MIZ...I'll see you

 I don't fit again. The loss of a child changes so many things about the way you used to fit into society. When that piece of you dies with them, and a new you fights for life again, the end result is a person who no longer recognizes the you that you left behind. 

Confused? Me too. My oldest two children are leaving for college on Wednesday.  We've been packing and planning for a couple of months now, but official move in day is in less than a week. I've talked to each of them separately about how I'll miss them, and that I'd love it if they'd send me a text every once in awhile. But there are no tears. There is no longing. I'm not sad that they're in this place in their lives. In fact, if anything, I'm really excited. 

I know I've talked about this particular sentiment before in that I've mentioned that I don't have typical "mom" feelings anymore. That's probably to be expected. But there is a sense of guilt, or almost like I need to hide how I'm feeling because it doesn't meet the social norm. And that's why I chose to write today. As always, I write to process difficult emotions. I write to heal. And I needed to see, in writing, that what I'm feeling is ok. Maybe someone else needs to see that, too? 

I don't begrudge you your feelings about your children leaving for college, or starting kindergarten for the first time. I don't hate your posts about your worries and fears as they make their way into the world outside of you. I guess what I need, is for my feelings to be ok, too. I need for it to be ok that when I DO read the posts lamenting college drop off, that it's ok that I don't feel that. I need for it to be acceptable that because I don't feel that, I hurt a little inside. 

Once, early in my grief, I tried explaining to a worried coworker why I mentioned wanting to die in such a nonchalant manner. It wasn't that I wanted to take my own life. I just wanted college drop off day, like everyone else does. Why do you drop your kids off? Because you want to see their new home. You want to meet some of the people with whom they'll now be spending their time. You want to make sure they're comfortable in their new surroundings. That's all I want as well. But, for me, in order to do that, I'd have to go to heaven, right? I can't see his "room". I can't see his "friends". I just wanted what we all want. 

I'm so proud of the two young adults I'm "dropping off" next week. I only take so much credit for them, but I believe they're pretty good humans, and that was always the goal. They're kind and compassionate. They're accepting and loving. And they're both going to love this next adventure. So though I'm not at all sad, and I likely won't have any tears for them, what I will have is an overabundance of gratitude for getting to witness this day. I may not have a map to heaven, but I can sure as hell get to Columbia...go be awesome, my babies! 

Grief Gratitude

 I haven't talked about grief in awhile, and there's a reason for that I suppose. It's just always there. It shifts and changes. It teaches and torments. It causes darkness and provides clarity. But one thing remains steadfast through all the changes, and that is simply that it never leaves. 

When I used to think about a lifetime of grief, it made me nauseous. I would physically react to the thought of carrying the weight of this burden for the rest of my life. However, in true "what-the-hell-is-grief-gonna-do-next" fashion, that thought has shifted once again. 

Christmas felt different this year. It's felt different every year since Easton died, of course, but this year's differences struck me as more unexpected than normal. This year I noticed my gratitude for Christmastime was greater than even before our loss. The family time and togetherness I was able to experience felt deeper and richer than I've previously felt. And that's not to say that I didn't appreciate Christmas when my earthly family was whole. I did. I just didn't understand fully, exactly how gracious I could be for that specific time. 

Christmas used to be my favorite time of year. I, like many, would get swept away by the magical feeling it brings. I loved decorating. I loved buying the perfect gift. I loved the family time. And I THOUGHT I knew what it meant to be grateful for that. But I didn't. Even though I knew in my head that not everyone enjoys the holidays, that some experience depression, and that some people don't have loved ones around, I didn't ACTUALLY KNOW the depths of that pain. You can know something, and not KNOW it. If grief has taught me nothing else, it has taught me that! Although I could articulate that I was grateful for family and friends, somewhere in the recesses of my subconscious I felt OWED those things. Almost like it was whispering "well sure I'm grateful, but of course I have a happy, healthy family. Of course I have a loving partner and kids opening presents." That sounds ridiculous even as I write it, but ultimately it's true. So, after Easton died, I mourned many things, obviously. One thing I was really PISSED about was that grief had taken my love for Christmas. I couldn't breathe on what used to be my favorite holiday. I resented family members who could still enjoy moments of Christmas. It opened an already bleeding wound that I was sure would never heal. My grief, my pain, my agony, showed up in sheer anger. And I've felt this way for MANY years. 

