A Tree Called Life
Watercolor on 140-lb. cold-press paper, 18˝ x 25˝ | Age 19
Katie was a lover of contrasts, and perhaps that is what captured her eye when she saw this tree. I can relate to the gnarled, weathered tree trunk—but it is the flourish of new-growth leaves that gives me hope.
OPENING PAGES
My Voice (title page)
Black and white ebony on recycled paper, 28˝ x 9˝ | Age 19
My Voice II (contents)
Black and white ebony on recycled paper, 15˝ x 22˝ | Age 19
Katie chose ebony to depict her favorite paintbrushes as a freshman at Azusa Pacific University. She wrote, “The subject of this still life is my voice.” These works are drawn in the negative on recycled brown paper, using white or black ebony to show highs and lows and allowing the dark paper to show through from underneath.
Katie’s Christmas stocking (“But One”): To help ease the pain of our first Katie-less Christmas, I’d planned something clever to fill the emptiness of Katie’s stocking. What I had not anticipated was that once we handed the rest of the kids their stockings, the starkness of our new reality would be left hanging tangibly, visibly clear.
Mama and daughter (foreword): Even at thirteen, Katie wasn’t beyond a good snuggle.
PART 1: VERMILLION
Thunderclouds (page xiv)
Watercolor on 140-lb. cold-press paper, 13˝ x 21˝ | Age 19
We found this painting still attached to a tablet of watercolor paper. It shows Katie’s trademark haste—and her powerful use of color and texture.
Vaudrey family, 2007: The original Vaudrey seven in 2007: Katie (18), Matt (22), Scott, me, Sam (15), Bethany (20), Tember (13), and our toy Australian shepherds, Henry and Alice.
PART 2: PAYNE’S GREY
Masquerade (page 46)
Colored pencil and graphite on paper, 17˝ x 21˝ | Age 16
This piece hung in the school district office for a year and now hangs in Scott’s office. We love its intrigue—and the level of detail created with colored pencils.
PART 3: INDIGO
It Needed Yellow (page 102)
Acrylic on stretched canvas, 36˝ x 48˝ | Age 17 (yellow added at age 19)
Two years after completing this piece in red, black, grey, and white, Katie whipped out her brushes as we chatted in her room. She mixed up a wash of cadmium yellow and began adding fresh brushstrokes to the piece—as it hung on her bedroom wall. “It needed yellow,” she explained.
PART 4: BURNT SIENNA
Lighthouse III (page 164)
Oil pastels on paper, 18˝ x 24˝ | Age 16
During her sophomore year, Katie had a penchant for drawing and painting lighthouses. This one—my favorite—hangs in her sister Tember’s room at college.
PART 5: CADMIUM GREEN LIGHT
Sharpening her skills . . . (page 214)
Watercolor with her sumi-e brushes on watercolor paper, 9˝ x 12˝ | Age 19
PART 6: CERULEAN BLUE
The Siblings (page 242)
India ink wash with sumi-e brushes on torn watercolor paper, 12˝ x 36˝ | Age 19
It gave Katie great joy to capture the childhood years of all five of our kids. This is one of the few paintings she was satisfied with—and a family favorite.
EPILOGUE: HANSA YELLOW
Cadence’s mural (page 272): My grandchild’s nursery, Katie’s brushes and apron, and a cup of Sweet Wild Orange and turpentine—the perfect blend.
Nana and Cadence: I’m a nana! A joyful turning of the page.
INSIDE BACK COVER
Katie painting at a wedding: Katie completed a twenty-four-by-forty-six-inch watercolor during the twenty-minute prelude to the wedding of friends Eric and Sue (photo by Brian Kammerzelt).
Discussion Questions
Despite the chaos and overwhelming uncertainty September and Scott faced when they arrived at the hospital following Katie’s accident, September describes a brief moment in the ambulance bay when she sensed God’s voice, which filled her with peace and a calm that went beyond her understanding. Have you ever had a similar experience in the midst of trials or loss? Spend time remembering and sharing what occurred.
Throughout the book, September talks about the importance of having a community and a strong support system during seasons of deep loss. In times like these, who are the people who walk alongside you? How can you be more purposeful about supporting your loved ones when they experience loss or pain?
