Author: leanneaxelsen

Don’t Read This

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I’m analytical by nature and my own worst critic. Sometimes it’s okay, everyone needs a good dose of reality now and then; but sometimes it can go too far. In these moments where I can’t find any mercy for myself, I’ve started to tell myself what I think that Colin would say to me. He was always more gracious than I.

Through this I have realized something, one of my least favourite character traits has turned out to be an asset. It kills me to give mention of this horrible flaw, but even in doing so I know it proves my point.

For as far back as I can remember, I have desperately needed the approval of others. Mostly of authority or those that I respect, but I can’t say that desire always excludes all others. It started with my parents and brothers, blossomed greatly with my teachers, and was cemented with all my employers and bosses. I craved the joy of anticipating a need, or exceeding anyone’s expectations. In essence making others happy makes me happy, but it is so much more selfish than it sounds. I also do whatever it takes to make sure I leave a good impression. Which has become so confusing for me. I have a hard time knowing the difference between what I actually want or what I think I need.

Ironically, Colin with his incredible authenticity, didn’t really care. He did care about people and what they thought, but he would not apologize for what he set his mind to. I think because of that it was easy for me to want what he wanted. He was so confident in his passions that it was natural to hop on for the ride. Especially for someone who is scared to commit to something on their own. Pursuing my own designs has always left me feeling too vulnerable.

And although Colin never understood my need for approval, he told me many times that this flaw made me the perfect wife and mother. He had complete confidence that no matter what, I would always choose him and his kids, always put them first. He was right. I really have nothing else, nothing that is just me or mine. My world was Colin and our children.

And in these last few months, any time I have been tempted to run, to give up, to jump off the deep end, I can’t. I think of what others would say about me, I think of what Colin would say to me, and I think of what my boys can’t even express yet. And those three things keep me making the right decisions. They keep me from making bad choices.

And though I pray that one day other people’s approval wouldn’t be my motivation, for now I am grateful that my weakness can be used for strength. If you asked me, I honestly believe that this will always be my battle this side of eternity; if you asked Colin he would probably be a lot more gracious.

Karma

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Karma. It’s a word that our culture has become so flippant with in the last few years. It gets used to justify horrible things and to shame thoughtless people. Thrown around like a weapon. It has always kind of made me flinch when people use it. Maybe because it doesn’t sit well with me and is a word very entrenched in a religious system that is not always gracious or necessarily kind.And I can see how it could appease our angry souls when we are wronged. In those moments when we have no recourse for unjust acts against us, but we must remember that Karma has to go both ways.

So if you really believe that somehow the universe keeps track of everyone’s rights and wrongs and makes sure that we all get a balanced ledger, I have a question for you:

What must you think of my precious Madeline? What horrible atrocious things did she do to deserve her repercussion? I’m aware that she was not perfect, that we all are born with a selfish nature, but her short impact on this earth was not such that it warranted her death. Her helpless body being struck by a careless driver was not a direct result of her evil deeds.

Even for myself, I would be devastated if anyone thought that the deaths of Colin and Madeline are somehow evening up the score for me. That I deserve all of this trauma and grief and pain because of my past sins. There are many times in my life that I am saved from what I do deserve and other times in which the burdens I bear will be greater than the output.

I believe that those who show love and compassion to others will often experience them in return. Generally, good choices beget good things and poor choices beget poor things. Yet, this is not a rule or law like 72 or gravity. I am confident that if I asked anyone to name someone they know of who has suffered unfairly or someone who had more than they deserved, the list would be long. This life is not fair or just.

In some ways karma would make life easier, there would be no need for vengeance. The universe would take care of everything and we wouldn’t have to consider making sure people paid for their mistakes. But then how would grace and humility and forgiveness fit in? Where would we learn about second chances and starting again? And when would we ever experience the beauty of receiving something that we could never earn?

Guilty?