The past few years, while anger has certainly been my companion at Christmastime, it has softened, slowly. The addition of two children whose Christmas experiences needed to be good ones, certainly softened some edges. My best friend being a professional gift giver and lover of making a big deal out of birthdays and holidays was a huge part of my ability to sort of hold pressure on that wound, at least long enough to mimick her process. The past couple of years, I've overbought for my children. And it isn't because I think they need THINGS. It's because I was trying to heal a portion of myself I assumed had long since died. Despite the fact that my children are older, I still choose wrapping paper they've never seen. I hide their gifts from them, and I put them out the night before Christmas after they've gone to bed. They humor me now, as a way of honoring both my grief, as well as their own. Even if they don't realize that's what they're doing, it most certainly is a part of the healing process. 

This year, I not only looked forward to Christmas, I sat and listened to my now teenage grievers and asked them what THEY would like to see happen in relationship to their brother on Christmas. It was healing and eye opening, and only this year have I been in a place to even ask the question, let alone honor the answer I was given. And I make no apologies for that. I have done exactly all that I could in order to keep breathing each day of the past 10+ years. I'm so grateful for each agonizing step we've taken that has gotten us to this place. I've spent this year having HARD conversations about grief with my children. They've shared their current pain as well as their childhood pain that I wasn't able to hear about when they were young. I'm in a place now in my grief life that I can hold some of that for them. I can let them know that I realize they lost their mother for awhile, and that although I couldn't have done it any differently, that I'm sorry for the intense pain and fear that caused them. I'm able to do the same for my husband. We left one other while grieving. We had to. Not physically, but emotionally, and that's certainly worse in my book. We couldn't be what the other needed at that time. And so we're using our combined knowledge of our own specific grief to carry one another through this particular part of the journey. That's not to say that it won't shift again someday. We aren't naive enough to believe we have learned all things "grief". 

I guess this rambling is simply meant to highlight my gratitude for my grief journey. Would I prefer ignorance and having my son here doing all the preteen things that make a mother crazy? Sure. But that wasn't our soul plan. That wasn't what was mapped out for us. So, I'll take our mutual agreement to learn grief, longing, sacrifice, and gratitude, and I'll see things differently than I would have had I never known the honor of being his mother. ❤️💛💙

Woman Up!

 I've always loved my job. It isn't lost on me what a gift that is, to love the work you do. But these past couple of years have given new meaning to my gratitude. Suffering from long covid changed so many things about my life. As I get healthier and stronger, I get more and more of myself back. And getting more of "me" back means getting to be the nurse I strive to be. 

I'm back to work full time now, and have been for about three months. I never realized how much I truly needed to use the part of my brain that exists as a labor and delivery nurse. I always tell people I have the greatest job on earth. I believe that because I don't know anyone else who walks into work and meets a stranger, but by the end of their workday, is present for one of the most important moments in that person's life. Each delivery is a gift. And I don't take that for granted. 

Usually when you tell someone you're a labor and delivery nurse, you get one of two responses: "oh, I'd LOVE to rock babies all day!" OR, "oh that must be the happiest place to work!" While the first response is mostly just annoying 😉, the second one definitely has some truth to it. Am I happy where I work? Yes! But I'm happy because I love my job. I love my team of coworkers. And my bosses are the best. However, you know what the best part of my job is? I get to watch women empower women every single day. How many people get to say that? Whether it's a nurse or physician encouraging the mother, a family member or spouse, it's incredible to watch a woman realize her true strength in such an intense moment. I absolutely love it when  a patient says, "I can't believe I just did that!" Believe it, sister. And it was an honor to be here. 

I've been thinking a lot lately about the power of female relationships. I'm so blessed to be surrounded by incredible women. They've pulled me from some very dark places, and held me upright when I couldn't stand alone. I  currently talk to other adoptive mothers on a daily basis, and we reach across the country, across the world at times, to build one another up.  I look at the strength and resiliency of my four beautiful daughters as well, and I marvel at their tenacity. Is there anything more beautiful than women lifting up other women? I'm not sure there is. 

