"See Your Memories"

Facebook. It's amazing how much it has shaped our lives. I can hardly remember what life was like before I shared photos of myself and my family on Facebook with my friends, when I could see old high school classmates get degrees, get married, have children - I have lots of people that I connect with on a daily basis, and Facebook has become part of my regular routine and communication.

Normally I love Facebook, because I'm a people person and I love to interact with my friends and family.  However, lately Facebook has been a sucker punch in the gut for me, due to this little link that pops up:

That's all fine and well and good when there are adorable pictures of Colton on there, or when I can relive happier moments - closing on a home, getting a new job, going to a Tigers game, etc. But since late February, I've been hit with daily reminders of when my life was shattered three years ago by Ryan's quick decline and hospitalization, that ultimately led to his passing on April 8, 2013.  Now I have a built-in way of reliving those memories on a daily basis, due to the daily status updates and blog posts that the two of us made and shared over that six-week period of time when we were scared, hopeful, hopeless, and also unbelievably supported by friends and family.

Today marks the three-year anniversary of the phone call I received while having lunch with a friend at the Pita Place, when Ryan told me that the doctors did not think he would ever leave the hospital alive.  I re-read our blog posts this morning after Facebook reminded me of this day (trust me, I didn't need a reminder; my brain can exactly recite any date that we had a good or bad thing happen to us during his cancer journey).  As tears spilled over, reading the terrified words that Ryan and I posted to our blog followers that day, I had a sick feeling in my stomach, remembering what that 28-year-old wife and mother felt that day as she struggled to comprehend life without Ryan.  I remember how she felt a desperate need to tell him that day how she felt about him, and how she would be okay, which led to writing this letter.  I re-read the letter, cried again as I remembered the resolution she made that day to be alright no matter what God chose as the ultimate outcome of the situation, and then I looked down.

At this guy.

Hudson Ray is my new son.  He was born at the end of January, and I'm so grateful for him (despite his colic, his penchant for taking tiny catnaps throughout the day, and my sleep deprivation - haha).  He is a tangible reminder of the blessings that the Lord has given to me after I felt three years ago like everything had been taken from me.  I sit here in the living room of my home that I have bought with my husband, Matthew, where we can create memories and new traditions and build a life together with our FIVE SONS.  (I'm just going to type that again for the shock value: FIVE SONS.  Lord, have mercy!)  So often, I feel simply overcome by the amount of grace that God has given me.  And I do not just say that because life is in a good place for me at the moment.

I feel like I'm sometimes living a double life.  In one world, I am this new mother again, I am remarried to this guy that I'm crazy about, I have this huge, blended family that is filled to the brim with noise and testosterone, and my life is consumed with basketball and soccer practices.  I live in a new town, and I'm about an hour away from my parents and my friends.  I go to a new church and I'm trying to meet people and make new friends.  All of these things are good, though I'll admit that the sheer rapidity of the changes that I've made has caused me to have more than one emotional breakdown in the past year.  Change is tough.

In the other world, I still have what's left of my life with Ryan - my relationships with his family and friends, the memories that I share with Colton about his father, visiting his gravestone, remembering things that we did together, advocating for a cure for cholangiocarcinoma, participating in the Ride-A-Thon at Paradise Ranch, talking with people about this blog or our journey, giving "widow advice" or "cancer advice" to other people in similar situations, and many more things that draw me back into the "old world" on a daily basis.

And the thing is, I regularly flip between these two worlds all the time, and to some degree, the two worlds sometimes overlap a bit, like a Venn Diagram.  I have come to accept and even embrace the fact that living in two worlds is my new reality.  I will never quite let go of my old world - I can't, and I don't want to.  So strong is the tie that bound me to my first husband that it won't ever break.  The strongest tie is the son that we have together, who at the age of almost six is starting to really be able to cognitively process the loss that he has endured.  And yet that ties that still bind me to Ryan do not impede upon my new world - if anything, they have enhanced my new world.  I feel like I can fully appreciate the beauty amidst the chaos.  I feel like I can keep struggle in perspective.  I feel as though I'm better able to identify that whatever good I have in my life right now, it's not because of anything I've done - it's because the Lord has specifically allowed it to be in my life.  These are all lessons that I've learned because of my time spent in a deep, dark valley.  I am grateful for the old world and even the pain that it still represents because that world has made me into a better person, a better friend, a better wife, and a better mother.

As I sit here with a sleeping infant on my lap - wow, he's actually been asleep for an hour, is this a special occasion? - and sun shines through the windows, I am reminded of the sun that was shining three years ago today, when my friend Sarah had to escort me back to work after I received that devastating phone call while out to lunch with her.  Not a single detail of that day has faded from memory. And every day for the next six weeks, fresh pain will be delivered on a daily basis when Facebook compels to me to click on "See Your Memories".  Yet because of the lessons that the old world has taught me about choosing my attitude and choosing to praise God no matter the circumstances, the new world will continue rolling along.

And I will be okay.

Putting together a beautiful mosaic

Losing a spouse is somewhat like losing a limb.  I’ve never had something amputated, but I can only imagine how searing a loss that would be.  The pain would be awful, and I would miss the limb terribly.  Also, I would have to learn an entirely new way to live without it.  Eventually there would be adjustments, but life would never be the same as it was when I was whole.  I would remember the limb vividly and all of the things that I used to do with my limb, and there would be a dull, aching sense of emptiness when events are held that are really only designed for people with all of their limbs.  I would go from being part of the two-limb club, to being just an amputee.

That’s where the comparison ends, though.  I would rather have had all of my extremities taken from me than Ryan.  Any day.

Someone used the limb comparison with me when I made my venture back into the realm of dating (more on that later).  Their words were, “Since you can date and remarry, it’s like you get to re-grow the limb that you lost.”  I understand the intent of those words.  I’m 29, and there are likely many years left in my life, and much happiness.  However, I took issue with the subject of “re-growing”.

I don’t think that there is such thing as re-growing a limb, or “replacing” someone you’ve lost.  I have a friend who is expecting a child soon, who lost her precious baby son when he was one year and one day old, soon after Ryan passed away.  Despite the overwhelming joy that she and her husband and her daughter feel about having another child enter their home, it just is not possible to “replace” the child that she had.  How could she replace him?  Why would she want to?  Her son was uniquely wired and created to be exactly who God created him to be.  In the same vein, Ryan was uniquely wired and created to be exactly who God created him to be.  He’s not able to be replaced.  I don’t ever want to “replace” him.  That limb will never be grown again, because Ryan was Ryan.

