a FRAGRANT love | march 6th ponderings

I've been thinking about lemon chamomile tea this week. Especially since the doc confirmed I have Acute Pharyngitis. I blushed, but I did tell him thank you. Lemon is good for the throat, yeah? Well there's this blend of tea that is good for my soul. 

It's The Republic of Tea Lemon Chamomile.

And it smells like memories.
Memories of a raw heart.
Memories of salty tears, red puffy eyes.
Memories of an emptier home.
Memories of an ache that still comes and goes.
Memories of that first year after my Dad died.

It smells of grief and sorrow and loss and hopelessness and questions and togetherness but separateness.

I still have the original can that was purchased as a gift by our friend Sheila small. I keep the lid sealed tight to preserve the remnants of it's fragrance.

It triggers flashes, pictures stored in my mind's eye. Of how my 14yo sister came out to meet me on our front steps as I pulled into the driveway too fast after being summoned home.  She was waiting there for me.  Before I knew.  Before I KNEW. Kleenex, so much kleenex and a contorted, pained, tear-soaked face and hair.  I see pictures of how dark and cold the house felt on nights I could do nothing to ease the sorrow or ebb away the sound of a bereaved young wife. I could do nothing to fix it. So I fixed tea.

I worked at Shopko. It was an hour away from my house and I would drive and stare at the skies each night, dark midnight blue littered with a few frosty clouds and boasting with stars. I had one star that I searched out each night. It was the only thing that was predictable, solid in my world rocked by change.  I would sing to that star and yell at that star.

All 59 minutes home.

I just wanted to hurry and walk back through my front door so I could comfort my mom with her tea. Provide her with one predictable thing.  

You know, I don't know if she ever drank the full mug, but it was our routine. I bought her a lavender sleep mask in New York and I would warm it in the microwave while I steeped her tea. Lavender. Lemon. Chamomile. I just wanted to soothe my mom. I just wanted her to rest.  

Sometimes I would get home and find my sister and brother had shut themselves in their rooms. And Mom would too.

Sometimes the Joe Cocker song we played at his funeral would fill the house, filtering out of the crack at the bottom of one of their bedroom doors. CRY WITH A LITTLE HELP FROM MY FRIENDS... Kawow wow kawow... I NEED SOMEONE TO LOO-OOOVE... That CD got played loud and always on repeat.

I remember when everyone was closed up in their own shattered worlds behind their closed doors and that song was echoing into the hallway and bouncing off the wood floors and into the cavernous void of my heart, I just walked around the house touching everything Dad had last touched. The blinds even. Well, the blinds especially. Dad had installed the blinds and then he died. The two should not go in the same conversation or even sentence or paragraph, but that was how the chapter was being written. It wasn't real. But it was.

I remember one night, my brother, Rob, found an Eric Clapton song that spring. "Tears in Heaven." I'd either never heard it before or it held no meaning for me before. But he brought it up to my loft above the garage and the 3 of us kids cried and cried and cried as we listened to it over and over. Rob wasn't even 13. Music. It feeds something inside us. And the music from that time still moves me. Memories have soundtracks. Don't they?

We lost Dad. It was so final.

And we all dealt with our loss differently.

In losing that one person came the death of the exponentiality (it's a word, I'm in the process of inventing it) of all the dynamics of our family.

There was the death of a husband-wife relationship {affecting 3 children}, there was the the death of a father-daughter relationship and another.  And the death of a father-son relationship.

And not only those, but death came to the mother-to-daughter-daughter-son relationships when part of Mom's  one flesh died leaving her un-whole (another vocabulary word today).

It rocked me.
It rocked us.

You know, when death comes, it's because death has an appointed time. And Dad's appointed time was March 6, 1996.  


That was 14 years ago today.  

I need to drink that lemon chamomile tea once in awhile. Because it triggers a heart response and a gut response.

If there's one thing I remember from my Biology classes, it was my fascination with the design of our olfactory glands and the sense of smell. {That and my zoological study of mallards, but that's another post.}

God designed our sense of smell -- it is intricately woven into our neurological system and is purposefully connected to our memory centers -- I think it's rad.

God loves fragrance. He talks about how our praise is like incense. He loves our offerings, it's like a huge, juicy, seriously tasty porterhouse steak smoking on the barbecue. He says each one of us is fragrant. I think I just really digg that about God, imagine how our fragrance fills the heavens! Dude.

So with this tea, the aroma as it's steeping and the taste, sweet from the honey and hot on my lips, I am transported back to when I was raw with grief. After 14 years, Jesus has done some healing, I'll tell you. He's done some rebuilding in my heart and so I'm not so raw, and it's good. And healthy. But sometimes? I just need to feel that devastation. Sometimes I want to allow myself to feel that overwhelming ache/void/rawness.

I need to breathe in its steamy lemony fragrance. It simultaneously makes me yearn for the yesterdays and the what-might-have-beens and makes me long for living a life of fullness -- a life with purpose.   

It reminds me that I'm alive.  