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After Emmett was born everything was new. One of the new things that stuck out to me the most was all the feelings of guilt. The “Mom Guilt” was instant, like it was released with the cutting of the umbilical cord. And I remember thinking, “Nobody warns you about this. You hear LOTS of other horror stories, but not this!” This contrition makes you regret drinking coffee when you were pregnant. It makes you feel awful when you let your child cry for more then 2 minutes. It makes you blame yourself for a diaper rash. The gravity of your parenting role constantly plaguing you.So much of that experience as a mom has translated over into my walk with grief. Though when it comes to my part in guiding the boys through their sorrow, it is almost impossible to separate the “Mom Guilt” from the “Grief Guilt”. But for me in my personal battle with loss it is shocking how often that self-condemnation is waiting to dampen the mood.

When I find something funny and laugh out loud, I feel like I shouldn’t have the right to such happiness. When I accomplish a lot of work around the house in a day and remember that it wouldn’t have been possible if I still had a toddler to take care of, it registers as shallowness. When I spend any money that was given to us as a direct result of the death of Colin and Madeline I am haunted with shame and loathing. When I start to enjoy the comfort of a new routine, with it comes regret and remorse. The list could go on.

And in my head I can reason with myself and know that this guilt is not rational. I can admit that the drudgery of my life will not prove how much I love them and miss them. I know that neither of them would be honoured by bitterness or selfishness or isolation. Certain that Colin and Madeline would want there to be much love and peace and laughter in our home; and definitely no guilt in our hearts.  

But this is the daily battle of mothers and every survivor of great loss: to convince our hearts of these truths. To believe in our soul that this guilt is a lie. A devastating falsehood that has the potential to destroy us. To constantly remind ourselves that as much as our gloom can’t change the past, our joy won’t disgrace those who are gone either.

The Root of Sadness

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I didn’t think it was possible, but my heart broke a little more today.
Since the accident there are a lot more tears at our house, and not just from me. There is a deep sadness in our home even though there is true peace and joy here too. They coexist in all that we do, and take turns with their dominance in our hearts. When my tears come I am very much aware that my sorrow is rooted in the loss of my husband and daughter. It is much easier for me to draw that parallel than it is for the boys.
For the boys the tears and pain are expressed in much different ways. Not because they don’t feel all the same things that I feel in the loss of their Daddy and little sister, but because when that overwhelming barrage of emotions comes they can’t always understand what those feelings mean and why they have them. Those drops of heartbreak and sadness become disappointment and confusion. Not being able to undo a button on a shirt, being last into the car, grapes instead of strawberries for lunch, or a favourite toy is being used; the list of irrational reasons could go on.
I try my best to be understanding and patient during these times. Many times I fail, but in my heart I know that this is a long road, one that will eventually end up with them finally reaching an age of understanding. And then a new part of their grief journey will start. And together we will have to navigate these murky waters again.
And as painful as my grief is for me, there is an extra burden of having to watch your children suffer in so many ways. Knowing that you cannot do anything to remove them from their path.
So when I heard Benjamin sobbing upstairs while I was making breakfast I assumed the culprit would be an uncooperative sock or excessive toothpaste. And when he came down the stairs and I asked him why he was crying, I was not prepared for his response:
“I miss my Daddy and my Madeline.”

The ME Report

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Originally posted March 9, 2016

