A blended family feels a lot more blended and a lot less family, especially in the beginning.
I say this with no pent up hurt or anger – divorce does an interesting thing to the heart.
I have no clear experience or explanation for what it does to the heart of a parent or spouse, but I can say a lot about what it does to a kid.
As a 12-year-old having just moved to a new city, Valdese, North Carolina was a lot scarier when the foundation of everything I knew had just shattered before my eyes.
While writing ‘poetically’ and sounding sophisticated in blog posts is important, that statement is in no way meant to be artistic.
Sincerely, the foundation of everything I knew felt like it had shattered.
I still remember sitting down with my mom, dad, Brantley, and Abi in the living room of our home.
There are really no fair words or explanations for what we felt that night, but the only thing I knew for sure was that the following days, weeks, and years would be confusing and heavy.
Divorce is like a broken glass.
We build up an idea of how it should look when we look into it, and one day, there are cracks, uneven parts, and it doesn’t line up the way we think it should.
If there were ever a time I could proclaim Genesis 50:20 and believe it from the core of my being, is it now, and it is because of this situation.
“As for you, you meant evil against me, but God meant it for good, to bring it about that many people should be kept alive, as they are today.”
I have heard so many proclaim that “what the enemy intends for evil, the Lord uses for good,” and now I see it.
I feel it.
I believe it.
(I will come back to this).
Fast forward a bit after the separation of my parents, and my dad met a woman, fell in love, and decided to marry her.
I remember sitting in her living room, smelling her cooking, and (as a young high schooler) being excited for her delicious mashed potatoes and corn.
The idea of a step-mom was something I didn’t quite understand, but I have grown to know and appreciate her deeply, specifically through seeing her strength in the midst of losing a child – something no mom should have to walk through.
As I said earlier, the blended family we created was, in some seasons, more blended than family. We have walked through the weirded, hardest, and most confusing times. But don’t miss the most important part: we walked through it.
Together.
Clinging to a family that hasn’t always been your family has to be a choice, because unfortunately it isn’t natural.
This is a tribute to my step brother, and though this will be heavy, it will likewise be honest, real, and from the heart.
June 16.
Feels like yesterday.
Feels like a year ago.
I was at dinner with Grant and his parents, and I got the text no one wants to get.
It was from one of my best friends, and all it said was, “Did something happen to Forrest?”
My heart was pounding and any hope I had of staying present at dinner flew out the window.
I stepped out of the restaurant, and through a few phone calls and really, really hard conversations, I found out Forrest had passed away.
What?
No.
Lord, this has to be a mistake.
You took the wrong person.
Bring him back to life, please.
Grant and I drove to my dad’s house, and though my dad and step mom were in the city where Forrest was, I sat with my biological siblings and we kind of just stared at each other, at our food, and at the floor.
Grief is a really weird thing.
Grief is heavy, it comes in waves, and it doesn’t make sense.
It has no consideration of your obligations, and it doesn’t work well with a to-do list.
Grief is a thief of joy, especially when you focus your eyes on the loss rather than the gain.
So here is a tribute to Forrest Rich — an attempt to focus on the gain. Forrest was a man who loved golf, kept the family laughing, and taught me to see the bigger picture.
He added more to my life than I knew before.
Forrest,
You were taken way too soon.
You left abruptly, and I miss you.
You were the life of the party, you kept a smile on everyone’s face, and you made sure the people around you were taken care of.
Foster said at your funeral, “you would spend your last dollar to make sure I was taken care of.”
Nothing could be truer.
When I found out you passed and began to understand what that meant over the following week, my heart was on a roller coaster.
Your mom looked at all of us the day of your service and challenged us to be more real.
These things that I am sharing, and the emotions I felt following your death… I don’t know that I ever shared them with you.
I’m sharing them now because I should have shared them while I had the chance.
But I write this with confidence that you are sitting at the right hand of the Father, listening intently to every word.
You’re probably teasing me for being so emotional.
You’re probably looking down from the most beautiful golf course in Heaven.
Forrest, you saw the bigger picture.
When we were caught up in the details, obsessing over the imperfections, you reminded us that there was something bigger and more important.
We sat and played board games at Christmas, and we laughed until we cried.
For hours.
See, Christmas can be a really easy time to focus on the situation with divorced parents; sometimes we debated the positives and negatives — double the presents but two separate homes.
While we were caught up in the little things, you brought us back to what was important: laughter, love, and time with family.
You’ve been through a whole heck of a lot.
The more I think about the things you endured during your life on Earth, the more grateful I am that you are in a land of no pain, no tears, and no sin.
Your life served a purpose, I have no doubt.
We saw it at your service.
The love that was poured out in honor of you at the Celebration of Life was awe-inspiring.
People from every age group, walk of life, and community came out and bonded over the fact that you made them feel loved.
You had a really special way of doing that.
Even while boasting about your basketball skills, making fun of me for my sensitivities, and making a competition of everything — I knew I was loved.
No matter how many petty arguments we got in at family beach week, during Christmas vacation, or while playing a board game, it usually ended with a stupid joke, a lot of laughs, and an “okay, you win.”
Thank you for reminding me to look at the bigger picture.
As I prepare for the World Race, I easily get caught up in “what am I going to miss here in the states?”
I think about the moments I will selfishly want to experience. “Is being away for a year worth it?”
And I think about the people who “might need me.”
But your life taught me many things, and one of them is that there is joy in the bigger picture.
There is purpose in the scary things.
And there is every reason to step out of your comfort zone and devote your life to something worthy.
I’m going on the World Race because I feel called.
But I am choosing the World Race over and over again, because I have learned, from you, that there is more than meets the eye.
Genesis 50:20 is true is many lights – one being through your death.
Losing you still doesn’t feel real, but it has brought an appreciation and depth to our family that we didn’t have before.
I wish you were here to experience it, but I trust Jesus is showing you the beauty in the midst of the pain we feel.
Thank you for teaching me to be brave, think deeper, and see the bigger picture.
I love you.
I miss you.
I can’t wait to worship with you one day in Heaven.
I’m sorry I didn’t share my heart with you before now.
All my love,
Hannah
