About Stories for Yandi

We’ve lived, laughed, loved, fought, bickered, learned, failed, epic failed, won a few, and laughed some more.  We’ve loved each other completely, disliked things about each other, fought about issues that mean nothing and supported each other blindly throughout crisis. We are far, far from a perfect family.

But we are a family who loves Jesus. We always have. The stories I write are not only about some of the funny parts of our lives but more importantly about our long journey to the cross. When I say we failed, I mean me. And I’m not joking. If there is a mistake to be made in this life, it is very likely that I have made it. Some repeatedly. But there is such good news in that Jesus stayed with me through the failure and through the victories. And most of our family as well.

So why does Yandi need these worn-out family stories? Yandi lost his Daddy in October of 2020. I lost my son. And while I am devastated, I know that losing his Daddy had to shatter our little Yandi. He loved his Daddy with every fiber of his being. I know this as I also loved his Daddy without measure.

But I am an adult.  While I continue to wrestle with losing Jason and the intense pain that comes with it, I have some understanding of the premise of Jason’s death.  Yandi does not have over 5 decades of experience in which to process this loss that I do. He had 5 years and one day his Daddy was gone.

Yandi comes to our house nearly every weekend. His Mommy, Jessica and I are very close. She is an amazing Mommy who has seen Yandi through some very dark days. She and I agree on many, many things, but what we focus on now is that we must keep the conversation going with Yandi.

‘Your quiet today, Yandi, are you feeling, okay? Are you sad?’ Yandi will sometimes tell us if he is sad. If he sees a picture of Jason, and they are prevalent in our home, sometimes he will stop and say, ‘I miss my Daddy.’ I tell him that I do too. Our routine is to then tell 'Daddy stories.' He tells me a Daddy story and I tell him one. A poignant exchange to be sure and one that can make us both laugh and cry, often simultaneously. I think sometimes he says he misses his Daddy simply because he is hungry for a story. I understand his feelings and it warms our hearts when he does it, even when the sadness permeates the exchange.

So that is why I write these stories. Our family has a lot of stories of our Jason. We miss him with an intensity that I cannot put into words and we do not want to lose those stories.

We also have stories of our younger son Jordan, of my husband Chris and me, of our own brothers and sisters, and of our parents. They’ve made up our lives. Yandi doesn’t have his daddy here to tell him his stories. Our stories. I refuse to let him lose that part of Jason.

That is why I write these ‘Stories for Yandi.’ Someday, if he so chooses, he will be able to go back and read stories about his daddy and his family. To help fill a gap that might arise. His daddy had some great stories. And as Yandi grows, we will continue to add Yandi stories to our family stories. Regardless of who it is about, it is us.

As with anyone who loses a child, the unbearable pain that a grieving parent feels becomes this all-encompassing part of life. But know that any one of those parents would tell you that, while that pain is overwhelming, the worst part is knowing what our children have suffered and lost. This life, though temporary it may be. This life and all that comes with it.

Small things like no more favorite tacos from El Mexico Café with that second to none cheese. No more decorating a Christmas tree with excited expectation. No more breaking in a new golf club. Even if it means breaking it in by seeing if you really can launch the club to top of that huge tree out of sheer disgust. With Jason, the answer was yes. Definitely.

Medium things like no more Chiefs games. No more trips to Allen Fieldhouse to watch the favored KU Jayhawks and no more enjoyment of the ‘Rock Chalk Jayhawk' chant.

And then the big things. The things that, even now fill my eyes with tears and make my throat tighten as I remember. No more evenings wrestling with your son. Coaching him in basketball. Watching him stick his tongue out as he works to put the Legos together. Never again to watch him grow and continue to be a sweet little boy who loves his Daddy intensely.

So, my hope is that this website will be a place to help. To talk about how it affects us. That's exactly why I believe, no, what I know that some of us need. A place to share any day of the week. To openly share in a world that tells us to keep our private struggles quiet and not to share private issues. I think sharing and talking to each other is more than important. It's critical. And while I believe therapy can surely help, sometimes talking to someone who has been where you are, and being able to talk right now, is so important. This website is an open invitation to share what you need to share about your sadness. Or your recovery. Let those who judge us, judge. But here and now, if you need to talk about the loss, we are here.

