April.6.2015
April always feels like I made it out alive. I survived winter. I don’t know how, but I made it out of days of darkness. The darkness gets me way more than the cold. Now the days are longer. The sun is shining. It’s amazing to have the light back.
April also reminds me of a person that I loved. He came in and out of my life a lot faster than planned. There were a lot of plans with him that never happened. A lot of memories that were meant to be made. A lot more dancing and laughter that will never be. I wish April didn’t remind me of this loss and this person. He should be here instead of a person to be remembered.
It sounds cliché to speak of some one so highly after they’ve passed away. Putting a person on a pedestal can be a common thing after someone’s gone. It’s a lot easier speaking highly of someone when they aren’t around to make any new mistakes, right? The regret that I have with this loved one is that he was talked about so highly, admirably, lovingly behind closed doors and never expressed to him the way that I would’ve wanted. His smile, happiness, and the difference that he made was talked about but never shared with him.
Jeavon was the kind of person that made everything fun. He brought so much light to an average day or a boring setting. He had a gift; A true talent at making people happy. As my brother in law’s business partner, he had started to become a part of the family. His warmth and happiness were contagious. He wasn’t easily bothered by frustrating people or situations. He was comfortable which made you feel comfortable. His smile was incredible. What I’d pay to have pearly whites like his. But it was the warmth behind the smile that really made it special. I don’t have one photo of him smiling with his teeth. Not one. He did a smirk kind of a smile when he took pictures. Take too many pictures? Truer words have never been spoken. We only have a couple of photos of him. I’m sure if it were today, we’d have lots of pictures. But a flip phone at the time didn’t do a lot of good in that department.
It’s coming up on nine years that he’s been gone. I can’t believe 2006 was that long ago. My sister and I have talked many times about how special and loved he was. Why didn’t we tell him? Not one time did we truly express our appreciation for him in person. He knew he was loved. There was a mutual love and appreciation, but to never get the words out to someone standing in front of you. It makes me sad.
A family friend lost her sister to cancer 4 years ago. She’s one of 4 girls in her family and it was heart breaking to see. Her sister was taken in her early 40’s leaving so many family and friends that loved her. Being one of 6 and having 4 sisters, it really hit close to home.
As my heart went out to our dear friend that had this great loss, it made me want to change. I decided that life really is short. I won’t say lets do this or that and it never happens. I’ll plan and execute. If I want to see someone or I’m thinking about someone, I make time and the effort to make it happen.
We just celebrated our fourth sister’s weekend getaway. That was the first thing on my to do list. Not only do we all look forward to seeing each other, but it’s the only time where it’s just us. No other distractions. It’s by far one of the best weekends of the year.
Our first trip was to NYC where we saw the amazing broadway Wicked. After I heard the song “For Good” I knew my sisters had to see it. I may have cried my eyes out multiple times while listening to it and thinking of my sisters that I love with all of my heart. “But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.” There’s nothing like hearing it in person from the broadway stage. It was a magical way to kick off our tradition.
This time of year gives me a new sense of hope. If the sun can shine again, if flowers can bloom, it seems that anything is possible. I can change in real ways. I don’t have to live my life with regret. I can reach out, hold onto people and love them. Tell them how much they mean to me and how much of a difference they make just by being there and being them. Life is beautiful because we don’t do it alone.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most, to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good
And really. Take too many pictures.
April always feels like I made it out alive. I survived winter. I don’t know how, but I made it out of days of darkness. The darkness gets me way more than the cold. Now the days are longer. The sun is shining. It’s amazing to have the light back.
April also reminds me of a person that I loved. He came in and out of my life a lot faster than planned. There were a lot of plans with him that never happened. A lot of memories that were meant to be made. A lot more dancing and laughter that will never be. I wish April didn’t remind me of this loss and this person. He should be here instead of a person to be remembered.
It sounds cliché to speak of some one so highly after they’ve passed away. Putting a person on a pedestal can be a common thing after someone’s gone. It’s a lot easier speaking highly of someone when they aren’t around to make any new mistakes, right? The regret that I have with this loved one is that he was talked about so highly, admirably, lovingly behind closed doors and never expressed to him the way that I would’ve wanted. His smile, happiness, and the difference that he made was talked about but never shared with him.
Jeavon was the kind of person that made everything fun. He brought so much light to an average day or a boring setting. He had a gift; A true talent at making people happy. As my brother in law’s business partner, he had started to become a part of the family. His warmth and happiness were contagious. He wasn’t easily bothered by frustrating people or situations. He was comfortable which made you feel comfortable. His smile was incredible. What I’d pay to have pearly whites like his. But it was the warmth behind the smile that really made it special. I don’t have one photo of him smiling with his teeth. Not one. He did a smirk kind of a smile when he took pictures. Take too many pictures? Truer words have never been spoken. We only have a couple of photos of him. I’m sure if it were today, we’d have lots of pictures. But a flip phone at the time didn’t do a lot of good in that department.
It’s coming up on nine years that he’s been gone. I can’t believe 2006 was that long ago. My sister and I have talked many times about how special and loved he was. Why didn’t we tell him? Not one time did we truly express our appreciation for him in person. He knew he was loved. There was a mutual love and appreciation, but to never get the words out to someone standing in front of you. It makes me sad.
A family friend lost her sister to cancer 4 years ago. She’s one of 4 girls in her family and it was heart breaking to see. Her sister was taken in her early 40’s leaving so many family and friends that loved her. Being one of 6 and having 4 sisters, it really hit close to home.
As my heart went out to our dear friend that had this great loss, it made me want to change. I decided that life really is short. I won’t say lets do this or that and it never happens. I’ll plan and execute. If I want to see someone or I’m thinking about someone, I make time and the effort to make it happen.
We just celebrated our fourth sister’s weekend getaway. That was the first thing on my to do list. Not only do we all look forward to seeing each other, but it’s the only time where it’s just us. No other distractions. It’s by far one of the best weekends of the year.
Our first trip was to NYC where we saw the amazing broadway Wicked. After I heard the song “For Good” I knew my sisters had to see it. I may have cried my eyes out multiple times while listening to it and thinking of my sisters that I love with all of my heart. “But because I knew you, I have been changed for good.” There’s nothing like hearing it in person from the broadway stage. It was a magical way to kick off our tradition.
This time of year gives me a new sense of hope. If the sun can shine again, if flowers can bloom, it seems that anything is possible. I can change in real ways. I don’t have to live my life with regret. I can reach out, hold onto people and love them. Tell them how much they mean to me and how much of a difference they make just by being there and being them. Life is beautiful because we don’t do it alone.
I've heard it said
That people come into our lives for a reason
Bringing something we must learn
And we are led
To those who help us most, to grow
If we let them
And we help them in return
Well, I don't know if I believe that's true
But I know I'm who I am today
Because I knew you...
Like a comet pulled from orbit
As it passes the sun
Like a stream that meets a boulder
Halfway through the wood
Who can say if I've been changed for the better?
But because I knew you
I have been changed for good
And really. Take too many pictures.
Jan.18.2015
When I found out I was pregnant, it was the most relief I’ve ever felt in my life. I had stopped taking pregnancy tests since I was sick of the message that came clear through the device every month: Failure. Instead of finding out if August had been a success on my own, I waited for a call from my doctor’s office. My hairstylist sister was in the middle of coloring my hair and my other sister was there fresh off of work. We were all chatting when I got the call: “Rebecca Oliver?” Yes this is she. “Your results came back from your treatment and they were positive.” I immediately jumped out of my seat, hair half foiled, and was screaming and jumping up and down. I’ve never reacted to anything quite the way I did to that news. The three of us were all jumping for joy. And then the sobs came; Crying from pure happiness and relief. The poor woman was still on the phone. I'm pretty sure she got more than she expected.
That night, I had an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety. What If I heard wrong? Is it really real? This moment that I’ve had on hold for years, is it finally happening? It’s been a bag of mixed emotions since.
On one hand, I feel like I’m back. I make meals at home again, my heart doesn’t pound out of my chest when I see a pregnant woman, I don’t feel resentment when I see a baby. The smallest tasks used to weigh me down on my infertility journey. “How do I get through the small things in my day?” Megan looked back at me with a smile and question in her eyes. Megan was my therapist I started to see when I was at my lowest. I’d never talked with a therapist/counselor. It was a hard hour for me because I didn’t realize that all of the therapy session clichés were true; Nodding head, look of concern/blank expression, silence.
I felt selfish talking that much with very little input from my listener. Some sessions were better than others. On this particular day, I needed some feedback. She told me that when life would seem overwhelming or she started to feel anxious about the day ahead or patients she’d have to see, she’d really try to slow down. If she were washing the dishes for instance, really feeling the water and bubbles as she cleaned. Taking deep breaths, focusing on what was in front of her. Being right there in the moment and enjoying it.
I’m on the other side of my struggle, but the pain is still real and fresh. There are a couple of quotes that I came across that sum up how I felt at that time:
“It’s the kind of heart ache you can feel in your bones” and “Things to do today: 1) Get up. 2) Survive. 3) Go back to bed.”
It’s hard to feel this anguish and have it all washed away when you get what you want. They’re dreams and expectations that turned out very different from the plan.