Colin’s Medical Examiner’s Report arrived in the mail last week and I was shocked at the overpowering sorrow that flooded me. The past 7 months have been full of unimaginable burdens, and I keep trusting that it will get easier, but it doesn’t. And it surprises me.
How naïve I have been to the process of losing my husband and my daughter. I have hoped that my strength and resolve would aid me as I step through this valley of the shadow of death, but it cannot change what is ahead of me. And it can’t lessen the pain that is here or the pain that is yet to come.
The more I consider my loss and how profound it is, the more I realize my naïveté to what grief really is. I want to do everything right, face everything head on and get through this tough patch. But grief is this eternal vehicle that will not be hurried, and yet can’t be stopped. It is slow and steady and unavoidable. It takes its time, it is not efficient and it never lets you miss a stop for good behaviour.
It changes constantly, almost like it is keeping you from figuring out the system. Forcing you to stand guard for each new facet that it brings. When it is fresh and new and everything you know is different. Or when the numbness and shock fade and there is no buffer for the constant pain that it brings. Or when the barrage of sorrow is so constant you can barely stand from exhaustion.
I am confident, beyond hopeful, that one day I will look back and see how far I have come through this. Not to a place of understanding or happiness at losing Colin and Madeline, but the knowledge of God’s faithfulness. But my reality now is that I am here, and that hopeful point is in the far distance. There is no way to gauge how much time and suffering and pain I must endure to get from A to B. This is the overwhelming part.
As I sat crying over every bruise, laceration, and broken bone documented on Colin’s body, and read the the final words written about his death; I felt weak. And my fragility scared me; it made me want to have an excuse for that moment. Lack of sleep, hormones, a bad day… And that is when it hit me. Colin died. Madeline died in my arms. That is my excuse.
It is part of our human nature to be weak and fragile. It is ok to cry months after you lose a loved one. We are allowed to fall apart, not be strong, and ache for what once was. There are responsibilities, two very important ones, but I am still just a woman who lost her husband, and mother who lost her daughter. And there will be moments when that is all I can be.

V-Day

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Originally posted February 13, 2016

So I watched the movie “Valentine’s Day” the other night. Just because it seemed appropriate for this time of year, and I love to torture myself like that. It’s funny and cute; and managed to open a flood gate of emotions with regards to this lovers holiday.
Ironically, in our three years of dating, one year of engagement, and almost 12 years of marriage we would have only spent a couple of actual February 14ths together. Whether Colin was playing or coaching, basketball usually got in the way. If I remember correctly, last Valentines Day we spent it with Colin’s basketball team and families during a tournament. I made soups, chilli, bread and biscuits. The boys helped to decorate lots of cupcakes; and when I wasn’t hostessing I was entertaining our three kids in a gymnasium during games. That was “The day of love” for us.
And to be honest, Colin wasn’t the romancing type. Flowers, music and candle light dinners weren’t his natural thing. He was more of a ‘take the boys along on a basketball tournament even though he’s exhausted’ or ‘help the wife renovate another room when he’d rather watch hockey’ or ‘spend an hour rocking Madeline to sleep because Mom wants a break’ or ‘give up his own hobbies to meet the needs of his family’ kind of guy.
And when I think back on the way that Colin loved me and loved his children it is very obvious that buying chocolates and flowers would have been the easier choice. Not that I didn’t receive the traditional tokens of affection that husbands give to wives, it just wasn’t a big part of our relationship.
The sacrifices that he made for us are more apparent now as all the holes surface. His selfless, unconditional, and tireless love was what drove him to make those hard choices. Allowing us, and wanting us to be a part of every facet of his life is so telling of how he felt. And I cannot think of any part of my life that was separate from him.
Colin knew everything about me. Even the darkest, deepest parts of me were safe with him. He was home to me. And when he would walk in the door at the end of the day everything seemed right. That back door would shut, my heart would smile, and all four of us would vie for his attention.
When thinking back to who I was when we first met I am grateful that anyone would choose to commit to spending their life with me. And Colin not only chose that, but honoured that vow valiantly to his dying breath. Leaving the bar impossibly high.
So that is what I will try to celebrate this Valentine’s Day. Our epic love.

God is Good?