So here’s the crux of my writing today.  I have been seeing someone for a while, and things were going so well for both of us that we soon knew that we should play for keeps.  He proposed!  (I happily accepted, for the record.)  Matthew is an amazing person.  He’s kind, intelligent, calm, honest, fiercely loyal, and a wonderful, loving father to his three sons.  (You read that correctly.  He has three sons + I have one son = we have together…four…boys!)   If I might beat a dead analogy, yes, in a way, I’m re-growing a limb.  But this isn’t the same limb that I had before.  It isn’t replacing the limb that I lost.  This new chapter of my life is exciting and beautiful, and I’m very blessed and humbled that God would choose to bring another person into my life that loves Him and loves me and loves my son.  I am excited beyond measure. 

But a little part of me died recently when someone said to one of my family members, “Boy, she was quick to replace Ryan, wasn’t she?”  (?!?!?!?!?!?!)  Friends, is there such a thing?  Can you ever truly replace someone that was a part of you?  You can adapt, change, move forward, and once again find someone to add beauty and color and love to your life, but my friends…there is no such thing as replacement.  Ever.  Please don’t ever use the word “replace” with any friend of yours that has lost a child (to miscarriage, as well), a spouse, or any person that they loved past all reason.  (And when your friend is ready to face life again post-tragedy, please support them and love on them as they rebuild a life that is not centered on pain, grief, and loss.)

I want, every single day of my life, to remember the life that I had with Ryan.  I want to think of his laughter, his kindness, his fire, his inspiring words, his jokes, and his intense love and devotion for his family.  I want to cling to the ways that he influenced me.  I want to be bold as he was bold, I want to love others like he did (even if that means telling them the blunt truth), and I want to be logical like he was.  I want to tell my son all the time of how his father loved him more than he loved himself, and how joyful his dad will be when he gets to lay eyes on Colton again in heaven.  I want to continue to see life in high definition, as he showed me (us) how.

I want to love, remember, honor, celebrate, and give thanks for that part of my life.  Always.

But I also am ready to rebuild my life.  Losing the most important person in your life makes it feel like life has shattered into a million pieces.  For the past several months, I have been able to witness firsthand how a million broken pieces can slowly be put back together to create a lovely, colorful, and breath-taking mosaic - different and rearranged, and yet still good.  

No.  

Wonderful.

For any iota of negativity that has been said to me directly or indirectly, there are countless other friends and family that have been extremely kind and supportive, and I’m very grateful for that.  Once again, I am thankful that I have such a wonderful network of people around me, praying for me and encouraging me.

I have also had many people ask me about this blog and what I intend to do with it.  I have spent some time thinking about the intent and purpose of the blog, and I’ve decided that I’m not any less committed to passing along the message of “Living in High Definition” than I was in April 2013.  God gifted Ryan and I with a unique message, and a unique platform, and I will continue to walk through whatever doors He might open regarding that message he burned into our hearts.  What does that mean, logistically?  I would like to begin writing again, and as I feel more comfortable, speaking again.  I just recently have been able to talk or write about Ryan without it feeling like I was driving a knife deep into my heart.  I’m finally able to approach the subject with a feeling of gratitude for having had him in my life, rather than deep, uncontrollable pain and grief.

I don’t believe that the story is done being written.  The Lord has pressed upon my heart that there are still many chapters to be brought forth.  I’m not sure if I’m speaking figuratively or literally, but I remain open to either.  I ask, dear readers, that you would continue to pray for me, Colton, and Ryan’s family, and my “upcoming” family.  There are many obstacles that we’ve overcome as we have learned and changed and adapted to life post-cancer, and there are many other obstacles and challenges and opportunities that are ahead of us.  But there are is one constant that we cling to, and that is the name of Christ.  As it was when I walked through the darkest valley of my life, He continues to provide the constancy, the guidance, and the wisdom for the journey ahead.  And as opportunities to proclaim the work that He has done in my life come forth, I welcome them.  I praise His name for the great things He has done, is doing, and will continue to do.

He holds me upright.

Dearest friends, family,

I cannot thank you enough for the many messages, texts, cards, posts on Facebook, flowers (thanks, Delynn!), and other tangible demonstrations of support that Ryan's family and I have gotten from loved ones this week.  One of Ryan's former campers even wrote an open letter to her baby son about where he got his middle name of "Ryan", and it was powerful!  I still consider myself to be so fortunate to forever be linked to this incredible person that left such an indelible mark upon the world around him. Thank you, Ryan, for making us all better and for bringing glory to your Savior.

That six-week stretch of time from Ryan's birthday through this week has been challenging at times as I have reflected upon the incredible loss that we all experienced a year ago.  I am so grateful that the God I serve is the same God for which this verse is written: "When I am in distress, I call to you, because you answer me." (Psalm 86:7, NIV)  The unbelievable peace and joy that I've been able to still have even in the midst of grieving is only because of the mercy and goodness that my heavenly Father has poured out on me over and over again.  When I'm afraid, sad, confused, hurt, or lonely, He is more than enough!  It is the same way with Colton and his mama.  When Colton heard an enormous clap of thunder during a storm last night, he came running to me and jumped in bed with me.  His mom is his safe harbor.  Our God is a safe refuge in the midst of a storm (Isaiah 25:4).  I can't imagine having gotten through this past year in one whole piece without the grace and protection that I have received from God.

But I would also like to share with the readers of this blog about the most incredible experience that I've gotten to have as a parent.  This past Monday night, one year later (almost to the minute) from when Colton said goodnight to his dad, Colton prayed and asked to receive Jesus into his heart!  He was quite insistent with me that he wanted to follow God at that very moment.  I was so blessed and honored to be able to do that with my precious son.  He turns four tomorrow (April 14), and his dad was also four when he first followed the Lord.  I am amazed at God's timing, and so excited to know that someday all three of us will be together again in eternity.

Life continues to go well for Colton and I.  We've had the opportunity to travel a little more, make some memories together, and we have had people come into our lives that have been timely friends and have brought much joy.  Colton still asks about his dad a few times a week, and we get to have wonderful conversations about his dad's character.  He did go through a period of time not that long ago where his sadness about his dad was perhaps a little overwhelming to him, but now he seems to have evened out a little bit.  He is doing amazingly well and I'm grateful that God seems to have given each of us (and also gave Ryan) a little extra share of resilience when he created us.

Again, thanks to all of you for continuing to pray for us and to think of us and reach out.  I'm grateful for every message sent my way and I can feel the grace that you are asking God to give me!  With God behind me and the body of Christ around me, Colton and I continue to stay upright and moving forward.

Ten thousand, two hundred seventy four days.

How does one measure a life?

Is it the number of birthdays that we achieve?

Is it the money in our bank account?

Is it the style of our clothes?

