Motherhood is beautiful, but exhausting. On a level that can't even compare to anything else. Cooking, laundry, taxi driver, all take time and energy. But its things beyond the "typical" chores that seem to deplete any and all reserves for me.

Kevin struggles to sit on the sidelines of any sporting event, sure that whatever he yells may will the players to suddenly make the perfect play, or protect the ball, and bring home the victory. I am learning more with every year that I am on the sidelines of Hackett's life. (I spend a great deal of time on the real sidelines watching him play, so maybe that is why this correlation is relevant for me.) I can't run with him, and hold his hand anymore like I can with Tobin. I can't make the play for him, or protect the ball, or stop him from being fouled. I have to stand there and just watch the game unfold. I can yell suggestions, or special plays he can try, but he is in the middle of the game and can't always see or hear me. His victories are so much sweeter, because they are now all his own. But watching him struggle, trip, and get scored on, and not being able to step in and fix it. Or wave a magic wand. It is painful; exhausting. I sit on the sidelines and second guess myself, feel responsible that I haven't prepared him enough for the game. Win or lose, he always bounces back, and I hope learns for his next match. And I have to trust that all the skills he is honing on the field will prepare him for when I am no longer on the sidelines of every game.

(Just so no one worries, Hackett is perfectly fine, he is just growing up, and its just not easy - for him or I.)

As moms, I don't think we talk enough about our own insecurities and failures or blunders or just how emotionally spent we are at times. The baby years are rough, but as I experience preschool years at the parallel time I am traversing pre-teen, both exhaust me, just in different ways. Tobin pooped in his cotton underwear ... twice ... today. So. Much. Patience. Is required daily.

I think in part, we are so so depleted, because our love is so great, that we give so much of ourselves. It is love, in a form all its own.

If you are feeling weary with me tonight, look at Jesus promise. Going to bed handing it over to him, and grateful for a new day.
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“Come to Me, all of you who work and have heavy loads. I will give you rest. Follow My teachings and learn from Me. I am gentle and do not have pride. You will have rest for your souls. For My way of carrying a load is easy and My load is not heavy.” Matthew 11:28-29

Life is hard. We are often dealt circumstances that leave us with our arms in the air, filled with frustration. Or with the feeling of being punched in the stomach. Or with such a heavy weight that our chest feels so constricted that is difficult to breathe. Or that overwhelming feeling that makes us feel small and alone. Or so anxiety ridden that sleep and rest are hard. This life is so hard, so painful. That hard and pain is inescapable on this earth, at some moment or point in your life, things will happen, news will be given, fierce heartache will come that will drop you to your knees.

This world, this country, and often our families are far from perfect. We don't live in a world that is filled with constant sunshine and rainbows, we do get to bask in their glory some days though (isn't that amazing?). I have been reading Romans 8 a lot this month. It was written by Paul to the Romans, with the intent of helping them to fully understand the grace that has been given to us by Jesus, as they understand the Christian faith and instructions as they begin to establish the Christian church in Rome. Can you imagine being a Christian at this time? Your savior was crucified and now you are not joining the cool kids lunch table where things seem to coast by with ease, you are swimming upstream against adversity. Life is hard. Believing is hard. How do you think they rested at night?!!! Jesus never promised ease, or perfect. But he promised to be with us while we endure in this life. And he promised us beauty will come, if not here in this life, then in the next with him.

The Message is just a version of the bible, put in to words that sometimes make the language a bit easier to understand. So can I drop a little easy to understand bible on you?

Romans 8:5-8
Those who think they can do it on their own end up obsessed with measuring their own moral muscle but never get around to exercising it in real life. Those who trust God’s action in them find that God’s Spirit is in them—living and breathing God! Obsession with self in these matters is a dead end; attention to God leads us out into the open, into a spacious, free life. Focusing on the self is the opposite of focusing on God. Anyone completely absorbed in self ignores God, ends up thinking more about self than God. That person ignores who God is and what he is doing. And God isn’t pleased at being ignored.

We cannot do all the hard alone, it is a dead end. I have run my forehead into the wall on the dead end far too often, it never ends well. When I stop banging my head against that wall, and say "Alright, Jesus, you take it" and focus on him, that weight slowly lifts off my chest, my heart aches less and less, I can breathe, and enjoy that spacious free life. When life floats along with relative ease, I find I slip so easily in to my own world, but when I trip and stumble, I reach up so quick and grab his hand.  Just like Tobin right now!