So, I guess what I'm saying is, if you find yourself hurting, or needing a change in your life...WOMAN UP! Find that sister that just brings out the beauty in you. I'm grateful to the amazing women I call mine. Thank you for the gifts each of you bring to my life. You're appreciated and loved beyond measure. ❤️

Twelve

 Twelve. You're supposed to be 12. I don't even know what that looks like. What does that mean? Anyone who knows me has heard me say that "I hate 12". As a parent, I've always felt like 12 is where I stop having the answers, and hormones kick in, and the craziness starts. But right now I'm so angry that I don't get to be annoyed by "12". 

Are you bigger? What kinds of things do you like to do? What do you want for your 12th birthday? I know what I want for all of your birthdays. I want to complain about how busy I am because it's the end of May and so many things are happening around us as we celebrate your day.  Instead, I'm doing what I always do the night before your birthday. I turn inside myself. I let the pain and the hurt wash over me. I allow my tears to wear me out to the point of falling asleep, only to awaken on that day and cry again. Everything else gets shut out, buddy. It's our day. Me and you. I can't let anyone else in, and I don't apologize for it. 

Still...none of that explains why you're not here. I'll never understand it. I used to be so very angry. I was even angry with YOU for leaving. I know that's not rational, but nothing with grief is ever rational. Sometimes I wonder what I had done to deserve this level of pain? What has anyone done to make them know the depths of Hell that are reached when you lose a child? But I know that isn't rational either. No one deserves this. No one. And ultimately, it doesn't even matter how it happened. The bed is still empty. My arms are still empty. 

I wonder if I were able to see you tomorrow, on your 12th birthday, if you'd be as tall as your big brother was when he turned 12. I know you saw him graduate recently. Were you a proud 12 year old brother, who showed his "brotherness" by poking fun of him and laughing at his expense? Or are you our sweet, loving, cuddly baby brother with blue eyes as deep as the ocean? Could I drink in your baby soft curls if I were allowed to visit for the day? 

These are the questions that won't be answered. These are the things that gnaw at my heart, and bring me to my knees in the strangest moments. I'll never know why you had to leave. I'll never know if my decisions were the "right" ones. I won't get to do it over again, and change the story. So, I'll do what I do on our day. I'll go to our place. I'll sit in the screaming silence. I'll let the burning wash over me. And tomorrow, I'll love "12". 

Tomorrow

 I had absolutely NO idea what I was doing. I was barely 21, and roughly the size of a house, and I thought I knew what to expect....kind of. Then I experienced this long, tumultuous labor and delivery. It was one filled with fear and uncertainty near the end. Little did I know, that was only the BEGINNING of the uncertainty. I thought my baby was tiny. I thought my baby was going to get here quickly and effortlessly, and that I'd be able to go back to finish my senior year of nursing school with no problem. Aaahhhh....ignorance, it truly is bliss. That September day in 2003, I was handed 10 pounds 12 ounces of uncertainty. 

While it took me awhile to figure out how to sleep, shower, cry, feed, dress you, dress myself, etc...you were a little piece of perfection right from the start. My big, "tiny" baby with inquisitive eyes from day one, you gave me the role of mother. I learned more from you than you're likely ever going to learn from me. You've always been so aware of those around you, so in touch with the emotions of other people. Your ability to read the human condition from a very young age has always inspired me. From your sweet, little toddler voice to those days when you began towering over me, each day, each moment with you has been a gift. 

Tomorrow. Tomorrow is the day that you officially leave high school. I know I'm supposed to be sad, or "happy/sad", but I'm just not. I'm so unbelievably grateful to have been the person who got to watch you get here. I got to see all of your "big" moments, and the little ones that were actually bigger than we knew. I've gotten to stand in front of you and reach back for your little hand. I've gotten to stand beside you, when you no longer needed that reach. And now I get to stand behind you as you go off to be amazing. The thing is, you already are amazing. You were that first day I saw you. You've been everything I could have expected in a son, but oh so much more. Our family life took a hit that no one should ever experience. And maybe that's why I'm not sad. I know what NEVER seeing this day looks like. But our loss of him does not define you. You are so much more than your losses. As you've grown into the man you've become, my proudest moments are the ones where you're not even around and a friend, teacher, relative, stranger, tells me what a kind, compassionate, and thoughtful young man you are. There is no greater gift than that. 

