Tuesday, December 31, 2013

Healing Scars

Project:  Scars.

This surgery didn't go as perfect as my doctors and I had imagined.  What appeared to be a routine revision and scar tissue removal, turned into a bit of a clustercuss.  When removing the scar tissue, essentially, they "unleashed the bomb,"  setting off a mass septic infection that had no symptoms until 24 hours post-op, had never shown up in my bloodwork, did not appear to the surgeon even as he operated, but that showed up in the cultures from the tumor, scar tissue and hardware they removed from my hip.  This infection has required 3 different antibiotics, oxygen therapy, a 4-day hospital stay and a PICC line insertion, which has allowed me to give myself the necessary daily doses of 2 antibiotics for a 6-10-week period, to be sure that this infection doesn't settle into the new hardware they just put into my hip. Three weeks into this IV antibiotic therapy, I think it's going just fine.  I'm eating to heal my body, I'm staying on top of my physical therapy, and holding down the fort at home with help from a great partner and family, some wonderful nurses, and my amazing kids.

So, along with the expected pain of healing, I've had twice the number of doctor visits, daily IV doses of antibiotics that make me nauseous and exhausted, and I'm still Mommy, Nanny, Consultant, Writer, Illustrator, and all of the other things that I love to be so much.   And I'm managing.  Thanks to wonderful family and supportive friends, I'm managing just fine.

At first it was really scary, and hard not to be angry...but then I realized, I could document this, and maybe use it to speak to people about how drunk drivers don't just affect people during the times they drive drunk, or affect only their own lives when they get caught.  As a result of this drunk driver's actions, I have now had 9 surgeries.  I'll likely have a few more before it's all said and done, but hopefully not for a long time.  I really mourned my scars for awhile, my pain, the changes that have had to take place in my life and my work as I've adjusted to the way my brain and body work now.  A lot of it is invisible to most people who know me, but I know.  I feel it, I notice how I'm different, and sometimes that really makes me sad.  Sometimes, I'm amazed that I'm even alive at all, and I really do try and make the most of my life and all of the beautiful blessings in it.  I love my scars now.  They tell a story.  They tell my story.  They speak of my pain, and they speak of my healing.  Sometimes I wish I could send a letter to the man who is responsible for these scars.  And I wonder, would it make a difference?  It already does, to me.  This is all a part of me, of my life, and I embrace it.  But if you know of anyone who drives drunk, who's driven drunk, or who might have a problem with drugs or alcohol, maybe you can tell them my story, show them my scars, and maybe they'll see just a snapshot of how a drunk driver impacted my life.  I've never posted pictures of my scars before, I've been self-conscious of them for years now, but maybe showing them will make an impression on others and save someone from suffering what I have.

My new hip scar, December 2013, total hip revision and pseudotumor removal.

My daily IV meds.  Thankful for my dialysis and IV experience!!  Piece of cake!  This also makes me sit still for an hour a day.  :)

The scars on my face that, most of the time, only I can see now.  My eyelid was reconstructed, my nose was put back in the center of my face, and my lips and chin were peeled back like a banana until the doctor stitched them back up.  But, amazingly enough, my vital signs were stable, my heart is strong and just kept right on beating.  This allowed a wonderful plastic surgeon to take his time reconstructing my face and removing auto glass.  And I have even learned to love these scars.  They remind me that I am more than what people see on the outside.  

This is what happens after using a cane for 2 weeks as my hip heals. I also lift babies for a living.  And today, I planked for 90 seconds.  Nothing will keep me down for long!!!

The stretchmarks are thanks to my five beautiful children.  I have earned my stripes, people.  The scar that runs from my sternum down to my pubic bone is thanks to a drunk driver, and my need for an emergency splenectomy, which was lacerated and dumping my blood into my gut at a dangerous pace that day.  Four units of blood lost, and thank you to the donors who saved my life by replenishing my lost blood supply!  Without you, I wouldn't be here!  Donate blood, especially if you have a rare type, like me.  You never know whose life you will save!

 My left hand, healed up a long time ago, had stitches up the backside and down through the palm from auto window glass cutting it in half.  Good hand surgeon, salvaged almost all nerve function and rehab has brought back full use. 
My right hand, I had shattered bones suctioned out of my wrist and replaced with metal plates and screws.  It works just fine now.The x-ray looks like a pin cushion is in my wrist, lol.

I don't have any pictures of my neck scar or or an x-ray of the fused bones, or an x-ray of the messed up vertebrae and disks in my neck and back, but they let me know just about every day just where they were hurt.  I've learned to accept it, I don't fight it anymore.  I love my body and how it's  healed, and I am so thankful for being so strong, that I can care for my family, for myself, and for others around me that I love so much.  I don't ever take for granted how precious life is, or how fragile.

I forgive the man who caused me all this pain.  I don't wish him ill, I wish him peace.  I hope he's found healing and forgiveness of his own, and that he's turned his life into one that blesses others instead of causes continuing pain.  It is a daily prayer of mine.  I hope he's never driven drunk again, and I hope he's told people what happened to us that day, so that others can be warned of how devastating alcohol can be when you get behind the wheel.  I'm so glad I'm here to tell my story.  I am so lucky that I'm here to raise my kids, and that as a family, we can warn others against the dangers of driving under the influence. 
Especially as we go into New Year's Eve, which is probably a big night for people who drive when they really shouldn't.  Be safe, everyone, and make sure that the people you love are safe, too.

Just a few of my many reasons for living.  <3>









Tuesday, November 19, 2013

Surgery

Yep, surgery, again.  I'm a little nervous about it.  It's my 3rd surgery on my hip in 8 years.  I know that each time they have to do it, there's less of my God-given bone in there, and more Bionic Woman.  This means that, much like a car with its mechanical parts, I am going to need a bit more care and upkeep than I used to.  OK.  I can adapt to that.  If I must.  I do enjoy setting off the metal detectors at airports and watching everyone freak out when I show the TSA my awesome scar.  (my ass cheek)
This has been such a lesson in letting go of how I WANT things to be, and accepting how things ARE.  The quiet and loving silence of TRUTH.  It is now my friend.

I have made so much progress in the past year.  I wish I had had more time to post about it but I was too busy 'fixing' me.  I healed by leaps and bounds, would find my limits again and this time listen to them instead of rage against them, and just accept it.  I'm a slow learner.  I'm used to getting my way.  Meh.

I'm afraid to go through rehab again.  To feel I'm getting better, to feel hopeful, and then to hit that brick wall again, the one I've become too familiar with, but I've learned to lie back and love the sky I see over the top of that wall, rather than continue to bash my head against what I can't plow through. I've seen some amazing suns rise and set on this wall.  I am not depending upon an incredible outcome in order for me to be "ok."  I am just deciding to be ok.

I'm afraid of feeling that deep sadness that I felt after the disks in my back got so bad a few years ago.  I have made a slow and incomplete recovery from that, and I've learned to live with it...I've been stubborn about it, stopped all therapies, not wanting meds or injections or P.T. anymore, because it just gave me false hope of feeling better, which never happened, and the crash into that damn wall just got so tiresome after a while.  No more.  I am turning my back on that wall, I am taking a right, I am going around.  It looks like the Great Wall of China sometimes; others, it's just a crack in the sidewalk.  I can stand there, shouting at that wall like a crazy person and hating it for being in my way, or I can just walk beside it, grazing it with my fingertips to remember why it's there, enjoying the scenery along the way, because my life does not exist at the base.  I am my life.  I am not a roadblock. And, what is crazy, anyway?
 I may look at that wall sometimes, I may even paint beautiful pictures on it of me dancing in high heels, smiling and laughing without a trace of pain in my eyes.  That feels like going in reverse, though, and I can't change it, being wistful doesn't help me.  Being grateful does.  So, probably the picture that I'd paint would look more like a sunrise, or a sunset, or whatever picture brings me the most peace at that moment.  I am not my limitations.  I am not my scars, my medical history, or my tears.  I am me.  I am loved.  I am amazing.  I am so strong, even when I feel weakest.