Romans 8:19-21
That’s why I don’t think there’s any comparison between the present hard times and the coming good times. The created world itself can hardly wait for what’s coming next. Everything in creation is being more or less held back. God reins it in until both creation and all the creatures are ready and can be released at the same moment into the glorious times ahead. Meanwhile, the joyful anticipation deepens.

Right now it may be hard times for you, but he has you in his hands, and while he holds you, look ahead with excitement, the beauty is coming.

Romans 8:26-28
Meanwhile, the moment we get tired in the waiting, God’s Spirit is right alongside helping us along. If we don’t know how or what to pray, it doesn’t matter. He does our praying in and for us, making prayer out of our wordless sighs, our aching groans. He knows us far better than we know ourselves, knows our pregnant condition, and keeps us present before God. That’s why we can be so sure that every detail in our lives of love for God is worked into something good.

(When Paul speaks of pregnancy here he is referencing the anticipation of new life coming.)

If you feel tired, he is right alongside you. You don't need the perfect prayer or need to know the perfect verse, you just need to cry out in your ache and weakness. He's got you. He will work this hard in to good. I promise, some good will come, even if you don't get to view it in this life - you will when you join him in your new life.

I am a living, breathing testament that beauty is coming. I have ached, and I still do, but most days I am living in that open spacious life, and embracing it with wonder. These two blessing here on earth with me, and knowing that some day I will dance with Koen in my arms while Jesus watches over us and smiles.  How can I not live in wonder?!  We need to teach our kids that life is hard, but with God alongside them they can solidly stand on two feet and take the blows that are sure to come. And that beauty will come, and when they see it they experience that beauty to embrace it.

So grateful that I found my beauty again recently. It has helped restore my joy. Most days I feel lighter - like I can spin around in a circle, hands up in the air joyously, in that open space God has made for me. He’ll bring you beauty and make an open space for you too, you just need to cry out and let him come in. He's always there, and so am I.

Early Wednesday I woke at 2 am, plagued with a rare bout of insomnia. I have always been grateful that sleep has allowed me an easy respet the last 5 years, and having one night awake gives me so much empathy for those who battle with this on a regular basis. My mind was playing hopscotch, not staying on one thought for long, and then somehow making a connection and jumping to yet another box. It starts with to do lists, and the normal run of the mill items, and its fine. Suddenly, I land in a box I haven't visited in a while. A box that is hard. And real. And I am watching nurses search for Koen's heartbeat, and them telling me they had it. Another nurse coming in moving the monitor all over, making it seem as if its the monitors issue, and not my baby's problem. My doctor being called in from a Memorial Day picnic to deliver the news to us of Koen’s death. I hop again, trying to remember how my mom even got to my house from Chicago that day. Why do I need to remember that? Why do I feel the need to? Why are some things etched in my memory so vividly, and others so foggy? I want to remember everything, every detail, every moment. Its all I have.

I used to hopscotch through these memories while reading a book, (maybe that is why I haven't been able to complete a book in years .. too much mind space), or even mid-conversation with someone, typically at the most unexpected moments. Its been almost five years, and I don't go to that guttural painful place, a place I used to forced myself to replay almost daily - fearful then that if I stopped replaying the memories that his little hand would slip out of mine even further. I think of Koen every day. Every. Single. Day. But in different ways. He makes up part of me, my heart, my life, my outlook, my empathy, my faith. I am grateful to have moved, most days, from the ache in my heart, pit in my stomach place, to a place where peace and gratitude, for all three of my boys, resides. All three that I love beyond any earthly capacity.

Before I went to sleep Tuesday night, I learned of Barbara Bush's passing. I never knew that they had lost a 3-year-old daughter to leukemia. Tobin is three. Losing Koen was earth shattering, but if something was to take Tobin from me now ... after knowing the ache and pain that can exist, but only tasting it ... I cannot fathom how breathing would even be possible. Barbara brushed her daughters hair as she took her last breaths. The oldest child, George W, took on the role of lifting his mothers spirits while she was in the midst of her devastation. So Wednesday, in the early morning I read more of her life, while trying to escape my hopscotch, but it only made me jump in more boxes. Thinking of how excited Barbara must have been to see her daughter again. Thinking about the impact Koen’s death had in me, and then on Hackett, what role did he have to take on for me? How will that shape him as an adult? He loves me hard, and always makes sure I am okay ... even asking me today ... is this why? He knows I am not invincible, he's seen me on my knees, in and out of hospitals, hooked up to IVs, and tears in my eyes when it doesn't make sense.