Yet while we share and reflect on the journey we are making, we also want to remember to think about the good. The days, months, or years that we had together. Time to live our stories. Happy stories.

Or perhaps a story about a brief moment in time that we had together. Poignant stories for those who lost children early. And that is a big reason for 'Stories for Yandi.' To share whatever stories we have.

That is what I choose to share with Yandi. Our happy stories. Funny stories. Incredulous stories. Frustrating stories. And stories about our journey to the cross and our failure to get there sooner. The times we tried to do it without Jesus. The times of selfishness, and they are plenty. The forgiveness of our Savior and the blessings and peace that come from him as well. Peace that I’ve quite desperately been seeking since losing Jason. Peace that would be unattainable without him.

Like all parents and grandparents, you tell your children about your journeys and your failures in the hopes that you can prevent them from making the same mistakes. Jason is not here to pass his wisdom to his son. But we are still here.

So, it is my hope that these stories not only give Yandi the history but also a bit of wisdom. That he knows that throughout every story and every day and every part of our lives, Jesus was with us. And that it is not just the most important part of our lives, but now the reason and purpose of our lives. That when he reads or hears the stories, there is something to learn about Jesus and how to make the journey. And, admittedly, how not to make the journey.

So, I write these stories for Yandi, a now eight-year-old making his way through life without the Daddy he loved. But know that I also write them for my husband Chris who lost a son of the heart. Chris came into Jason’s life and my life permanently when Jason was just two. I write these stories for Jordan, our youngest son who lost his big brother. And I write these stories for Jessica, Yandi’s mommy. She lost her son’s father. The man who would get as excited as she did when Yandi learned to talk, to laugh, to make a basket, lose a tooth, get an A on a test, or hit a baseball. Someone she loved immensely.

These stories are also for Jason's Dad, Ron. For his stepmom Julie, as well as for his brother Ian and sisters Andrea and Ashlei. While Jason was one of millions of kids with two families, they were two families who loved him and grieve deeply for him. My hope is that many of these adventures will come from this side of his family. There are so many good memories there.

And then there are his friends. There were many and the memories he made with them are epic. Funny events that shaped our lives, driven by this kid named Jason who took an extended walk on the wild side. Walking with families, with friends and in the last year of his life he began again to walk with Jesus.

I write these stories for other mothers who have lost a child. Those of us in this horrible, exclusive club that we desperately do not want to be members of. A club whose membership cannot be canceled as it is regrettably, for a lifetime.

But there is hope as this loss is only for this lifetime. Not the next. Jesus has seen to that. It is in this, that there is the hope that sustains me and the peace that I seek. The importance of imparting this wisdom and peace to Yandi envelops me.

I also have a hope that these stories might lead other grieving mothers and fathers to write their own stories. To find the bits of healing I have found in remembering and then awkwardly writing these chronicles. While there is sorrow, the sweetness of remembering far outweighs the sad. I thank God for leading me down this path to the beginning of peace and I think it might bring peace for you as well if you choose to try the same.

Perhaps you noticed the picture at the top of this page? Created by Albert Gyorgy, it is a sculpture that he has titled ‘Melancholy.’ It’s message resonates.

It shows in one simple image, the overwhelming emptiness of losing a son. My son. Yet even still, I know that through this crushing sadness, light finds a way into my darkness. And God is here with me. Even here. And a bit of light makes its way through. Then a little more. And then a little more. The pain remains and the struggle continues, but it is a little less. I embrace the less. It causes me to, yet again, run to the Father and more light shines through.

Then a story comes to mind of a young Jason and some silly event that happened. More light.

My hope is for Yandi.  My hope is for Chris.  My hope is for Jordan.  My hope is for Jessica.  And my hope is also for you. To see that, even as we stumble, we still awkwardly make our way to the cross.