If those are the measures of a life, then my dear husband might not have made much of a splash.  His time here on earth was short.  Today would have been only his 28th birthday, and despite the unbelievably brave effort that he put into fighting cancer (countless rounds of chemotherapy, radiation, theraspheres, surgery, naturopathy, vegan diet! - I wonder if he has yet forgiven me for that?), he did not achieve a long life.  Today that fact is weighing heavily on his family's hearts.

Money in the bank account?  We shared joint accounts.  I can attest to the fact that he and I were very much an unremarkable, middle-class family in that regard.

Style of our clothes?  I really shouldn't touch this with a ten-foot pole since beauty is in the eye of the beholder (and our opinions on clothing differed greatly), but Ryan's cowboy style probably wouldn't have earned him any style points with the fashion police.  I'll leave it at that. :)

If we measure a life, what is the standard?  I propose this:

What do you do to impact the world around you?

In only ten thousand, two hundred seventy-four days (the number of days that he lived), Ryan Prudhomme changed the world.  No, he wasn't a world leader.  He didn't have an impact on politics, government, or policy.  But for hundreds and even thousands of people, Ryan caused them to stop and think about their faith, their priorities, their families, and their passions.  He challenged us all to see the world in a new lens, in high definition, and to evaluate what really matters.  As a charismatic cowboy in the prime of his life publicly battled cancer, he invited the world to share in his hurts, his hopes, and his Savior.  And I know for many people (myself included), what Ryan did in those 10,274 days was to create a ripple effect where we now will go out and change the perspective of others around us.  So quite literally, he changed the world.

So despite the fact that the candles on his birthday cake never exceeded 27 and a few times his checking account even dipped below that number (yikes!), Ryan Prudhomme set a standard of living that I pray the rest of us will continue to strive for.  He taught us that "apart from [the Lord] I have no good thing." (Psalms 16:2), and that our ultimate purpose in life is glorify the One who created us in His image.

Happy birthday, good and faithful servant, funny cowboy, sweet friend, beloved son, devoted father, loving husband.  I am sure that your celebration today is one beyond what any of us can imagine.

Merry Christmas

Merry Christmas to all of our friends and family.  Colton and I are grateful that we are so loved, so prayed for, and so supported through this first Christmas without our dear Ryan.  I have had so many Facebook messages, texts, and cards this year - it never ceases to amaze me how the body of Christ pulls through for us when we need it most!

I am so thankful that the same savior that has given me the grace to persevere through the most difficult year of my life, chose to take on human form and was born 2000 years ago with the loving intention of dying for my sin.  I am also grateful that my husband intimately knew that same savior and as I type this, is celebrating Christ's birth, work, and resurrection in Heaven.  No more pain, no more cancer.  Thank you, Jesus, for the hope and healing that we have in you.

And though our hearts ache for what we lost...

...we continue to focus on what the Lord has graciously given us: each other, a loving circle of family and friends, and His own precious Son.

Photo credit: Christine K Photography, Grandville, Michigan

Merry Christmas from the Prudhomme family!  May the peace of Christ remain in your heart as we begin a new year.

A fitting memorial

Today, Ryan's grave marker was put in place. It took me an exceptional amount of time to think about exactly how to put who Ryan was into a two-foot wide slab of granite. Lots of thanks to Ryan's parents and my friends for being my sounding board and offering suggestions or affirmations. Thanks also to Ryan's cousin David for the beautiful craftsmanship. 

What I ended up loving the most about this stone is the scripture that is on it. "Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we trust in the name of the Lord our God." (Psalm 20:7, NIV) This scripture so embodies who my Ryan was. Although he loved horses and was often defined by his cowboy lifestyle, he was most defined by his faith in Jesus Christ. The picture also illustrates the way that Ryan led his life fully submitted to his Savior. Oh, I am so proud of you, Ry. 

In case you are interested in visiting this, Ryan was buried at Hersey Village Cemetery, an eighth of a mile west of the main street in Hersey (near his hometown of Reed City) on Three Mile Road. His gravesite is at the extreme east end of the cemetery.

If His grace is an ocean...

Eating dinner tonight - a gourmet delight consisting of macaroni and cheese and reheated leftovers (hey, a single mom has to cut corners sometimes!), today's date jarred my memory.

Instantly I was transported back to March 26, six months ago today.  A very grave, dejected Dr. Vashi, gently telling Ryan and I the words that we so desperately did not want to hear.

It was time to go home.  No more options.

I had steeled myself for this news for the previous 24 hours.  I could see the whole news unfolding exactly as it did, almost like a premonition or a foreshadowing.  I could see the symptoms increasing.  I knew that Ryan's surgery six days prior had been unsuccessful in its attempt to stop the internal bleeding that had plagued him since late February.

However, my husband had not spent the same amount of time preparing himself for the news. When we had a private moment, my husband, weak and bone-thin after four weeks of fighting for his life with every ounce of strength he had, laid his head on my shoulder and quietly sobbed and we prayed.  Most of it was guttural, but it was almost an entirely non-verbal plea for grace, peace, and mercy.

And there it came, rushing over us yet again, even in one of the most heartbreaking moments of my life.  And even in that excruciating moment where death stared us in the eyes, I knew that God's grace was once again going to sustain and buoy us through the next (short) chapter of our lives.  Because it is sufficient for me.  It was for Ryan.

It is for you, too.

2 Corinthians 12:8-9 "Three times I pleaded with the Lord about this, that [the thorn] should leave me. But he said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me."

The next two weeks will be really tough for me again as the six-month anniversary of Ryan's passing approaches. The combination of the impending anniversary and school starting (Really?  I'm really doing all of this myself?  All the time?  No breaks?) has left me feeling bereft, lonely, and overwhelmed for the past few weeks.

And yet, throughout all of the pain that this month of September has dredged up, I am reminded of that sufficient grace.  As a believer, I have an enormous source of power within me that is a direct result of the Holy Spirit's indwelling of me.  This power has allowed me to choose joy in spite of paralyzing sadness, and has allowed me to live life in abundance in spite of my weakness.

My Savior loves me.  My Father comforts me.  His Spirit sustains me.

And His grace is an ocean in which I am still sinking, six months later.

The silver lining

One week after Ryan's funeral, I found myself lying flat on my face on my bedroom floor, sobbing uncontrollably.

Given that our new house was not completely unpacked yet, I decided that following Saturday to attack my bedroom and get some of the boxes out of the way.  Along the way, there had to be at least fifty emotional landmines.  What was I supposed to do with the items from Ryan's nightstand?  His eyeglasses?  His socks?  Meaningless items, but it was still hard for me to wrap my mind around the fact that he did not need these anymore.  All of this was difficult, but it did not compare to the ammunition provided by a stack of handwritten letters, tied with a black ribbon.