I no longer reside in a dark and sad place, but those squares never go away. I will always jump to those memories, and relive the pain. Relive the beauty. And say goodbye to Koen, again, in the middle of the night. But on most days, most hours, most minutes ... it is well.

Six years ago today our moving truck left California loaded with our entire house.  On February 4th, we pulled out of driveway, in Brentwood, for the last time.  It has me reflecting on our life, our journey, the impact - both positive and negative on our kids.

Ask Hackett where he is from, I am not sure what his answer will be.  Last year at this time, I watched him get stumped by that question.  Its a question that should be so easy, but for him, so many layers.  Where was he born?  Where is he most recently from?  Where he lives now?  I think, just recently, he is feeling more and more connected to our life here, 18 months post (our most recent) move.  Last night we went to the varsity basketball game, and he was sporting some "Pirate" gear (even thought the "Lancer" sticker is still on my car - even my car is confused!).  I asked him as we walked in, "are you a pirate now?".  His reply, "I still have some Lancer in me too."  And I think he always will.  Me too. 

Our hearts seem to spread across the country in a few different towns that we were lucky enough to call home, even if it was only for a few years.  I am a planner, it is how I manage my stress, but Kevin's job, and this life we have doesn't allow that.  I don't know where Hackett will play sports in high school, where Tobin will start kindergarten, or what high school either of them will graduate from.  Its not easy to be on the outside, trying to figure out where we fit, starting over - over and over again.  Especially for my introverted-self.  Yes, I am a complete introvert, but have been forced out of that box for survival.  It seems easier for Kevin, he has a servant heart, and freely gives of his time at each stop.  Today he sported his HB shirt and worked from morning until night as our town hosted basketball games.  

In so many ways the blessings outweigh the hardships.  Our moves have made our circle grow.  I have had the honor of making forever friends, people I would have never met, lives that would never had poured so much love in to my life and my family.  As I have lived and know so well - with great love comes great loss.  And every time we move, I leave those I have grown to love big, and with that great loss.  We may not know where we are from, but we know we have been blessed with each move, each new group of people we have met.  We are who we are because of meeting so many of you, you are where we are from ...

I LOVE Christmas. I love the snow outside, the warmness of the lights, I purchase gifts way in advance because I get so excited for the season to begin. Since Koen died, its different. I love it, love it so much, but it is difficult to embrace the warmness and love when there are so many reminders of my the large hole in my heart. My whole heart no longer resides on earth, and I feel that missing part in an even more real way at Christmas.

I used to love decorating the tree, I have such fond memories in my own childhood and in Hackett's younger years, but now I seem to struggle every year. Our traditional memento when we travel is an ornament. Each year we purchase our boys and ornament that somehow represents them in that year. So hanging up ornaments is a walk down memory lane. I have Koen's baby ornaments and each year I add an angel ornament to his, now growing, collection. So putting up our tree, and the tree itself represents my sad. And if you are reading this and are fortunate enough to have not lost at your core, you will understand some day. Unfortunately it is not a feeling we can escape in this earthly life if our lives are rich and full. But you may be thinking, "don't hang the angels" or "put those ornaments away then". The ornaments represent the realness, the pain and ache that I will experience angel ornaments or not.

(Sidenote: I have tried to busy myself this year making ornaments in Koen's name and honor, it helps to fill my heart and keep my mind focused, but the irony of this is not lost on me.)

As I watched families post their tree decorating on Facebook, it all looking so magical and perfect, I got angry. Want to know how our tree was decorated this year? It took two days. I snapped at Kevin, barked at Hackett, and cried. We seemed to take shifts, there was no togetherness, no priceless pictures. Koen's first Christmas I spent on the couch watching the boys decorate while I smiled, trying to hide my sadness, while tears rolled down my face. After our tree was decorated this year, I had to apologize. In my grief and loss, some things and moments have been stolen from me. Moments so simple, so taken for granted, can slap me in the face. Slap me so hard that I don't even know what hit me for second. Sometimes it takes me awhile to sort out that my patience is not in existence because the realness of my baby missing his fourth Christmas is so very real. And I miss him. My memories are getting fuzzy of holding him, feeling his skin. I ache for him.

