don't know my own strength

It's been quite awhile since I posted.  I would love to be able to say that's because i've been noveling furiously for NaNoWriMo.  That has had it's place, but I haven't spent every waking moment noveling.  If I had, I wouldn't be less than halfway to the goal with barely a week left to go.

This week has surprised me.  I've been seeing a counselor and I shared with her last week that I am very aware of my emotional state most of the time.  I can feel, like inside my chest, when I am getting what I have come to call "fragile."  That moment, or day, or situation, or worn-down-place where I know the wrong word, the wrong song lyric, the right hug will reduce me to weeping.  In those moments, at those times I close ranks, so to speak. I pull back from relationships that might strain me, which to be honest, there are very few of in my life.  I pay closer attention to the radio and jump away from songs that I know have nailed me in the past.  I pay a different type of attention to conversations with friends to try to keep it steered to safe topics.  Since the funeral in April I have only cried in front of three or maybe four people.  Like seriously lost it cried.  The can't talk kind of cried. One of those people is my mom.  Since the funeral I haven't cried in front of any of my other family.

I have only had a few "bad" days.  One or two a month where the old weight, the old heaviness, the old apathy show up again.  And I struggle to make coffee.  I struggle to focus.  I struggle to care.  But they are the exception.  They are still very hard and extremely frustrating because I can't control or predict them.  But I can deal with once or twice every month or so if it means the rest of my days feel like most people's days feel.  Not weighted.  Not heavy. Not apathetic.  I can deal with a few days.

I have had a number of people tell me at various points that they are proud of me for how I'm handling "everything."  Some have even said they are impressed at it.  For the most part I have graciously accepted the compliment and inwardly deflected it.  I have said to a few of them:

I don't know any other way to be. 

This is who I am,

this is how I've always been.

But a very dear friend of mine lost her father two years ago this weekend.  She moved away from her home state 7 months prior to that, moved to a 2nd different state weeks prior to that, got married in there, oh, and switched careers.  She changed jobs again afterwards.  

In the last twelve months I lost a job, made a plan to return to school, Dad got sick, I got a job, I nixed the plan for school, and dad died.  Oh, and I dated a dink for a couple weeks.

As someone with a degree in social work, I know that list of major life stressors that can cause all sorts of problems etc.  Marriage, Death and Career are 3 of the biggest things on that list.  Moving is very high as well.  She and I were talking the other day and she said that she was totally not motivated to work on stuff around her house.  But then she told me all the stuff she had already done.  I told her I thought she was doing great. I forget exactly what she said, but I think I answered with 'there will always be bad days,' mostly because she has reminded me of that repeatedly.  At one point I finally said to her:

Considering what each of us has been 

through in the last couple of years,

I'm surprised neither one of us 

is curled up in a fetal position 

on the floor 

in a closet.

A lot of days I am.  I am astounded that I continue to function.  I consider that it has been just over 7 months and I've kept down my job, continued to pay my bills, kept my apartment, maintained my friendships, and don't come home crying every night, or even every week.  Some days it feels like it's already been years.  I feel kind of awful for even saying it, but it almost feels like it's "always" been this way.  And, some days, it's fresh and the wound re-opens and the quiet tears on the way home turn into heaving, not breathing, beyond-the-ugly-cry sobbing once i make it safely inside these 4 walls I call home.

Almost a month ago a friend got married.  It was the first wedding since Dad died.  I cried a few tears watching her dad walk her down the aisle.  I cried a few more when her husband vowed to be with her "through every joy and every loss."  I cried a lot more when she danced with her dad to the Stephen Curtis Chapman song Cinderella.  But, I didn't escape or run away. I didn't cry on the way home.  I didn't weep when I got home.

My Aunt and Uncle came to our house this year for Thanksgiving.  We have never had Thanksgiving at our house.  Ever.  But they had their family Thanksgiving on Sunday so that they could be out here with us this year.  That touched my heart so much.  I decided to try to do something tangible to thank them for coming out.  I found out what kind of pie my uncle likes and made a Double Crust Raisin pie.  I also made a Pecan Pie in case the raisin one didn't turn out.  I took them over tonite because I also made a Pumpkin pie at mom's request and I knew she had made a chocolate cream, and oh my good gawd in heaven there is no way we can possibly eat that much pie if we wait until Thanksgiving to start!

When I pulled into our driveway I saw our family van that we gave them after Dad died sitting in our driveway.  That alone almost did me in.  I almost sat in my car in the driveway and wept.  Almost.

I took all 3 pies into the house and told my aunt and uncle that Suzie Homemaker made a visit and pulled out the raisin pie.  Uncle was very excited.  One tear escape when I told them I made the pie because I wanted to show them how much I appreciate them coming out here this year.  I made it through supper.  I made it through a game of Runs and Sets.  And 3 games of euchre.  But on the way home, Rascall Flatts was on the radio.  That did me in.

I've been crying off and on writing this whole thing.  When I typed "the funeral" the first time up above a few paragraphs I sobbed myself out of breath. twice.  But I came back to this.  I kept on.

I go to work every day.
I walk on my lunch hours.
I pay my bills.
I talk to my friends.
I spend time with my family.

I am not curled up in the fetal position on the floor in the closet.