Logan John, we know better than most that nothing is guaranteed, but I choose to believe that if we're going to be here to live life, we may as well LIVE it. I'll hold your hand when you need it. I'll stand beside you when standing alone feels too hard.  I'll stand behind you when you need a safe place to land. But no matter where you want me to stand, know that every part of you makes me proud. You are more than ready, more than capable of doing amazing things all on your own. I just happen to be the woman honored enough to watch what you do....tomorrow. 

(I'll love you forever, I'll love you for always, as long as I'm living, my baby you'll be)

Covid Survivor

 September 14, 2021

It has now been a full year since I contracted Covid-19. I remember those first few symptoms, and how sure I was that I was going to be the mildest of cases. I had BARELY a tickle in my throat, but because of my husband's positive test, my proximity to him, and the nature of my job, I chose to stay home an extra day after my initial negative result. I will always be glad I made that decision. Little did I know, the previous shift would be my last full time shift for at least the next year. 

I tested positive 4 days after my negative test, and the fevers had started. I was still able to walk each day with my husband and we made sure to move as much as possible. Living in our shed so that we could quarantine away from our children was a luxury that I realize many do not have. People started bringing meals and sending up prayers, and we were incredibly grateful, but still pretty certain that we'd come away from this unscathed. 

It was day 8 of infection when we went for our evening walk, and I remember looking at Jeff and saying, "you know what? I'm a little winded. That's weird." I was able to walk about another 100 feet for so before I decided that maybe I should go back and rest and try again later. That night the pain that overtook my body was horrific. My skin hurt so badly that touching the sheets of the bed felt like razors. I tried to get up and make the walk to our bathroom that only he and I had been sharing in the house, and I had to stop twice to try and catch my breath. The following day, I had a telehealth appointment with my physician and she all but begged me to go to the hospital. (Nurses are terrible patients...) I really felt like if I could just get through this little bump in the road, I'd come put on the other side just fine. I think I left for the hospital about a half hour after getting off the phone with her. 

The hospital stay was frustrating and long and really showed me just how little we understand about covid. The staff was wonderful. We just didn't know what to do with people who made no clinical sense. I spent 10 days there, and the massive amounts of steroids I received sent my pancreas over the edge, and I now get to experience being a true diabetic. 

I've spent the last year going to countless doctor appointments, as well as physical, occupational, and speech therapies. I've tried about every supplement available. I read about covid ENDLESSLY.  My physical therapist is incredible, and is truly the only reason I have good days with my breathing right now. His dedication to my health and his fascination with the body's response to covid has been invaluable to me. I'm extremely grateful. 

I continue to experience some shortness of breath. I still have dizzy spells, headaches, crippling fatigue, tachycardia, and vision changes. I'm down to about 1-2 fevers per week. I AM getting better. Each day is a new challenge, and I'm trying with everything I have to get back to being the mom, the wife, the nurse that I once was. 

I know there are those who believe I'm being dramatic, and that I'm making this up. And you know what? That's ok. Honestly, if I hadn't experienced this myself I probably would have never believed the extent to which one virus can transform your daily life. I have an incredible support system. My bosses and coworkers, my family and friends, could not be more supportive and understanding. I know how lucky I am. And thank everything that is holy that I have people to talk to who know exactly what I'm feeling related to long covid. I wouldn't wish this on anyone, but I'm so grateful that I'm not alone. Unfortunately, there are MANY of us. 

I'm grateful for each step forward. I'm grateful that with each fall backward, someone is there to help pull me back up. I'm grateful for good research and advances in medicine. I'm grateful for my vaccine and for those around me who are protecting those of us who clearly don't handle this well. And mostly I'm grateful that after a year of dealing with this, I can still say that I'm a survivor. 