Then Jesus whispers in my ear, "he's here". Koen is with Jesus, and Jesus is always with me. What Christmas preparations does my Koen get to help with? What a celebration he must get to witness. Koen is okay, its me who is not.

We went to see the movie Star a few weeks ago and while I was watching the scenes with Mary and Joseph it hit me how hard life is. Jesus is with me always, but life is still hard. Mary had Jesus in her belly and life was still excruciating. The travel in her third trimester alone would have been more then I could have endured, but then to reach your destination and still have no place to rest, no place to deliver your baby? God gave Mary his son to carry, and she was still faced with obstacles and hard, even though Jesus was literally with her. In this life we face obstacles, pain, suffering, and hard, but Jesus is with us too, every step of the way. He is not the key to a seamless perfect life, he is the key to finding that peace again. So if you are hurting this Christmas. Feeling the ache of loss, missing those you have lost, struggling to find the happy because of the hard. You are not alone, Jesus is with you. He's here.

I have not written since May. I write when I need to cry and process, and this summer was good - busy - but filled with joy and peace. This week though my peace seems to be shattered. I quite literally feel like throwing up. My insides are torn up at the horror that occurred in Las Vegas. How many families sent their babies and spouses off for a night of fun only to have then gunned down in such a senseless and sick way. I can't watch the video footage, I can't watch the news, can't look at the pictures, and read the stories. I am just filled with too much pain for them. Too much worry for our future. No where seems safe - churches, airplanes, movie theaters, schools, hotels.

A blog I wrote two years ago popped up in my memories this week, where I pleaded with Jesus to keep my two babies here on earth safe. It seems to be my daily plea. I have endured loss, and I am not sure I could face it again. I can't climb back up from the depths again, its too painful, I am too attached, love them far too much. I fear my heart would break and be un-repairable. How many parents have lost their children this week? Oh, I ache.

I find myself asking Jesus, WHY????

There are so many things I don't understand, and never will. But turning to him, even in my anger and frustration and horror is the only way I know to cope, and the only way I find peace ... maybe not today, but in the days ahead. The morning after I delivered Koen a nurse that I only saw once, whispered to me "we live in a fallen world, sweetie". It continues to be the only answer that make sense. God had beautiful plans for this world when he created Adam and Eve. But having someone love you and honor you by fear and forcefulness doesn't feel good - does it? Having someone love you and respect you for you is one of the most fulfilling feelings. God didn't want to force us to love him and honor him. He allowed choice, and in that choice evil crept in, the evil that is always lurking. Adam and Eve chose to disobey, and with that came consequences. They were cast in to the world. This world where God is ever present, but where evil is allowed to roam, where choices can be made, where diseases exist. Where a bacteria is present that killed my baby, where a crazed man took so many innocent lives, where cancer plagues my friend laying in the hospital, where hate lives and multiplies. I think God's heart was broken by Adam and Eve, and he ruled with a mighty hand - like we do sometimes as parents - but then he was ready to just let us run to him when we were hurt. He chose to give the human race grace, he wanted to hug us up and love us and be there in a moment when we needed him. He sent Jesus. And now in this world God is there with open arms waiting for us to run to him, seek refuge in his arms, and choose to love him - despite the hurt and pain and even our questioning. We were never promised perfect here on this earth, but we promised forgiveness and love and heaven.

This is what I cling to, someday I will know this, and Koen will be with me then:
"Behold, the dwelling place of God is with man. He will dwell with them as their God. He will wipe away every tear from their eyes, and death shall be no more, neither shall there be mourning, nor crying, nor pain anymore, for the former things have passed away." Revelation 21:3-4

I can't make sense of this my friends, and I will continue to grieve the horror. But I have to give it to God, or I will live in constant fear and pain, and life is far to precious.

​On the night Hackett chose to be baptized, and let God carry it for him.  Jesus and Koen painted the sky for us in celebration.  One of the most magical nights of my life.