So, it will be ok.  The surgery will free me of some pain in the long run.  I have been through tougher rehab than a simple hip revision.  I can do this.  I am thankful for a road to travel.  I will recover.  I will continue to do what I do, better all the time, and I will love the hell out of every single day and all of the amazing people I am blessed to have in my days.  I will go on.  :)

And, look at this pretty picture of a grapevine that I took while hiking!  Lou almost had to carry me back, because my leg hurt so bad.  Yup, time for some new scar tissue.  LOL

Tuesday, November 12, 2013

A Children's Book About Death




So, as most of you know, when my brother passed away in 2007, he left behind a wife, pregnant with his twins, and a 3-year-old son.  His son had many questions and fears concerning death after his dad's passing, and so, his grandmother (my amazing mother) wrote him this beautiful book.  And I have been honored to co-illustrate it with Deb Jarvar.  If any of my readers know children who are searching for answers concerning death, or any parents who are struggling to explain this type of loss to a child, please check it out.  It has helped my nephew, and my own children, in dealing with the passing of someone we all love so much. It is purposely exclusive of any particular religion so that everyone is free to express their own take on the subject, but it simply allows the readers to ask questions and initiate conversations about personal beliefs, and what thoughts bring comfort and healing during difficult times.

Thanks, Mom!!!  You are the BEST!!!  We hope that this story brings peace and healing to many many kids!!
Thank you, Brother, for the many life lessons we have embraced since your passing.  We'd rather have you here, but since this is our reality, we will love the lessons and spread the message of love that our journey has given us.  We couldn't have done this without you.  I love you always.

I hope the link below will work...if not, go to createspace.com or amazon.com and search for Aidyn Learns About Energy.

And here's a secret:  There are many more children's books coming!

Love and Light to All!!!

https://www.createspace.com/4508220?ref=1147694&utm_id=6026&fb_action_ids=10151734895675079&fb_action_types=og.likes&fb_source=aggregation&fb_aggregation_id=288381481237582




Monday, November 11, 2013

Veteran's Day- What's Happy About It??


 Uncle Ron, age 19 or 20 in Naval Uniform  



Today, I'm thinking about all of my uncles who served in the military.  I don't know all of them well enough to have had them share their stories with me, but I have been lucky enough to have one uncle share some of his story.  I'm thinking about my mother's eldest brother, who served in the Navy during the Vietnam war.  When I was a kid, I think I knew he had served, but I never really thought about it much, since I was, after all, just a kid, more concerned with the silly things that kids do, like laughing, playing, lollygagging...
When I was about 21, I asked my uncle, "What was it like in Vietnam?"  The rest of my family got very quiet.  Uncle Ron did not often talk about what happened there, what he saw or experienced, and I guess no one really asked him about it.  But that day, he decided to share with us a bit of what he had lived.  I think it was an hour or more, Uncle Ron told us about seeing new officers get killed within days of being "in country" because they wouldn't listen to the ones who had been there longer.  About how walking to the latrine was a life-or-death trek sometimes.  About how lying in your cot at night, listening to not-so-distant bombs drop and missing home feels like a cold iron hook in your guts.  About how the bonds with your brothers of war are like no other.  We all listened intently, just letting him talk, taking in all of the stories, and the pictures I formed in my mind, as vivid as they were, I knew they were nothing compared to the things my uncle had seen with his own eyes. At the same age of my two oldest sons, now 19 and 20, Uncle Ron had already been to war, had seen death, had experienced things I hope my sons never do.  Today, that hits home very hard.
I remember thinking then, and I often think it now, how spoiled we are as a country.  We know so little of war-ravaged streets, of our schools being bombed and our paths to and from work being daily war zones.  So many countries of this world see war as one of the only constants in life, war and death.  I won't write much about war, because I know nearly nothing about it.  About what strength must lie inside a person to be able to carry out the tasks necessary for survival and success in a war situation.  About how returning home doesn't mean the war has been left behind.  I think every soldier brings a piece of that war home with them in their hearts.  I have seen it in veterans' eyes, and I wish that I could erase or ease that pain for them.  But then, they carry it proudly, with a strength that is not known to civilians, because it has not been ingrained in us, it has not been lived by us, but it has been lived by someone we all know.  And for that, I hug my Uncle Ron a little tighter each time I see him, a little squeeze to say "Thank You."  It's all I can do.  I can't unsee the horrid sights, sounds and smells of a place I've never been.  I can't imagine what it's like to carry that badge.
Something else I never knew, but I found out on my own, was that my Uncle Ron had earned some medals for his Naval service.  I found one while cleaning out a cabinet in my grandparents' house, a star with green ribbon, in a blue velvet box.  He didn't talk about these medals, he never told me or anyone else how he got them, and I still don't know.  I just know that I love my Uncle Ron, and I am so very thankful for him, his service, and the service of all military personnel.  I am thankful for the sights, sounds, and experiences they endure to protect our freedom.  Thankful for the pain they carry, sometimes for decades, for a lifetime, after serving our country.  And all I can do is say thank you?  The words seem so paltry, so pale and feeble when used to honor such sacrifice.  They are only words.  But these are my words, and my words are the only way I have right now to show these amazing people, people like my uncle, my gratitude.

So, THANK YOU, Uncle Ron, and all of your brothers and sisters who serve, have served, and will serve our beautiful country.  And if nothing else, I feel it is our duty as civilians to do everything we can, every day, to keep this country beautiful, to work together to right the wrongs within our own borders, and to make our world deserving of the freedoms we enjoy because of these amazing soldiers.  And I will do just that.  I will continue to teach my kids to do just that, and I will tell myself that it has to be enough.  But I know it is never enough.  I know it's idealistic, and I fear that within my lifetime there will be more division and less unity in our country, but I will never give up hope, and I will never stop doing my part, because people like my uncle never gave up, never stopped protecting us.  For that, I am forever grateful.  I love you!



Uncle Ron, 2013, with his decorated Naval Uniform.

Wednesday, November 06, 2013

Anniversaries and Forgiveness



Eight years since I woke up in Heaven.  Eight years, during which, I've learned about forgiveness.  Forgiving the man who altered my life course so dramatically, who caused me immeasurable pain, the stranger who drunkenly ran a stop sign, eight years ago.

I have witnessed deep physical pain, deep spiritual growth, the deepest depression, and the deepest love and gratitude.  I have also experienced the most intense rage.  All because of the experiences I've had since this crash.   I am grateful for each experience, for the bad along with the good, for the realizations and the epiphanies and the tears, because they have all made me who I am.

I know, and I knew the day of the crash, that man had no intention of hurting me that day.  He was a victim of his illness, his habitual drinking, as is noted by his repeated OWIs.  I just happened to be on my way to work, crossing that intersection at the very moment he ran that stop sign, and broadsided my van.  I think of him occasionally now, send him prayers, and hope that he has found sobriety and peace.

I don't think I actually forgave him until a year or two ago.  I was so terrified to admit how angry I was at him, how enraged I was at this person, someone I had never met and yet he had managed to nearly kill me, altering everything in my life ever since.  Immediately after the crash, when my family told me it had been a drunk driver who had caused the accident, I just cried.  I told myself I forgave him.  I was too afraid to face that rage.  I knew I needed to heal, and holding onto that anger would not help me in my recovery.  That anger was like a poison, it seeped into my bones, it burned inside every time I ached or couldn't do something because of a physical roadblock or pain.  I let it go.  I forgave him.  He truly didn't intend to hurt me.

After several years of pain, depression, panic attacks, etc, I finally just got QUIET.  I learned to listen to how I was feeling and why, without guilt, without pain, without fear; to just listen, ask why, and also, how is this emotion going to serve me?  If it didn't help me heal, I learned to let it go.  Feelings of worthlessness started to melt away, the deepest depression started to lift from my life, and I realized that I needed to move on.  It's time to stop stuffing down the feelings and start coping with them.  Ignoring them will only make them bigger, more debilitating.  The beautiful thing about forgiveness is that you can't forgive someone else without also forgiving yourself.  Forgiveness is what I needed to truly learn to manage my pain.  The pain has not gone away, my loving acceptance of it has helped me to cope with it better.  My ability to see the gifts in spite of the pain, or maybe because of the pain.

Sometimes I have felt like I just needed to get over all of this; sometimes I have to remind myself that it's hard  to get over something that is still a part of your every day.  A limp, a scar, an ache, a flashback or a trigger...there is not a day without some or all of them.  But I own them now, instead of feeling like their victim.  I stopped being afraid of the judgments of others, and I stopped harshly judging myself.