As I write this, on Thanksgiving Eve, I recognize the God-given strength I carry.  I acknowledge that until this, I didn't know my own strength.  I accept that some consider it impressive for me to be at the place I am, emotionally, mentally, vocationally, relationally, whatever else -ally you can think of.  And, if you have spoken that into my life I thank you.  I thank you for speaking truth where I didn't see it.  I thank you for seeing me in a way and from a perspective that I can't see.

And if you are curled up in the fetal position on the floor in a closet.  The only thing required or requested of you right now?  Just. Keep. Breathing.  Consume some sort of sustenance every once in awhile.  Smell fresh air if you can manage it.  Let the sunlight hit your skin when you can.  And lay all of your weigh and heaviness and apathy and whatever else you struggle with, in God's hands.  Allow him to put his arms around you and hug you and hold you safe and protected.  He will take good care of you.  He will bring you through this.  He has been down this path himself.  He will not leave you.  He will take you down your new "normal" path and show you things you wouldn't have seen otherwise.  I promise you, in the end, You will see how everything has woven together and what purposes it all served.  Until then, just breathe, just let Him hold you.  You will one day realize that you also don't know your own strength.

~day 7~ Laughing with family

My godmother is in town visiting my mom.  We went out to dinner last night and out for a friday fish fry tonite.  My sister and her beau came with.  Afterwards we went to Mom's and played cards. 6 handed euchre.  Lots of laughs were had.

We had a TON of laughs when we did our 2nd annual Hayride followed by our Minute to Win it family competition.  Yes we get teams of 2, yes we do actual minute to win it games, this year we had an actual trophy.

We laughed at each other trying to blow bubbles through a hoop, with what were likely the worlds worst bubbles. Ever. In the history of the planet.  We laughed at each other trying to knock over a 3 high stack of empty pop cans by shooting rubber bands at them.  We laughed at each other trying to thread an uncooked spaghetti noodle through the pop top of an empty pop can so our partner could grab the other end and carry it to the other end of the table .... by holding the noodle in our mouth!  That doesn't count any of the shenanigans that were had on the actual hayride.  The least of those shenanigans was that about half of our family went up into some field to potty halfway through.

I think most of us had moments where we missed Dad.  I noticed it tonite because we were an even number of people because I'm still single and didn't have a +1 to bring with.  I remembered a few times this week that Dad and I played a game of euchre with his 2 brothers just a week before he died.  We won.  And even in the midst of that game it occurred to me that it might be the last card game I play with my dad, that it might be dad's last game ever.  I remember that.  I can take the comfort in knowing that I had that.  I think most of our family took as many of those "small" moments as we could after we knew dad's cancer was essentially terminal.  Family and long-unseen friends showed up just to see Dad.  I am certain not one of them regretted the drive or the expense of gas or the time spent.  I'd wager that none of them regret seeing my Dad looking the way he did at the end.  He wasn't terribly awful looking, but he was certainly not himself. 

There is hope in knowing we can laugh again.  We can smile again.  We can visit friends and be there for our other loved ones.  Others can be there for us.  There is most definitely hope in knowing that sharing your grief, letting others know your history, can release them to share theirs with you.  Maybe theirs isn't so easy or simple or straight-forward.  Maybe they didn't get that last card game. They didn't get to tell their loved one how much they loved them.  They do have regrets.  Or maybe they just aren't sure that being fine for weeks on end is "normal" and after weeks to be blindsided by something ridiculous or inconsequential and be reduced to a sobbing blubbering mess.  There is hope in knowing that God is and will use this to make you more like Christ and to help others become more like Christ.  Hope is laughter with loved ones.

Like a ton of bricks

I haven't posted in awhile. Mostly because I've been busy living life out in the real world.  And partially because I've been doing pretty well. My job is going great.  My friends and family relationships are going great. I've started volunteering at UWW again, which I absolutely love, and which has taken up a lot of time these last few weeks.  Oh, and I got suckered into two more facebook games that can take up a lot of time if you allow them to, which I did for awhile.  Plus it's easier to zone out if you're playing facebook games than it is if you're reading or writing or actually interacting with someone or something for real.

Tonite Amazing Race started again. Since I had to do laundry anyway, it was a two-fold trip to Mom's.  When I got there she first said she was glad I was there because she was "wasting away to nothing," which is a running joke in our family since most of us are or have been overweight for significant periods of time.  But then she looked away and her face got a little funny and her voice hiccuped a bit and she said

And I was feeling lonesome.

I started my laundry and settled into my usual spot in the living room and we chatted awhile.  She told me a few things from her day and why she was feeling lonesome and we both cried just a little bit.  Amazing Race finished and my laundry got done.  I gave her a hug goodbye and she thanked me for coming over.

She thanked me. 

And she said "Your Dad always looked forward to you coming over."

She's told me that before.  We used to kind of joke about it because he and I barely spoke when I was there.  We didn't play cards or watch movies or do things together.  He sat in his room playing spider solitaire flipping between 2-5 movies and Mom and I sat in the living room watching Amazing Race.  But he looked forward to me being there.  Even if I brought us supper from a take out place he almost always sat in his room to eat and Mom and I sat in the living room and ate.  But he still looked forward to that.
These are the things that blind side you. That fall on you like a ton of bricks.  That it would have never occurred to you would become poignant and make you cry.  Mom and I's routine hasn't changed.  But the rest of the house sits dark while we watch our show.
And again I think

"It's not supposed to be this way." 

So many things aren't supposed to be this way.