Its bothered me that I still have pain from this struggle that seems to not go away. It’s changed me in a very real way. It’s hard to be human and never have the thought cross your mind, “why me?” I choose not to be the victim in my daily life, but the thought continued to creep in. I’ve wanted it all to go away and happiness to come into all of the cracks and broken pieces.
As I’ve thought and prayed a lot about this, I finally feel like I got the answer I’ve been asking for. It came to me in a very gentle, peaceful way that rushed over me. You have to be grateful for your struggle. You have to be grateful for infertility.
It’s a simple solution in a way. Just be grateful for it. That’s all. But how do you say thank you to something you’ve hated with a passion? How do you appreciate those feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, fear and heartache?
When I look at the good that came because of my journey, it’s hard not to recognize the setbacks were stepping stones to growth. One thing that saved me was my determination to be proactive. I got the help that I needed. I was on medication for a time, I met with a therapist, I found a support group that had monthly meetings. Opportunities arose that wouldn’t have otherwise. People came into my life that wouldn’t have otherwise. Feelings of understanding and connection to others that I hadn’t experienced before in that way. Even though it felt like I was moving at the speed of turtle, good things were still happening.
As I got this answer that I needed to be grateful for everything that I had hated, a familiar story came to mind. I read The Hiding Place some years ago. An inspiring book on the life of Corrie Ten Boom. She and her family helped hide many Jewish people in their home during world war two. As a result she was arrested and imprisoned, but her faith remained strong. In her own words she said:
“I and my sister Betsie were roughly pushed into Barracks 28 at Ravensbruck, a “work camp” for prisoners. We stared at the stacks of wooden sleeping platforms crowded into the large room. Only a narrow walkway cut between. The platforms were three deep and covered with dirty, stinking straw. There wasn’t even enough room to sit up.
We had just arrived by train along with hundreds of other prisoners, crushed together for three days with eighty women in a freight car. Exhausted, we crawled onto the platform that had been assigned to us. But within moments, I sat up quickly and bumped my head on the platform above. “Fleas!” I jumped down to the floor. “The place is crawling with fleas! I...I don’t know how I can cope with living in such a terrible place!”
“Corrie, I think God has already given us the answer,” my sister Betsie said. “What was that verse we read from the Bible this morning?”
I pulled out my Bible from the bag I wore on a string around my neck. In the dim light, I read from I Thessalonians:16-18: “ ‘Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.’ Oh, Betsie, that’s too hard in a place like this!”
“No, come on, Corrie—let’s try. What are we thankful for?” my sister asked. “Well...if we must be in this awful place, I’m thankful that we’re together.” “And that the guards didn’t find the Bible you had hanging down your back!” added Betsie. I nodded gratefully. “Maybe we should thank God for how crowded we are in here because that way more women will hear the Word of God when we read it aloud!” “That’s right!” Betsie’s eyes danced. “And thank you, God, for the fleas—“ “No, Betsie! I can’t thank God for the fleas. There’s nothing good about them.” “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see,” my sister answered.
Every day we were awakened at 4:30 A.M. and forced to stand outside in the cold for roll call. Then we worked an eleven-hour day. We were given black bread for breakfast and a thin soup of turnips for supper. The only thing we had to look forward to was when all of us stumbled back to the barracks at night. Before we went to sleep, Betsie and I would open our smuggled Bible and read God’s Word to the other women.
At first, we posted lookouts to keep a watch for the guards. Anyone caught with a Bible would certainly be killed. But day after day passed, and no guards came into Barracks 28. Soon we read the Bible twice a day, and more and more women listened. No one bothered us.
One day, Betsie grabbed my arm and whispered, “I know why no one has bothered our Bible studies. I overheard some of the guards talking. None of them wants to come into Barracks 28 because of the fleas!” I wanted to laugh. “All right, Lord. Thank you for the fleas!”
I’m so grateful this story came to mind when I hadn’t thought about it in a very long time. It’s time for me to be grateful for the fleas.
When I found out I was pregnant, it was the most relief I’ve ever felt in my life. I had stopped taking pregnancy tests since I was sick of the message that came clear through the device every month: Failure. Instead of finding out if August had been a success on my own, I waited for a call from my doctor’s office. My hairstylist sister was in the middle of coloring my hair and my other sister was there fresh off of work. We were all chatting when I got the call: “Rebecca Oliver?” Yes this is she. “Your results came back from your treatment and they were positive.” I immediately jumped out of my seat, hair half foiled, and was screaming and jumping up and down. I’ve never reacted to anything quite the way I did to that news. The three of us were all jumping for joy. And then the sobs came; Crying from pure happiness and relief. The poor woman was still on the phone. I'm pretty sure she got more than she expected.
That night, I had an overwhelming sense of fear and anxiety. What If I heard wrong? Is it really real? This moment that I’ve had on hold for years, is it finally happening? It’s been a bag of mixed emotions since.
On one hand, I feel like I’m back. I make meals at home again, my heart doesn’t pound out of my chest when I see a pregnant woman, I don’t feel resentment when I see a baby. The smallest tasks used to weigh me down on my infertility journey. “How do I get through the small things in my day?” Megan looked back at me with a smile and question in her eyes. Megan was my therapist I started to see when I was at my lowest. I’d never talked with a therapist/counselor. It was a hard hour for me because I didn’t realize that all of the therapy session clichés were true; Nodding head, look of concern/blank expression, silence.
I felt selfish talking that much with very little input from my listener. Some sessions were better than others. On this particular day, I needed some feedback. She told me that when life would seem overwhelming or she started to feel anxious about the day ahead or patients she’d have to see, she’d really try to slow down. If she were washing the dishes for instance, really feeling the water and bubbles as she cleaned. Taking deep breaths, focusing on what was in front of her. Being right there in the moment and enjoying it.
I’m on the other side of my struggle, but the pain is still real and fresh. There are a couple of quotes that I came across that sum up how I felt at that time:
“It’s the kind of heart ache you can feel in your bones” and “Things to do today: 1) Get up. 2) Survive. 3) Go back to bed.”
It’s hard to feel this anguish and have it all washed away when you get what you want. They’re dreams and expectations that turned out very different from the plan.
Its bothered me that I still have pain from this struggle that seems to not go away. It’s changed me in a very real way. It’s hard to be human and never have the thought cross your mind, “why me?” I choose not to be the victim in my daily life, but the thought continued to creep in. I’ve wanted it all to go away and happiness to come into all of the cracks and broken pieces.
As I’ve thought and prayed a lot about this, I finally feel like I got the answer I’ve been asking for. It came to me in a very gentle, peaceful way that rushed over me. You have to be grateful for your struggle. You have to be grateful for infertility.
It’s a simple solution in a way. Just be grateful for it. That’s all. But how do you say thank you to something you’ve hated with a passion? How do you appreciate those feelings of inadequacy, loneliness, fear and heartache?
When I look at the good that came because of my journey, it’s hard not to recognize the setbacks were stepping stones to growth. One thing that saved me was my determination to be proactive. I got the help that I needed. I was on medication for a time, I met with a therapist, I found a support group that had monthly meetings. Opportunities arose that wouldn’t have otherwise. People came into my life that wouldn’t have otherwise. Feelings of understanding and connection to others that I hadn’t experienced before in that way. Even though it felt like I was moving at the speed of turtle, good things were still happening.
As I got this answer that I needed to be grateful for everything that I had hated, a familiar story came to mind. I read The Hiding Place some years ago. An inspiring book on the life of Corrie Ten Boom. She and her family helped hide many Jewish people in their home during world war two. As a result she was arrested and imprisoned, but her faith remained strong. In her own words she said:
“I and my sister Betsie were roughly pushed into Barracks 28 at Ravensbruck, a “work camp” for prisoners. We stared at the stacks of wooden sleeping platforms crowded into the large room. Only a narrow walkway cut between. The platforms were three deep and covered with dirty, stinking straw. There wasn’t even enough room to sit up.
We had just arrived by train along with hundreds of other prisoners, crushed together for three days with eighty women in a freight car. Exhausted, we crawled onto the platform that had been assigned to us. But within moments, I sat up quickly and bumped my head on the platform above. “Fleas!” I jumped down to the floor. “The place is crawling with fleas! I...I don’t know how I can cope with living in such a terrible place!”
“Corrie, I think God has already given us the answer,” my sister Betsie said. “What was that verse we read from the Bible this morning?”
I pulled out my Bible from the bag I wore on a string around my neck. In the dim light, I read from I Thessalonians:16-18: “ ‘Rejoice evermore. Pray without ceasing. In every thing give thanks: for this is the will of God in Christ Jesus concerning you.’ Oh, Betsie, that’s too hard in a place like this!”
“No, come on, Corrie—let’s try. What are we thankful for?” my sister asked. “Well...if we must be in this awful place, I’m thankful that we’re together.” “And that the guards didn’t find the Bible you had hanging down your back!” added Betsie. I nodded gratefully. “Maybe we should thank God for how crowded we are in here because that way more women will hear the Word of God when we read it aloud!” “That’s right!” Betsie’s eyes danced. “And thank you, God, for the fleas—“ “No, Betsie! I can’t thank God for the fleas. There’s nothing good about them.” “Well, we’ll just have to wait and see,” my sister answered.