Thank you everyone, for loving me through this, for knowing the depth of what I've gone through and not losing patience or faith in me.  I love you all, and am so very thankful for the people who have saved my life.
I'm healing.  I'm halfway there, I swear!


If any of you reading this would like to share your stories with me, please leave your comments here for me.  I want people to know that we all struggle here, we all have pain and difficulty, and if we can reach out to one another for encouragement, let's do that.  We're all in this together.  Namaste!! 

Saturday, November 02, 2013

I've Been Blessed With These Lives, I'll Do My Best With These Lives

Today, I'm thinking about how grateful I am that I get to stay home and raise my children.  Yes, I would make more money if I worked outside the home 40 hours a week.  No, I would not be able to get the medical clearance, I would not do well or feel well, or be happy, nor would my kids be as well-adjusted and centered as they are.  No, they're not perfect.  But they are great kids.  They are REAL, human, fun-loving kids. Sometimes I question my ability to guide them through a situation or difficulty, but we always make it.  I haven't run out of resources yet.

The reason I think about this a lot is because, for the majority of my two oldest boys' lives, I worked full-time.  I still read them bedtime stories after a home-cooked meal at the dinner table with the kids and helped them with homework.  But I always felt so hurried, on a timeline, always behind.  I regret not knowing how to relax into each moment with them, I hadn't yet shed my caustic and constant worrying mind.
Things I do miss about working outside the home.  I miss an orderly environment, designated clean and dirty areas, a set break time, going to the bathroom without a detailed conversation through the door, and the assurance of a shower before everyone else uses all the hot water.  I don't miss bosses, deadlines, patients dying or suffering beyond my control as chronic illness often demands, being confined to the scope of a practice I no longer put full faith in, or wearing shoes.  Or, getting out of my pajamas before I'm damn good and ready.

A few years ago, I finally threw in the towel.  It was not my choice.  I had been told by doctors that it was my "best option at this time."  I had much healing to do, and was not allowing my body, mind and spirit to DO that healing.  I resented that I couldn't just GET better.  I hated my very bones for not just DOING what I wanted them to do.  I still have days when I wish I could be saving lives.  But, I am.  I am saving my kids' lives, and the other kids that I'm blessed to have in my life, saving them from growing up without the self-awareness and other life skills that are such an important part of personal success.  I see the truth in it now.  I also see the great gift.  The gift of healing for not only myself, but for my kids, too.  This is so important.

I never would have allowed myself "permission" to stay home and raise my kids.  I lived by my work, I had to make money to feed the family, that's always how life was and I did not expect it to be different until I was well beyond retirement age, and I was perfectly ok with that.  Never questioned it.  It was just reality.  I probably used to make jabs at stay-at-home moms, mostly out of jealousy and guilt that I wasn't able to stay home with my kids, too.  Now I admire any parent who is able and willing to take on the endless task of running a household, full-time.  Work used to feel like a vacation sometimes.  Being home full-time is great fun, very rewarding, and also, very difficult.

 I've always thought that, since I am the mother of five children, that I've always taken my job/responsibility very seriously.  "If I have been blessed with these lives, I will do my best by these lives."  Not, "I will do my best with 'my' kids."  They are not mine.  They are not possessions.  I live by that.   I will not be The Old Woman Who Lived In A Shoe.  I DO know what to do with these kids.  I WILL love them endlessly, I HAVE and will continue to teach them to be compassionate and be kind and generous, and responsible, and ABLE, to know that they deserve excellent treatment and opportunities, and to be thoughtful and happy and well-read and to QUESTION. Everything.
 "Because I said so" is not in my vocabulary.  Do not be sheep.  I may be your shepherd, (for now) but you are not sheep.  "Trust your instincts.  Trust that feeling in your belly, what does it tell you?"  "Look at her face when you say that to her, what do you think she is feeling?"  They are more self-aware than most adults I know.  Many endless conversations about decisions and consequences are had in this house, not only concerning discipline, but environmental consequences, social consequences, emotional consequences, etc.  I am the mother of many critical thinkers.  This process starts young.  I remember looking into each of my babies' eyes, and seeing such wisdom I thought to myself, "They are already so brilliant.  Oh, dear lord, what have I gotten myself into?"  The most intense love of a lifetime, that's what.  The potential of each life in this world is staggering.  I don't always know best.  But I know I am deeply blessed.  My kids teach me as much, if not more, than I teach them.  And I will do my best to do right by them, always.

I don't post in detail about my kids very often, they are so precious to me that I feel this fierce sense of protection over them, that if I describe them or my relationship with them and how we live, I'm exposing them to the judgment of others and I have no tolerance for judgment.  I also have no desire to assume I have the right to write about them simply because I am their mother.  They deserve privacy, and I respect that. 
But, goddammit are they amazing.  And I am thankful that, in spite of the hurt and heartache of not being a successful nurse or director of nursing somewhere important by now, I am very grateful for the opportunity to BE here.  To listen to them.  To play with, to work with, to make a difference in kids' lives.  That is the why.  :)

The longer I am home, the more I start to let go of the external focus that drives so many of us, and also leaves us so emotionally starving and empty. It starts at home!!  What does?  EVERYTHING.

Saturday, October 26, 2013

Pink Hair is a Life Lesson

A few weeks ago, my 11-year-old daughter begged me for an unconventional haircut.  Shaved on both sides and the back, with a half- angled bob cascading down one side of her cute face...she had been asking me for this haircut for a year, and I kept putting it off, it made me anxious, reminding her that when she cut her hair short the last time, it bothered her that people thought she was a boy.  (she was 9.) Well, already at 11, there is no question that she is a girl.  And she was adamant.  "I don't care what anyone thinks, I LOVE this hairstyle and I really want it!"  Ok. 
I will step out of my own judgmental thought process here, my surprising conventional approach on this, and "let" her cut her hair any way she wants.  Who am I to tell this beautiful girl she can't have her hair short?  How does this affect me?  Me, who laughs when I go to the grocery store, sans makeup and bra, ponytail held back by a bandana, and realizing after a glimpse of my reflection in the grocery freezer door that I fit a few unflattering stereotypes myself.  Judge away, world, I think to myself.  I have kids to cook for.  I get my milk and go home.  I don't care what others think of me; but I am so protective over my kids, I want so much to protect them from the harsh judgments of others, their peers especially.  Kids can be so cruel.  But I want my kids to be better than that, to withhold their own judgment of others, to be kinder and stronger than what has become the new cool:  Bullying those who are "different."  I know, bullying has been around as long as civilization and probably before, but technology has brought it to a new high...but that's a whole different post. 

The look on her face as she examined her new haircut in the mirror erased any doubts I had about it.  She was GLOWING.  She was ecstatic.  She looks beautiful.  All of her friends love it.  One boy at school called her Miley Cyrus.  She responded, "I wear a lot more clothes than that chick, but thanks for the recognition."  A week after we cut her hair, she told me she wanted to dye it pink for the month of October, for breast cancer awareness.  So we did. 
I am thankful for this spirited daughter.  I am so grateful for the lessons she and her 4 siblings teach me, all the time.  I love how she steps out of her comfort zone, unknowingly setting the example for her mother that it's ok for me to step out of my comfort zone, too.  Her little sister loves the chance to do anything unconventional, so this was a no-brainer for her.  I love the silly faces in this picture, with one eating sushi and the other making what we call the Brizzo Face. 
(P.S. I love my pink hair.)

Monday, October 21, 2013

Cold Weather Aches

I've been doing so good!  But. Today it was 39 degrees out.  I put on my snuggliest Pink sweats, my slipper boots with da fur, and I even broke out the zebra electric blanket.  *sigh* I don't know why I'm in Wisconsin.  As soon as it dips below 55, I'm in sweats and boots.  The Aches have set in.  I am determined to make sure they don't stay all winter; however, today, they have caught me off-guard. Well-played, Aches, well-played...

I am going to have to stock up on arnica salve, cinnamon and honey, turmeric, echinacea tea, ginseng tea, and lots of chai (oh snap! I just remembered I bought a fresh bag of loose chai tea the other day! yesss.)

Here is where I think we should live. Santa Cruz, CA


I did not take this picture, I found it here:  http://www.city-data.com/picfilesc/picc12658.php



And here is what I think we should do for the Aches.  I am not affiliated with these websites, I just know this kind of thing works for me and is helping me cope with chronic pain.  :)


http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=0S9kiADZHz0
and
http://www.youtube.com/watch?feature=player_embedded&v=_HQLsfZh5js&list=UUSGAd7US0VwzJ4xIucuFJLA

Thursday, October 17, 2013

And Today: A Clue to What I've been UP to!!!