When Ryan was 17, he spent a summer in Wyoming "cowboying" on a ranch.  He did not have much internet access, and this was prior to texting.  So we went old-fashioned that summer.  Countless letters and postcards were sent between Hart, Michigan and Cody, Wyoming.  We had been dating for about a year and a half, and we were crazy, crazy in love.  I made the stupid, absolutely insane decision to read the letters that day.

"I can't wait to spend the rest of my life with you..."
"I am so looking forward to growing old with you and playing with our grandkids..."
"I could spend eighty years with you and never grow tired of you..."

Suddenly, the fact that all of our dreams for a long life together, horses, children, grandchildren, traveling, and ministry had been cut down and destroyed hit me like a ton of bricks, and I crumpled and hit the floor.

There is no time period of my life that has been more excruciating than the spring of 2013.  And sometimes I have struggled to make any sense of it. Why?  Why this pain?  Why me?  Why Ryan?  Why Colton?  Does this pain have any purpose?!  Is there any silver lining?

It does have purpose.  And there is a silver lining.

Fifteen months ago, I wrote a blog post about suffering.  This post is not going to be a replica of that one, which was about sharing in the sufferings of Christ and why suffering is beneficial for us in the long run.  Today, I'm simply searching for what I have to be thankful for.  I am redeeming the pain that I have suffered.  My God has promised me that His plans are meant for my good, and that He has given me hope and a future.  Today I am looking for what has been for my good.

Because of this pain, I...

• have become a better parent.  Being the only parent of a grieving child has taught me even more about compassion and patience.  It has forced me to be less self-focused at a time when I could easily be all about myself.  My little boy lost his father and he doesn't fully understand why.  Anything that I'm going through pales in comparison to his situation.
• have learned to take better care of myself.  I am very in tune with my needs at the moment.  Some days I need alone time to recharge, and I'm making that a priority.  Sometimes I need to be with my friends.  I need to exercise and eat food that makes me energetic.  I need to have fun and laugh and do things that I enjoy, so I'm doing that.
• have learned to appreciate happiness (even small measures of it) and not take it for granted.  When something comes along that truly makes me grin, I recognize that and I thank God for it.  A beautiful sunset, a wonderful conversation, a walk-off Tigers win, a well-brewed pot of coffee, a good book, a bike ride through creation, or even just a really funny TV show - I am so grateful for these things.
• have learned (re-learned?) to rely on the Lord for my joy.  All of the things listed above are wonderful, but they do not compare to the deep contentment that comes from knowing Him and trusting Him and being thisclose to Him.
• will be a better spouse (if God chooses that for me) in the future.  I can easily look back and pick apart all of the faults that I had when I was married to Ryan, but that is futile.  Let's just say that I grew a lot in seven years, and Ryan pushed me to be a better person. (Anyone who knew Ryan well is probably smiling, imagining what I mean by that.) What is most important is that I learned not to take someone for granted because we are not guaranteed (at all) that we will have our spouse into old age.  Each day is a gift.

I never would have chosen the road that I've been on.  The price that I had to pay to learn all these lessons - when I think about that price, it is almost too much to bear.  I still have to pinch myself when I think, I buried my 27-year-old husband.  It is still totally surreal.  But despite the grief, the emotional triggers that appear out of freaking nowhere, I know that I'm moving forward.  I have finally come to the place where I am thankful for what I have, what I had, and I am not mourning all the time but rather I'm celebrating because my God has once again proven Himself to be enough for me.  I have been so blessed.  So blessed.

Are there still hard days?  Absolutely.  Don't ask me about the night before Colton's first day of preschool last week; it's a tear-filled haze.  Am I still in pain?  Yes, and I imagine that I will always feel those sharp twinges of pain throughout the rest of my life.  But I am reminded of Psalm 40:1-3 at this stage in my life:

I waited patiently for the Lord;
    he turned to me and heard my cry.
He lifted me out of the slimy pit,
    out of the mud and mire;
he set my feet on a rock
    and gave me a firm place to stand.
He put a new song in my mouth,
    a hymn of praise to our God.
Many will see and fear the Lord
    and put their trust in him.

Because I have been redeemed, my hymn of praise will continue, undaunted.  Christ's sacrificial love for me is the ultimate silver lining.

Prayer request for Colton

Hello friends, I don't have any deep thoughts to share today. I only have a simple request: that you would continue to pray for my precious son. He is really struggling right now to understand why his dad left him and there are a lot of emotions that we are handling. Anger and sadness are definitely the most prominent. It is all normal and a part of the healing process. Kids process grief so differently from adults and Colton didn't have the luxury of understanding for two years what was about to happen. He is just truly beginning to understand what this all means. 

Please pray for me, too. It rips me apart to see Colton so torn about it and when the grief causes anger and misbehavior, sometimes it's hard to discern what is normal toddler behavior and what necessitates further conversation with him. I certainly need wisdom and guidance to weather this particular storm. I am so grateful for your continued bringing us before the throne. 

The scab

That, my friends, is a bonafide little boy knee.

Colton and I have been very busy lately. We just got back from a ten day trip to Colorado, where we were able to explore, meet new people, catch up with family and friends, see new things, and relax. It was perfect. It was just what the doctor ordered. 

While Colton was there, he was incredibly active. He ran, jumped, and daredeviled. He has become quite a boy! Of course, in the course of these events, he picked up quite a few battle scars. The picture above is his skinned up knee from many exploits over the last couple of weeks. 

As I looked at his knee last night and prepared to kiss a boo boo acquired at a family Fourth of July party, it occurred to me that Colton's knee and my heart have a lot in common. Like his knee, my heart is healing. Actually, it is healing nicely and better than I thought. I feel like I'm adjusted, functioning, and feeling like myself again (for the most part). My sense of humor has returned, I don't feel lethargic anymore, and it feels like the black cloud isn't constantly hanging over my head.

However, not all days are perfect.

Something new happened to Colton last night. Another boo boo caused the scab on his knee to reopen, and fresh blood trickled out of the wound he acquired while jumping in a pile of rocks at a rodeo last weekend. 

So it feels with the scab on my heart.

Fourth of July parties - shouldn't he be here?

Colorado trip - gosh, I wish he were here with me to ___________ (fill in the blank).

Every time I have one of those moments (hours, days) where I miss him, it feels like the scab reopens and that same familiar grief comes running out. 

And yet, by the grace of God I am healing. I'll always have a little scab that will reopen from time to time. Sometimes the corner of the scab might peel up, and perhaps sometimes the entire scab will be roughly ripped off and I'll have to practically start over again. Maybe, like the skin on Colton's knee, the new flesh will not be the same color and the pink flesh will be telling of the massive scab that used to occupy that space.

But thankfully the God I serve is one that heals both physical and emotional scars. As He has been faithful to me thus far, I know he will continue to do so. By His grace, and with the comforting salve of the prayers of his Body and His saints (here's looking at you, Ry Guy), I know that I will continue to live life abundantly.