Every day we were awakened at 4:30 A.M. and forced to stand outside in the cold for roll call. Then we worked an eleven-hour day. We were given black bread for breakfast and a thin soup of turnips for supper. The only thing we had to look forward to was when all of us stumbled back to the barracks at night. Before we went to sleep, Betsie and I would open our smuggled Bible and read God’s Word to the other women.
At first, we posted lookouts to keep a watch for the guards. Anyone caught with a Bible would certainly be killed. But day after day passed, and no guards came into Barracks 28. Soon we read the Bible twice a day, and more and more women listened. No one bothered us.
One day, Betsie grabbed my arm and whispered, “I know why no one has bothered our Bible studies. I overheard some of the guards talking. None of them wants to come into Barracks 28 because of the fleas!” I wanted to laugh. “All right, Lord. Thank you for the fleas!”
I’m so grateful this story came to mind when I hadn’t thought about it in a very long time. It’s time for me to be grateful for the fleas.
Dec.24.2014
Since Christmas is here, I heard “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” recently. It’s a favorite Christmas carol of mine because it reminds me of my Uncle Paul, one of the people I’ve loved most. There weren’t a lot of songs that grabbed his attention, but two always did. “Only Fools Rush In” and “Hark The Herald Angels Sing.” Sometimes he’d call out “Hark! Hark!” That was our cue to start singing.
If you know me, I’ve definitely mentioned Paul a time or two. He’s an important part of our family. He had a difficult time coming into the world. When he was being delivered, forceps were used with extreme pressure resulting in brain damage. It also left him with a deformed head. As a child, he was in constant pain. He would bang his head on anything in front of him; His Mom, his crib, even the sidewalk as a way to try to relieve the pain and pressure on the head/brain.
At the age of 16, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He spent his years from 16 to 67 in a psychiatric ward (state facility) where he required constant care. His parents would often visit him, but it became too hard for my Grandma to see her son that way. As I’ve mentioned before, they spent their life savings trying to cure him. This was back in the day where ‘shock treatment’ was actually something you paid to have done. My Grandpa visited him consistently until his passing. Soon after, my Dad took over the responsibility to visit his brother.
In our house it was kind of like Tuesdays with Morrie, but Sundays with Paul. Whenever we moved, he moved. Because he was in a state facility, it wasn’t always close to our house. When we lived in Waldorf, MD he was located in Annapolis, about an hour away. We piled in our car every Sunday after church to drive the one hour up and the one hour back. We weren’t allowed to stay home on those days, which I’m very grateful to my parents for.
We spent lots of time together on those Sunday afternoons. Some of my fondest memories growing up come from those visits. Some days were good days for Paul and others were a struggle. He liked to call out “I want to go to Russia! I want to go to Russia!” randomly or ask for ‘smokes’ when he hadn’t had a cigarette in 10 years. He loved the pretty nurses - even with his mental state he could always pick them out. Coke was his favorite drink. He looked forward to what we would bring weekly: Hamburgers from mcdonalds, coffee, and a pint of chocolate ice cream. His favorite person in the world? My Dad or Timmy as he called him.
Everybody knew Timmy - the nurses, doctors, patients. Heaven help the nurses if Timmy was later than expected. Paul knew when it was Sunday and it was time for his visit. It was the highlight of the week and honestly, one of the highlights of my life. There was nothing like getting a smile out of him and we all tried every visit; Something that would grab his attention or make him happy. His eyes were the most beautiful blue. I see him sometimes in my nieces or nephews eyes and it brings me so much joy.
My relationship with my Uncle was like no other I’ve ever had. It was a relationship where I had no expectations. No one in the family did. If he was complaining, grumpy, hit someone that he lived with, it didn’t make a difference. We loved him unconditionally. I’m beginning to think I should love everyone the same way I loved Uncle Paul. Unconditionally. No expectations. Having pure love for others and who they are.
He passed away in July 2012. He was in hospice at the time of his passing and it was such a blessing to our family. The facility looked like a home. It was painted a beautiful beige with nice molding. It had comfortable furniture with hard wood flooring. There was food available for the family and you could come and go as you please. I want to always remember how comforting and comfortable that facility was. It was perfect for our Paul as though he were passing away right in his home. The hospitals over the years had been very cold and not particularly clean, with lots of other patients around. This was private, clean, simple and comfortable.
As I went into the room to say my last good byes, it was just me and Paul. He laid there sleeping. His coloring was pale, but he looked good. Clean shaved, peaceful. All of his clothes were always donations. He had a shirt on that read basketball. As I sat there holding his hand for the last time, a nurse walked in with a wheel chair and a very small plastic bag. She said, “These are his belongings. Where would be a good place to put them?” A small, plastic bag with some things in it were all of his possessions at the end of 67 years on the earth. My heart broke.
When I told the family, my Dad or ‘Timmy’ made the comment “Just like Jesus. Came into the world with nothing. Leaving the world with nothing.” A small bag of possessions at the end of his life. A family that loved him unconditionally. This was a valuable life lesson for me.
I’m so glad Paul doesn’t have to live in this state anymore. I know he joined concords of family and loved ones. He’s free from his body and mind that was ultimately his test here on earth. He’s free from the loneliness and heavy afflictions.
I only have these fond memories because my parents decided this was important to visit our family member in need of company. It sounds easy. Who would abandon a family member? Too many is the answer. When I talked to a manager of the hospital at his funeral I asked how many patients were visited. She said out of 300 patients, there were 12 regular visitors. 8 of which were mothers of the patients.
Especially at Christmas, I like to think about this life lesson. It isn’t stuff that makes us happy. It’s people, the memories we choose to make.
I’ll make sure to sing his favorite song a couple more times this season. It’s best if you belt it out.
Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Ris'n with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King!
Since Christmas is here, I heard “Hark The Herald Angels Sing” recently. It’s a favorite Christmas carol of mine because it reminds me of my Uncle Paul, one of the people I’ve loved most. There weren’t a lot of songs that grabbed his attention, but two always did. “Only Fools Rush In” and “Hark The Herald Angels Sing.” Sometimes he’d call out “Hark! Hark!” That was our cue to start singing.
If you know me, I’ve definitely mentioned Paul a time or two. He’s an important part of our family. He had a difficult time coming into the world. When he was being delivered, forceps were used with extreme pressure resulting in brain damage. It also left him with a deformed head. As a child, he was in constant pain. He would bang his head on anything in front of him; His Mom, his crib, even the sidewalk as a way to try to relieve the pain and pressure on the head/brain.
At the age of 16, he was diagnosed with schizophrenia. He spent his years from 16 to 67 in a psychiatric ward (state facility) where he required constant care. His parents would often visit him, but it became too hard for my Grandma to see her son that way. As I’ve mentioned before, they spent their life savings trying to cure him. This was back in the day where ‘shock treatment’ was actually something you paid to have done. My Grandpa visited him consistently until his passing. Soon after, my Dad took over the responsibility to visit his brother.
In our house it was kind of like Tuesdays with Morrie, but Sundays with Paul. Whenever we moved, he moved. Because he was in a state facility, it wasn’t always close to our house. When we lived in Waldorf, MD he was located in Annapolis, about an hour away. We piled in our car every Sunday after church to drive the one hour up and the one hour back. We weren’t allowed to stay home on those days, which I’m very grateful to my parents for.
We spent lots of time together on those Sunday afternoons. Some of my fondest memories growing up come from those visits. Some days were good days for Paul and others were a struggle. He liked to call out “I want to go to Russia! I want to go to Russia!” randomly or ask for ‘smokes’ when he hadn’t had a cigarette in 10 years. He loved the pretty nurses - even with his mental state he could always pick them out. Coke was his favorite drink. He looked forward to what we would bring weekly: Hamburgers from mcdonalds, coffee, and a pint of chocolate ice cream. His favorite person in the world? My Dad or Timmy as he called him.
Everybody knew Timmy - the nurses, doctors, patients. Heaven help the nurses if Timmy was later than expected. Paul knew when it was Sunday and it was time for his visit. It was the highlight of the week and honestly, one of the highlights of my life. There was nothing like getting a smile out of him and we all tried every visit; Something that would grab his attention or make him happy. His eyes were the most beautiful blue. I see him sometimes in my nieces or nephews eyes and it brings me so much joy.
My relationship with my Uncle was like no other I’ve ever had. It was a relationship where I had no expectations. No one in the family did. If he was complaining, grumpy, hit someone that he lived with, it didn’t make a difference. We loved him unconditionally. I’m beginning to think I should love everyone the same way I loved Uncle Paul. Unconditionally. No expectations. Having pure love for others and who they are.
He passed away in July 2012. He was in hospice at the time of his passing and it was such a blessing to our family. The facility looked like a home. It was painted a beautiful beige with nice molding. It had comfortable furniture with hard wood flooring. There was food available for the family and you could come and go as you please. I want to always remember how comforting and comfortable that facility was. It was perfect for our Paul as though he were passing away right in his home. The hospitals over the years had been very cold and not particularly clean, with lots of other patients around. This was private, clean, simple and comfortable.