I have to trust that Jesus will hold these two and protect them, I can't fathom life without them.  Its too heavy and hard to fear ... you can have it, Jesus.  
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Four years ago today we attended a small funeral for our tiny son. It is such a surreal experience. A week before I was washing clothes for Koen and organizing the closet in his nursery, and just days later Kevin was carrying his body in a casket. In one week, I gave birth to my stillborn son, left the maternity floor with no baby in hand, met with a funeral director, chose clothes for Koen to be buried in, picked cemetery plots - not only for Koen - but for Kevin and myself, met with a pastor to officiate our son's funeral, and strangely told the series of events surrounding Koen's death while maintaining composure to those I came in contact with. In my alone times sat in Koen's nursery, rocking in the chair, squeezing stuffed animals fiercely - I needed to hug something because my arms physically felt empty - while staring at an empty crib, and at times feeling such a heavy weight on my chest that I found it difficult to speak or even breathe. That grief, that week, and the weeks following are so sacredly cherished for me, as crazy as it sounds, I long for that feeling. That extreme grief is so closely tied to Koen in my memories, if I can feel that grief again, then I can almost feel his tiny body in my arms and see his face that I covered in kisses.  I think I also long for that feeling, because mixed in to that grief, was Jesus's hand holding me.  I have never felt so close to death, so close to Christ.  That time was sacred for me.

I miss Koen. And will every day while I remain on this earth. But four years later, I can say - on most days, it is well with my soul. In the last month I have learned the history of that beloved classic hymn. It was written by Horatio G. Spafford. He was a lawyer and businessman in Chicago and a father of five, four girls and one boy, in 1871, but that year lost his son to pneumonia. In 1871, his business also experienced loss in the Chicago fire. His business recovered, and in an attempt to bring some joy back to his family he planned a trip across the Atlantic for a holiday in Europe. Business delayed him, but he sent his four small girls and wife ahead. Four days into their voyage, their ship, the Ville du Harve, crashed in to another large ship. Within 12 minutes the ship sank. Spafford's wife, Anna, was found floating and was rescued by a small row boat. All four of their daughters, were all lost at sea. Within two years this couple lost five small children. I cannot fathom. Anna traveled alone on another vessel for 9 days to Wales. No cell phones or email to communicate the horror to her husband. When she arrived in Wales she sent a wire to her husband that began "Saved alone, what shall I do?". Spafford journeyed across the Atlantic and while on that journey he wrote the hymn "It Is Well With My Soul".  He and his wife started over and had three more children, losing yet another to pneumonia.  They buried six of their eight babies.  I cannot fathom the holes in their hearts, yet their faith remained. 

I remember singing this song from the hymnals at Novesta Church of Christ as a child.  The words always spoke to my anxious heart, but never cut me to the core like they have this month.  Spafford was in agony, in pain that I cannot comprehend, but my guess is he was feeling that same extreme grief, mixed in with Jesus holding him that I also experienced.  I believe Jesus must have been calming him, reminding him that he could nail his pain and heartache to the cross, begging Stafford to allow Him to carry his suffering.  Telling him that he saw him in his helpless estate.  Jesus suffered for us, so that He could carry our suffering.  That kind of love descends down and wraps us up when we are hurting the most.  

While I lay in the hospital on bedrest fearful that Tobin's life would also be lost, I clung to this scripture:  
"From the end of the earth I will cry to you, when my heart is overwhelmed: lead me to the rock that is higher than I."  Psalm 61:2
Much like Stafford, I was reminding myself, to cling to Jesus, for Him to take away the fear, the heartache.  He is there for you to call out and cling to, too.  He is the one who can calm your hurt, settle your soul, and give you the peace that is only found through him.

So on this day of reminders of heartache, it is well with my soul.

Life is so hard, isn't it? Some roads seem to hold more heartache than others, but no one has a life free of struggle and pain. Today is May 24th, and I anticipate death arriving in 3 days. I can feel the cloud this week. I have a knot in my throat, a pit in my stomach, and tears on the edge at all times. This Saturday it will be four years since the birth and death of Koen. This is a week filled with much guilt for me. I felt weird all week, had noticed things, felt kicks less frequently. Why wasn't I more adamant? Why did I push through? What if I had noticed? What if he was taken out before death? Why did my body fail and cause the death of my own son? Why didn't God protect him, why didn't he push me to ask more questions? How long was he dead inside my body? The only question I think I can answer, is the last one. I wasn't aware at the time. But I could tell you the moment even that Koen died. My eyes closed as I rode in the car with Kevin and Hackett on our way to dinner on May 25th. I was overcome in that moment, felt awful, and couldn't shake the weird emotional and physical feeling. I think I felt his spirit leave his body and mine. We went to Loon's Baseball game after, and I didn't speak or move the entire game. It's haunting.