Upon hearing the news that a witness had seen Katie unconscious behind the wheel of her car before the crash, September realized that an aneurysm—not a broken neck or a cracked skull—caused her daughter’s bleed. Even though this news didn’t bring her daughter back, she was relieved to know that the accident hadn’t been caused by reckless driving and could not have been prevented. Have you ever celebrated unusual news or information in the midst of sorrow? Explain.
When stress or emotional pain becomes too much, it helps to have a place to hide away and give yourself a break or an opportunity to breathe. Where is your “safe place” to get away from everything and give yourself a minute of peace or a chance to let yourself fall apart?
Going through Katie’s things, September struggled to find the balance between viewing her daughter’s belongings and artwork as treasured mementos and turning them into a shrine. What kinds of things do you hold on to for the sake of a memory? How do you keep them from becoming a barrier to healthy healing from loss?
Throughout the book, September mentions times when she discovered God’s “thumbprints” showing up through the care and concern of others. When has a simple act of kindness or a small encouragement made all the difference and lifted your spirits? Describe your experience.
The Vaudreys had to accept life without Katie as their “new normal.” Have you ever experienced a new normal, when everything was different from before? Describe your experience—your before and your after.
Each member of the Vaudrey family handled his or her loss very differently. How do you deal with your emotions during seasons of loss? In what ways does your style of grief differ from your loved ones’ styles? How can you be more accepting of these differences and help family members through painful seasons?
As you look back at some difficult situations you have faced, can you see how God carried you through them? Explain.
A few months into year two, September felt butterflies in her stomach, which she recognized as unexpected flickers of joy. When has this happened to you after a season of hardship? Was it a fleeting moment, or did it linger?
Bandito Barney’s became a place of remembrance, joy, and laughter for September and her family in honor of Katie. Do you or your family have a special place that gives you solace and peace? How did you discover this sanctuary?
September powerfully describes the different “colors” of grief she experienced as she mourned the loss of Katie. Do you see these colors reflected in your own experience? Which do you relate to most today, or what color has been added to your palette?
After reading about September’s journey through grief, what are the key takeaways for you? How might they equip you to navigate your own seasons of pain, or to support others through theirs?
September’s Selected Resources on Grief and Loss
I’VE READ A LOT OF GRIEF BOOKS, and the list below contains some of my favorites. These authors write from a variety of perspectives. Some are people of faith; all speak honestly of their raw, human experience. Grief is an individual process, but pain is pain, and we can learn from one another’s experiences. We can engage with one another’s stories, absorb that which rings true for us, and let the rest sift through our fingers. (I trust you have done so with Colors of Goodbye!) Continue your journey. Read on.
Memoirs on Grief and Loss
A Grace Disguised: How the Soul Grows Through Loss, by Jerry Sittser
A Grief Observed, by C. S. Lewis
A Three Dog Life, by Abigail Thomas
And
Life Comes Back: A Wife’s Story of Love, Loss, and Hope Reclaimed, by Tricia Lott Williford
Choosing to See: A Journey of Struggle and Hope, by Mary Beth Chapman
I Will Carry You: The Sacred Dance of Grief and Joy, by Angie Smith
Let’s Pretend We’re Normal: Adventures in Rediscovering How to Be a Family, by Tricia Lott Williford
One Thousand Gifts: A Dare to Live Fully Right Where You Are, by Ann Voskamp
Rare Bird: A Memoir of Loss and Love, by Anna Whiston- Donaldson
Swimming with Maya: A Mother’s Story, by Eleanor Vincent
The Hardest Peace: Expecting Grace in the Midst of Life’s Hard, by Kara Tippetts
The Year of Magical Thinking, by Joan Didion
Books on Loss, Change, Faith, and Growth
Bittersweet: Thoughts on Change, Grace, and Learning the Hard Way, by Shauna Niequist
Carry On, Warrior: The Power of Embracing Your Messy, Beautiful Life, by Glennon Doyle Melton
Healing after Loss: Daily Meditations for Working through Grief, by Martha Whitmore Hickman
Lose, Love, Live: The Spiritual Gifts of Loss and Change, by Dan Moseley
Shattered Dreams: God’s Unexpected Path to Joy, by Larry Crabb
The Grief Club: The Secret to Getting Through All Kinds of Change, by Melody Beattie
The Healing Path: How the Hurts in Your Past Can Lead You to a More Abundant Life, by Dan B. Allender
When Your Family’s Lost a Loved One: Finding Hope Together, by David and Nancy Guthrie
Where Is God When It Hurts?, by Philip Yancey
Leave Ripples
Two Ways to Give Life
Give through Compassion
In Memory of Trifonia
Watercolor on 140-lb. cold-press paper, 18˝ x 26˝ | Age 17
Visible Anjelin
Watercolor on 140-lb. cold-press paper, 18˝ x 26˝ | Age 19
Trifonia was a beautiful little girl from Rwanda—Katie’s age—whom our family got to know through sponsorship with Compassion International. In the aftermath of the 1994 Rwanda genocide, Trifonia disappeared. During college, Katie began corresponding with a child she sponsored on her own: “This is a portrait of my Compassion child, Anjelin, from Indonesia, who just turned five, who is real, alive, and irreplaceable.” If Katie’s story has moved you to explore sponsoring a child in need through Compassion, you can learn more at compassion.com.