As I went into the room to say my last good byes, it was just me and Paul. He laid there sleeping. His coloring was pale, but he looked good. Clean shaved, peaceful. All of his clothes were always donations. He had a shirt on that read basketball. As I sat there holding his hand for the last time, a nurse walked in with a wheel chair and a very small plastic bag. She said, “These are his belongings. Where would be a good place to put them?” A small, plastic bag with some things in it were all of his possessions at the end of 67 years on the earth. My heart broke.
When I told the family, my Dad or ‘Timmy’ made the comment “Just like Jesus. Came into the world with nothing. Leaving the world with nothing.” A small bag of possessions at the end of his life. A family that loved him unconditionally. This was a valuable life lesson for me.
I’m so glad Paul doesn’t have to live in this state anymore. I know he joined concords of family and loved ones. He’s free from his body and mind that was ultimately his test here on earth. He’s free from the loneliness and heavy afflictions.
I only have these fond memories because my parents decided this was important to visit our family member in need of company. It sounds easy. Who would abandon a family member? Too many is the answer. When I talked to a manager of the hospital at his funeral I asked how many patients were visited. She said out of 300 patients, there were 12 regular visitors. 8 of which were mothers of the patients.
Especially at Christmas, I like to think about this life lesson. It isn’t stuff that makes us happy. It’s people, the memories we choose to make.
I’ll make sure to sing his favorite song a couple more times this season. It’s best if you belt it out.
Hail the heav'n-born Prince of Peace!
Hail the Son of Righteousness!
Light and life to all he brings,
Ris'n with healing in his wings.
Mild he lays his glory by,
Born that man no more may die;
Born to raise the sons of earth,
Born to give them second birth.
Hark! the herald angels sing
Glory to the newborn King!
Nov.25.2014
I was sitting at a stop light today with my five year old niece. A woman was standing next to the car on the median strip. She stood there holding a sign that asked for money. I have a hard time knowing what to do in a situation like this. It’s hard to turn away from someone, anyone who’s asking for help. On the other hand, it’s hard to give to someone when I’m not sure if I’m feeding some kind of addiction by lending a dollar.
I ignored the fact that she was standing there and waited for the light to change when a sweet, compassionate voice came from the back seat. “Awww I feel bad for that lady. Did you wead hur sign? That would be hard not to have a car and she doesn’t have a house! She lost hur car in an accident!” Guilt instantly filled my heart. I reached into my purse, but didn’t have any change. “I’m sorry sweetie, I don’t have any change to give her.” “I know! My sister has hur money. Maybe we can get some from hur and we’ll come back and look for the lady with the sign!” No judgement came from the five year old. Her only thought was how can I help?
I was so touched by this little person’s reaction to a person in need. We all need reminders to be better, kinder people. Her sympathetic nature truly impressed me today and made me want to judge less & love more. My teacher today was five.
“And a little child shall lead them.” (Isa. 11:6)
Nov.18.2014
You know you have an awesome husband when he says, “Really? I thought {such and such} was your most embarrassing moment.” Thanks for remembering sweetie. It comes with the territory of knowing someone really well.
Embarrassment. Always comes around when you least expect it. Anyway it comes out – what you said, how you looked, what you did – It’s bad. What I love about it is how funny it gets over time. When it happens, you instantly want to crawl out of your skin. You don’t want anyone else to know who didn’t already witness it. And wouldn’t it be great if we were allowed just a couple of erase privileges on our brains?
My embarrassing moment has an upside to its downside. I’m so glad it’s a memory that can’t be erased because now I can truly say I cherish it.
It was spring. We found out it was an unsuccessful month and two different friends told me they were expecting. I had driven to Lancaster that week passing lots of farms along the way. Horses, cows, sheep all reproducing beautifully. Their babies along side them. Since the weather was getting warm, I started running around a beautiful reservoir close to my house and there to accompany me on my run were geese with their brand new goslings and ducks with their tiny ducklings. It was depressing. It had been a disheartening week with what felt like never ending failure.
I’m the chorister for the congregation at my church. I really enjoy leading the music every Sunday and I have a great love for the hymns we sing. As I read the program that Sunday, the end of a long week, I noticed we would be singing one of my favorite hymns, “I Stand All Amazed.” On a good day it’s hard for me to get through it without getting emotional. I was worried what could happen on a day where sadness had taken over.
I gave myself a silent pep talk before I was supposed to get up to lead. I told myself I was brave and that everything was fine. “You’ll be fine. You’re so brave. You can do hard things.”
As I stood up to lead, I felt like my affirmations could’ve done the trick. It was only three verses I needed to get through and after all, I love this hymn. Why would you be anything but happy singing it?
I made it through the first verse, but started to cry on the chorus. I started to panic. I have TWO verses to go! What is happening? This can’t be happening.
On average we have 130 people in our sacrament meeting. It seemed like a particularly crowded day. I took a glance at the congregation. Two of my sisters were there and my husband was sitting close to them. They all looked back at me with concern.
Once the tears started coming, there was no return. I debated on what I should do. Should I excuse myself? No, that would be weird. I doubt in the history of time a chorister’s just walked away from leading.
I decided I would continue to lead and sing like everything was perfectly fine. I just had a lot of water coming from eyes, but that’s normal. By the second chorus I had stopped singing. The tears were really coming and I couldn’t imagine how pathetic I was looking. I’m not certain what I was really doing with my leading hand. Pretty sure I stopped keeping time and was just waving my hand back and forth, but I honestly can’t remember. I was focused on looking down, not singing and crying. . . a lot.
Finally, the hymn came to a close. But it wasn’t over. My face was sopping wet and so was the top of my shirt. I still wasn’t sure what I should do. Directly after the hymn was the passing of the sacrament. I didn’t want to miss it and I also didn’t want to bring any more attention to myself. I was still in front of the whole congregation sitting on the stand.
I don’t want to be graphic, but I didn’t have any tissues on me and I needed them. Badly. The couple sitting next to me could only see my back as I was leading, so they hadn’t witnessed what everyone else had. The tears were the first part, my running nose was the second. I needed the whole box at this point. I tapped the gentle men’s shoulder to my left. He didn’t feel it. I tapped again. He didn’t flinch. At this point, I had my head down low and I was covering my nose. A third time, I had to give him a good nudge. He responded and I asked if he’d be able to get me tissues from the podium. He did. He gave me one.
When the close of the sacrament was near, I started thinking to myself how much I needed Jared. As the conductor of the meeting stood up to announce the remainder of the program, I quickly excused myself. I felt embarrassed & broken. I had never been as humiliated as I had been in that moment.
I was thinking, “I need Jared. Where’s Jared? I can’t go back in there to get him.” As I walked out to the hall I saw Jared at the opposite end, his back toward me. He wasn’t walking or jogging, but running to get me tissues, what I quickly found. As I walked in that direction he came back around quickly with a whole box. He was the picture of love and assistance. He took me to the car. He opened my door. He held my hand. The best part? He tried to convince me no one noticed.
I’m so grateful for that day and that experience of feeling broken. If you’ve never been broken, how can you ever feel whole or complete? I never want to forget how I’ve felt through the difficulties I’ve faced or how it’s changed me. This experience will always be the reminder to me of how I felt. It might sound strange, but it was an experience that made me feel so alive and human. People do a lot of crazy things to get the panic and rush that I felt that day.
I also never want to forget how much Jared loved me through the challenges we faced together. Seeing him that day really solidified that for me. Whenever I sing this song or play it on the piano, it will remind me of a fond memory.
I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me.
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified,
That for me a sinner he suffered, he bled and died.
Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!
It really is wonderful. Wonderful to me.
You know you have an awesome husband when he says, “Really? I thought {such and such} was your most embarrassing moment.” Thanks for remembering sweetie. It comes with the territory of knowing someone really well.
Embarrassment. Always comes around when you least expect it. Anyway it comes out – what you said, how you looked, what you did – It’s bad. What I love about it is how funny it gets over time. When it happens, you instantly want to crawl out of your skin. You don’t want anyone else to know who didn’t already witness it. And wouldn’t it be great if we were allowed just a couple of erase privileges on our brains?
My embarrassing moment has an upside to its downside. I’m so glad it’s a memory that can’t be erased because now I can truly say I cherish it.
It was spring. We found out it was an unsuccessful month and two different friends told me they were expecting. I had driven to Lancaster that week passing lots of farms along the way. Horses, cows, sheep all reproducing beautifully. Their babies along side them. Since the weather was getting warm, I started running around a beautiful reservoir close to my house and there to accompany me on my run were geese with their brand new goslings and ducks with their tiny ducklings. It was depressing. It had been a disheartening week with what felt like never ending failure.
I’m the chorister for the congregation at my church. I really enjoy leading the music every Sunday and I have a great love for the hymns we sing. As I read the program that Sunday, the end of a long week, I noticed we would be singing one of my favorite hymns, “I Stand All Amazed.” On a good day it’s hard for me to get through it without getting emotional. I was worried what could happen on a day where sadness had taken over.
I gave myself a silent pep talk before I was supposed to get up to lead. I told myself I was brave and that everything was fine. “You’ll be fine. You’re so brave. You can do hard things.”
