have to wait the rest of our lives, however many years God has written for us, to see her again in Heaven. I'm convinced it will seem like no time at all for her-- that from Heavenly perspective our life span is just a blip, a brief but important moment. In no time at all we will be paraded joyously by a glorious Terry around the Kingdom of God. It is us who have to wait, to miss her, to ache for her.


My mom is so close to Heaven. As her cancer has progressed, we've gone through official stages--Hospice being the latest one--and unofficial stages: first she had cancer around the house, then she and the cancer moved to the chair in the living room, and now, the bed. She has "taken to her bed", my mom. She needs so many chemicals to make her minutes bearable, and her chair is empty in the living room. Family sits with her one at a time in the bedroom, and we visit, in a quiet, non-visiting kind of way, just being with her. I tried to offer her things today, a drink of water, something to eat, conversation, a song. We offer her things of the living, because that's what we have and thats what we know, but they are no longer what she needs. She said no to all of my offers. She did say to make sure that everyone knows how much she appreciates everything. She has noticed how well we have been taken care of: meals, care of the boys, whatever we have whispered would ease this time has been done with love. Thank you. She is coming, Jesus, Terry Elizabeth Beck, my mom. She is coming to you.

Annea is Four Months Old!

Annea's sweet smile, which she flashes all the time EXCEPT when there is a camera around. When she sees a camera, her eyes get very wide and her expression verrrry serious. This gorgeous grin was caught because I devised a "baby blind", by disguising the camera with a piece of binder paper. I think I could gut a stuffed animal and sew the camera in and go into business.

On her four month birthday, (Weds, 8/29.) This was the most smile-like expression she produced in our four-month-birthday photo shoot.

Her normal camera face:

Still cute, but she looks a little started.

Another attempt to capture her smile. She has recently started smiling at the baby in the mirror, whereas before she'd smile at me in the mirror. As long as she can't see the camera, she'll smile away.

I'm still trying trying trying to get a good shot of all three of these girls. It may take years.