I have been trying to come with a way to explain what I'm trying to achieve here.  How I have tried to figure out what it means to have survived because of modern medicine, and yet to have been failed by modern medicine so completely in my healing process.  How there have been too many procedures, needles, stark white operating room lights and cold tile floors, and not enough eye contact, kind words, and TIME.  Not enough time spent putting the pieces of my being, back together.  See, what most people don't know is that a traumatic experience, whether it be a car wreck, loss of a loved one, war experiences, a lost love, abuse, on and on and on...what most people don't know is that those instances may only take a second, or an hour or a day...but they can take a lifetime to heal if the pieces aren't gathered, and if the gatherer doesn't have the right tools.

I felt as though there was a great explosion that day.  The day of my accident, the day my brother died, and a few other days...  Like a silent scream that never ended, like watching a bullet shatter a glass bottle in slow motion; you can see every shard, every tiny crystalline bit as it explodes outward in every direction in an instant, and all you can do is watch in awe.  This is how it feels.  Like every piece of myself, my heart, my family, my work, my schooling, my soul, my body, my IDENTITY...I watched them all splinter and fall in slow motion, as I scrambled in real-time to scoop them back up and put them all back together again as fast as I could, as they cut my hands and made me bleed all over again, but I never stopped trying.  And they just didn't ever fit the same, and they cut me from the inside, trying to fit and form to the way I am in this life now, and they don't, not always.  I still feel like I'm bleeding, as I go about my days and smile and do my work, my play, my chores, my loves...I am bleeding, but not bled out.  I am crying, but silently, and not every day.  But here I am.  And I will go on.  And when a person is able to identify that, to face it in all of its raw pain and heartbreak, healing can begin.  It can be years.  When we can let the pieces fall, and we can look at them with love, with patience for our pain, and compassion for a fragile, beautiful LIFE, and we can gently, painstakingly and lovingly pick up each piece of that life and let them come together again as they will...healing does begin.  Some people do this instantaneously; others, it takes longer.  It's not a contest.  There is no right or wrong, as long as there is healing.

It's hard to be patient with yourself when you've seen suffering much worse than your own, and you see people who just smile, day in and day out, acting as if things are fine, you think, "what do I have to complain about?  Have you seen how bad _______'s got it??"  ...but I know now, even those who appear so strong, so stoic and brave, even they cry into their pillows at night.  Even those who would never dream of shedding a tear by daylight, I know the turmoil within you, and I send you love.  This insidious sadness, the pain that eats away at your inner peace like a starving dog...all we have to do is throw that dog a fucking bone.  Throw it a fucking bone.  It's starving.  We're ALL starving, for Love.  The thing is, we keep looking to others to love us, to make it right, to smooth the rough edges and keep our "happiness bubble" intact.  But it's never enough, we are still starving, because we are the only ones who can give that dog a bone.
That "bone" is many things.  Forgiveness, kindness, compassion, grace, humor...we are forever fighting to pull ourselves out of the pit of despair, climbing desperately for the ledge and falling again.  What if all we really need to do is FILL that pit?  What if all we need is to look inward with love, instead of the constant vigil of outward bravery and strength?  Why must we always convince ourselves and others that we have it all together, each hair and nail and brow perfectly made-up, tackling life in designer jeans and Ugg boots with our picture perfect family in frames all around?  Anyone outside looking in could see how "together" we have it.  Look INSIDE.  Look at that void.  Fill in that void with love, with kind self-talk.  Not ego, not vanity, with self-LOVE.  You know, the conversations we have in our heads, the words that we tell ourselves are true...make them kind.  It sounds so simple and stupid...but what you are thinking really can be powerful enough to kill you.  Be Love.  It sounds so simple...and if you let it be just that, just Love, well, it truly is.  And then we are able to be so much more loving and compassionate to those around us.

So, off of the soap box for a minute...I am writing this because I feel so strongly that I did not receive the care I so desperately needed, the kind of care that is left by the wayside in our modern world.  We look at illness and injury and how can we fix it?  What pill or treatment will work?  Write a prescription and move onto the next puzzle.  But that's the problem.  The Western world has lost interest in the entire puzzle, and is focusing on just one piece; sickness.  If we can make the symptoms disappear, we have success.  Untruth.  A human being is a million more things than mere illness.  I remember going to physical therapy for months after my car accident, and I had massage therapy.  I would lay on the table and tears would just stream down my face within seconds of the practitioner's touch.  I'd apologize over and over again, while she'd tell me, "It's perfectly normal to have an emotional release during massage therapy, it's your muscles releasing memory of the trauma.  It's ok.  You're always ok."  And I WAS always ok when I was there.  I was in a safe place.  I could cry, I could hurt, I could be weak, and I knew I was held up by strong and capable hands.  I didn't feel that way anywhere else at that time, not at home, not at work, I was the caretaker in both of those places in a time when I so desperately needed care myself, and didn't realize it.  My heart was utterly broken.  During this time, I was trying to get back to full-time work, I was a full-time nursing student, mother of 5 plus 2 stepsons, and managing 3 different therapy modalities:  occupational therapy, PTSD therapy, and physical therapy.  I know you'll be shocked to learn that I would progress, then plateau.  Progress, then re-injure myself.  And, this was my pattern for 6 years. The doctors kept urging me to apply for social security, disability.  Urging me to find a different line of work, because nursing would not be kind to my system after the injuries I had sustained.  My heart was broken.  Each time I would re-injure my unstable spine, a felt like a piece of me would die.  Depression would creep in, deeper all the time.  I felt I was a failure.  I knew nothing else but nursing, it was all I'd ever done for work, what else could I do?  I kept trying.  My doctors and therapists kept after me and cared the best that they could within their scope of practice, but the truth was, I felt so beyond broken.  I quit going to my doctors.  I quit seeing a therapist about PTSD.  I stayed home.  I got up every morning, got my kids ready for school, hugged them up as they caught the bus...and I went back to bed and slept until noon.  It didn't take too long to realize that this was not a healthy way to live, that I deserved better, and that I was not going to improve my health by ignoring it.  I began reading about Paleolithic eating, tailoring meals to fit our bodies' needs, about nutrition and herbs and the biology behind our bodies and how we can heal by nourishing them properly, that our bodies are not meant to be sick, but that if we tune in to how they change and how we need to eat at each stage, age, and injury or illness, we can restore our bodies to health. 
I began this new leg of my journey in January of this year, after nearly 2 years of research and trial and error and tears and failure and pain.  And I'm glad to report, I am on my way to wellness, for the first time in nearly 8 years.  And I'm going to tell you all about it!!!!!!!



We Create Our Heaven

Many times throughout my life, I have had "out-of-body experiences."  I didn't know that's what they were when I had them; not the first few times, anyway.  We didn't talk about such things at church.  I was raised in a devout Catholic home.  We ate fish each Friday, we observed all of the traditional Catholic holidays and sacraments.  We said grace before meals, we prayed before bedtime.  I went to catechism from the time I was six, church every Sunday.  I've heard others describe their out-of-body experiences as being very much in alignment with their religious beliefs.  But each experience I've had with the Afterlife has been very different, and I feel that they directly correlate with the state of mind and/or belief system I subscribed to at the time.