As I stood up to lead, I felt like my affirmations could’ve done the trick. It was only three verses I needed to get through and after all, I love this hymn. Why would you be anything but happy singing it?
I made it through the first verse, but started to cry on the chorus. I started to panic. I have TWO verses to go! What is happening? This can’t be happening.
On average we have 130 people in our sacrament meeting. It seemed like a particularly crowded day. I took a glance at the congregation. Two of my sisters were there and my husband was sitting close to them. They all looked back at me with concern.
Once the tears started coming, there was no return. I debated on what I should do. Should I excuse myself? No, that would be weird. I doubt in the history of time a chorister’s just walked away from leading.
I decided I would continue to lead and sing like everything was perfectly fine. I just had a lot of water coming from eyes, but that’s normal. By the second chorus I had stopped singing. The tears were really coming and I couldn’t imagine how pathetic I was looking. I’m not certain what I was really doing with my leading hand. Pretty sure I stopped keeping time and was just waving my hand back and forth, but I honestly can’t remember. I was focused on looking down, not singing and crying. . . a lot.
Finally, the hymn came to a close. But it wasn’t over. My face was sopping wet and so was the top of my shirt. I still wasn’t sure what I should do. Directly after the hymn was the passing of the sacrament. I didn’t want to miss it and I also didn’t want to bring any more attention to myself. I was still in front of the whole congregation sitting on the stand.
I don’t want to be graphic, but I didn’t have any tissues on me and I needed them. Badly. The couple sitting next to me could only see my back as I was leading, so they hadn’t witnessed what everyone else had. The tears were the first part, my running nose was the second. I needed the whole box at this point. I tapped the gentle men’s shoulder to my left. He didn’t feel it. I tapped again. He didn’t flinch. At this point, I had my head down low and I was covering my nose. A third time, I had to give him a good nudge. He responded and I asked if he’d be able to get me tissues from the podium. He did. He gave me one.
When the close of the sacrament was near, I started thinking to myself how much I needed Jared. As the conductor of the meeting stood up to announce the remainder of the program, I quickly excused myself. I felt embarrassed & broken. I had never been as humiliated as I had been in that moment.
I was thinking, “I need Jared. Where’s Jared? I can’t go back in there to get him.” As I walked out to the hall I saw Jared at the opposite end, his back toward me. He wasn’t walking or jogging, but running to get me tissues, what I quickly found. As I walked in that direction he came back around quickly with a whole box. He was the picture of love and assistance. He took me to the car. He opened my door. He held my hand. The best part? He tried to convince me no one noticed.
I’m so grateful for that day and that experience of feeling broken. If you’ve never been broken, how can you ever feel whole or complete? I never want to forget how I’ve felt through the difficulties I’ve faced or how it’s changed me. This experience will always be the reminder to me of how I felt. It might sound strange, but it was an experience that made me feel so alive and human. People do a lot of crazy things to get the panic and rush that I felt that day.
I also never want to forget how much Jared loved me through the challenges we faced together. Seeing him that day really solidified that for me. Whenever I sing this song or play it on the piano, it will remind me of a fond memory.
I stand all amazed at the love Jesus offers me,
Confused at the grace that so fully he proffers me.
I tremble to know that for me he was crucified,
That for me a sinner he suffered, he bled and died.
Oh, it is wonderful that he should care for me
Enough to die for me!
Oh, it is wonderful, wonderful to me!
It really is wonderful. Wonderful to me.
Sep.7.2014
I'm fortunate to live near the beautiful, world-renowned Longwood Gardens. The grounds are pristinely cared for. Every season brings something new and breathtaking. The water lily display is one of my favorites and comes every summer. The lily pads get to be so massive and strong that it can hold 80-100 pounds. Mind blown.
I came across this amazing plant called Neptunia Aquatica during one of my visits to the water lily display. It resembles a fern and grows in water. When touched, even so gently, its tiny leaves will close and stay closed for minutes. It’s nicknamed the sensitive plant. It grows quickly in warm weather and doesn’t tolerate cold.
Something that fascinated me even more than this plants sensitivity was what its stems will do when under water. As a way of supporting itself, the plant forms Styrofoam looking circles around its stems. The material that it creates for itself resembles a life preserver. The stems that are above water don’t grow this foam-like substance, only the ones that are submersed. Even though this plant grows naturally in water, it still creates life preservers for itself for extra support.
It’s strange, but I was able to relate to this plant. I’ve always been a sensitive person. Even at a very young age a sad tune, movie, or story would bring me to tears. My family used to get a good laugh at my extreme sensitivity. All they had to say was “Poor Becky. Poor Becky” and I would instantly be brought to tears.
As a little girl I helped clean a toy room with my cousins and sisters. My Aunt gave us candy as a reward when the work was done. Looking over at my sister (who was eight years older) I noticed her candy was gone because she ate it really fast. My heart broke seeing she didn’t have any left. With a lump in my throat I asked her if she’d like my candy. She was surprised and of course accepted the offer.
I’ve considered my sensitivity a weakness at many points in my life. It’s embarrassing when you aren’t able to control your emotions just the way you’d like. Its taken experience in this hard world to realize my weakness is really one of my greatest strengths. It has allowed me to be sensitive to others in ways that have caused me to reach out and step away from myself. It’s made me aware of what I say that could hurt/offend or maybe what I didn’t say that could have helped/lifted someone. My sensitivity connects me not only to myself, but to others.
From our first breath, we were designed to face hardships and obstacles. Neptunia Aquatica is meant to grow in water, yet it still creates life preservers around its stems to keep it afloat. Just like this little plant, through the difficulties I’ve faced, I’ve created life preservers for myself out of pure necessity. Resources to call upon when times get tough and it feels as though I’m drowning.
Whether the preservers come in the form of an uplifting song, a chat with a friend, a visit to one of my favorite spots, or a long walk, I’ve been able to more quickly detect what I need for my well-being. It’s something I’ve perfected with the challenge of infertility, but will be of great value to me at any stage of life. I’ve reached out to anyone that could be helpful in my time of need and you know what I’ve found? People are amazing. They are the secret weapons to life. People are friends, resources, supporters, cheerleaders, listeners, tear-wipers, comedians, and love.
By reaching out to my favorite kind of resource, people, I’ve found more than once, I’ve talked with unexpected heroes. They walk around like normal, but they’ve had super power strength through the obstacles they’ve faced. The best part is that they don’t even recognize or realize their strength, but I’ve seen it. I’ve had a chance to rub shoulders with great strength.
Neptunia Aquatica grows quickly in warm weather and doesn’t tolerate cold. I’ve had to recognize the kinds of people, situations, and opportunities that bring warmth into my life. It’s important to recognize when we’re being brought down by negativity that can be avoided. There’s less room for growth if negativity is present.
My hope is that my sensitivity will never keep me from what I love. Yes, people will say things that aren’t always kind, comforting, or helpful, but they’re there. In order for someone to be in your life, there has to be some significance. We’re all teaching one another and are far from perfect. Even the unexpected heroes have their downfalls. I hope that I won’t close up when I’m lightly brushed by words that weren’t intended to cause pain.
What this little plant taught me in short? Create your life preservers. Find a warm spot to grow because any cold will make it impossible. Don't let your sensitivity close you off from wonderful opportunities that await you.
I'm fortunate to live near the beautiful, world-renowned Longwood Gardens. The grounds are pristinely cared for. Every season brings something new and breathtaking. The water lily display is one of my favorites and comes every summer. The lily pads get to be so massive and strong that it can hold 80-100 pounds. Mind blown.
I came across this amazing plant called Neptunia Aquatica during one of my visits to the water lily display. It resembles a fern and grows in water. When touched, even so gently, its tiny leaves will close and stay closed for minutes. It’s nicknamed the sensitive plant. It grows quickly in warm weather and doesn’t tolerate cold.
Something that fascinated me even more than this plants sensitivity was what its stems will do when under water. As a way of supporting itself, the plant forms Styrofoam looking circles around its stems. The material that it creates for itself resembles a life preserver. The stems that are above water don’t grow this foam-like substance, only the ones that are submersed. Even though this plant grows naturally in water, it still creates life preservers for itself for extra support.
It’s strange, but I was able to relate to this plant. I’ve always been a sensitive person. Even at a very young age a sad tune, movie, or story would bring me to tears. My family used to get a good laugh at my extreme sensitivity. All they had to say was “Poor Becky. Poor Becky” and I would instantly be brought to tears.
As a little girl I helped clean a toy room with my cousins and sisters. My Aunt gave us candy as a reward when the work was done. Looking over at my sister (who was eight years older) I noticed her candy was gone because she ate it really fast. My heart broke seeing she didn’t have any left. With a lump in my throat I asked her if she’d like my candy. She was surprised and of course accepted the offer.
I’ve considered my sensitivity a weakness at many points in my life. It’s embarrassing when you aren’t able to control your emotions just the way you’d like. Its taken experience in this hard world to realize my weakness is really one of my greatest strengths. It has allowed me to be sensitive to others in ways that have caused me to reach out and step away from myself. It’s made me aware of what I say that could hurt/offend or maybe what I didn’t say that could have helped/lifted someone. My sensitivity connects me not only to myself, but to others.
