Intentionally Intentional

In high school, I kept a journal of sorts; mostly because I enjoyed decorating the cover. I had been deeply hurt by someone close to me in my younger years when they discovered a journal in which I had scrawled my deepest thoughts and frustrations.  I was humiliated and disgraced for having written those things down, so after that I didn't write down much of what I was thinking.  I took time to write inspiring quotes I came across, Bible verses I wanted to remember, hilarious things my friends' said, but the one thing I regularly took time to write was a list of goals.  I would draw out columns and write my goal, how I planned to accomplish it, and then a blank column to write about my success of the goal. They related to grades, friendships, sports... nothing life-altering, but kept me on track.  I am a list girl, and there is something so satisfying to me about making check marks.  Like seriously, yes, I add extra things to my list that I've already done, just to cross them off.

One day, sitting in science class, another teacher happened to see me doodling in my journal, and asked if he could take a look at what I was doing.  After flipping through the pages, he said something that has stuck with me into adulthood.  He told me to always keep writing down my goals; that people who write their goals are the people who achieve them,

In a life of keeping up with kids, jobs, extracurricular activities, a home, church, writing, and a medical conditional of the energy-sucking, strength-gobbling, painful, discouraging variety, it is easy to find myself caught in a tumble-dry cycle of surviving the day to day ordinary that must be done to keep the wheel turning.  I remember in the aftershock of losing Ellie, thinking I never again wanted to rush my children to bed, turn down a request to read them a book, or make them wait to tell me something. I never wanted to miss a moment and risk having regret... but then, at that time I didn't know life would continue to throw big, life-changing waves in my course. I didn't know I would face days of having nothing left to give.

 In these days of new and refining challenges, I am finding it more important than ever to intentionally create moments that etch lasting, joyful memories in the hearts of my little people... in a way, a "list of goals," to make sure I am taking the time to stop and pause these instants that are but a breath, and yet, such a lifetime.

This summer we decided to starts making a bucket list for each season.  There are always a number of things that we eagerly look forward to with the changing of the weather, and so we sit and brainstorm a mess of ideas, our hearts pounding and our mouths racing as we blurt out all the "must-do's" that we can dream into being, and somehow plop them into an organized  guide to help us remember to slip these extraordinary moments into our ordinary days.

Summer Bucket 2015

Were there days I messed it up?  Days I was too tired or too weak or too scheduled to follow through with what we thought our day would look like? You bet.  But we didn't quit.  We kept pecking away at that list, even to the very hems of the Autumn weather, and eventually each idea that sprayed across excited lips became a time and a place, a memory that took shape and engraved all sights and smells and emotions across the planks of our remembrance.

Let's remember to be intentional.  Make a list, set a goal! Don't wait until tragedy to start living like you mean it.  Make moments, make memories, make an impact.  Even something as simple as chasing down the ice cream truck is taking back space in a heart that needs it. Take back those spaces, push out the fear, and the struggle, and the pain, and replace it with a moment of delight.  Those memories? They're forever.

And now... a little photo dump of our summer....

My biggest, picking from the garden!

Sunscreen all around!

Egg Yolk Tattoos

PJ's all day!  Which may have been.... staying in bed all day?

Camp out!

Beach face?

Homemade pizza!

Ok, hugging a wookie wasn't exactly on the list, but you have to admit that's one for the books ;)

Next up....FALL!!!!! What's on your bucket list?!

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you're listening!

Showing Up

In the haze of my aging and windblown mind, there has always been a particular message I heard in a church years ago that has come crisply back to the forefront of my thoughts.  It was a guest preacher, and he spoke about endurance.  He told of his wife in the ending years of her father's life, how each time she got "the call" she would pack up and drive through the day or night to be there, to sit at the bedside and bring presence and comfort to her sick father in what were surely his final hours.  The thing was, this happened again... and again, and each time, instead of hesitating, or complaining, or doubting that he was really so ill, she would pack up and drive.  She was in for the long haul, unselfishly dedicated to endure for the love of her father, to be there when he needed her most.

For years this has challenged me, boldly questioned me--- Am I selfless enough, brave enough to be the one to Just Show Up?

As I read through Jill's challenge to write my own "Just Show Up" story, there was no delay in the sweet faces that came to my mind as I pondered who it is that has run with endurance to come along side me in the painful, most desperate moments of my story.