Give the Gift of Life
You can give the gift of life by registering to be an organ donor. Find your state’s organ donation registry here:
organdonor.gov/becomingdonor/stateregistries.html
Acknowledgments
WHEN I FIRST SAT DOWN with Chris Ferebee and his wife, Christy, I offered them this promising trifecta in the publishing industry: (1) unknown author, (2) wrote a memoir, and (3) about grief. Woo-hoo! But luckily for me, in Chris I found not only a fantastic agent but also a lover of books who cares about beautiful language and believes Colors of Goodbye holds a story worth sharing. Thank you, Chris, for your gentle wisdom and keen guidance in our first project together.
A special thanks to Shauna Niequist, who nudged me to turn my loss journey into a book and has coached me each step of the way. Shauna, I am forever grateful for how generously you have spent your own remarkable influence as a gifted speaker and author to help Colors reach its audience.
Thank you to Sarah Atkinson, my acquisitions editor, who championed this book from beginning to end. Thanks to Jan Long Harris and my Tyndale Momentum team—Jillian VandeWege, Sharon Leavitt, Nancy Clausen, Cassidy Gage, Rachel Lance, Mark Lane, Dean Renninger, Anisa Baker, Alison Shurtz, Todd Starowitz, Katie Dodillet, and Maggie Rowe—for your remarkable skill, commitment to excellence, and encouragement. Special thanks to my editor, Kimberly Miller, for doggedly engaging with each round of edits until we landed just the right words.
Thank you to early readers of the manuscript, including many mentioned elsewhere, as well as Sarah Springer, Heather Larson, Katie Kulchar, Lisa Hartman, Lori Hall, and my entire family (including Mom and Andrea—at least twice!). The book is so much stronger for your insightful, invaluable input.
These dear friends carried us with their presence and help in the days and weeks after Katie’s death: the McConkeys (Bobby, Sandy, Aaron, Brian, and Collin); Galen, Brenda, Kristin, Greg, Brett, Jenny and PJ, Dave, and Garry; Kim, Jim, and Linda; Liz; Brooks; Ute; Brenda and Wayne; Sandy and Steve; Clarence, Elizabeth, and Steve; Jimmy, Leanne, Ester, Bizzy, and Davy; Bill and Gail; Brooke and Deanna; Tom and Anna; Wally and Kaleen, Patti and Kerry, Craig, Bryan, Chrissie, Darren, Pat and Dave, Dave and Vicki, Bryan, Deirdre, Greg and Beth, Jay, John and Heather, Kristy, Ryan, Shane and Wendy, Steve, Sue and Eric, Tyler, Sarah, and Hannah; Jeremiah; Kevin and Meg; Heather; and Joe and Shawna.
To those integrally involved in Katie’s Willow Creek memorial, our deepest thanks: Bill, Brandon, Leanne, Jon P., Jon K., Phil, Chris, Nate, Ken, Matt, Deanna, and Bowman. A special thanks to those who created the Life Exhibit—the art show of my daughter’s dreams: Susan, Sibyl, and Dawn and Greg; Katie’s Impact friends; and the Willow Creek staff.