From our first breath, we were designed to face hardships and obstacles. Neptunia Aquatica is meant to grow in water, yet it still creates life preservers around its stems to keep it afloat. Just like this little plant, through the difficulties I’ve faced, I’ve created life preservers for myself out of pure necessity. Resources to call upon when times get tough and it feels as though I’m drowning.
Whether the preservers come in the form of an uplifting song, a chat with a friend, a visit to one of my favorite spots, or a long walk, I’ve been able to more quickly detect what I need for my well-being. It’s something I’ve perfected with the challenge of infertility, but will be of great value to me at any stage of life. I’ve reached out to anyone that could be helpful in my time of need and you know what I’ve found? People are amazing. They are the secret weapons to life. People are friends, resources, supporters, cheerleaders, listeners, tear-wipers, comedians, and love.
By reaching out to my favorite kind of resource, people, I’ve found more than once, I’ve talked with unexpected heroes. They walk around like normal, but they’ve had super power strength through the obstacles they’ve faced. The best part is that they don’t even recognize or realize their strength, but I’ve seen it. I’ve had a chance to rub shoulders with great strength.
Neptunia Aquatica grows quickly in warm weather and doesn’t tolerate cold. I’ve had to recognize the kinds of people, situations, and opportunities that bring warmth into my life. It’s important to recognize when we’re being brought down by negativity that can be avoided. There’s less room for growth if negativity is present.
My hope is that my sensitivity will never keep me from what I love. Yes, people will say things that aren’t always kind, comforting, or helpful, but they’re there. In order for someone to be in your life, there has to be some significance. We’re all teaching one another and are far from perfect. Even the unexpected heroes have their downfalls. I hope that I won’t close up when I’m lightly brushed by words that weren’t intended to cause pain.
What this little plant taught me in short? Create your life preservers. Find a warm spot to grow because any cold will make it impossible. Don't let your sensitivity close you off from wonderful opportunities that await you.
Sep.4.2014
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
While I’ve had so many struggles on my infertility journey, I’ve had a lot of happiness woven into the hard times; Even my worst moments. One of my favorite quotes is by Glennon from the blog Momastery. “ Life is brutal. But it’s also beautiful. Brutiful, I call it.” My worst moments have brought out qualities in myself that no one seeks after: anger, jealousy, selfishness, blaming of others, negativity, and a lack of gratitude. It’s been a vicious cycle of ups and downs, hope and despair.
Through the darkness, I’ve seen the light. I’ve felt its rays on my skin and it’s warmed my heart. The light tells me you’re not alone, even though it feels that way at times. Peace and joy would never have its full effect if I’d never felt the pain.
There’s always an upside to the downsides of life. These moments have been the light out of darkness that have brought me comfort and happiness. It’s also changed my heart forever. The downsides have felt like torture, but the upsides that have come from it are precious, priceless memories & moments I would never want erased from life.
It was Valentines Day. I made a nice meal at home and had chocolate and a card waiting for Jared. He came home prepared and as always did a great job. Two things that were funny: we both bought each other chocolate from Trader Joes (different locations) and we wrote the same thing on the front of our cards to one another: “I knew I made a good choice.” “In what?” “My best friend.” Of course you write your favorite quote from the kids movie ‘Cars’ on the front of your Valentines Day card. Doesn’t everybody?
We had such a great night enjoying each other. After dinner, we watched a movie we’d wanted to see. It didn’t meet our expectations and left us feeling really bummed. The couple didn’t end up together in the end and it was all kinds of depressing. I was looking through Netflix to find a classic, happy movie that would make us feel better. I turned on ‘UP’ since it was a kids movie it was bound to be a crowd pleaser and bring some happiness back into our night.
I’d watched ‘UP’ before, but didn’t remember everything perfectly. We were a year into trying to start a family and it was really starting to burn. Of course the movie has the most beautiful love story written. We’re watching their love grow before our eyes and then BOOM. Ellie finds out she’s not able to have children. They paint a perfect picture of how it feels. We both started sobbing. We cried long and hard together. We got tissues to wipe our eyes and blow our noses and then repeated. We were hurting, but we had each other and we had an opportunity to cry with one another. I wouldn’t change anything about turning that movie on.
In November, I suffered from a mini nervous break down. I was having suicidal thoughts and couldn’t control my anger/crying fits. I called a psychiatric facility at 3am to see if they could see me as soon as possible. I wasn’t able to see someone that night, but shortly after I was able to meet with a therapist and psychiatrist. I called out of work, missed social events, and avoided people. I was unable to be reached by those around me. Even with loving and very supportive family, friends, and husband, I felt like I was at the end of my rope. I had forgotten my self worth.
Side note before I can finish this story: My Grandma Peg, who died when I was two, was a woman that had a lot of struggles in her life. Her Father committed suicide during the great depression when she was a little girl. She then moved in with her grandparents along with her mother and brother for financial support. No one knows the extent, but she was sexually abused/assaulted later by her grandfather. Her first son, Paul, was schizophrenic and was put in a psychiatric ward at the age of 16. She and my Grandpa spent their life savings trying to treat and save him. She left visits up to my Grandpa after she no longer had the strength to see him. It was so hard and depressing to visit him there.
Her second son, Donnie, was born with a heart condition. After six short months on this earth, he passed away. Only one year later a medical procedure was invented that would have saved his life. My Dad was her third son and is a wonderful person, husband, and father. My Dad was 23 when she showed him the divorce papers she was pursuing to leave her husband (my grandfather). No one understood the many years of unhappiness and loneliness in her marriage. My Grandpa was a functioning alcoholic and wasn’t there for her emotionally. He begged for her to stay and was able to become a better person because of it. She had a lifetime of sadness and heartbreak.
One night was particularly hard for me as I was trying to get to bed. I hated the sadness and feeling of defeat every single night. My ruminating would bring panic attacks, crying, and frustration when I was only trying to go to sleep. I was feeling so overwhelmed and alone when suddenly and gently, I felt as though I was being held. Held by a person. I felt comfort beyond my capability. It was the most peace I had felt in the three months of extreme difficulty. I had the impression that it was my Grandma Peg. She came to mind clearly as I laid there with feelings of peace rushing over me. I don’t think about her often and we never had a chance to meet, so I didn’t have a personal relationship with her. Who better to hold me in my time of need than someone who understood real pain and suffering? She understood the pain that comes from difficulty with children. Different circumstances, but pain is pain anyway you look at it.
I will be forever grateful for that night. Peace is defined as a state of tranquility or quiet. In that moment, my mind was quiet. My destructive thoughts were turned off and I was able to enjoy. It was the upside to my three-month downside.
These experiences in my life were made possible because of pain. So what can I say about that? Maybe pain isn’t so bad after all. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to run away from things that bring discomfort, but maybe it’s just what the doctor ordered. My experiences have been real, raw, and mine. I’m grateful for the times where I’ve felt weak because now I know there’s always, always a ray of light. One day I hope to be able to say (and really mean it) “For when I am weak, then am I strong.” (2 Cor. 12:10)
It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.
While I’ve had so many struggles on my infertility journey, I’ve had a lot of happiness woven into the hard times; Even my worst moments. One of my favorite quotes is by Glennon from the blog Momastery. “ Life is brutal. But it’s also beautiful. Brutiful, I call it.” My worst moments have brought out qualities in myself that no one seeks after: anger, jealousy, selfishness, blaming of others, negativity, and a lack of gratitude. It’s been a vicious cycle of ups and downs, hope and despair.
Through the darkness, I’ve seen the light. I’ve felt its rays on my skin and it’s warmed my heart. The light tells me you’re not alone, even though it feels that way at times. Peace and joy would never have its full effect if I’d never felt the pain.
There’s always an upside to the downsides of life. These moments have been the light out of darkness that have brought me comfort and happiness. It’s also changed my heart forever. The downsides have felt like torture, but the upsides that have come from it are precious, priceless memories & moments I would never want erased from life.
It was Valentines Day. I made a nice meal at home and had chocolate and a card waiting for Jared. He came home prepared and as always did a great job. Two things that were funny: we both bought each other chocolate from Trader Joes (different locations) and we wrote the same thing on the front of our cards to one another: “I knew I made a good choice.” “In what?” “My best friend.” Of course you write your favorite quote from the kids movie ‘Cars’ on the front of your Valentines Day card. Doesn’t everybody?
We had such a great night enjoying each other. After dinner, we watched a movie we’d wanted to see. It didn’t meet our expectations and left us feeling really bummed. The couple didn’t end up together in the end and it was all kinds of depressing. I was looking through Netflix to find a classic, happy movie that would make us feel better. I turned on ‘UP’ since it was a kids movie it was bound to be a crowd pleaser and bring some happiness back into our night.
I’d watched ‘UP’ before, but didn’t remember everything perfectly. We were a year into trying to start a family and it was really starting to burn. Of course the movie has the most beautiful love story written. We’re watching their love grow before our eyes and then BOOM. Ellie finds out she’s not able to have children. They paint a perfect picture of how it feels. We both started sobbing. We cried long and hard together. We got tissues to wipe our eyes and blow our noses and then repeated. We were hurting, but we had each other and we had an opportunity to cry with one another. I wouldn’t change anything about turning that movie on.