I first met Lily and Colleen when Isabella was about 3 years old.  Although she was growing strong and healthy after a precarious start to her life, we had noticed she seemed to fall often, and wanted to make sure we weren't missing something. Her pediatrician agreed she needed to be evaluated, and as happens often in the military healthcare system, we were given a referral to be seen off base by a pediatric physical therapist.  We were immediately impressed with Lily's skill and wisdom.  She watched Bella moving around for 5 minutes and knew right away what was going on and what needed to be done.  She also recognized a sensory processing disorder and was able to get Bella into occupational therapy with one of her therapy partners, Colleen.  The small, house-like building where the smiles of these two women greeted us weekly began to feel like home, and at the same time Bella grew stronger and we saw her start overcoming some of the challenges brought about by her 30 week delivery.

Isabella

Water therapy with Lily

During this same time, we learned we were expecting our fourth child, and our Tuesday therapy visits came accompanied with a growing belly to count the weeks. One of the first questions in the door was always how me and the baby were doing, and then a pleased smile as my pregnancy progressed smoothly week by week.  Then, one cold day in March, I missed our appointment.  That morning Mark showed up with Bella instead, and as Lily came to the waiting room to get her, she teased with Mark, "Where is Hannah, that baby didn't try to come early did she?"  I'm told Lily was taken aback, feeling badly when he admitted that yes, in spite of everything having gone well so far, I had emergently delivered our youngest daughter at only 29 weeks gestation.  At the time though, we were feeling confident; she was well taken care of in the familiar ambiance of the NICU, and we expected a similar, long, but positive outcome through another journey with a premature baby.

As hours faded to days, and Ellianna's stay in the NICU became punctuated with hard news and complications, Lily and Colleen became more than our therapists, and their familiar faces and kind spirits grew friendship beyond the purpose for which they had first come into our lives.  We looked forward to seeing each other, kept in touch by text throughout the weeks, and sneaked in coffee dates when we could.  When we learned that Ellianna would have cerebral palsy, Lily knew what we didn't, and pushed to have her enrolled to start physical therapy as soon as she was discharged from the hospital.  This teeny, tiny, 4 pound little girl, showing up to flex her muscles on the big red inflatable ball.  Who knew? Lily and Colleen also jumped in to help with her feeding difficulties, and Colleen was even willing to drive out to our home to get her started in occupational therapy so she didn't have to be submitted to the noise and chaos outside the house so many times a week.

These two women were so steadfastly in our corner, fighting for the best for our little girl, and encouraging us through the frightening unknowns ahead.  I remember Lily saying perhaps Bella wasn't even the reason for our meeting, but  that we would already have this in place when our littlest miracle came along needing it so badly.

Ellianna

As Ellianna's brain bleed turned to hydrocephalus and surgery and shunts, I wanted to keep her home in the protection of my arms, comforting her pain and keeping her from more.  Lily knew better though, and she urged us forward, pushing Ellie to her limits to help her grow strength and gain weight, and even though my heart broke watching the tears of the struggle, I knew Lily pushed because she loved, and she wanted so much more for my little girl.

Our last hospital admission, when things were the darkest, bleakest bad... it seems silly, but I suppose I needed things to distract my mind, and I remember calling Lily's office to tell her Ellianna was in the hospital and we wouldn't be able to make it to therapy.  In hindsight, I'm sure we could have no-showed and no one would have blamed us, but there I was, trying to keep a calm voice as the receptionist told me Lily was with a client and couldn't come to the phone.  When she asked to take a message, I must have been out of my mind, because I think I said something like, "Just tell her we won't be at therapy because Ellie is in the hospital and the doctors don't know if she is going to make it."  I guess that seemed normal in the numbed hysteria of my mind, but I was told to please hold, and 10 seconds later Lily's voice was on the other end of the line.  My explanation was jumbled, and probably less than a sentence long, but that's all it took and Lily was saying "I'm coming up there," and the line went dead.

This woman, assigned to us for her livelihood, to straighten crooked ankles and weak hips, dropped everything, walked out on whoever she was with and showed up in a way that may have saved my life.  I'm not sure how she got there so quickly (knowing what I know of Lily now, I probably don't want to know), and I don't know who she walked out on, though I hope they understood.  She burst into our tiny room in the Pediatric ICU and she stood there in the middle of a situation most people would not want to imagine, let alone wade right into.  She was there when someone came in and told us the CT scan showed 50-60% of our daughter's brain was already destroyed.  Instead of fear or "I'm sorry's," she turned to us and said, "Don't let that discourage you, there are plenty of people who live with half a brain and live well.  Don't let them make you afraid."  So I tried not to.  I knew if anyone knew this, it would be Lily, and she was the one from the beginning who knew what our little girl would need to fight and overcome, and had given her the means to do that.  Lily left that day with a hug that spoke more than words could, and the promise of continued prayers.  I don't know that either of us believed yet that we would be saying goodbye.