Victor, not victim.

Poor Kendra.  Poor Colton.  Poor Ryan.

I have no doubt that those words have crossed many people's minds, and probably many people's lips.  And certainly that is understandable.  Probably most of you that are reading this have been walking this road with me for the better part of two years: the first days when Ryan was first diagnosed, to when we got our first set of great scans, then when we had to try radiation since chemo wasn't working well, then when we got amazing news last summer, to when things started to turn downward, really downward, and then when the bottom truly fell out of our lives.  And then...you know how that chapter of the story ended.

Even now, as I spent some time this week reading over our past blog entries, I can have a tendency to feel really sorry for myself.

I'm 28.  And widowed.

I have a young son who has no siblings and no other immediate family other than me.

My friends are buying minivans for their burgeoning families. I am buying a gravestone for my husband's burial plot.

And yet, this "woe is me" attitude is simply not a place that I can stay for long.

Because... do you know what I'm about?  Do you know whom I serve?  The God that I know and the One that knows me is a God of victory.


Hope

For me to break out of "victim mentality", it requires a refocusing of my mind from temporal to eternal: from things of finite importance, to things of eternal value.

I want to post some scripture from Romans 8 with my own emphases added.  I would love to post the whole chapter, but it is really long.  Please do read Romans 8 in its entirety (click here); it's phenomenal.

18 I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us. ... 24 For in this hope we were saved. But hope that is seen is no hope at all. Who hopes for what they already have? 25 But if we hope for what we do not yet have, we wait for it patiently.

... 28 And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, who have been called according to his purpose. 

...31 What, then, shall we say in response to these things? If God is for us, who can be against us? 32 He who did not spare his own Son, but gave him up for us all—how will he not also, along with him, graciously give us all things? ...

37 No, in all these things we are more than conquerors through him who loved us. 38 For I am convinced that neither death nor life, neither angels nor demons, neither the present nor the future, nor any powers, 39 neither height nor depth, nor anything else in all creation, will be able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord.


Wow.  So powerful.  I almost feel like verse 39 should end with an obscene amount of exclamation points. :)  "NOTHING is able to separate us from the love of God that is in Christ Jesus our Lord!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!"

What is it that makes me a victor?  It is the hope that I have in the resurrection of Christ, nothing else.  It wasn't my marriage, it's not my job, it's not my precious son (although I love him a thousand times more than I love my own life), and it's not my possessions.  Lest I think that it's any of those things, I am reminded in the very first verse that I posted above - what we have here on earth, whether it is blessing or suffering, comfort or discomfort - it's not worth talking about.  It is not worth comparing to the GLORY that will be revealed in us.  Can you imagine what heaven must be like, if everything that we think is so important here on earth, is completely miniscule and trivial compared to that?  Wow.  Now that is some hope.  That is some victory that awaits us.

Maybe you have gone through some trials in your life too.  I know for a fact that some people that are reading this right now are in deep pain.  (I am actually envisioning a friend reading this very sentence, who has suffered unimaginable loss in her own life only three short weeks ago.  Praying so much for you.)  Or maybe it's divorce, job loss, or the pain of loneliness.  My dear friends, hang on.  "...in all things God works for the good of those who love him".  It doesn't make sense now.  It doesn't.  I want Ryan back with every cell in my body, but I have to somehow trust - you do too - that this season in our lives is meant to purify, strengthen, and solidify our faith.  Please, let's not fall victim to Satan's desire - that suffering would lead to doubt, and doubt to contempt, and contempt to hatred.


Victim Mentality

The Bible is chock full of lessons about victim mentality, although I'm pretty sure that the term was only invented in the 20th century.  Remember the Israelites wandering in the desert?  As Moses and Aaron prepared them and talked to them about moving into Canaan, the Israelites freaked out about the "what ifs".  Instead of preparing mentally for the battle that lay ahead, they spun their proverbial wheels about what could possibly happen, completely disregarding the Lord's promises and His proven faithfulness.  Heck, they even mention in Numbers 14 that they would rather have died in Egypt or the wilderness than to be where they were, on the brink of entering the promised land. 

I will lay it all bare here for you: I have had some days recently when I've felt like an Israelite.  I wouldn't say that I've exactly doubted God or His plans, but we've had words.  Sometimes those words have gotten intense on my part.  I have, for a few moments, felt like a victim.  Why is all of this happening to me and Colton and not to someone else?

However, it's flipping that switch in my mind from dwelling upon my circumstances, to setting my mind upon the One who cares so deeply about our hurt, and is cradling our broken hearts.  He alone will raise me/us to victory.  If God is for us, then who could be against us?  What circumstances are too big or too complicated or too hurtful for Him to handle?  Those of us who are in Christ Jesus are not victims, because of the hope we have in Him, and the comfort we have through the Holy Spirit.


More than conquerors

When I think of a conqueror, I think of someone wearing battle gear.  As most of you know, I'm not really into battle gear, camo, or weapons.  I'm more into great shoes and trendy sweaters.  However, I am a conqueror because of this amazing hope I've been given.  Are you a conqueror?  Are you headed for victory?

At the end of the passage, Paul talks about the many things that could potentially get in the way of our victory: death, demons, the present, the future, etc.  However, because of the army we have behind us, none of these things matter - none of them can separate us from the love of our Lord. 

Unless we allow them to.

What is your mentality, friends?  Are you feeling browbeat and defeated, like a victim?  Or do you hear that battle cry, the steady drum of the Victor, the Conquering Hero who has defeated sin and offers us a future that is not worth comparing to our present circumstances?

I know that for myself, I choose victory.  Choosing the victor mentality over a victim mentality requires work, and it requires me to daily put on my armor.  But I refuse to be "Poor Kendra".  I have been shown too much mercy, and showered with too many blessings to be "Poor Kendra".  I have been rescued, redeemed, and refined by His grace and His love.

I am a victor.

Grief is in the small things.

Hello friends and family,

I know that it's been a long time since I last wrote.  I hardly seem to have words to say to explain what I'm feeling these days.  It's so dichotomous - though my world is rife with pain and grief, yet I am also sustained by that unimaginable peace that comes only through a tight tether with the Holy Spirit.  I have truly been blessed for the last several weeks by His grace and His comfort.

I've been through a few of those "firsts" that are notoriously difficult in the first year after loss.

The first birthday party (for Colton):

First major family event that Ryan had expressed he had really wanted to be at (Corey's graduation):

First Mother's Day (which Ryan had done an excellent job celebrating with me for three years prior):

Mother's Day at Comerica: WIN!

First wedding anniversary without him - May 13.

Somehow, the "firsts" have not been as bad as I worked them up to be.  Maybe the first Christmas is where all of the anxiety and sadness is going to hit me like a freight train, but I've been okay so far through these "firsts".