The first out-of-body experience that I can remember was when I was 8 years old.  My mother was curling my hair before we went to church, and I was standing in front of her, watching her through the bathroom mirror.  Suddenly I got the most horrible, sick pain in my chest and stomach.  I groaned, clutched my stomach and crumpled to the floor.  My mother crouched over me, "Lisa!  Lisa!  Are you alright??  Dave, she's not breathing!"  My dad came, and stood watching me from the bathroom doorway.  It probably only lasted about 30 seconds.  During that time, I watched my parents, I observed my body lying flat on the bathroom floor.  I was on the ceiling of the room, looking down on my body, my mother kneeling next to me, and my dad standing in the doorway looking down at me.  I don't really remember waking up, except that I was so disoriented and confused, and why the heck was I floating on the ceiling?!?  I think it scared the shit out of my mother when I told her that.  We went to church anyway, and it was boring, as usual.  ;)

The second out-of-body experience I had was when I was about 11.  A friend and I were playing in the hallway of her apartment building.  We were playing "the choking game."  Those of you who don't know what it is, GOOD.  Don't find out.  It's dangerous, it's stupid, people have died playing this game.  Those of you who DO know what it is, BAD.  Don't play it ever again.  It's dangerous, it's stupid, people have died playing this game.  Got it?  Ok.  On with the story.  When my friend pushed on my chest and I passed out, instead of just sinking to the floor and lying unconscious for a few seconds, this time was different. I apparently stood up, ran down the entire hallway, and threw myself backwards against her neighbor's apartment door.  I woke up when my head hit the door, holy SHIT did that hurt.  She was so freaked out.  "Lisa!  What the heck are you doing??  Get back here!"  I clutched my head, got up, and ran into her apartment before the neighbor could come running out and see us.
   I remember sitting in the uppermost corner of the ceiling, looking down on my body, watching my own back as I ran down the hall.  Suddenly I got scared, and I "jumped" back into my body, the force of which threw me into the door.  I had the same sick stomachache when I woke up that I had the first time this happened.  My heart was pounding, I felt so awful, I called my mother and went home early.  I told my mom what had happened, but not about the dumb game.  She looked worried and called the doctor again in the morning.  Here we go again, more pills and doctors.  I already felt like they didn't listen.  Mom was just doing what she felt to be right, and that was to have an expert diagnose her daughter and move forward from there.  We didn't "know better" yet. 

The third out-of-body experience I had was when I was 21.  I was a divorced mother of 2, I had left the Catholic church I'd grown up in.   My priest told me I could not receive communion or have my children baptized in the Catholic Church until I paid a tidy sum of $300 to the local Diocese so that my marriage, which was legally over, would no longer be recognized by the Catholic Church.  My priest, the man who had earned my respect when he was so kind to my family after my cousin took his life.  The man who had baptized me, my brother and sister, had married my parents in his church, and had been a spiritual leader of my family since before I was born.  The man who said to me when I shamed my family by becoming pregnant at 16 years old, "This baby is not the sin, this baby is a life given by God, because of your sin.  And your sin will be forgiven." I needed to hear that just then.  I needed to lean on my church as I became a young mother and felt I had to have forgiveness for shaming my family and for being a sinner.  I thought I found it then.  I did not find it when, four years later, after months of counseling with my priest, I decided to divorce an unhealthy man.   I told my priest, "I don't believe God needs $300 from a mother of 2 who works 60+ hours each week so we can eat.  I don't believe God would take from my children so he can shut his eyes to a marriage.  And I don't believe that MY God would want me to stay with a man who was not good to me and my family.  MY God doesn't need my money.  He knows that I do."  I walked out, and never went back.  The Catholic guilt walked out with  me, though, and has taken more than 15 years since then to wash off, and maybe it never will completely.  I believe it's because of this guilt that my next out-of-body experience was like this: 
I woke up with my heart racing, positive that I had overslept and was late for work.  I jumped out of bed, ran downstairs, and by the time I hit the bottom stair I thought, "ugh I got up too fast, damn low blood pressure!"  I barely made it to the bathroom with my vision going black.  As I'm about to pass out, I think, "Good thing I made it to the bathroom, I'll sit down and..."  Next thing I knew, my bathroom was no longer my bathroom, but a dark cavern that I saw across a deep, bottomless abyss.  From where I stood, I could see on the far side of the abyss was a demon-like creature, a snarling, terrifying, horrible-looking thing, and it wanted to get me.  It was trying to get me to cross the abyss, to grab me and tear me apart, I thought to myself.  I heard a deep roaring sound filling my ears, like a train going by, and I covered my ears, screamed NO! and threw my arm out to scare off the beast.  I "came to" standing in my bathroom, swinging my right arm out into thin air and covering my ear with my left hand.  The bathtub had reappeared where I knew it always was.  I stared hard at myself in the mirror, "am I really awake??"  My pupils had completely swallowed up my irises into blackness.  I stared into my own eyes as they shrunk back to their normal size, my heart pounding so hard in my chest I thought it would jump out.  As I caught my breath, I realized I had blood all over my face, down my neck and all over my bathroom sink and floor.  My nose was bleeding profusely, and it looked broken.  I think I must have hit my nose on the sink as I passed out and fell, but how the hell did I wake up standing and swinging my arm in the air?  I don't know.  And I wasn't even late for work, it was my day off. (fuck.)

In between here, I need to mention a dream that I had before my next OBE.  When I was in high school, I was part of the Marching Band, a Color Guard and Winter Guard performer.  Our band director was an angel walking on earth.  He inspired all of us.  He was passionate about teaching, about music, about finding what you love in life and pursuing it.  He was a role model to me, and taught me to work hard for what I wanted, to believe in myself when no one else seemed to.  One morning, October 16th I believe, 2005, I woke up from a dream about him.  In the dream, I was standing next to a highway, and everything around me was shades of gray.  Faces of high school-age kids and a few adults swam in and out of focus in front of me, talking so fast and so urgently I had a hard time figuring out what they were saying.  I was suddenly on a bus, next to my band director, who was working quickly to help people around him while talking to me earnestly about something very important.  "What's wrong with me?  I wondered.  Why can't I understand him??  He's speaking English for chrissake.  But I just couldn't understand.  He finally just looked at me and sighed.  He said, "You just need to know that it's not too late for you.  Not like it is for us."  And he pointed to an empty bus seat at the front of the bus, and somehow I knew his wife was there, although I couldn't see her.  I woke up from this dream, puzzled as to why I would dream about my band director, when I hadn't seen him or talked to him in at least 5 years?  I got up, got coffee and started making the kids breakfast.  I was half-listening to the news when I heard them announce a bus crash.  My beloved band director and his band had crashed into a jackknifed semi on the highway.  The phone is ringing.  It's my mother.  "Did you hear about the bus crash?" she said.  "Mom, I know.  I dreamt about the crash this morning."  I told my mother about the dream, and was still so puzzled as to what he meant when he said "it's not too late for you..."

The next out-of-body experience I had was also in a bathroom (ok, good question for the Powers That Be, why the heck are most of my OBE's in the damn can?  Awkward.  This time, I was about 28 years old.  This was about 2 1/2 weeks after the dream I described above.
Background before this next OBE:  I had been married to my second husband for about 5 years, and we had 3 children together, my two boys from previous, and his two boys from previous, so seven beautiful kids altogether.  I was working full-time, I was a full-time nursing student, I was nursing a baby, and doing my best to bring up a houseful of amazing kids.  I thought I was doing everything right.  We went to a non-denominational church on Sundays (well...the kids and I did.) and we were pursuing "The Dream."  Big family, good jobs, I was finally pursuing my dream of becoming a nurse.  I was a God-fearing, good-hearted Christian woman.  We were renting my grandparents' house from Gramma, who had moved to Arkansas after Grampa passed.  The house felt full of sadness and negative energy to me, but I never spoke of it.  It's just the brick, it doesn't let the air circulate.  It's the tall trees surrounding us that make it seem gloomy in here.  I told myself all kinds of things to pass off the vibes I got from that house, but I had sensed them since I was a little girl.  I prayed throughout the house, many many times, asking the Divine Spirit of Christ to clear this house of its sadness, to surround it with Divine Protection and the Holy Spirit.  One time after the kids had told me for the umpteenth time how afraid they were here, or they'd seen something frightening, I had had enough.  I prayed fervently through the house, angry, demanding that any negative presence or energy there leave immediately, and I flung open the front door.  A freezing cold wind blew past me down the stairs and out the door.  I shivered.  My 4-year-old daughter said, "oooh, Mommy, your eyes glowed red just now."  I slammed the door shut and never spoke of that again.