As reality gave voice to my internal fears, and we watched Ellianna slip from this life to claim her true royalty, I sent a simple text to Lily, telling her Ellie was gone.  I don't remember if I got a response, but what I do remember is that just as quickly as she had come before, she was there again. Walking into the palpable pain of a room split by this life and the next, Lily and Colleen were standing on that sacred ground with us, tear-stained cheeks and weary eyes.  I didn't know what to do or say, maybe nobody did, but presence was enough.  I stood up, my lifeless daughter wrapped in a blanket in my arms, and I held her out to Colleen.  I cringed at remembering this, because really, she hardly knew me at the time, and here I just thrust a most uncomfortable situation right at her... but she leaned right in.  She took my daughter in her arms, this stinging, beautiful, scarred, and perfect reminder of the common thread of our lives, and she looked on her with every love a mother wishes for her child.  She didn't complain or turn away from the discomfort of it, but she opened her arms wide, and in that moment these two women made a choice to embrace my hard story, to become characters in a heart breaking plot from which many others ran. I do not remember any of the words spoken there that day, maybe there weren't any, but it doesn't matter because what I do remember is that they were there, and that was all my soul could and needed to hear that day.

In the days to follow, as I avoided people and places and questions and awkwardness, our hour-long, twice a week therapy appointments dropped to half an hour once a week, and it was still a safe place to land. There were days, and still are, that I have to push myself because walking in to see the tiny room we used to nurse in, and the big red ball Ellie used to perch on is just so fresh and raw and I feel as if my million pieces will fall apart again, never to be gathered.  But these women, they see that in me; they read the gray or the green of my eyes and they know my heart without pressing me for words.

Lily

Colby, on the same big ball Ellie used at therapy

I wish I could say that was the only big trial, and the last few years have been a smooth sail of strengthening friendship, but what I can tell you is that again and again...and again, Lily and Colleen have shown up, both in the happiest celebrations and the devastating losses of life.  They have always given me the freedom to grieve, question, cuss, or withdraw without so much as a judgmental word.  They have never pressed me with advice or timelines or ultimatums, but have supported me wherever I'm at.  They cheer me on even when my dreams seem crazy, and pray me through the days I don't believe I will make it through one more blow.  Lily and Colleen have chosen to see deeper into my story, to see that it is not just a story of loss, but one of healing, of beauty, and sustaining grace that can only come from the One who wrote my story.  They choose to remain in the cast of people throughout the chapters of my life, without expectation, without apprehension, but simply to Just Show Up.

Colleen and Colby

Lily working with Colby

OT with Colleen

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Seen and Unseen

I am struggling with what to say for Mother's Day because it's not just about my motherhood, but about my mom and the loss of her son, and it's about the children of my friend Kara, recently slipping away to Heaven, and leaving them wondering what to do as their classmates create Mother's Day crafts to bring home to a warm embrace. It's about driving Kara's van and thinking of the time she spent in that seat, speaking love and kindness into the hearts of her children, and the echo now in the silence of her absence.These losses forever change the innocence of a day that is supposed to be about flowers picked by tiny hands, and home-made coupon books for chores, and backrubs, and breakfast in bed.

There are mothers that long to be acknowledged, validated, understood by our tired eyes and ponytails and minivans, and insanely proud-happy smiles when we look in the faces of our little sweetlings.  There are also mothers unseen, with a sadness behind their eyes and perfectly vacuumed cars because the little ones that made them mothers have slipped from this life, leaving aching holes that aren't filled, and often aren't acknowledged.

Have a compassionate heart this Mother's Day and climb into the shoes of a grieving mother or a motherless child, and just sit with them right in the middle of their tears; just be.   There is salt poured into an open wound on this day, and souls just wanting, needing to be recognized, loved, met where they are.

For all the mothers, seen and unseen, this day is for you.  Even separated by life and death, you are still a mother, you are.

For all the children  with hearts aching for the love of a mother, or grieving the loss of a mother, you are her baby, you will always be her baby, from now until forever.

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you're listening!

Your birthday...without you.

My Dear Little Sweet Pea,

It's hard to imagine you would be turning 4 years old today.  I love 4, because it always reminds me that was the age I first have memories of my own childhood, so I always get excited when one of my own little sweetlings reaches that benchmark.  I imagine you feeling so grown up, yet being so small; an age of pigtails and choosing your favorite colors, playdates and independence, but still crawling into mommy's bed in the night.