It's the small things that have been getting me:

• The silence
• His handwriting
• Seeing an article of his clothing
• Catching a whiff of his brand of cologne somewhere
• Disconnecting his phone
• Hearing a song that reminds me of him
• Checking the "Single" box on a piece of paperwork
• Seeing his traits in his son
• Seeing a TV show that we watched together
• Seeing his horse
• Seeing any horse

I lived with Ryan 365 days a year.  Only 10-15 of the days in any given year are holidays or special days that we celebrated together.  So the other 340 days of the year is where it feels like we really did true life together.  The laughing, loving, arguing, negotiating, encouraging, bantering, and just living - we did that all together and that's the part that I miss the most.  As I write this, it's Saturday morning and I am waiting for Colton to wake up.  If Ryan were still here, he would be awake and we would be probably a quarter of the way through a pot of coffee and watching SportsCenter, our Saturday morning routine.  I miss having the need to make an entire pot of coffee on a Saturday.  I miss the SportsCenter theme song.

I just miss Ryan.  And all of the sights, sounds, activities, hugs, phone calls, letters, and everything else that accompanied him.

And yet - however wrenching the pain is, my God is greater.  I know, without any doubt, that His grace will be sufficient for today, even without a pot of coffee and SportsCenter - and my best friend.

2 Corinthians 1:3-4

Blessed be the God and Father of our Lord Jesus Christ, the Father of mercies and God of all comfort; who comforts us in all our affliction so that we may be able to comfort those who are in any affliction with the comfort with which we ourselves are comforted by God.

Oh Lord, please heal my broken heart and help lessen the pain.  I know that somehow Ryan's death was somehow meant for my good and not for my harm.  May I and my family continue to glorify you even through tears.  I trust you implicitly and I love you desperately.

On rocking chairs and twilight.

Tonight I watched the sunset.  I had put Colton to bed, and since it was finally one of the first warm days we have had all spring, I sat out in a rocking chair on my back porch and watched the orange sun wane down below the horizon, and I listened to the matching rocking chair next to me as it swayed gently in the breeze, noticeably and painfully empty.

I sat for a long time and as the sun sank deeper, it began to get harder and harder to see my surroundings.  I strained my eyes to see Colton's swingset, and I could barely make out the outline of our Australian Shepherd as he paced the lawn, still searching for his beloved master even after two weeks have already passed.  Even familiar surroundings were difficult to decipher and navigate in the scant twilight.

Since my best friend died, life has felt like it's literally in a twilight zone - not just because of how strange everything feels, but because twilight is dim and gloomy and it feels like it will be eons until the world is bright again.  So it feels without Ryan.  Was it really just two months ago that we went out for his birthday and traipsed through a furniture store, bouncing on mattresses and drawing the ire of the store clerk?  Were we really laughing, imagining how we would decorate our new home together?  Was it really just two years ago (and some odd days) that we were making plans for when we were going to have our second child and planning the birthday bash for our firstborn's first birthday?  Only two years ago.

How did I get here?

Where am I going?

In this dark, dimly lit period of my life, I have but one hope:

"I consider that our present sufferings are not worth comparing with the glory that will be revealed in us."

Romans 8:18 - NIV, emphasis added

While I sit rocking on a porch, contemplating the darkness that has suddenly enveloped my life in the short span of two months - okay, well, two years - I pause to think of what my best friend is doing.  What he's seeing.  Who he's talking to.  Imagining his grin as he gets to worship in wild, unadulterated adoration of the Savior that he clung to.  And as much as I hurt, and as much as I ache for the Ryan that I had, I can't help but be happy that he is where he is.  Whole.  Free.  And I feel a twinge of jealousy and longing for the same glory.

Eventually it got completely pitch black as I was outside and I was completely blinded to what was in front of me.  But I do know this: darkness does not last forever.  I know, somewhere down this painful road, that there is joy ahead, in the morning.  And direction.  Guidance.  Purpose.  Meaning.  I do not know what that looks like, and I don't know when it's coming.  All I know to do right now is to sit patiently, rock, and wait upon the One who loves me - and feels every single ache right along with me as I sit in silent darkness.

Memorial service video

Because of the length of the service, this is in two parts:



Ryan Prudhomme Celebration Service 1/2 from Grace Adventures on Vimeo.




Ryan Prudhomme Celebration Service 2/2 from Grace Adventures on Vimeo.

Memorial service remarks

Hello,

Sometime this week the video of the memorial service will be uploaded.  It was a long service (somewhere between an hour and a half to two hours), so it's taking some time to digitize and upload.  It should be done sometime after Wednesday.

In the meantime, here is the text of the remarks that I made about Ryan at the memorial service and what it meant to Ryan to live in high definition - and what it means for the rest of us that are left behind.  I have been asked by a few people to upload this.



"Living in High Definition"


Good morning.  It is amazing to me to look out over this crowd of people and be once again reminded of the impact that my husband had on a number of people.  While the pain that I and my families have felt this week has been suffocating, we have been blessed beyond measure of the response that we have had from around the world, hearing of how Ryan has impacted people – not just in the last two years, but for 27 years.  Ryan’s passion for the Lord, his love for his family, and his desire to do things that made a difference for the Kingdom of God are all of the things that we admire about him and what draws us to this place today. Whether he was a family member, a friend, a coworker, a former teammate, a classmate, a counselor, or even just a guy whose blog we read and admired – Ryan has impacted all of us not just because of the smile, his laugh, his sense of humor, or his practical jokes – but because of the brilliant light of hope that he reflected through Jesus Christ.

One of the things that I think we all admired about Ryan was the fact that despite his response to his cancer diagnosis was extraordinary, he was in fact a very ordinary person in real life.  I was married to him for almost seven years and dated him for four and a half years prior to that.  I can readily attest to the fact that Ryan had faults.  As a matter of fact, many of you may not know that Ryan had a criminal record.  Yes.  He was convicted of a misdemeanor three years ago.  After we bought our house in Claybanks Township, we had a devious horse that kept coming up with ways to break our fence and bust herself and our other horse loose, and they always headed towards the freeway that was just a mile from our house.  Deuce and Riata got loose three times in one month, and Ryan frantically kept trying to repair the electric fence that they had broken.  After the third time they got loose, the state police caught the two horses on the entrance ramp to the freeway.  As Ryan zoomed up in his green pickup truck to retrieve the horses, the very unimpressed state police officer gave him a citation for – wait for it - livestock at large.  We did not have any idea that someone could be cited for such a thing!  Ryan tried very hard to fight the citation, but he ended up pleading no contest to a misdemeanor and was fined.  Although Ryan didn’t think it was so funny at the time, we had many good laughs imagining him having to declare his misdemeanor of “livestock at large” on a future employment application.