Hackett has been struggling at school, life is hard, and relationships aren't easy. He seems settled in our new home and life, but then things occur that make his heartache, and he pines for what was. It is so hard to watch. We want to save our kids heartache and pain, but life doesn't allow us that luxury. I debated sharing this image of Hackett from our Mother's Day with Koen. But he is not shy about his feelings with us, and I know so many of you that follow my story have experienced loss too. So I share to help you see how profoundly impacted our (mine and your) kids are. The loss of Koen devastated Hackett. He is not impacted daily, but when he is reminded of what he lost - not what Kevin and I lost - but what he lost. His brother, his playmate, his hopes and dreams for a sibling - it hurts his heart. I know he flashes back too. He was old enough to remember the turmoil and pain. Old enough to remember his dad carrying his brothers casket to his grave. Old enough to recall his mom being in a fog of grief. It pains me to see. Hurts me to know that his road at young age already has bumps and sharp turns. He made me this book on Mother's Day all on his own. Moving is his narrative in life, but so is feeling supported and loved. It both broke my heart and made it explode with gratitude at the same time.

Life's road is so hard, but when we feel loved and supported by those who walk alongside us it makes it so much easier to bear. I listened to a sermon that had a profound impact on me around Easter, and plan to listen and study more, and share soon. It centers around the scriptures in Luke 24 on the road to Emmaus. Jesus had been crucified, and had just been resurrected. I mean, what a huge moment for Jesus, right? But do you know what he did? He found a sad couple, who were experiencing heartache at the death of Jesus himself, and were walking from Jerusalem down the road to Emmaus back to their home. Jesus showed up on their sad road. He saw sadness on their faces and he walked with them all the way home. This couple saw Jesus as a man during this walk and did not recognize him until he revealed himself to them at the end of the road. Jesus showed up on my road to Emmaus too. Sometimes I don't understand, and don't see him on the walk, but he is there walking right with me during my sadness. And when his preseence is revealed to me I often have a moment where I fall to my knees in gratitude. He was there all along. He is with Hackett walking along side him too. How I wish I could spare Hackett the heartache, but the ability to show him at age 10, that he is never alone on his road, especially when it is filled with sadness, is the best give I could ever give him. You are alone on your road either, my friends. Jesus is walking right alongside you in your sadness too, even if you can't recognize him.

It's Mother's Day. I will never get to spend Mother's Day with Koen, in the real sense of the word. I only had one Mother's Day with him while his heart was beating. The Mother's Days since his death, a storm cloud has hovered. I found it difficult to be fully present, guilt sets in. It has been hard for me to accept our story, this is not how I mapped out my life. But today was perfect. We found ourselves in Midland, which is now 2 hours from our home and Midland is where we left Koen.

My perfect Mother's Day was spent at a soccer tournament in the cold wind of the morning, watching my Hackett, a bit in over his head, but given an amazing opportunity to play at a more competitive level. I was able to watch him overcome his anxiety and play, and that filled my heart with pride. We grabbed a late breakfast from Panera and took it to Koen. I had brunch with all my boys. Picnicking at the cemetery is my new perfect. And that's okay. If given the choice, I would have written our story different, but my story version may not have included Tobin. My version, wouldn't have grown me as a person, wouldn't have exploded my level of empathy, wouldn't have changed my perspective on life, wouldn't have grown my faith, wouldn't have made me slow down to breathe and appreciate the smallest things. I think I have reached an acceptance phase of my grief, although that doesn't mean I stay in that space every day. But today, as we walked through our day together as a family, I was reminded that my day was perfect because I allowed it to be. I didn't fight it, feel guilt, or wish for something else. My boys showered me with love. Completely rained down love over my soul, and its hard to feel sad when given so much love. We hiked at the Nature Center near our old house, and drove through our old neighborhood, but then came home. And home felt like home. We have fully accepted that change too. And that felt perfect too. Your wish, Your will, Your way, Jesus.

Kev made a book for me from Tobin, complete with hand drawn images - which make me laugh and cry. Hackett made me his own book too. Here are both their last pages. Life even in its imperfections, it so amazingly beuatiful. I pray you found beauty today, even in a small way.