I was laying in bed last night waiting to fall asleep and wondered fleetingly how long it has been since I cried about my dad.  I wondered if that meant anything.  I wondered if it was "normal."  And tonite, Adele's song goes through my mind again. Someone Like You, which has recently been released on the radio.  The chorus strikes a chord with me every time

"I hate to turn up out of the blue uninvited,

I had hoped you'd see my face

and that you'd be reminded that,

for me,

it isn't over." 

When you go through something like that people tell you all sorts of things.  Really a lot of people say "If you need anything ...." 

But 5 1/2 months later where are they? I know of only two of my friends who would truly have welcomed me in tonite and let me just cry on them.  Some would have accepted it as a "necessary" or "required" part of friendship, but they would have been distracted by their kids or their schedules or whatever is going on for them.  And that's, whatever.  c'est la vie.  That's just how we are as human beings.

So I drove home with tears rolling down my face pretty continuously.  I brought my laundry in and locked my door behind me.  And nearly collapsed from the weight of the grief.  People forget, or don't know, that grief can carry a physical weight with it.  An exhaustion and a wearing and a heaviness.

So, I started my mantra.  The mantra I've told myself for years while struggling through depression.
While trying to find "normal."
While trying to function and even thrive in this world of mine.
While looking around myself and not seeing anyone else having this same struggle.
Not seeing anyone else who can't be moved to do their dishes until they start to smell.
Not seeing anyone else who can't be moved to put the laundry away until there are 3 socks and a pair of underwear left in the basket and a pile of laundry where the basket is supposed to be and the only reason you even do it then is because the dirty needs to get washed and you need the basket to take it to your parents.
Not seeing anyone else who can walk over 5-10 receipts just laying on the floor all over the house because you truly can't figure out what to do with them and it's easier to just leave them there.
Not seeing anyone else who comes home, boots up facebook, flips on Bones DVDs and literally zones out for 2-4 hours just to avoid thinking about anything more than harvesting crops or finishing recipes until it's time to go to bed.
Not seeing anyone else who not only desires but actually does, regularly and consistently, eat themselves into oblivion or into a carb coma so that their brain will stop functioning and they can make it to bedtime without a breakdown.

I repeat my mantra
"Just don't stop moving.
Just don't stop.
Just keep moving.
Just keep doing.
Just keep going."

I hold the walls for support as I walk around my apartment putting things away and getting the coffee pot ready for tomorrow.  I double over the coffee table with the weight and let it have just a few seconds before I force myself upright to put the laundry away.  I move through my apartment by memory because my eyes are so full of tears I can't actually see straight.
And I ignore the dishes.
and I ignore the receipts.
and I ignore the laundry.
and I ignore the voices that tell me all sorts of mean things.
I'm a failure because I can't keep up with my dishes.
I'm a loser because I have never done housework with any version of consistency.
I'm single for a reason, and that reason is I'm too fat for anyone to find me attractive.
I don't have anyone to stop in on uninvited, unexpected because I am a brand of crazy that my friends barely tolerate.
I compare myself to my sister, and I come up very very short.
That this is not just a season, this is my life. This is forever.
And to some degree the last one is true.  The grief over my dad will never truly go away.  It will dull with time and I will learn to function with that wound, but it will never truly go away.  And that's ok. That's how it's actually supposed to be. As that pain dulls and I get used to the wound, things like the first Amazing Race Premier without Dad in the other room will hit me like a ton of bricks. Not having to figure out what to feed Dad cause Mom and I want Chinese will come out of right field. Random snippets of popular songs "Have you ever wished for an endless night," strike you like a piano from a tall building.  But, hopefully, those times get farther apart.  Hopefully those times get less severe.  Hopefully those times become less debilitating.  Hopefully, someday, maybe, someone will be here to help me through those times.
Tonite the dishes sit. The receipts sit. Half of the laundry sits. And i write and cry. Because maybe, someday, someone else will feel exactly like this and will wonder if they are all alone in that feeling.  They will wonder if really unexpected things will be the things to truly blindside you.  They will wonder if any of this is "normal."  And they can read this and know they are not alone. Unexpected things do blindside you.  All of this is normal.  Whatever you're going through is normal.  You can use another version of my mantra.
Just keep breathing.
Tonite, that's it. That's all you have to do. Everything else is secondary.

Regret

In early March I got Season one of FlashPoint from the local library. One episode was about a guy who used to be on the team the show revolvs around. At the end one of them says something about family and how there should be no secrets with family. Something about that episode and the others I watched around it struck a chord in me. And I wrote a short letter to my Dad. I told him that I wanted him to fight. I told him I wanted him to be here. I told him that I did not want him to stay if it meant he was miserable. But, I tried my best to make it clear that I wanted him to fight back, that I believed we could beat the odds of this. I tried to make myself believe it was possible. I told him over and over, in writing, how much we love him and that he's not allowed to leave me for a very long time.

the world will forever be off it's proper axis

if you leave me too soon

When I wrote it I intended to rewrite it into a pretty card that they could keep in the living room. I even wrote in the note that I was doing a card instead of driving over there at 11pm in my pajamas so that he could look at the card and remind himself why he's fighting.

I never wrote it into a card.

I never gave it to him.

In my heart of hearts, in my spirit, in my intellectual mind, I sincerely do not believe that this letter would have done anything at all to make him stay. When it was all done, I realized how far gone the cancer was before he ever went to the doctor in the first place. His death certificate says Stage 4. But even knowing that .... I still wish I had at least torn this sheet out of this stupid effing notebook and given it to him. Or gone over there and done like I said in the note and taken his face in my hands and looked him directly in the eyes and told him how very very much we all love him.