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Originally posted January 23, 2016

Just to be clear, when you have news that you are glad about and then you state God is good, those two facts are completely independent. They may both be true, but the one has nothing to do with the other.
I can understand that when something goes the way you want, or even starts rough, but then ends in the best case scenario; you may want to acknowledge the goodness of God. But ask yourself, had things not turned out rosey, would you still tag on a “God is good”? And it’s true, He is good. But I see a HUGE danger in the association of our happiness and God’s goodness.
God is good. Always, despite everything that is happening in our world. Regardless of the errors of the past or the uncertainty of the future, God is good. Yet when we tie that goodness to the outcome of our personal circumstances, it makes it seem like the character of God is dependant on whether or not things work out for us. As if He could change and be something other then who He is. That is not possible. And that is the beauty of God; in spite of everything that we know constantly changing, He does not. Will not. Can not.
And thank goodness. What use would there be for a God that could be externally controlled. A sovereign whose will could change from something outside of Himself. That is not God, but man.
So when Colin paid the ultimate sacrifice for our family with his body, God is good. And when I sang my last lullaby to Madeline in my arms before the doctors took her off all the machines, God is still good.
Be careful what you are attributing His goodness to, because I promise you it doesn’t have anything to do with you.

Half A Year

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Originally posted January 13, 2016

Yesterday marked 6 months since the accident. Half a year, yet almost a lifetime. A day of many memories.
So many places, songs, dates, and even foods remind me of Colin and Madeline. Their memories are tied to most everything in my life. It can bring joy to my heart and tears to my eyes when I think of each of them throughout the day. My favourites are the ones that make the boys and I laugh out loud.
And surprisingly, these memories are not usually the things that trigger sadness and hurt. The pain and ache often comes when I think of all that I had anticipated for our future.
The things I wanted to do with Madeline, and the close relationship that was growing between her and her brothers. Witnessing the adoration between Madeline and her daddy, or Colin teaching his boys how to be men. Parenting and growing old together with the man I love.
Many of these dreams were simple everyday occurrences to fit in with our simple life. Yet all were things I had hoped for and pondered. Some were more poignant and anticipated than others, but still are things that I now must lose as well. And re-lose, each time I stumble upon a reminder or see someone else living my dream.
Which I imagine is a large part of the reason why being in Madeline’s room is so unbearable; and the thought of going through her stuff terrifies me. Every drawer and box I go through will be like losing her all over again. Over and over. Like sorting through a graveyard of things most dear to me. Relentless, brutal, scarring, and raw.
I don’t think that my heart is ready for that…  But I don’t suppose it ever really will be.

Know Christmas

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Originally posted December 29, 2015
This Christmas season was so full. Full of great food, special gifts, new memories and especially emotions. It feels like there hasn’t been one human emotion that has not graced my presence this past month. My heart has run the gamut of beautiful to ugly, sometimes in the span of minutes. And all of it has been encompassing and powerful and exhausting.
There has been wonder at the surprise baskets on the doorstep. Humility at the many Christmas cards and gifts from complete strangers. Joy watching others spending time with my boys. Peace sitting in front of the fire after the kids are in bed.
Envy as I watch whole families celebrating together. Aching  when I see a mother snuggle with her baby. Frustration as I lament my lack of freedom as a single parent. Fear when I think ahead to the new year, and the next one after that. Emptiness as I lie in bed alone each night.
Yet, even-though they can be fleeting and risk being overpowered, some emotions stand out from the others.
Love for the people in our lives who keep filling the gap, and the One who prompts them.
And, even hope. Hope for redemption, and the assurance that He knows.

No Christmas…

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Originally posted November 30, 2015

Christmas has been a favourite season for me. The preparation, the anticipation, and especially the almost two whole weeks of uninterrupted family time.
Now as I sit here on the edge of December, I desperately want to fast forward through it all. Through the cookie baking, tree trimming, and gift wrapping; skip the concerts, and carol singing; mute all the “Merry Christmases” and holiday greetings. Just because it hurts so much.
I look ahead to a month where everything is a reminder that I will never be whole again. That our family is broken. That there is a great loneliness in our home. And I am so overwhelmed.
And even though MY reality does not change the beauty of what Christmas is about, it is a constant reminder that from here out every memory made will be without Colin and Madeline.