I had this sense of doom hanging over me, it got stronger and stronger as the months went on, and by October I felt it was suffocating.  One night in late October, I got up to use the bathroom...again,  my low blood pressure caused me to feel like I was going to pass out.  Just make it to the bathroom, you'll be fine, I impatiently told myself, and that's the last thing I remember saying with my eyes open.  Suddenly a horrible, singsong, whining voice was telling me things, terrible things, and I did not want to believe them.  No.  I shook my head hard.  NO.  NO!!!  I woke myself up with my shouting, standing with fists clenched and wild eyes staring into my reflection in the full length mirror.  I didn't remember the horrible things the voice had told me, just that they were awful, but I did remember saying "it's not true, it's NOT true!"  and the singsong voice saying, "It is.  It iii-iiiiissss."  and it made me so angry I shouted NO as loud as I could.  I was so shook up from this one, I sobbed for a few hours.  I couldn't sleep.  I just had the most horrible, gut-wrenching feeling, something terrible was going to happen.  Three days later, I had a car accident on my way to work.  (remember my dream from earlier?)  I died and came back.  I was in a coma for 5 days, in the hospital for a month.  My family struggled to stay above water.  I had to put off school and work for 4 months.  I was in a wheelchair.  Everything I had worked for, suffered for,  for so long, was now crumbling all around me.  Why??  I was doing everything right, wasn't I?

When I was in the car crash, I lost some of my memory because of a head injury.  I don't remember supper the night before, or going to bed that night.  I don't remember getting up for work that morning, or driving.  I have a flash of my van spinning, slow motion, into the side of a big silver pickup after he clipped the front end of my van.  I see his wide blue eyes staring, horrified, into my own eyes.  I hear the crashing of metal and glass, but I have no picture of it.
Before I came to, I have some sort of odd memory of me walking into work, but everything was gray and I heard a strange hissing noise, like being underwater when a motorboat goes by a mile away.  I couldn't get the light switches to turn on, or the water system to turn on (I worked in dialysis and we used a reverse-osmotic water system for the patients' dialysis treatments, it was my job to start the water system each morning)  I realized that I was not inside my body.  That I was not at work at all.  That my body was still in the crumpled up van, next to the highway, right where I had left it.  My next memory is of sometime in the next 10 minutes after the crash, I'm not sure how fast people came to help but I remember coming to, alone, with the cold November wind blowing through the broken windows of my van.  I was in and out of consciousness.  Apparently I talked to a woman who held my hand until the paramedics came.  She is an angel and somehow, someday, I will repay her.  I told the paramedics exactly what was wrong with me and what had happened.  I remember screaming when they used the Jaws of Life to pry open the van and the window glass shattered all around me.  I passed out with pain as they carefully lowered me onto the stretcher, as they hit a tiny bump and I felt my life drain away.  And then I left my body, I rose above the cold highway, and I flew over the tops of pine trees so fast, they all became a green blur.  Suddenly, I was in a "place" that didn't really feel like a place...it wasn't a room with walls and windows, it wasn't outside, it wasn't sky and clouds and harps...it just...was.  It was peaceful and pure, warm and loving, and I was greeted by three beautiful, familiar women, all around 20-30 years old.  Two of them wore green gowns, with darker green sashes tied around their waists.  Their gowns were the palest shade of green,  with iridescent colors I had never seen, glinting in the fabric as it moved.  One of these women had black hair, and one had reddish-brown.  I knew the black-haired woman was my paternal grandmother, and I didn't recognize the other woman right away.  The third woman was wearing a pale pink gown with a pink sash, and her gown glistened like the others.  She had red hair, and she was my maternal great grandmother.  They were all so happy to see me,I had the strangest feeling I was coming home.  For some reason, only my paternal grandmother spoke.  She told me how very happy she was to see me,  and she wished that I could stay, but I needed to go with them and make a choice.  The other two women just beamed from ear to ear and hugged me.  I trusted them completely, I just 'knew' that I could.
They took me to my body at the hospital, where I was being prepped for emergency surgery.  My spleen was ruptured and I had nearly bled out.  Most of the bones in the left side of my body were broken, and some on the right side, too.  Internal bleeding.  Traumatic brain injury.  Punctured and collapsed lung.  I was on a ventilator.  OH MY GOD this is the most horrific pain I've ever experienced in my life, let me come back with you!  I begged the beautiful women, and they did, on and off, for the next few days.  They were with me when I was IN my body too, though, I knew they were there.  During the time I was not within my body, I was held by what I can only describe as God.  I did not see a face, I did not sense male or female, but ALL things. Not man, woman, animal, plant, but every thought, every emotion, every conscious thread was holding me in a cradle where I knew nothing but peace and love.  I saw the brown sleeve of a monk's robe and then a tree so huge, I couldn't see the top of it from where I sat at the base.  I did not sit on the ground; a vast, huge being held me like I was no bigger than a newborn baby.  Waves of peaceful, loving and joyful thoughts washed over me like gentle ocean waves.  I felt so safe,  so loved, so connected, so free of all pain and suffering, and I knew everything was ok.  I had this 'knowing,' this understanding of all things having their place, even the painful things.  They all serve a greater purpose.  I didn't think of my broken body and the pain it was enduring; I was at perfect, blissful peace.  And then the love of my children would flood my mind.  I would not leave them.  God told me, without words, but told me nonetheless, I had to make a choice.  I could stay here, free of pain, or I could go back to my body, heal, live my life, raise my children.  I knew how very hard that would be, that the pain I would endure and the injuries to my body would be unbearable.  But I would not leave my babies.  Not for more than a split-second did I consider staying.  I came back from unconditional love, so I could teach my children unconditional love, so they could learn it and know it here, before they pass, and hopefully live a more fulfilled and truthful life than those who do not experience such love until they die.  It all. Starts. With us.  :)

So when I woke up from my coma, I turned my head and whispered to my mother, who had not left my side, "remember my dream about G?  This is what he meant.  It's not too late for me."   I believe he was trying to warn me, to encourage me, to let me know it was going to be ok and don't give up.  I think the reason I couldn't understand him is because he was trying to tell me information that I was not meant to know, because it hadn't happened yet.  It was part of a bigger picture and it could not be altered.  But it all made sense when I came to in that hospital bed.  Thank you, G.  :)

When these OBE's were happening, they were spaced so far apart, I never really thought anything about them.  I never put them together on a timeline until now.   I don't know why, but I feel that they are all very important.  I'm not sure what caused them, I'm not sure if I'll have another one in my lifetime.  But I find it quite interesting that my experiences, the things that I saw during each OBE, they were very different from one another.  And each one of them reflected scenes, people or objects that were associated with my religious beliefs at that time.  This, to me, says that our thoughts are POWERFUL.  We can change our Heaven.  The beliefs that we hold and the things we associate with Heaven, WE cause them to appear as part of our afterlife experience.  There is not one static set of rules to follow in order to get to Heaven, there isn't a specific religion we have to be or we don't get a free pass, the bottom  line is US.  WE create it.  We decide with the good deeds and misdeeds we do here and the beliefs we attach to those deeds.  WE harbor the belief.  That belief is so strong, it carries beyond our physical consciousness to our higher consciousness, for a little while.  In my experience, I realized within a matter of seconds (which is relative, because time does not pass in the afterlife like it does here) that I was no longer in my body and could not interact with the physical world the way that I could before I had passed.  I quickly shed my belief that I was still continuing to work, that nothing had gone wrong that November morning.  A few attempts to switch on the lights and the water system, and I realized I was not in a physical body to do physical work for me. Yet I was still thinking, emotions and awareness still intact, and I had experiences that were like nothing I'd ever seen with my physical eyes.  The longer I was in this non-physical state, the more I became free of the boundaries and ties and belief systems we set in place here physically.  The more I was able to connect fully and freely to the constant stream of pure bliss and love, the more I realized that this is everyone's Heaven, something I believe every single being on Earth (and beyond) is capable of.