But, I thought we had time.

But ...

• I don't regret losing a job in a toxic environment that almost gave me an ulcer 4+ months before he died.
• I don't regret taking the job I have now less than a month before he died.
• I don't regret spending almost the entire last Friday before I started work at the house with him watching stupid, ridiculous corny lifetime movies.
• I don't regret staying at the house the night before we called hospice
• I don't regret missing work that Wednesday we called hospice.
• I don't regret sitting next to him, holding his hand as his family prayed the rosary.
• I don't regret being there to watch him slip away silently.
• I don't regret texting most of my friends to let them know he was gone.
• I don't regret sitting there holding his hand off and on the rest of that day until the funeral director came to get him.
• I don't regret telling his sister to get on the first plane she could get, to not wait two more days to come out.
• I don't regret writing his obituary.
• I don't regret missing a week of work for the funeral etc.
• I don't regret insisting, superficial as it still seems, that I needed black pants with pockets for the visitation.
• I don't regret starting a eulogy because I turned it into a letter we put up for everyone to read at the visitation.
• I don't regret anything I said aloud to anyone.

I could play what if. We all do it at various points in life over various situations. (I was recently seeing a guy for just barely over a month and then poof he's gone too, believe me, I've been playing a lot of what if over that). But for the most part, I refuse to allow myself to play what if. What if I had said this. What if I had done that. What if I had told that person this thing or this person that thing.

What if I had given that letter to my dad?

Not only is it unproductive, it can be very damaging. I did the best I knew to do at the time with the knowledge I had. If I had known that we had mere hours left, would I have done things differently?

ABSO-FREAKING-LUTELY.

But even those things are for other people. But even that is unproductive. I can't change any of it. I can't fix anything for anyone else that I wish I had done differently for them. At the end of my life I will only answer for my own choices. And I was there. I got to say what I wanted him to hear. I got the peace afterwards that he had heard all of us. I can remind myself of that peace and comfort myself with the assurance that he is looking down on me from heaven.

Even if that doesn't dry my tears.

So often I see people with their families and I want to shake them. I want to take their hand or grab their face in my palms and beg them, beg them to tell their parents they appreciate them. To say the words. To make sure they know, beyond any possible shadow, that everything they could ever wish to say has been said. But I'm already a little crazy to begin with, I think that might push me over into Avoid-That-Crazy-Lady status (kidding).

I thought of doing that very thing a few weeks ago when I was spending an evening with a family I'm good friends with through my church. I wanted to take both the daughters and just say "Please. Please go in there right now and tell him how much you love him. Tell him what a wonderful Dad he is and has been. Tell him how much you appreciate him. Please, please tell him. Now." But just thinking about doing that nearly brought me to tears. And I don't think I can become 'that' person who cries in front of people. I cried in front of people at the funeral and stuff, but other than that, I've cried in front of my mom and two friends, as far as I can remember right now.

So, instead of actually walking up to you and taking your cheeks in my hands and looking you in the eye, I am doing it virtually.

To each and every one of you.

I had 7 weeks and I never got around to giving him the letter I wrote. You may not get 7 minutes. Take the minutes you can, right now. Email them if you have to. Text them. Call them if the ringing phone won't give them a heart attack. Even if they weren't the Worlds Greatest Parent. If you turned out well and you can attribute any of that to your parents, then go Thank them. please. Don't put it off and end up with regrets that will weigh you down for years.

My regrets are light. They are few. I think it would be impossible to not have some regret about something, no matter how small, when you're looking 20/20 hindsight at the situation. But I sleep at peace. I cry in grief only. I breathe deep and keep walking. I hope you will be able to do the same when the time comes for you to walk this road.

Good Will Hunting (video has lots of language, skip to 2:20 to hear just this bit & none of the language)

No, I'm not kiddin' you, Will.

That's why I'm not talkin' right now about some girl I saw at a bar twenty years ago

and how I always regretted not going over and talking to her.

I don't regret the 18 years I was married to Nancy.

I don't regret the six years I had to give up counseling when she got sick.

And I don't regret the last years when she got really sick.

And I sure as hell don't regret missin' the damn game.

That's regret.

Hate to turn up out of the blue

I have fallen in love with Adele. Love love love. She's only put out 2 albums. But the 2nd one especially is on repeat in my car. And this song came on tonight, Someone Like You.

The chorus says

I hate to show up

out of the blue

uninvited

but I couldn't stay away

I couldn't fight it

I had hoped you'd see my face

and that you'd be reminded

that for me

it isn't over.

And that last bit just got me. I can make it about a week before I really miss my Dad. But I can spend time with friends and family and not show it. I can laugh and even meet a guy, and not show it. I can go to church and worship and not show it. I can work diligently for days and not show it.

But for me. It isn't over.

All I could imagine as I drove home with this song on repeat was who's house would I "turn up out of the blue, uninvited" at? I only have a couple of close friends right here in town, and it was late enough that I wouldn't have wanted to bother them. Plus I make excuses on their behalf why I would be a bother.

I wonder if they'd be surprised. If it startles anyone else that for me, it isn't over.

I don't want to wear Daddy's spring jacket.

I don't want to have his pajama pants in my dresser.