So despite his criminal record, I had the immense honor and privilege of marrying and being the best friend of this incredible person.  Many people have asked me for the past two years whether or not Ryan really meant what he said on our blog and at his speaking engagements and if he was different at home.  To answer that succinctly, absolutely not.  While Ryan did struggle with the thought of leaving the rest of us behind – especially Colton and I - I never heard him complain about his illness, and he never once complained of how this whole situation was terribly unfair.  Of course he was human, but his faith and his response never wavered throughout 24 months of heavy treatment, rollercoaster scans, and ultimately the blow that we received at the end of his long hospitalization and in his final days as he realized that he was close to death.  Ryan was a person that was truly graced by God with the determination to praise his Savior no matter the circumstances that were thrown his direction.  And he had the confidence and the burning desire to share this praise with the world at large, so that other people might also be impacted by Jesus Christ.

So what makes a young man, with his whole life ahead of him, be able to respond this way?  I want to turn your attention to the passage on the inside of the program, from 2 Corinthians 4: 16-18. “Therefore we do not lose heart. Though outwardly we are wasting away, yet inwardly we are being renewed day by day. For our light and momentary troubles are achieving for us an eternal glory that far outweighs them all. So we fix our eyes not on what is seen, but on what is unseen, since what is seen is temporary, but what is unseen is eternal.”  You see, one of the most remarkable characteristics about my husband was what he chose to fixate upon.  He did not fixate upon cancer.  He chose to fix his eyes on what was unseen, on things of eternal value.  His ultimate hope was not just to be healed of cancer, but rather no matter what happened to him, his hope remained completely rooted in the salvation that he had through Christ Jesus.  And because of that hope, he did not lose heart.  Though outwardly his human body wasted away, each and every day he was renewed by his hope in the Lord.  In that passage, Paul talks about “light and momentary troubles”.  This is said by Paul – the Apostle Paul – the man who was beaten, shipwrecked, and imprisoned.  Ryan also considered his troubles to be light and momentary – the radiation, the countless rounds of chemo, the side effects from medication, the loss of physical strength.  However, both Paul and Ryan considered that their present sufferings were not worth comparing to the glory that would be revealed in them.

And that, my friends, is the very essence of what Living in High Definition is all about.  Eternal perspective.  I would like to share some of Ryan’s very own words from a blog that he wrote in March of 2012.

"Some days this cancer and the future feel overwhelming. I may very well have a lot of pain and suffering in my future. I may have the loss of dreams and goals and hopes. Continuing to work at being obedient and living our faith out is hard, very hard at times. Yes as bad as all this feels - what must Glory be like? If it makes this hell that we are going through seem "light and momentary" - what must eternity be like! Chew a moment on what could possibly make shipwrecks, beatings, imprisonments, poverty, sickness, and more seem "light and momentary". How does that not motivate us to do everything we can to honor God?

That is Living in High Definition. To see every situation and circumstance through an eternal perspective. Fixing our eyes on what is unseen, what is eternal! I can relate to Paul's feeling a death sentence, but I'm also starting to understand the incredible future that is called Heaven. It doesn't just give me peace, it drives me to serve Him more and more."

Ryan chose to see life in high definition.  To trust God.  To obey Him.  To honor his family and to choose not to stress about things that were temporary.  It was not always an easy decision to have eternal perspective or to be obedient.  But time and time again, Ryan and I said aloud to each other – to live in high definition is ultimately a choice.  It’s a choice that sometimes has to be made even several times a day.  But all it is, is a choice.  And when trials come, as they so often do, a person that lives life in high definition is going to be able to stand tall, as Ryan did, and handle trials with grace and dignity, knowing that Scripture promises us in Romans 5 that “suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us.”

I know my husband very well.  I know that he would be so touched by the fact that so many of his friends and family and supporters came here today to remember him and to support his wife and his family members.  He would laugh at our jokes, and he would add several of his own, and some of those jokes would probably border on inappropriate.  But he would also ask these questions: What do you believe?  Why do you believe it?  And if you have faith, what are you going to do with it?  Are you going to use your faith to impact the world, or are you going to hide it under a rock?  And when circumstances happen: does your faith define your circumstances or do your circumstances define your faith?  He would want every single person here to know that it is possible to live life in high definition.  It first takes faith in Jesus Christ.  And then it takes total surrender to God’s purposes for your life.  Life will not always be easy – it wasn’t for Ryan.  But Ryan finished his short life well, and I imagine that as he entered heaven and kneeled before the throne, his Heavenly Father touched his beautiful dark hair and looked into his warm brown eyes, and said, “Well done, good and faithful servant.  Welcome home.”

I miss him more than I ever could have imagined.  My husband, my best friend, my son’s father, our inspiration, cowboy, comic relief, brother, son, grandson, nephew, friend.  He has truly left a legacy so deep and so wide that the world will remember him for years to come, and even more importantly – Colton will keep learning the rich spiritual lessons that Ryan so bravely taught in the midst of his illness.  Ryan will have left more of a legacy in his short life than many people do in a full life.  Although I ache for the profound loss that my son and I will acutely feel for years, I do rejoice today in knowing that my best friend is safe in the loving arms of Jesus, where he will remain for eternity – and because I have the same hope that he had, I will once again see him before long.

Until we meet again, cowboy.  I love you.

Links to online tributes to Ryan

This week, the outpouring of love and the number of words that has been written about Ryan has been mind-boggling.  Emails, text messages, comments, guestbook entries, Facebook messages, tweets, and other communications have been flooding in.  For me, it has been a blessing to see the difference that Ryan has made in his life, and how his legacy will continue into the future.  It's comforting to know that Colton will be surrounded by thousands of people that will tell him of the unique, profound impact on their own lives because of his daddy.

To that end, a few other bloggers have taken the time this week to write about what Ryan meant to them - and the words are powerful.  Thank you, Bill, Tyler, Abby, and Gramps - these words are a treasure to me and a salve to my heart.

From Bill McKendry - "Do All the Good You Can. While You Can."

From Tyler Nall - "Lessons Learned from an Amazing Client"

From Abby Banfield - "The Guy I Knew: Remembering Ryan"

From Kermit "Gramps Peanut" Hainley - "What is a Poor Man Going to Give His Son"

Living Life in High Definition

Last night I found the link to this video of Ryan from December 2010, four months before he was diagnosed with cancer.  In the video, he recounts a story from the previous day in which I had nearly been in a car accident.  He also begins to define what living in high definition meant to him.

Ryan's message of trusting God, appreciating what really matters, and living a life intentionally for the sake of the kingdom of Christ - that message began when he was small, continued to be refined when he got older, and was burnished when he was diagnosed with cancer.  This video brings me joy because I was reminded that Ryan was not only someone special when he had cancer - he was uniquely formed by God to be a mouthpiece for His glory from the very beginning.  Cancer just gave him a megaphone with which to shout God's praises.