It reminds me that there is today.
It reminds me that I have choices.
It reminds me that I have hope.

It reminds me that the breath in my lungs is God-given.

It reminds me to breathe deeply.

And.

To exhale.

That breath? Is not mine to keep. That breath is not mine to hoard.
I wouldn't survive if I clung to it.

Clinging to that breath would be self destructive.



3.6.96 was not the end. Even though it felt like it at the time.  It was a milestone, a memorial stone on this road I'm on.  

We really don't know when our last breath will be.

But when that last breath is released, what will have preceded it? Am I exercising my love and heart and sharing truth and encouragement and hope? Am I restoring? Am I forgiving? Am I living beyond myself?Am I living like I'm alive? Am I giving my most loved my most best? I am oftentimes not!

That lemon chamomile blend is one of the signature notes of the fragrance that is my life.

I want to choose to not be stale.
I want to choose to be alive.
And live like it.
I want to give my most lived my most best.

I dont know why the Lord gave Dad breath for only 41 years and 355 days.  But I do know that His plan is good.

The fragrance of that tea is the same. The star is in exactly the same spot. The hope, though, is larger than the expanse of midnight blue. And it's because of Christ.

It was a dark time. Everything fell apart.  But I know, know, KNOW that there is a Redeemer who takes my ashes and gives me beauty. I've seen it. I've seen it in my children, my husband, and in His word.


Will you do me a favor today?Daughters, will you love on your dads or grandads for me? I would soooo give anything to love on mine.

And parents? Will you love on your beloved and your precious ones?

They are watching and listening to everything you do and say. If you were gone tomorrow, everything that you ARE and they PERCEIVE you to be is seared into their little minds and imprinted on their hearts. {ohhh, I cant wait to smooch and squeeze my trenkletoes}  Your impact on them is profound. I know from experience, from a child's-eye-view -- I am still my dad's CHILD and his heart and hopes and his character are still forming my own heart and hopes and character. As a daughter and as a mother. I want to give my most loved my most best.

This has been one "smelly" week for me as a wife/mom/friend on lots of levels and both good and bad. I am weary of living for tomorrow instead of living ALIVE today.


I want to breathe deeply.
And exhale.
I want to cling to Jesus because He is the aroma of a love that knows no bounds.

And.
Because I know He savors the tea and the time with me.




***Jesus, tell Dad I respect him more everyday. That I need him as always and love him as ever. Tell him his  'Rocket' said so. And give him a huge hearty hug, if you would.   

Thank you for that.

Holding on... And clinging to Jesus

Dad at Great-Grandma Chastain's funeral

So, it's that day again. That day in the year that makes me all sentimental. For me it's a memorial day. Some years, I'm just out of it. Other years, it's just a day of bittersweetness. I'd say that Bittersweet is my theme for this day after 13 years. 13 years. So weird. Yeah, I lost Dad 13 years ago. That's a really long time.

Uncle Robert, Gramma Marie and Dad.
This is the photo of Dad we used for his funeral program.

I was out in the garage yesterday, sorting through my "Dad" box and found my journal from that year. Wow. I read some of those entries and I am so far removed from that state of mind. So far removed from the person that I was when he died. I was irritated at the self that I was 13 years ago. And I was disappointed in the self that I was 13 years ago.

I guess I could give myself a break. I was a senior in high school who focused on girl stuff. Relationships/friendships/clothes. Blah. I see it all the time in the kids in our high school group -- it's just called youth, I think. I was so concerned with "my" world, that I was blinded to what was going on in the bigger picture, of what was going on with Mom and Dad.

I think that if you asked me, "What was the most important day of your life?" Initially, I might say... when I finally realized I was in love with Bryan... or our wedding day or the day Bryson was just 2 pink lines on a home prego test or when each of my children took their very first breath and then i took them in my arms. Because all of those things are such milestones, such a precious treasure chest of love and joy and excitement and expectation and hope! I loved those days in my life. Each one, kept nice and cozy in my "happy memories" box in my heart, for me to pull out and relive once in awhile.

But I've given it some thought. It was a question for an essay contest that I forgot to enter. And even though I know I won't be entered to win $3,000 for posting it here, I'd like to answer that question.

Do you ever look back and see a clearly defined moment or line or chapter or whatever you wanna call it in your life? I have a few. But the first one was the day that my uncle Wayne, holding me tight against him, by my elbows, whispered in my ear on my front steps, "Kellie. Sweetie. Listen to me. Sweetie, your Daddy died."

Whoah, I'll tell ya, everything that happened that day is soldered into my memory. And of course, everything right before that, too. I can almost speak about it now without breaking down, but my last words to my dad were... words that I wish hadn't been my last.

The last night I talked to him, I had no clue what was going on in the heart of the man that stood before me. I had no empathy or compassion with what he might have been feeling. I just knew what "I" felt. For me, it was black and white, cause and effect. Circumstances were such that he was heading into the "effect" of something he "caused." And if the effect was such-and-such then he deserved it, whatever the consequences were.

He asked me what I thought about him.