Saturday, September 21, 2013

Brian's Song

There's a page in your book that can only be written by me
the page where I talk about what it's like to be free
A page where you understand why I'm truly here
And that I never went away, I always stay so near

There's a book you can help me with that says all this truth is real
The space where you and I reside is based on how we feel
Gasoline and ice patches and meds that fogged my head
I don't care what that paper says, I didn't wish to be dead

My love has moved on without me and I'm proud she's loving again
My children play with me in dreams where the waking really begins
I will always guide and love them, they'll never be without me
The light and shadow veil are so thin, they almost see

Clovers, guitars and wedding rings, it's all just stuff to me
But I know these signs bring comfort to the ones who can't yet see
Love me, I love you, I am all around, I'm not above you
Trust me, we aren't broken
I hear your thoughts unspoken

Listen to what your heart hears
Let go of your imagined fears
Listen, please just listen, I have so much to say
I don't feel forgotten but misunderstood and far away

I'm not a real hero, I'm just real
I'm the sorrow you needed, but never wanted to feel
I'm the whisper you hear when you choose to understand
I'm the warmth next to you, holding your hand



A Sixth Grade Girl

My older daughter starts sixth grade this year.  As I'm filling out her paperwork, I keep thinking of when she started kindergarten.  How she held my hand so tight as we rode the bus together, and smiled at me with her twinkly blue eyes sparkling.  As I dropped her off for her "Student Only" orientation, she was nervous the whole ride there, and I reassured her by saying things like "Every sixth-grader there will be in the same boat as you- you all have something in common; you are ALL new at this!"  and "Just be yourself and have fun.  Because you are amazing, and your friends love you."  As soon as we pulled up to the school, her friends are calling her name and waving excitedly.  "Bye, Mom!"  she says, and hops out of the car before I can mutter "Good luck, I love you!" This girl has got this.
As I drive away, my eyes fill with tears as I remember her first bus ride home from Kindergarten.  She had fallen asleep, missed her stop and the bus driver took her along on her next route, not realizing my little Beana was curled up in a bus seat.  I chased the bus across town in a panic, so sure that she would be terrified, traumatized, I was so worried about her.  She was bouncing in the bus driver's lap when I got there, jumped into my arms and said, "I was so tired from all the fun I had at school!"  This girl has got this.

I think about all the times my baby girl has reminded me of myself, sometimes to the point of exasperation.  Hug me, but only when I want you to.  Hold my hand, but only if I grab yours first. Kind of like a cat, affectionate on her own terms, but you'd better not miss the opportunities to hug her up when she wants them.  She is her own person and makes that known to all of us.   I accidentally smoothed her hair as she sat in front of me at 6th Grade Homeroom Orientation, and she whipped around and gave me a glare.  Sorry, baby girl, I forgot, your friends are watching, and you're all grown-up now.

As we stand by her locker, and she gets her combination lock on the first try, I blink back tears.  She's got this.  I'm doing right by her.  She doesn't need me every step of the way.  She knows she can figure it out and make things work the way she wants them to.  Fiercely independent, sensitive, quick-tempered, quicker to laugh...and so affectionate and talkative.  Yep, that's my girl, and yet, she's not mine.  I'm only blessed to be her mother.  She is her own growing woman, and of that, I am so proud.

As we walk away from the seemingly huge middle school she'll be attending in a few days, she wraps her strong little arms around my waist and says, "I love you lida meme.  Thanks for helping me today."  I hug her back and say, "I didn't do anything but watch you do it.  You got this, baby girl.  Thanks for letting me come along."

Friday, June 28, 2013

Happy Birthday, Brother

Today, you would have turned 34.  Your son says he's going to crack you a home run in his baseball game today, just for you.  I know you'll see it.  I know you;re with him at every at-bat, every pitch.  Tonight, we will write messages on balloons and send them to the angels, hoping they get to you.  My heart is so full today, of love, of your smile, of a few tears, as I think of The Big Picture.  I sense how proud of us you are, for going on living, for finding joy in the most unexpected and amazing ways.  I am so thankful and in awe of the signs you continue to send us.  The kids found 4 more four-leaf clovers this last week.  We have found dozens now, always when we need guidance, or on someone's birthday or milestone, you send us more luck, more love, more evidence that you're not so far away after all.
I can see now how so many tiny pieces of this puzzle have all fit together to bring us to where we are today.  They didn't make sense at the time, and they don't always now  and they won't always in the future, but I can trust that it all makes sense, that our physical selves are incapable of grasping the clockwork of life and how each event takes place to create space for the next. I am filled with wonderment and love as I think of all of the people you have brought into our lives with your passing.  People who have made us laugh when we never thought we'd laugh again, people who have also been touched by similar sadness and we've found strength in each other's stories and proof that all things happen for a reason, people who are many shades of you, Brother, and that makes the missing you a little easier sometimes.  I am so grateful for this beautiful, difficult ang incredible LIFE.
You have been visiting us in dreams, always telling us things, explaining things we can't quite remember in waking, but we love that we've gotten to see your face, hear your voice, and we know that your words are in our hearts, even if our conscious minds hide it from us.  Thank you for that, it is so comforting to see you in dreaming.  I write each one down as best as I can remember it, and I love going back and reading about them and reading them to the kids.  One day, the kids will have these books, they will know our family history, and they will be able to share these stories with their kids, their grandkids, and I hope it goes on and on.
So, even though I have tears today, they are less of sadness, and more of love and appreciation for you, Bri, for the lessons you've taught us about life, about being imperfect and human and still amazing and precious, about family, about overcoming obstacles and pressing on even when we feel our last drop of resolve is used up.  I am thankful that I feel your presence today, I feel your love in my heart and know that you will be with us today, and you always are when our family is together.  I love you so much.  I miss you most when the kids are blowing out birthday candles or playing sports, because you were always right there.  I miss you when I'm having trouble understanding a struggle one of the kids is having, because you always offered a new perspective and helped me to understand their hearts.  You had a way of seeing into human nature with such compassion, you helped me learn to do the same.  I try my best every day to live in a way that makes you proud of me, and I hope you are.  I will try hard to feel less sadness and lacking, and more appreciation and understanding, because I know you're really not as far away as most people think.  You are in every sunrise, every raindrop, every burst of fireworks and every time the kids laugh, I hear you.  Thank you for blessing us with your life, and strengthening us through your passing. 

Love to you each day, always,

Your Big Sis

Coming Into The Light

I have survived the worst of broken hearts.  I have lived through horrific pain and death.  I have healed when everyone told me I would never be the same again:  they were right, I am not the same.  I am stronger, I am more compassionate, I have more purpose and presence and love.  My body is not broken, although it's still far from whole.  I see now how my broken heart blocked my path to healing even more than my broken back, my prosthetic hip, my broken arms...these things all healed; not the same, some will always cause me pain.  But what nearly killed me, what nearly took me from my children, it wasn't the morning of my car crash when I lay, bleeding out in a busted up van in a ditch.  It wasn't in the months that stretched into the five years after my accident.  It was my broken heart.  I didn't know who I was or what my purpose was if I couldn't be a nurse.  It was a dream I had chased for so many years, an identity I had fit snugly around me like my favorite sweater, protecting me from the cold...and I was so exposed, so raw to the elements and naked without it.  I tried to keep up the facade of cheerfulness, of hope and joy, when inside, I felt so empty and lost. This depression was so complicated, it touched every single facet of my life, tinged it with worthlessness and seeped the color out of my days, coloring them black like the nights that went on forever.  I fought to ignore the voice in my head that told me I wasn't worth loving, that my children were better off without me, that I was never going to live a day without pain.

 I sat in a courtroom one day where I told the social security judge why the doctors and I had decided I couldn't work anymore.  I sobbed to the point I could barely speak.  It literally destroyed me to admit publicly that I had given up on my dream.  I had never failed so miserably at anything in my life, unless you count my two marriages, but I had help destroying those.  I had never failed at anything I had tried so hard to achieve, and I didn't know what to do with that type of pain.

I had to face the anger I felt for the drunk driver who hit me.  I had been so afraid of how huge and powerful that anger was, I tried to completely deny that there was any anger at all for him.  I felt it was wrong of me to harbor anger for someone who had not set out to hurt me, but that anger was churning somewhere deep inside where I had locked the door and never wanted to go back.  But the truth was, until I was ready to face that anger, until I was ready to really sit with it and rage with it, howl like a damned banshee and cry the ugliest, most gut-wrenching sobs I've ever heard emanate from a human being, I knew I would not heal.  So I began to pray for him, to feel compassion for him, to understand that I was the lucky one, because I lived in an ever-widening circle of love and support, and I embraced that.  He could not.  Not through the haze of addiction.  I hope he heals.  We all deserve love.

It took me over seven years to work through that anger.  I still have my days when I have to cry, and I let the tears come because I know they cleanse the hurts.  I don't hide from the daily pain with medications, I don't self-medicate with alcohol or drugs of any kind; I medicate with love.  I fill the spaces where pain lives, fill them  up with love and I listen to my body when it whispers, "Love, you need to rest.  Put down the laundry, you've done enough today."  "Love, our bones feel 100 years old today.  Be kind to us."  Some days it's a whisper, some days it screams in my face "DON'T DO THAT, OWWWW!!!"  But I always listen now.  I'm done fighting against what I can't change; that robs me of my peace.  I'm done listening to the cruel voice in my head that doubts, undermines my joy.  I'm putting down the sword, and picking up my spade.  My life began a miracle, and it will end a miracle.  I will grow my garden, I will feed my family, I will heal with my herbs and nutrition, and I will live a full life.  I will not feel cheated.  I will not feel unloved.  Love begins with me, and I choose to live in love each day.