I don't want a box of his jeans in my trunk waiting to be turned into a quilt.

I don't want picture frames on my table waiting to be filled for Father's Day.

I don't want to go pick out a headstone and all the details that will go along with that.

I don't want to wonder if people think it's odd that sometimes I talk about him in the present tense. Because the sentence makes sense that way and it actually would sound weirdER if I tried to fix it. I don't want to reference half of my life around After Dad Got Sick, While Dad Was Sick, After Dad Died. (and saying he "passed" somehow sounds too easy, too simple, too not-painful) I don't want to have a 2 monthish haze where I remember pieces and I can't get the vast majority of them into any coherent or chronological order.

And I don't want to forget. That he would have taken care of the yard for Mom. That he would have made sure my sister's dead tree got taken down. That he would have called with a computer question and then hung up without actually saying good bye. And when he called he would say "this is your dad." And how he smiled. Somehow in my memories I don't see my Dad as a really smiley person, but when I gathered my pictures together to make a screensaver and desktop shuffle of him, he is smiling in every single one. A truly happy, content in his life smile.

But there are things I do wish I could forget. Seeing him shuffle around, so uncomfortable, that last day. Helping the hospice nurse shift him around to get him more comfortable. Seeing his swollen ankles in sandals that barely fit so that we could get up to UW to hear what they had to say. How cold his hands were afterwards. The small and medium irritations of family that on a good day roll off your back ..... but not so much then. Having a too vivid imagination and seeing him in that casket in the grave. I've told a couple of people recently, "Now I understand why people want to lay down on top of graves."

A part of me knows this intensity will slowly fade. That the good things and the best moments will always be remembered. That it's ok to cry at random song lyrics about love lost. That it's ok to take the space I need to keep breathing. That for most of what goes on in my head and most of the choices I make, I answer to no one but God and myself; if that hurts you, then right now, that's too dam bad.

But still I wonder. If I showed up at your house

out of the blue

uninvited

would you see my face

and be reminded?

That for me It isn't over?

This'll be hard to read ......

I don't think anyone would argue this point, but I didn't want My Daddy to die.

I didn't want to lose him at 60.

I didn't want my little Sister to celebrate her 30th birthday 3 days after his death.

I didn't want to celebrate my 33rd a month later.

I don't want to have a Christmas with out him.

or Thanksgiving.

or Labor Day or Memorial Day.

Mom doesn't want to have an Anniversary without him.

I don't want to get married without him. (Though God himself is the only one who knows if that will even happen.)

I don't want to buy a house without him. (If I ever actually want to do that.)

And I feel guilty. Because I think some part of me knew within that first week or two that he wasn't gonna make it. Just one of those weird intuition things. I really only had hope for about 4-5 days between the first oncology appointment when they said they believed it was colon cancer and the day they called to say it was not colon cancer. And even in that, I know that my hope was a desperate kind of hope, that clinging hard to a life raft because you are absolutely certain that your life depends on it kind of hope. The hope against hope that your intuition is wrong.

I laid on this very couch with the pillow that is currently next to me and begged God to let us keep him. To do a Huge Dramatic Crazy Miracle and heal my Daddy. And even in the desperation of that begging I felt the answer was going to be No. And I completely soaked through the pillow with my tears.

I said often in those first weeks that I've had a few losses. That I "know" how to do this grief thing. I have a degree in Social Work for goodness sake! And to be honest, a part of me knew that wasn't enough. A part of me knew that I did not actually know how to do this. A part of me knew that this was gonna be really really hard. That I would struggle to find the right words to try to describe this intensity and depth and .... soul-wrenching-sad-isn't-a-strong-enough-word feeling that hits me. It's almost like I would imagine a punch in the gut would be, but with no real corresponding physical outward sensation.

I would go to church and we'd do worship and on some subconscious level I felt like I was pre-training myself to be able to worship after the loss. I did the same when I went up to campus for InterVarsity large groups. I semi-consciously forced myself to either set my reality aside or to worship in spite of it, almost as if he were already gone. I guess it worked. I'm still able to Praise God. I'm still able to say that God is Good. It makes me sob, but I can say that God only gives Good Gifts to his children, that He has a plan for us.

And I have regrets. I'd love to say I don't, but I do. I wish I'd hugged him more. I wish I'd kissed him more. I wish I'd pushed harder to just spend time with him. I wish I'd asked about the Journal in a Jar I gave him to get him to write more down. I wish I'd spent time over there every single day those last few weeks. And maybe if I'd known it was only going to be 7 weeks, I might have.

I wish I'd given him the letter I wrote telling him I wanted him to fight, but I didn't want to keep him here miserable either. Because what if?

And I know the pat answers. I know God is in control and all the other stuff you might say to that. But in the middle of the night when you're missing your Daddy, you can't help but wonder if your words might have made a difference.

And people try to say such nice things. Things about how they are going to change their ways because the shock of this has woken them up, so to speak.

A cousin said he wanted to be around more and spend time with our extended family. Which is great, but in the darkest moments I think "I would never see that cousin again if it meant I could have 20 more years with my Dad. Hell I'd give up seeing the entire family ever again to have Dad back."

One friend said that this might be a really "creative" time for me because I said how writing is how I process and get through things. And I think "I would never put another word in writing anywhere ever for the rest of my days if it meant I could have my Dad walk me down the aisle."