Thanks to Grandma Gerali, who opened her Vegas condo as a space for us to grieve—and stocked the fridge with her famous Italian cooking; to Steve and Jan for shipping Katie’s art to Chicago—and for raising the daughter-in-law of our dreams; to our extended family—Janice and Bob Vaudrey; Russell and Jody; Tamaren and Clay; Brenda and Vic, Gail and George, Linda, Connie, Tuny, and Judy and Bud; Rod and Sammie; and our wonderful cousins—for grieving alongside us.
Thanks to Jon, Terry, Woody, and the Azusa Pacific community for walking with us and creating a university environment where our children could thrive.
On behalf of Katie, a joyful thank you to the friends who made her nineteen years so rich, including Kati, Dan, and Whitney; Michelle, Kara, and Molly; Casey, Melissa, Darla, Ester, Marie, Laura, and Caitlin; Chris, Dave, Mark, Steve, Nate, and Jenna; Marissa, Amber, Courtney, Red, Brooke, Troy, Leighton, Chase, and CJ; Kanani, Kelisha, and Heather.
Thanks to Jill Landback and Leigh Wilson, my high school drama and English teachers. You heaped value onto the fragile scales of my adolescence, and your influence still marks me today. (Leigh, I did as you instructed: “Never stop writing!”)
A special thanks to the Hot Moms—a group of remarkably gifted, young Willow women who met monthly at my house during the writing of these pages: Under the guise of learning about parenting from me, you taught me buckets about how to be a better mom and a better human being.
Grief is a solitary journey we dare not take alone. Deep thanks to my posse of girlfriends who walk shoulder to shoulder with me each step of the way: Sandy, Lynne, Kaye, Tammy, Margaret, and Lynette. Special thanks to Chris and Scott, who, with their wives, share conversation, laughter, and tears with my husband and me in the Bug Room. Those conversations are holy ground, and we are grateful.
The gratitude I feel for my parents, Greg and Teda Voss, grows deeper with each passing year. You have been a faithful safety net for our family through every crisis—and especially through losing your granddaughter. Your relentless support and encouragement have shaped our family in ways you may never know. We thank you. We love you. I love you.
A heartfelt thanks to my wonderful brother, Greg, who is a loving uncle to our kids. You hold a special place in Katie’s heart—and mine.
“Acknowledgments” is an inadequate title to contain the level of gratitude I hold for my husband and kids . . .
To Matt, the funniest meme writer and most grace-filled firstborn I know: Thank you for gentle exhortations to be kinder to myself and for being the type of big brother who dons a yellow rain slicker and hops on his Vesper in a downpour to go help his kid sister hang pictures in her new dorm room. People tease you and me for “seeing something shiny,” but when they say we are alike, it’s the best compliment I could receive.
To Andrea, the gold standard daughter-in-law and my grief twin: Thank you f
or holding in your heart the words of loss I could not share elsewhere, for enfolding our family as your own, and for loving our son and grandkids so well. Had Matt not chosen you for a wife, I would still choose you for a friend.
To Bethany, the perfect balance of wisdom and kindness: How I have admired your grief journey! You lost not only a kid sister but also an entire adulthood of sisterly memories, which were just beginning to bloom. From toddlerhood to today, you have been a faithful deliverer of love, laughter, and truth in my life. Dad was right—you make a terrific grown-up.
To Katie, who continues to influence my life through the example of how she lived hers: Not a sunset passes when I don’t ache for your presence, Katie. I count the days until I can hold you in my arms once again—and until that day, I carry you in my heart.
To Sam, the lover of all things family: Witnessing your quiet, tender grief at the loss of the sister who “loved you more!” has expanded my understanding of how to love an introvert—for which Dad thanks you (and I do too!). You consistently counter our decade of familial sorrow with your ability to bring value and laughter to every conversation.
To Tember, our grand finale: The bravery you exhibit despite losing your best friend/sister never ceases to amaze me. You’ve maintained your goofball humor, tenacious drive against injustice, and burgeoning intellect—qualities that make you a fascinating, delightful, and dangerous adult. You fill this mama’s heart, and I am so grateful for you.
And to Scott, my partner in every sense of the word: Thank you for making a commitment in 1984 to give our kids the best possible story and fulfilling that pledge day after day with such stunning beauty. More so, thank you for being a relentless truth bearer in my life. You help me live a better story with each passing year. You are my favorite human, and I am yours forever.
About the Author
Colors of Goodbye Page 30