TEENS

So, one of the things I've learned in my 39 years of navigating whatever the hell this life of mine is, that I always seem to do better when I can read about someone else's shared experience. Grieving parents, unfortunately there are many of us, but it is oddly helpful to be able to see that someone else has been where you are, isn't it? Covid long hauler? Nurse? Wife? Sister? Daughter? No matter what hat I wear, there is comfort in knowing I'm not alone. And it is that frame of mind that brings me to this blog...

Teen and tween moms....HOLY HORMONES, amiright?! I don't know why we spend so much time focusing on the "parenting we'll have to do when we have teens" revolving around drugs and sex ed. I mean, that's not even on the radar! We're too busy over here dealing with all the existential crises....good lord. I swear if one more kid says to me, "I don't know what I'm going to do with my life!", I'm gonna lose it. No shit, kid? Me either. And that's always met with,  "oh mom, why do you always say that?" Um, because it's TRUE! This isn't for your benefit or to make you feel better, child. I seriously feel like some days I'm still searching. And guess what?...that's ok. Sheesh. 

I've got 5 of these people in my house. Who thought that was a good idea? If we're not bitching about who stole the last tampon, we're complaining about who's using the most wifi🙄.  I have always said that my least favorite age to parent is 12-13. I stand by that. Yes I love all of my kids, blah blah blah, but come on, let's be honest....they be nuts. Somehow that bridge between childhood and teen years is the most difficult to cross. The fact that I can't do more to help them over it, makes me crazy! I feel like I spend an insane amount of time explaining that we all have insecurities in life, and that we all have moments where friendships shift and change, and that sometimes you're just going to have shitty experiences when it comes to other people. Good grief, I need a counseling degree for this stage, and *spoiler alert*, I don't have one! 🤦‍♀️

But let's get down to the real nitty gritty of what makes this stage of parenting life such a pain in the ass....HOW MANY EMPTY WATER BOTTLES CAN ONE PERSON STORE IN THEIR BEDROOM??? And why???? Phew, I feel like getting that off my chest is a real breakthrough. 

And parenting teens during a pandemic?! We should get medals. All of us. And free booze for as many months as we've parented a teen during this crazy ass time. I mean, we love them, right? But we're used to having days filled with activities and school (the kind where they actually leave your house), and friend dates, etc. Now, don't get me wrong, I absolutely saw the beauty in the extra time with my teens. Most of the time we're so busy with life that we miss out on these precious last years at home, but Lord grant me the serenity....we have HAD togetherness. I think it's ok to talk about both, right? I mean, yes they're great but I also need space in my own brain for my own shit! 

I swear it's like trying to live the lives of each of them FOR them as they figure shit out (because sometimes they really prove their "teen-ness" and you kind of wonder how the hell they walk and chew gum at the same time) while simultaneously letting them go a little more each day. Um, that's maddening. 

It's an endless loop of seeing your babies turn into young adults and being inspired by their growth and also trying not to strangle them for clearly misunderstanding how to change a damn toilet paper roll!! And have you noticed that each time you bring that simple task up to your teen, through clenched teeth, that somehow it is ALWAYS them that has to put the new roll on while their siblings apparently eat bon bons and sunbathe all day?? How is that possible?! Cause I've never seen one of you "apparently intelligent" children, EVER put the stupid thing back on unless there is smoke coming out of my ears.

Yes we do chores. Yes my kids cook their own meals and clean the kitchen afterward. Yes they mow the lawn. But life gets in the way, and hormones, and emotions and feelings push their way into the forefront and those things get forgotten or ignored. So, we get back on track and feel good about ourselves for...about 2 hours, before someone else has some kind of crisis. I knew that running around after toddlers would be exhausting, although admittedly you can't know HOW exhausting until you have them. And I had of course heard about how "hard it is to have teens", but again...CLUELESS until I got here myself. I have great kids. They make good decisions for the most part and they have huge hearts, all of them. And someday, they're going to be incredible adults that change the world. But, for today, if they really want to bring that tear of pride to my eye...toilet paper is the answer!🤦‍♀️