Even myself, I've said that 'you really figure out who your true, solid friends are when something like this happens.' But when I lay on the couch sobbing and soaking a pillow all the way through I think "I'd keep up two dozen crappy, horrible friendships for the rest of my life if I could have my Daddy not be in a casket."

I never understood before why people wanted to lay down on top of a grave.

I have even tried to tell myself that I am now the one walking this road ahead of most of my friends and I will be "prepared" to walk with them through it when they lose their own parents. and I think "I DON'T WANT TO HELP THEM!!!"

I've never been that great at asking for help. Sometimes I'm fine with asking certain people or certain tasks don't bother me. But some do. And if the person says No, sometimes I go into a serious tailspin mentally and emotionally. Because what does that mean? do they not like me? Are they mad at me? is it truly just a bad time? should I bother to ask again? But no matter what I asked my Dad, including the handful of times he said no or didn't help immediately, i knew it didn't mean anything else. I knew it wasn't a reflection on me or how he felt about me. It was just timing, or a task he didn't look forward to doing, but would do anyway. And people say "If you need anything ....." But how do you UNtrain 30 years of habitual thoughts?

How do you ask someone to check the oil in you car without having a meltdown when they try to teach you instead of just doing it?

How do you ask someone if they have a drill and then to come over to hang one picture, because that's all you need hung right now, one picture?

How do you ask someone else to deal with getting and setting up mouse traps because you want to "be the girl" and just not deal with it?

People told me before that I was too independent .....

How do I justify asking for help with housework when I was never a decent housekeeper to begin with?

How do I justify asking for help rearranging when logically I am certain I can accomplish it eventually on my own? And, more importantly, I would not have asked him to help with that, so why should I ask you?

How do I ask for help when I don't even know what it is that I need?

How do you ask someone to just sit with you while you sob uncontrollably? Like the seriously ugly cry? where you drool and your snot flows freely and you gasp and heave for breath? How do you ask someone to sit with you during that??? How do you admit that's how you spent your night?????

How can things seem so fine and normal? How did I go for a 9 mile bike ride two times this week and didn't even notice the feeling of loss???

How do I find a new normal? a new equilibrium? a new ok? How can I post this for all of you to read??? How can I bare my can't-see-straight grief??? How can I admit that tonight I'm not doing ok, not ok at all. I guess because I feel like putting all this down in writing. Sharing it for my friends and anyone else grieving to see. Getting it out of my head and letting the tears flow and the eyes swell and the face get seriously contorted in grief, that is the way through. That is the only way to take a step or half step towards equilibrium. That is my new normal. This is what my life is right now. And this is what my life will be for awhile. And even if it makes me cry, I have to keep reminding myself that it is ok. All of what I'm feeling and writing is ok. And, today, I am still breathing, I haven't given up. I'm just grieving and whatever that looks like (short of utter incapacitation or suicidal thoughts) is ok.

"Well, I'm gonna get out of bed every morning...

breathe in and out all day long.

Then, after a while

I won't have to remind myself

to get out of bed every morning

and breathe in and out"

--Sam Baldwin

Resistance

Tonight's playlist:

Most of us have heard someone somewhere say

Be Careful What You Ask For!

Because You Just Might Get It!

Well I had that moment tonight. And for the first time I can remember, ever, I didn't freak out and get angry etc.

I have been on this Made to Crave journey since about the start of the year. I started the year at a weight of 211. I am still working on not letting this define my worth, better than I was Jan 1, but not quite got it down yet. Anyway.

I weighed 197.5 last week. on the one hand that is more than a couple of pounds. I have lost them slowly but steadily, and even My Father's Funeral didn't derail me! So I am feeling pretty good about it. But on the other hand, at 5'2" that leaves a minimum of 60 pounds left to lose if I want to get to a truly healthy BMI and hit any sort of acceptable range on anyone's height to weight ratio chart.

Now that it's finally (sorta) gotten nice in Wisconsin I have been trying to be active. And, again, for the first time, possibly ever, I am doing it for the right reasons. It makes me feel better (there will be a post about how exercise apparently can actually help depression, but that is for another day). It accelerates my weight loss. It gives me something to do. Somehow even a walk will get out some aggression for me and cycling gives me a peace and contentment and freedom I don't get anywhere else. Not to mention the challenge!

My Mom and Sister and I are going to be seeing family Memorial Day Weekend. And earlier this week, probably right before we went to Olive Garden for my birthday, I thought

Wouldn't it be cool if I could say I lost 20 pounds since the start of the year?!?

And then I calculated that out. Yes, I have to think for much too long figuring this stuff out. Subtraction is not my forte and these are not multiples of 2 or 5. Once I was done with the calculating, which to be honest felt a bit like I imagine calculus would fee, I realized I'd have to basically lose 6 pounds in two weeks. Then I thoroughly enjoyed my Olive Garden supper with the Fam. Mind you, I did not overeat, I did not stuff myself silly. I did have a few more carbs than was "best" perhaps, but I had salad and tried to balance those carbs with chicken. Chicken, I might add, which was DEE LISH US!!

(possibly) Needless to say, I have not lost any weight this week. Which is truly not a huge deal to me. It would have just been cool to be able to say that. Which also assumes anyone would even notice or say anything, since most of them just saw me 6 weeks before. It still gives me a kick to think about when I can say that.

All of that story to tell you this story.