There are things I am sad I will never know, like your favorite flavor of cake, and the sound of your voice as you talk to grandparents on the phone calling to wish you happy birthday.  Would you painstakingly pull off little thumbnail-sized bits of wrapping paper like your little brother, or would you tear madly through the tape and bows to see what's underneath?  And where, oh where would you choose to have your daddy take you out for your special birthday lunch?

We may not know all your favorites, my girl, but it will not stop us from celebrating anyway.  Celebrating your birth, your life, your victories, and your safe journey Home.  I feel like I am the one who got the greatest gift on your birthday; the gift of you.

Each year that we have not gotten to birthday shop for you, we have picked a gift for another special little girl who is just beginning life in the same NICU halls we walked on the day of your birth.  We wrap it all up girly, with a special note telling of your life, your legacy and we hope it will bring a flicker of joy to another family beginning a journey they never imagined.

This birthday, there was something else I wanted to give.  There are things of yours on days my heart hasn't felt so raw that I have been able to pass on to close friends or family knowing they will use them well and remember you in their going.  There has been one thing though that I every time I try to decide what I should do with it, my throat burns hot with a lump too thick to forget.  Your baby swing.  That fancy, cushy, comforting little seat that we so carefully chose to gently and softly cradle your aching little head and fragile body.  It swung you smoothly for miles and miles as it calmed your anxious heart and lulled you to dreaming again.  I just haven't been able to bear the thought of just giving it away, or selling it, or anything else.  This one symbol of you has just pulled so hard on my wounded heart strings.  Well I talked to one of our sweetest and kindest nurses in the NICU, Lori, and wouldn't you know it, she got right back to me and said they would take it to use for the little loves bundled in those lonely NICU rooms.  Those crying little sweeties not understanding why their mommies don't come to visit will get to rock away to a peaceful escape where you once snuggled.  The hurting, blurry minds shaking side effects they didn't sign up for will nap with the comfort of soothing sounds and motion, and you, Ellianna Grace, will have made one more tiny footprint in this fading world, and placed a healing kiss on my mommy heart.

Dropping off Ellianna's swing

Happy birthday, my Love.  We celebrate you and every moment of joy you have brought to our lives.  I love you~ bottom of the ocean, top of the sky.

Love,
Mommy

It's just my brain, not my mind...

Many of you know the battle I have been engaged in the last few years, and some of you may not.  I do not widely share details because I don't want my struggle to become my identity.  There have been times I have felt frustration when meeting up with people who would say "how are you feeling" or "what are the doctors saying," instead of wondering how I am doing as a person, as a mom, as a woman with dreams and emotions and cravings for cold beer and hot wings just like the rest of you.  I am not what happened to me, I am so much more.

That being said, ok, I'll talk about it.  It has been a difficult few years wading through this.  Between stretches of feeling strong and well and brave, there have been cycles of unfathomable weakness, agonizing pain, and joy-stealing defeat.  There have been periods of weeks where I feel like I spend more days sitting in a hospital or doctor's office than I do anywhere else.  All of the testing and trying and  treatments leaving me wondering if I felt worse before the medicine, or after.

Right now, with some questions answered and many remaining, I'm taking a hiatus from the needles and the side effects and the seeing doctors' faces in all my days.  I'm giving my body a chance to respond to some more natural therapies, and cashing the extra time in on the things, well the someones, that I love.  Having to step away from my passion on the ambulance for awhile seemed devastating at first, but experiencing the strengthening in the slowing of time has brought hope to my broken frame, and perspective and empathy to my heart, as well as to the loves caring for me.

There are so many voices willing to extend input and suggestion, and I ask that you please give us the freedom we need to pursue the avenues we have chosen.  There is so much to medicine, and so many possible equations that could be the catalyst to complete healing, but it can be overwhelming, and certainly impossible to try every regimen and procedure that's out there.

When you look at me, please see past my illness...because really, it was there before you even knew to look for it.  Sure, there will be some days harder than others, but I'm still a wife, a mommy, a paramedic, a hemiplegic? Ehh, just makes things more interesting.

I appreciate your prayers as we change gears for awhile, that I would continue to gain strength and energy, relief from pain, and my story would bring glory to the One who chose it for me. 

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you're listening!