Tuesday, April 16, 2013

Another Letter to My Brother

Dear Brian,

Today, your baby girls are six years old!  I cannot believe how they have grown.  Six years ago, I stayed overnight at Kristi's, got up at 6am with her and a bunch of beautiful people who love us, and we went to the hospital to finally meet those precious girls that Kristi miraculously carried to term. She has greater strength than she knows!  I remember that morning, Kristi said, "These babies were going to be born today, whether the doctor decided or not!"  She knew it was time.
As I sit here looking through pictures of your beautiful twin girls, I imagine how you would be with them.  In my mind, I see you hold them in your arms, bounce them in your lap, cuddle and goof with them and love them...just like Corey does now.  He has since they were tiny, and Aidyn too.  He is so good to them...I know you know that, because you wouldn't have anyone less than wonderful for your kids, or as a husband for Kristi.  I see how you and God work through him and I am amazed.
And don't worry- I know you hold them in their dreams, I know you held them before they were born, when they were still in Heaven with you.  I know you watch over them and their big brother, all of us, and I am so thankful for that.  I know I've been dreaming about you, and I need to try harder to remember what you tell me in my dreams, because I have a feeling it's something  you want me to give the girls for their birthdays.  Help me remember!! 

I will never forget the day those girls were born.  I am a very lucky auntie, to have been present at the births of each of my nieces and nephews.  Thank you for that.  I remember the first time I held them, Your spirit is so strong in each of these beautiful babies...it is overwhelming.  I remember that it took months before I could look into those tiny, perfect faces without having to swallow the huge lump in my throat.  But concentrating on Aidyn and these two little miracles, they took some of the ache out of our hearts when we were missing you so bad.  Each year that goes by, I remember the year before, and see how far we've all come.  The hurt and the empty space are filled now with happy memories of your children as they grow, all of us with your blood in our veins and all of those who've come into our lives because of you, we are so grateful.  You have taught us all so much about love, family, and never giving up.  I bet you are surprised at how far we've come!  (so are we!)  Somehow, I know and trust that this all makes sense.  I've let go of the need to know why, I've let go of the feeling of lacking (for the most part) the place in my heart that was always filled by my brother, is STILL filled by you, you are with us every day.  We just see you differently now...like I said, it takes our earthly eyes a long time to adjust, but we're coming around.

Happy Birthday, Elliana and Ava!!!  You are amazing, and your dad is so proud of you! We ALL are!

How blessed could we be as you enter this world
Babies A and B, Doctor said, two perfect little girls
As you opened your eyes and stared into mine
I saw Heaven, your Daddy, everywhere the signs
The birth room attendant wore a tag with Daddy's name
He might have been Brian but his face wasn't the same

Mommy and I knew it was Daddy's way to let us know
He wouldn't miss this for anything, we knew he'd show!
I remember the song on the radio as we cried
The Riddle, "There's a Reason for the World; You and I"
It was playing so softly, some words were unclear
Your first lullaby from Daddy, who couldn't be here.


You saw him long before you learned he was gone
As you played in your cribs, and sang daddy songs
"Daddy" was your first word!  How could that be?
Because you'd already known him, his angel, you see.
His love surrounds you, and it always will
He loved you in Heaven, and he loves you still.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=4BtqElO1OX4

Saturday, April 13, 2013

1/16/13

Almost a year exactly since I've written here.  Today, it's been six years since my beautiful brother passed.  I wonder if he's proud of us all, if he feels his passing was not in vain if we've all learned and grown so much?  We'd all trade the knowledge in a heartbeat if we could have him here with us, but we've all accepted that life doesn't always bring us fairness, what it brings is experience.  We don't always understand, but we live on.

I haven't been writing here as much recently.  I feel that even though my words are my own, and I should have free will to say what I want, I don't.  I am fearful of people taking my words and twisting them into less than the pure intention with which they were written.  I am fearful of people taking what I say, and judging me, lessening the beauty of my life experiences, the loving intent I have for each being that reads this or comes into my life.  I realize that it truly does not matter if I gain the approval of any other human being; I have my own. I don't need to explain every single thought and emotion I have. Validity is not something I seek anymore;  I want to share my experiences with others so that they might find their own validity in their own experiences.  Life happens to each of us.  How we deal with the situations in life is something that defines us, breaks us, reshapes us, bends us again, sometimes until we break.  I have been so near the breaking point these last few years...not everyday, not even weekly or monthly or on any set time frame.  But the beauty, vibrance and sheer wonder that I have experienced each day of this life, they are each a brighter and more brilliant fiber woven deeply into my life's tapestry. I feel so fragile because I'm allowing myself to FEEL.  No more walls.  I have no time for them.

Here are some realizations I've made this year:

When we grow so accustomed to hurting, we shut out love.  Love becomes an unnatural, unwanted emotion, we feel numb where we used to bubble over with love.  Passion for life, for work, it all becomes gray.  You wait for the color to return to these things and it just doesn't come.  The only thing that feels real or genuine to me is the love for my children.  I can feel that; it is real.  Their lives, their daily joys, these are the beautiful spots of my life now.  I don't feel that what I do, beyond loving and raising my kids, has any value or meaning.  I wax and wane in the degree of my conviction in this, but the conclusion is always the same.  I feel I am constantly waiting.  Waiting for pain to end, waiting for a moment of relief in my day.  Waiting to discover what it is that will finally make me "snap out of it."  Is this true reality?  Have I seen the puppet strings to such an extent that I have even lost hope in hope??  These pages used to be so cleansing, so uplifting, if I didn't quite believe the words I was writing, I took consolation in knowing that, if I read them again tomorrow, I probably would.  Now there is only observation.  No strong convictions, no major remorse or sadness or anger or happiness or...anything.  One thing is for sure...I used to be angry at God for allowing my family to suffer, for allowing me to suffer.  I hate the saying "God only gives you what you can handle"  Such bullshit.  A loving God does not want his children to suffer.  God gives us free will, and as shitty humans, our will can affect one another in the most horrible ways at times.  I can no longer be angry about that, anger is crippling, and I am damn tired of limping.

 I know, I've seen many miracles and coincidences and I should remember those,  and I do!  These are the things that give us hope and keep us going.  But that is LIFE.  That is CHANCE.  That is FATE.  And mine has been cruel, as much as it has been beautiful.   Hope has run out.  It is hard to draw inspiration from a void.  I am the only person who can fill that void.  Me. I can't stop loving life because I'm afraid of being hurt again.  That is no life.

 I know I have a lot to be thankful for.  I just feel so goddamn miserable all of the time, I can't get out from under this cloud, no matter what I do.  I wish I could find my joy again.  I am afraid to put much effort or emotion into anything.  Not including my children because they are not things, they are precious beings that deserve and receive ALL of my best, my love, nurturing and guidance and I will always do my best to help them grow into healthy, loving and productive adults.  I smile, I laugh, I hug them and teach them and grow with them every minute that I can.  But I have nothing else, because I have had too much taken from me to feel secure enough to open those wounds to hope again.  Here's to 50 or 60 years more!  I hope soon I can find a way and a drive to make my life more satisfying again.  I'm sure I will, I just wish I knew when.

*************************************************************

I wrote this 3 months ago, but I didn't publish it because it is so sad and raw, and it's difficult for me to put these slivers of myself out there...and since then, I have woken up.  Let's call it another "bouncing point."  I think we all have them throughout our lives.   I've decide to stop being controlled by pain, to stop hating how I hurt and start loving that I'm alive.  I'm in charge, but releasing control.  We are not in control of anything but ourselves.  I changed EVERYTHING by changing my mindset and practicing what I've been preaching for a long time.  I stopped beating myself up in my head every day, and started listening to the loving thoughts.  (they were always there, just so damn quiet compared to my sadness)  I look myself in the eye every day and say, "You will NOT give up today, dammit."  I'm too stubborn to be beaten, I have too much to offer this world, and I won't give up.  DON'T GIVE UP!!!!  The fact that we wake up each morning is proof of our purpose.