In November, I suffered from a mini nervous break down. I was having suicidal thoughts and couldn’t control my anger/crying fits. I called a psychiatric facility at 3am to see if they could see me as soon as possible. I wasn’t able to see someone that night, but shortly after I was able to meet with a therapist and psychiatrist. I called out of work, missed social events, and avoided people. I was unable to be reached by those around me. Even with loving and very supportive family, friends, and husband, I felt like I was at the end of my rope. I had forgotten my self worth.
Side note before I can finish this story: My Grandma Peg, who died when I was two, was a woman that had a lot of struggles in her life. Her Father committed suicide during the great depression when she was a little girl. She then moved in with her grandparents along with her mother and brother for financial support. No one knows the extent, but she was sexually abused/assaulted later by her grandfather. Her first son, Paul, was schizophrenic and was put in a psychiatric ward at the age of 16. She and my Grandpa spent their life savings trying to treat and save him. She left visits up to my Grandpa after she no longer had the strength to see him. It was so hard and depressing to visit him there.
Her second son, Donnie, was born with a heart condition. After six short months on this earth, he passed away. Only one year later a medical procedure was invented that would have saved his life. My Dad was her third son and is a wonderful person, husband, and father. My Dad was 23 when she showed him the divorce papers she was pursuing to leave her husband (my grandfather). No one understood the many years of unhappiness and loneliness in her marriage. My Grandpa was a functioning alcoholic and wasn’t there for her emotionally. He begged for her to stay and was able to become a better person because of it. She had a lifetime of sadness and heartbreak.
One night was particularly hard for me as I was trying to get to bed. I hated the sadness and feeling of defeat every single night. My ruminating would bring panic attacks, crying, and frustration when I was only trying to go to sleep. I was feeling so overwhelmed and alone when suddenly and gently, I felt as though I was being held. Held by a person. I felt comfort beyond my capability. It was the most peace I had felt in the three months of extreme difficulty. I had the impression that it was my Grandma Peg. She came to mind clearly as I laid there with feelings of peace rushing over me. I don’t think about her often and we never had a chance to meet, so I didn’t have a personal relationship with her. Who better to hold me in my time of need than someone who understood real pain and suffering? She understood the pain that comes from difficulty with children. Different circumstances, but pain is pain anyway you look at it.
I will be forever grateful for that night. Peace is defined as a state of tranquility or quiet. In that moment, my mind was quiet. My destructive thoughts were turned off and I was able to enjoy. It was the upside to my three-month downside.
These experiences in my life were made possible because of pain. So what can I say about that? Maybe pain isn’t so bad after all. Sometimes it feels like I’m trying to run away from things that bring discomfort, but maybe it’s just what the doctor ordered. My experiences have been real, raw, and mine. I’m grateful for the times where I’ve felt weak because now I know there’s always, always a ray of light. One day I hope to be able to say (and really mean it) “For when I am weak, then am I strong.” (2 Cor. 12:10)
Aug.26.2014
The best time of the year is almost over. Watermelon season. I bought two today because they were $3.99, it’s one of my favorites, and I know the end is near. The only watermelon available in the coming months will be that pathetically small breed and it will cost you $7.99--if you’re lucky. The end of watermelon season and taking the Christmas tree down are two dreaded realities I have to live through every year. I hate them both.
I was lucky to go to high school for a year with my younger sister. I was in 11th grade and she was in 9th. I have so many great memories of that year; it was also my final year since I graduated high school early. We were able to get in so much talking to and from school. Those memories rank high in the “good old days” hard drive of my mind. The talking never stopped when we got home. We talked incessantly about all of our theories on life, boys, friends; some things really never change.
One memory always comes to mind when I think about that year. We came home from school and found a beautiful watermelon waiting for us. It’s always ‘your house’ or ‘your food’ when you’re a kid. So seeing that when we walked in the kitchen automatically made it OUR watermelon. We cut it open and did what we did best when we came home from school. Talked about everything. You can’t help but contradict yourself and revisit topics over and over again when you’re talking that much. It was my favorite time of the day.
I can’t remember how long it took us to eat the whole watermelon. When you’re talking to a sister, the clock ticks four times faster than normal. Right before our eyes it was gone. Completely. Our Mom was horrified. She couldn’t believe that we were that careless and self-absorbed. “Did you think no one else in the house would want watermelon!!?” Well good for her and horrible for us, we learned our lesson. We were almost immediately sick. You can imagine what you would feel like after you overate your share of watermelon.
The toilet was my best friend that night. The lesson I learned from this hilarious situation: it’s important to pace yourself. It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again. I can’t count how many times I’ve jumped into running and have to stop on day three because my shin splints are paralyzing. You can’t jump into long distance if you haven’t prepared.
Infertility has forced me to pace myself. I’m learning my limitations on a daily basis. This isn’t where I will be for the rest of my life, but it’s where I’m at right now, so I have to be gentle with my feelings. I stay away from the baby section in any store, I hid my favorite children books I started collecting, and I turn off ‘baby love’ by the Supremes when it comes on the radio (Unless I have no place to go -- then I blare it and cry my eyes out).
I’ve had to turn down invitations & situations that I know are just too big for my capability. I’ve felt immature at times, but as a good friend reminded me, “It’s a matter of protecting your heart.” I’m so grateful for her gentle advise that reminds me I have a heart and it’s worth protecting.
With our IUI weekend behind us, the only thing left to do is stand by. It’s famously named the two-week wait for people trying to get pregnant, especially those dealing with infertility. We’ve done all we can do at this point, now we wait for the results.
I’m glad that picking out a watermelon today reminded me of an important life lesson and to remember that there are lots of happy times ahead. There’s a season for everything. To name some of my favorites from Ecclesiastes:
“A time to break down, and a time to build up”
“A time to get, and a time to lose”
“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”
But watermelon season should really be year round.
The best time of the year is almost over. Watermelon season. I bought two today because they were $3.99, it’s one of my favorites, and I know the end is near. The only watermelon available in the coming months will be that pathetically small breed and it will cost you $7.99--if you’re lucky. The end of watermelon season and taking the Christmas tree down are two dreaded realities I have to live through every year. I hate them both.
I was lucky to go to high school for a year with my younger sister. I was in 11th grade and she was in 9th. I have so many great memories of that year; it was also my final year since I graduated high school early. We were able to get in so much talking to and from school. Those memories rank high in the “good old days” hard drive of my mind. The talking never stopped when we got home. We talked incessantly about all of our theories on life, boys, friends; some things really never change.
One memory always comes to mind when I think about that year. We came home from school and found a beautiful watermelon waiting for us. It’s always ‘your house’ or ‘your food’ when you’re a kid. So seeing that when we walked in the kitchen automatically made it OUR watermelon. We cut it open and did what we did best when we came home from school. Talked about everything. You can’t help but contradict yourself and revisit topics over and over again when you’re talking that much. It was my favorite time of the day.
I can’t remember how long it took us to eat the whole watermelon. When you’re talking to a sister, the clock ticks four times faster than normal. Right before our eyes it was gone. Completely. Our Mom was horrified. She couldn’t believe that we were that careless and self-absorbed. “Did you think no one else in the house would want watermelon!!?” Well good for her and horrible for us, we learned our lesson. We were almost immediately sick. You can imagine what you would feel like after you overate your share of watermelon.
The toilet was my best friend that night. The lesson I learned from this hilarious situation: it’s important to pace yourself. It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn over and over again. I can’t count how many times I’ve jumped into running and have to stop on day three because my shin splints are paralyzing. You can’t jump into long distance if you haven’t prepared.
Infertility has forced me to pace myself. I’m learning my limitations on a daily basis. This isn’t where I will be for the rest of my life, but it’s where I’m at right now, so I have to be gentle with my feelings. I stay away from the baby section in any store, I hid my favorite children books I started collecting, and I turn off ‘baby love’ by the Supremes when it comes on the radio (Unless I have no place to go -- then I blare it and cry my eyes out).
I’ve had to turn down invitations & situations that I know are just too big for my capability. I’ve felt immature at times, but as a good friend reminded me, “It’s a matter of protecting your heart.” I’m so grateful for her gentle advise that reminds me I have a heart and it’s worth protecting.
With our IUI weekend behind us, the only thing left to do is stand by. It’s famously named the two-week wait for people trying to get pregnant, especially those dealing with infertility. We’ve done all we can do at this point, now we wait for the results.
I’m glad that picking out a watermelon today reminded me of an important life lesson and to remember that there are lots of happy times ahead. There’s a season for everything. To name some of my favorites from Ecclesiastes:
“A time to break down, and a time to build up”
“A time to get, and a time to lose”
“A time to weep, and a time to laugh; a time to mourn, and a time to dance.”
But watermelon season should really be year round.
Aug.23.2014
“Ok. So 40 weeks from now would be... oh that’s great because it will be the beginning of summer. We’ll get to use a newborn bathing suit. Should be able to get a good vacation in September. Weather will still be nice. We’ll get plenty of sunshine in before it gets cold…”
This is the kind of stuff I start planning when I think it could be the month. Planning is one of my favorite activities. I love to be out and about and I start to feel sorry for myself if we have a day at home. I love events and crowds and crave anything new. I’m so excited and ready for an adventure buddy. Which translates into... a baby.