Cloudless

I have a 2 year old who has mastered slowing down to see the beauty around him. I mean, like, daily I feel ashamed when his sweet innocence and gratitude reminds me of how busy and ungrateful I let myself become.

One of these reminders is  that every single morning this darling little youngster goes charging to the front door to see the sunrise.  As soon as he confirms the morning sky is ablaze with the hues of a rising sun, he dashes off to gather the rest of the family members to ensure they have not overlooked this 5 minutes of brilliance on display.  He takes them one by one to the front door, and then to the front window, and then attempts to drag them to the upstairs windows for the best and most breathtaking views of  daybreak.  I will attempt to put some of the videos of this ritual on the blog...

Flaming morning sky

Breathtaking views from the front porch

With the warmer weather we have been having the last few days, there have been less clouds in the morning sky, which has had a profound impact on the canvas of the rising sun.  On the first of these warm days, Colby ran to the window in expectation, but then turned toward me with disapproval on his face as he pointed out the window.  When I peered out to see what  he was scowling at, I saw instead of the blazing oranges, reds, and yellows of our usual dawn, there were instead pale, creamy pastels of pink and yellow that faded into a muted blue sky.  My answer was quick, took little thought; "Yeah, the sunrises are not as pretty when there aren't any clouds, are they buddy?"  I got about 4 steps away before I heard what I had just said.

There you go again, little one, teaching me great big lessons with your little, tiny, wise, and intuitive heart.

Isn't that so true?  The sunrises of our life are so much more breathtaking when we have the stormy clouds to compare them to.  It was a poignant week for me to be reminded of this simple truth.  I had just emerged from a few of the hardest, lowest weeks I had been through in awhile.  After long days of having to lay at home, completely dependent on other people, riddled with pain and exhaustion and defeat, I was back on my feet with a surge in my energy, a dwindling in my pain, and a soul that feel renewed in hope as my days became more manageable.    How amazing those days felt, how encouraged I was, BECAUSE of the profound lows I had just experienced.  I would not have realized how beautiful this strength was if I did not have those dark clouds to reflect it off of.

Sunset is equally stunning

What clouds are you facing?  Can you step back and see how they reflect the coming sun in your days?

Pause my music player in the margin on the right, and make sure your volume is turned up so you can hear this!!!

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you're listening!

Whatcha Waiting For?!

These past few weeks have been a wee bit... draining.  After spending most days barricaded in the homestead, I have made purposeful effort to get us out a few times, so the kids would know life around us still exists.  Ok, maybe not that bad, but still, my little loves need some kind of normalcy.  One particular weekend recently it took a lot of gusto, but despite our main morning motivator being away for a few weeks on business, I managed to get us all ready and out the door.

I was well aware, because of the amount of makeup I kept arranging and rearranging on my face, that I looked, ummm, not so much.  I looked a lot like I felt, and it wasn't very pretty.  This is what really struck me that day though; the day that my insides showed up so blatantly on my outsides.  That morning, several people that I had seen time and again, even reached out to, purposefully made their way to me to reach out, to extend friendship, help, concern.  There is nothing wrong with that, no, I was weary beyond my own capacity, desperate for the hands of others to help carry what I could not.  What nudged my conscience though was the timing... why do we wait, dear friends?  Why do we pose in the background until we see the dark circles of defeat in their faces, the heavy limp and labored breath that announce the weight of the battle being fought?  I do it, same as you do.  We are timid, passive, exclusive.

Shuffling back to the safety of my nest, I scowled at myself, knowing I had been approached because I looked so startling,  and thought if we had talked sooner, these kind strangers would already have known my road to here, even on the days it has not shown on the outside. Then I thought of all the times I have not stopped to know; to catch that a friend was struggling, to realize a kindness I could extend, to see that all the cashier needed at the grocery store was someone to genuinely care about how they were doing.  We assuredly can not run around being all things to all people, but let's step out, you and I, and see what we can help carry for those around us.

I guarantee you, there are battles being waged all around you that you will never see from the outside.  Don't wait; palm up, reach it out.  You do not have to win their battle, just help lighten the load; commit to pray for someone (and then really do it), send a meal, invite someone over for a meal, drop a card in the mail, pick up a friend's grocery list and debit card and do the shopping for them... there are endless ways to make a dent, to help fuel hope, and to help someone who is struggling feel less alone.  And someday when you shuffle in feeling ragged, those people you have invested in will be right there ready to infuse that love right back into you.

What holds you back from reaching out?  Who comes to your mind that you can extend a hand to this week?

Please leave me a comment, it lets me know you're listening!