Obituary, letters to Colton, and pictures.

Hello friends, I wanted to let you know that the service times have been posted online, in Ryan's obituary:

http://www.kingfuneralhome.net/fh/obituaries/obituary.cfm?o_id=2058536&fh_id=10968

The other thing that I wanted to ask of you: I would like to collect letters that are addressed to Colton that tell him about who his daddy was.  Ryan was many things to many people: an inspiration, a blessing, comic relief, maybe even an occasional pain in the neck!  As Colton grows, I would love to be able to share your stories and memories with him.  I am asking that people send these letters to Colton one of three ways:

1.) Email the letter to the email address below.
2.) Send the letter in the mail to: Colton Prudhomme, c/o Grace Adventures, 2100 N Ridge Rd, Mears, MI 49436.
3.) Bring the letter to one of the services.

This will be such a valuable thing for our son to have.  I thank you in advance for helping us.

The last thing I would like to ask for is pictures of Ryan.  If you have any pictures of Ryan from his childhood or adulthood, please email them to the other email address listed below.  It would be best to have these in before Thursday morning, so that we could possibly incorporate them into a slideshow.

Thank you.

I am so grateful for the outpouring of love the last 36 hours from our friends, family, and blog readers.  We as a family are so amazed at the far-reaching impact that Ryan had in his 27 years.  He packed a lot of meaning into his short life, and God graced him with an amazing message to bring to encourage people.  I already miss him so much, but God has already so clearly given us peace and comfort in the midst of our deep sorrow.

Ryan Scott Prudhomme, Feb. 21, 1986 - Apr. 8, 2013

At 12:01 a.m. this morning, I had the incredible honor of holding my best friend's hand as he slipped from his earthly home into the waiting arms of Jesus. While this tremendous loss brings our hearts wrenching pain, we also are buoyed by God's grace and His truth, and the assurance that our dear Ryan had of heaven.

It was an immense privilege to walk this journey alongside my husband and my hero. He has taught me so much about courage, faith, perseverance, love, hope, and contentment and I am deeply thankful to God for granting me the years that I had with him. So, so thankful.

I am also grateful for your continuous prayers and still covet them for our family, especially for Ryan's beloved son, Colton. We have a long road ahead of us, but we will walk that road with the unshakable hope and peace of Christ.

Well done, good and faithful servant.

"No guilt in life,

No fear in death,

This is the power of Christ in me.

From life's first cry

To final breath,

Jesus commands my destiny."

As details about services become finalized, we will release details later today or tomorrow.

My promise to my dying husband

Your smile.

Anytime I think of you, the first thing I see in my mind’s eye is your megawatt smile. Your friendliness, your openness, and your sense of humor, all amplified and highlighted by your toothy, crooked grin.

That grin caught my eye over a decade ago, and ultimately captured my heart. From the first days of our relationship when we were just a couple of love-struck high school students, to the moment you saw me walking down the aisle, to the moment I saw you first lay eyes on your son, to the moment now when I enter your hospital room—your smile melts my heart, Ryan. You still dazzle me.

Life with you has been easy because it has been clear from the start that God uniquely wired us to be together. You challenge me, you sharpen me, you inspire me, and you make me a better person. Your unwavering commitment to the Lord makes my own relationship with Him much richer and more intentional because I have you to look to as an example of what it means to live a life sold out for Christ. Even through the last two years, as we have walked the road of your terminal cancer diagnosis together, life has remained colorful and sweet because our God is gracious to me, and you are one of the three biggest gifts I've received from Him. Salvation and our son are the other two.

On May 13, 2006, I saw your huge smile as I made my way down a short aisle to marry you. And on that day, you and I made a lot of promises to each other. "...from this day forward, I will devote myself to you and our family, second only to God / I commit to loving you, as much during difficult times as well as times of happiness / in victories as well as defeats / All these things I promise to you." 

When I look back, so much has happened in almost seven years and I have realized that it’s time to restate exactly what I promise to you. Life has happened. And as we stare down this monster with hands clasped together and the Lord firmly entrenched behind us, I want to leave no doubt that you know these things.

Ryan Scott Prudhomme, I promise to you that I will cherish your memory as long as I live. Your character, your integrity, your heart for the Lord, and your unshakable faith in Him are all reasons that I, along with many others, will continue to regard you as a most extraordinary person. I admire you more than you could imagine.

Ryan, I promise to you that your son will know you as he grows. Any creative way that I can devise to ensure that he grows up feeling close to you—I plan to do it. Any person that can tell him about your jokes, your idiosyncrasies, your personality traits—I will ensure those people have an avenue to tell your son about his beloved daddy. Regardless of whether you get to parent him for two or twenty or seventy years, I pledge to you my commitment to raise him to know his dad.

I promise to you I will not despair, I will not be broken, and I will somehow, someday, some way again feel joy and peace. During the last two years, I know your first thoughts are usually of me—not of yourself—and you have been far more worried about me and Colton. Your love for me has never been more evident and has helped gird me through some very difficult times. I could never have done this without your faithful prayer and your encouragement, but I’m entering into a new phase where I won’t have the luxury of your nearness. Despite that, I know deep down that I am a person that can shoulder anything, as long as the Lord stands behind me. And He will. I will, with His grace, stand tall and will endure whatever tomorrow brings.  Don't you worry.

My last promise, Ryan, is not a new one—and it’s not a promise to you. It’s a promise to my Lord and Savior. I promise that my trust in the Lord will not be broken, bent, tarnished, punctured, pushed, nor shaken. I have no idea what He is orchestrating. I may not ever know until I am able to question Him in person someday. But I know the character of the One who alone knows the number of our days, He who knew you from the time before you were born and still, to this day, holds you and I in a tight, secure grip. His goodness and his mercy have been the constancy that we have so sorely needed during the last two rollercoaster years.

My darling, I love you more than I could ever have guessed that I would have loved you when you first flashed that unforgettable smile at me in the crowded hallway of our small high school. You are more than just my husband: you’re my best friend, my closest confidant, my sparring partner, my teacher, and my hero. When I close my eyes and think of you, I will always remember the sweet happiness of being perfectly matched to a person that pushed me to be a greater version of my own self.

And I’ll never forget the beautiful smile on your face.

Which always will bring one to my own.

-Kendra

I wrote this letter to Ryan while he was hospitalized at CTCA in March.  After he read it, he strongly encouraged me to release it on our blog when I felt that it was the appropriate time.  We both pray that it is effective in bringing encouragement to those that read this blog.

Photo Credit: Yeoman Photography, Big Rapids, MI