Tonight I went on a bike ride. Last night I walked and oh! my! gawd! I hurt so bad when I got home I decided that as long as it wasn't raining or something today I was biking. Got home from work, reloaded my mp3 player and hit the road. I had pondered the route I thought I wanted to take on my way home and started out that path.

The thing is ... Janesville sits on a hill. Actually it sits across a hill. Basically one half of the town is on the top of the hill and the other side of town is at the bottom of the hill. Which effectively means that no matter which way you ride you have to go up or down a fairly significant hill. There are some ways around this, but you really have to think about it ahead of time and plan out which hill you want to come back up on your way home. Well .... I have to figure that out because I live in the top of the hill part.

I had figured out what route I thought I wanted to take and headed out. One of the first things I do is go down a steady but not super steep hill. So it's a great way to start. Then I hit a few spots here and there where there is the slightest incline and I have to pedal to keep going. I met up with the bike trail that runs through town and was debating walking my bike up this super steep hill and heading towards home, or continuing on the path a bit and taking a slightly longer route home. The bike path has a water fountain at one point and I was PARCHED. So I decided to go find the bubbler and then decide. The bubbler was much closer to continuing the longer ride than going backwards.

(If you don't know this about me, I don't like to backtrack. At all. Ever. For any reason. I will reroute myself going to or from a place just so I don't have to backtrack. Don't ask me why, I don't know.)

I un-parched myself and kept riding. Somewhere on the bike path it had gotten really hard and wearing to ride and I couldn't figure out why. Then suddenly it dawned on me that it was because there was a wind. Not a huge crazy wind, but a little more than a light breeze.

Enough to create resistance.

For a moment I dropped into old habits.

"Really God? Really?! Wind? Right now? Seriously?!?"

And just as quickly as those old tapes went through my head I realized the resistance was a gift. I want to lose 6 pounds (and yes I do consciously realize that is an absurd goal) in the next week and a half ... what better way to do that than with a more intense work out!!

I couldn't quite get to a point of Praising God in the "storm" but I was definitely singing along to the songs on my mp3 player. I definitely didn't have the pity part, super angry, stop-testing-me-God-because-I-will-always-fail argument with him. I did, sorta, thank Him for the resistance and the better workout.

(insert infomercial voice here) BUT WAIT!!!

Then I got home. And calculated out the distance of my ride. I had mentally clocked it around 5-6 miles. I try to be realistic and I probably under calculate because I am fully aware that spacial reasoning is not my strong suit. But if I'm on the bike trail, a lot of that isn't even on maps, so it's hard to calculate out the true distance of a ride.

Today's ride was all on city streets, or right next to them.

I RODE 9.4 MILES Y'ALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

I was STUNNED. 9 miles?!?!? And I didn't die!?!?! And I didn't think I was going to die?!?!?

That in and of itself is a feat. I am not quite feeling proud, but I am feeling very good about my night. Thanking God for Resistance tonight.

Here is my route if you want to know where exactly I went.

And here is my playlist if you didn't hit play above and wanna hear them now.

Gifts I Didn't Want

A dear friend of mine bought Ann Voskamp's One Thousand Gifts early this year. I'm pretty sure she even preordered. And she told us that she'd ordered extras because she knew she'd want to share it. I'm gonna be honest, and hopefully she doesn't get hurt or offended by this, but I didn't want the book. All I could think of was the post on Stuff Christians Like I'd just read about "Not Knowing how to tell someone their favorite book didn't change your life." Sure it was great for her and doing wonders, but I didn't need to be "more" grateful. I was doing just fine thank you very much. but, I accepted the book (graciously I hope) and put it in my pile of devotional books I'm slowly working my way through.

(note, when I say devotional books, it's the pile of books I read in little bits during my "coffee, waking up, time in the morning," the only time I take all day to sit and intentionally find God. Only one out of the current 6 is an actual "devotional". And the reason I have 6 is because I get bored that easily that I can't finish one book straight through.)

I intentionally and purposefully ignored the book for quite awhile. Probably a month or more. The thing was, I was unemployed but finally had the opportunity to build the life I'd always dreamt of. Working for myself. Helping others. Selling the skincare line I use. Marketing my computer services. Sleeping in and being perpetually well rested instead of perpetually exhausted. Planning to go back to school in June, IF I could make it that far and still be on unemployment. I was doing pretty well. My meds were fully kicked in and keeping me above "just functioning."

But I check in with God regularly. Especially in the morning. I take a moment and ask Him what I need to read. What will speak to me today. And sometimes I get a significant tug in my spirit and sometimes I just grab whatever is on top. One day I finally had a Significant tug towards this book. So I opened it and started reading. I'd read Ann's blog for awhile. But she's married and working hard at her marriage, and although she doesn't share icky intimate details she is very open about her marriage. And that hurt. It was too hard for me to read those posts. And the homeschooling posts just got old. So i took it off my reader. In that absence, I had forgotten how lyrical her writing is. How flowing and beautiful like a full stream over rocks and through timber is. And I got hooked.

I read it in very small pieces. So much of it was dense with Truth and Wisdom and Encouragement, that it was like trying to eat a very very rich dessert. A bite or two is plenty and it almost ruins the dessert to eat more than just a bite or two. So I read it in fits and spurts. And I rebelled against the idea of needing to write out my gifts. I was quite grateful thank you very much. I often appreciated the sky around me, and the smells of fresh cut grass and blooming flowers, even the smell of rain. I thanked God often for breath and life and job and body and family and friends.