Oh, Lord, he asked me what I thought about him. And I gave him the "consequences" shpiel. I was too wrapped up in my own perceived hurt to see what he was really asking: Do you know that I'm struggling? Do you see that I'm hurting? Do you understand that I need your love and comfort?

This little 3x5 card was in Dad's wallet.
I think it's something he wrote down during rehab.
It's on my fridge now.

My 17-yo mind couldn't see past how the "effect" would affect me. I don't often go back to that convo with my dad b/c I have taken it before the Lord so many times -- and I know I'm forgiven. (Let's take a deep breath here, because I know this is not normally the usual tone of my posts.) But, I have to tell you, yesterday, reading through my journal from that time, I wanted to reach through the years and just shake that girl and tell her to wake up. To look around. To look up at her dad and tell him that she doesn't understand, but that she loves him anyway. That's what he needed. I wanted to reach through the years and tell her she should've been writing down the really important stuff, the stuff that matters. And to stop worrying about herself, so she could see beyond herself and her teenage drama.

Dad died March 6th. Out of the blue, shock of a lifetime. It rattled everyone who knew him. It did more than rattle me, it crumbled the hardness of my heart. It shattered the windows to my soul.

I haven't been the same girl inside ever since. On many levels. I am not that girl anymore. She was ignorant and blinded, immature and well, gosh, she was just a kid.

The other clearly defined line in my life was when I rededicated my life to Jesus and was born-again (again). And I know that's when change really came, that life-giving water flooded my soul. It washed the windows, it softened the pieces of my broken heart. And Christ brought healing, and mended my heart in a way only He can do.

I am still ignorant and blinded, I still lack maturity in areas, but I'll never not realize the value of family. The gift of life. The moments that define a relationship. The compassion that comes as a gift from the Lord. Life is short, it's such a cliche, but it is. And tomorrow may not come.

I didn't realize the depth of my parents' life. They had a life! Together! And maybe it sounds strange, but I didn't know that or get that when I was 17. Their life was important and it was what held our little agnostic family together. I guess that's partly the reason I'm passionate about marriage and passionate about our children knowing the depth of Bryan and I's love for each other, passionate about Christ being the center of our marriage. I want them to REALLY know that family is a gift.

Doschades family 1991(ish). I was in junior high.
(I can tell from the poodle perm and the fancy sweater.)

Dad was larger than life. He was kind and funny. He was tender. He was strong. He was manly. He was goofy. He was smart and gregarious. He unashamedly adored his wife and was incredibly proud of his kids. He made time to visit with strangers, so he could call them friends. He had a listening ear and a hearty laugh. He worked hard and he loved much. He "didn't come here to have no bad time."

Mom & Dad, 1994(ish). I love that turquoise shirt.
Mom gave it to me. Bryan & I both wear it.
I love this photo. It's my favorite.

He was a great Dad and a good man. And in his absence, Another has picked up where he left off. I know some women may struggle with seeing God as God the Father, as God her Father, because of the humanity and failure of their own dads to fulfill his role like he should. But my dad was a strong father, who raised a strong daughter and made it easy for me to allow God to move from "way out there" to Father in here, in my heart. And I'm grateful.

I wouldn't be where I am today, who I am today without him and without Him.

So, I often whisper to Jesus, on days that are extraordinarily sentimental, like this one... "Tell Dad I miss him... tell Dad I love him... tell Dad I still need him..." And I hold on. I hold on to my husband and my babes, and I hold on to my family back home. I hold on to my memories of a tender, loving Dad and all that he taught me about character, integrity, love... through his life and through his death. And I cling to Jesus.

Thank you, Lord, for your ways. I don't understand the why's sometimes. But I can look back at the road you've walked with me, seeing some of the crossroads, seeing the signs and directions and it gives me hope. You have a plan, you give me hope. And I have a future in You. You are so good to me. Thank you for Dad. I needed him. And thank you for Your Son, I needed Him, too. Be with my fam, I know they're missin' Dad, too. Continue giving us glimmers of "Rob" in those we love and in the friends we meet? That's how these grandkids of his can catch a glimpse of who he was.

I love you, Jesus. I do.

Thank you, God, for your faithfulness...

Kennady holding a photo of Uncle Kev (left) and Dad.
We think Karsyn has Grampa's ears!!! Cute, huh!

To everything there is a season,
A time for every purpose under heaven:
A time to be born, And a time to die;
A time to plant, And a time to pluck what is planted;
A time to kill, And a time to heal;

A time to break down, And a time to build up;
A time to weep, And a time to laugh;
A time to mourn, And a time to dance;
A time to cast away stones, And a time to gather stones;
A time to embrace, And a time to refrain from embracing;
A time to gain, And a time to lose;
A time to keep, And a time to throw away;
A time to tear, And a time to sew;
A time to keep silence, And a time to speak;
A time to love, And a time to hate;
A time of war, And a time of peace.
Ecclesiastes 3:1-8

Today it was time to remember.

Still missin' you, Dad.
--Rocket

(More March 6th ponderings... 2008, 2007)