I’ve heard many times “things are going to change when you have kids.” Of course things will change. I know this. I’m realistic. Over the last 10 years I’ve become ‘Aunt Becky’ to 10 nieces and nephews, so I’m not new to this whole kid thing. I’ve carted them around for years from outings, to sleepovers, to dance parties and have loved every minute of it. I’ve endured tantrums, throw up, blowouts, exhaustion, changing clothes, falling down and everything else that comes in the packaged deal of children.
Yes you have the bad and the ugly, but you can’t forget the joy; joy that’s like no other. So much joy that I actually can’t write about without crying my eyes out. Caring for these little people has brought so much joy into my life. I’ll take their messy any time if I can get their happy even if it’s short lived.
With IUI planned for the next two days, it’s hard not to go into planning mode. I’m not sure if it’s possible to turn it off because it happens so naturally. Every month I’ve hoped for the best. “You can’t lose hope” has been a common phrase I’ve heard. Sometimes I think my problem may be too much hope. The last 18 months have been the hardest to brave because the disappointment knocks me off my feet and leaves me with overwhelming sadness. In a talk I read recently, Dieter F. Uchtdorf says, “Hope has the power to fill our lives with happiness. Its absence-when this desire of our heart is delayed-can make the heart sick.” My heart has been sick so many times through this difficulty. My mind has suffered as well as I’ve ruminated the past and the future.
I wish I could keep my hope neutral to avoid heightened heartbreak. But as long as I’m missing my adventure buddy, it’s hard not to plan. And I’m ok with it because one day it will be a reality. Oh the places WE will go. Together.
“Ok. So 40 weeks from now would be... oh that’s great because it will be the beginning of summer. We’ll get to use a newborn bathing suit. Should be able to get a good vacation in September. Weather will still be nice. We’ll get plenty of sunshine in before it gets cold…”
This is the kind of stuff I start planning when I think it could be the month. Planning is one of my favorite activities. I love to be out and about and I start to feel sorry for myself if we have a day at home. I love events and crowds and crave anything new. I’m so excited and ready for an adventure buddy. Which translates into... a baby.
I’ve heard many times “things are going to change when you have kids.” Of course things will change. I know this. I’m realistic. Over the last 10 years I’ve become ‘Aunt Becky’ to 10 nieces and nephews, so I’m not new to this whole kid thing. I’ve carted them around for years from outings, to sleepovers, to dance parties and have loved every minute of it. I’ve endured tantrums, throw up, blowouts, exhaustion, changing clothes, falling down and everything else that comes in the packaged deal of children.
Yes you have the bad and the ugly, but you can’t forget the joy; joy that’s like no other. So much joy that I actually can’t write about without crying my eyes out. Caring for these little people has brought so much joy into my life. I’ll take their messy any time if I can get their happy even if it’s short lived.
With IUI planned for the next two days, it’s hard not to go into planning mode. I’m not sure if it’s possible to turn it off because it happens so naturally. Every month I’ve hoped for the best. “You can’t lose hope” has been a common phrase I’ve heard. Sometimes I think my problem may be too much hope. The last 18 months have been the hardest to brave because the disappointment knocks me off my feet and leaves me with overwhelming sadness. In a talk I read recently, Dieter F. Uchtdorf says, “Hope has the power to fill our lives with happiness. Its absence-when this desire of our heart is delayed-can make the heart sick.” My heart has been sick so many times through this difficulty. My mind has suffered as well as I’ve ruminated the past and the future.
I wish I could keep my hope neutral to avoid heightened heartbreak. But as long as I’m missing my adventure buddy, it’s hard not to plan. And I’m ok with it because one day it will be a reality. Oh the places WE will go. Together.
Aug.22.2014
When I was 15, I started seeing a dermatologist for some acne issues. He prescribed Retin A as a topical with this warning: It will get worst before it gets better. At 15, that’s the last thing you want to hear. I wanted my blemishes gone as quickly as possible with little to no effort. He was right. Soon after my diligent regimen started, it did in fact get worst. Drying, peeling, more acne, redness & discomfort started to take over my face. The only thing worst than acne is a combination of peeling and acne. I continued my regimen and my skin did eventually get better. I stopped using Retin A because it wasn’t a great fit for my skin, but I found other products and medications that helped. I’m an esthetician by profession and can say now that I’m glad I struggled with acne. It gave me experience, personal experience that you can’t read about in a book. Because acne is chronic, it can’t be cured only treated, I still get blemishes and breakouts; Only now I have the knowledge and experience to treat as effectively and quickly as possible.
I’ve thought a lot about that warning lately: It will get worst before it gets better. I’ve thought to myself many times “It won’t get worst than this. It can’t get worst than this. It will HAVE to get better from here. It just HAS to get better.” Then I have an adult tantrum in my head. Recently I’ve tried to picture myself on the ground kicking and screaming like a kid to help me recognize some of the irrational thoughts that come and go. Sometimes it helps.
I'm a 28 year old struggling with infertility. It's been just under 3 years of challenges including surgery, blood work, IUI's, appointments, shots, worry & depression to name a few inconveniences. This is my "I never saw it coming" moment in life. At this point in our infertility journey, it's unknown why we're having difficulty. Everything looks good on paper, so why is this so hard? I used to think it was a matter of age or health that made it possible or difficult to get pregnant. We've beat the odds. Even knowing the statistics that '1 out of 8 couples have problems with infertility' leaves me in denial that this can't be us. It can't happen to two people that love each other so much and want a family so badly.
Every step on this journey has been painful from the loss that I've felt in wanting children to the realization of my many weaknesses. I've been introduced to new sides of me that I hope I never have to meet or associate with again. I feel stunted because this was my next step in my plan and it isn't happening. I did everything the "right" way, didn't I? Found the man of my dreams, got the house, followed my dreams in my career and love it, husband got the job and education, pay off debt, go on vacations...blah blah blah. With any accomplishments we have they seem small when I think of what I want so badly.
There are many times when I've thought about my dermatologists warning. When I think I'm done and I've had enough, no room for any more disappointment, I've found that . . . yes, there are many times when it really does get worst before it gets better. I do know that at the end of it, at the end of this struggle, pain, and loss I will have gained experience. Experience that is personal to me that I can't read about in a book. Experience that wasn't sought after and really isn't welcome. I know that eventually it WILL get BETTER. And as an added bonus, it will make me a better person and more human because of the challenges I've faced.
When I was 15, I started seeing a dermatologist for some acne issues. He prescribed Retin A as a topical with this warning: It will get worst before it gets better. At 15, that’s the last thing you want to hear. I wanted my blemishes gone as quickly as possible with little to no effort. He was right. Soon after my diligent regimen started, it did in fact get worst. Drying, peeling, more acne, redness & discomfort started to take over my face. The only thing worst than acne is a combination of peeling and acne. I continued my regimen and my skin did eventually get better. I stopped using Retin A because it wasn’t a great fit for my skin, but I found other products and medications that helped. I’m an esthetician by profession and can say now that I’m glad I struggled with acne. It gave me experience, personal experience that you can’t read about in a book. Because acne is chronic, it can’t be cured only treated, I still get blemishes and breakouts; Only now I have the knowledge and experience to treat as effectively and quickly as possible.
I’ve thought a lot about that warning lately: It will get worst before it gets better. I’ve thought to myself many times “It won’t get worst than this. It can’t get worst than this. It will HAVE to get better from here. It just HAS to get better.” Then I have an adult tantrum in my head. Recently I’ve tried to picture myself on the ground kicking and screaming like a kid to help me recognize some of the irrational thoughts that come and go. Sometimes it helps.
I'm a 28 year old struggling with infertility. It's been just under 3 years of challenges including surgery, blood work, IUI's, appointments, shots, worry & depression to name a few inconveniences. This is my "I never saw it coming" moment in life. At this point in our infertility journey, it's unknown why we're having difficulty. Everything looks good on paper, so why is this so hard? I used to think it was a matter of age or health that made it possible or difficult to get pregnant. We've beat the odds. Even knowing the statistics that '1 out of 8 couples have problems with infertility' leaves me in denial that this can't be us. It can't happen to two people that love each other so much and want a family so badly.
Every step on this journey has been painful from the loss that I've felt in wanting children to the realization of my many weaknesses. I've been introduced to new sides of me that I hope I never have to meet or associate with again. I feel stunted because this was my next step in my plan and it isn't happening. I did everything the "right" way, didn't I? Found the man of my dreams, got the house, followed my dreams in my career and love it, husband got the job and education, pay off debt, go on vacations...blah blah blah. With any accomplishments we have they seem small when I think of what I want so badly.
There are many times when I've thought about my dermatologists warning. When I think I'm done and I've had enough, no room for any more disappointment, I've found that . . . yes, there are many times when it really does get worst before it gets better. I do know that at the end of it, at the end of this struggle, pain, and loss I will have gained experience. Experience that is personal to me that I can't read about in a book. Experience that wasn't sought after and really isn't welcome. I know that eventually it WILL get BETTER. And as an added bonus, it will make me a better person and more human because of the challenges I've faced.