And I am anal. I don't have a journal to write these gifts in. I have journals, but they don't feel worthy of that type of list or they are already started with other things. But I finally gave in. And a beautiful journal my sister gave me that had been started and been unused for possibly a year, was changed into a Journal of Thanks.

That was on March 16. We didn't know yet how sick Dad was. We knew there were tumors. We knew it was cancer. He'd had a liver biopsy and colonoscopy with biopsies. We had begun planning for colon cancer. We didn't know yet that it wasn't colon cancer. We didn't know yet that it would be called cholangiocarcinoma. We didn't know that it would be terminal. I didn't know that in a month he would be dead. But a part of me, probably a spirit part, was insisting that I give thanks regardless of what happens with Dad. If Ann could figure out how to give thanks after her sister died in a tragic accident in their farm lane, If she could figure out how to give thanks after her family fell apart because of that, If she could figure out how to give thanks while figuring out how to raise children and love a man who adored her even though she had no idea how to raise the kids or why that man loved her so. Then I could certainly try.

Even in that I tried to be arrogant and smug. She would write overly simple things.

Jam piled high on toast.

Morning shadows across the old floors

Leafy life scent of the florist shop

Windmills

Mail in the mailbox.

Wool sweaters

Faint aroma of cattle and straw.

My friend's 10 year olds can be thankful for things like that. *I* want to be more profound than that. *I* want to write deeper things. Important Things. Profound Things. Things that go unnoticed. Things that most are not grateful for. But yes, i'll add simple things to the list as I go, because sometimes being grateful for the colors in a beautiful sky is the most profound thing you can see. And I got to #11 before I got a little "shallow." and Thanked God for 50 degrees and sunny in WI in March.

But then #6 was "Having a wonderful Daddy for at least 32 years."

#21 was "Email so I don't have to say the words that make me cry every time over and over.

I stopped writing very shortly after that March 16 start up. On the one hand I felt too busy with a new job and sick dad and life going on to be able to take a moment and write them out. But I carried the journal with me, just in case I suddenly felt like writing one down.

Daddy's been gone a month, and for at least a week I've been purposefully ignoring Ann's book. But today is saturday. And I had a good cry last night. And I don't want to become hard or bitter or rude or crass or unfeeling. I want to feel what I feel and keep walking through life one step at a time. Mom decided she is going to make Dad proud and keep living a life and doing things. But I'm kind of stuck. I'm not sure what would make Dad proud of me right now. I'm trying to find a true north to start pointing towards, and my compass looks like Jack Sparrow's.

We had 7 weeks. That's 7 weeks longer than the family in my church town had when their parents both died in a car accident. We had 24 hours of true, nearly unbearable, suffering. That's days and weeks less than the family we have been friends with since before I was born faced. We had 36, 32 and 30 good years with a good man who lived a good life and loved his family the very best he knew how to do. That's 25 and 30 years longer than a lot of military families have gotten.

Gifts I didn't want.

I was there, by his side, holding his hand. So was Sister. We said I Love You. Mom sang to him. He simply drifted away. Hospice had come, so we didn't have to worry about EMTs or an emergency room. Aunts from both sides were there, so we didn't have to go through any of it alone. I had 14+ friends on text and email and phone helping me through it with their prayers and tears and sympathy.

More Gifts I didn't want.

But yesterday I read this post on (in)courage. From a woman who is homebound and for her birthday was asking us to simply enjoy the life we have and the things she can't. Not at all in a self-pitying way, just in an appreciate what you have kind of way. So today I'm trying to see the gifts around me.

The rain on the pavement last night.

The open windows and cool breezes.

A laptop that works well that I love.

Wonderful friends who call and text to see how I'm doing.

Online continuing education I can do at home so I can keep my job.

Papa Johns pizza - which I thoroughly enjoyed last night, and will enjoy for most of this week.

Chinese from my favorite local dive.

New Shoes

An evening planned with wonderful neighbors who want nothing more than to make a big deal out of my birthday.

A family dinner to Olive Garden to celebrate my birthday.

Olive Garden.

Writing. Processing. Sharing. Pouring out here what I need to get out of my own head.

A wonderful job with a wonderful boss who loves having me there and appreciates me.

Gifts I want.

But that's how life is. Like the underside of a cross stitch project or a quilt top. From our side sometimes it looks messy and ruined and unsalvageable. It looks awful. Like it will never be right. Like something was done wrong somewhere. Maybe a wrong from long long ago that would take much too much work to go that far back and fix. But from this side we can't see the finished project. We can't see the beauty of the whole thing. We can't see the amazing finished picture that awaits. Sometimes we can see The Scarlett Thread that runs through all of it. But we don't see where it ends.

So I will try to give thanks. For the gifts I wanted and even for the gifts I didn't want.

My Daddy Died Last Week.

Only 7 weeks after his first visit to Urgent Care. He thought he'd pulled a muscle, but it wasn't going away. He asked my mom to take him up to Urgent Care. That doctor could tell right away, just from feeling around his abdomen, that Dad's liver was enlarged. (what?!?) So they ordered a CT scan which showed tumors in his liver. They had to order a 2nd CT scan because the first had not scanned his lungs, and he smoked since he was like 14 or something. That scan actually came back clear. Next was the liver biopsy and subsequent colonoscopy and biopsy of the colon. Liver came back cancer, but somehow not technically Liver Cancer. We began planning under the assumption that his history of Crohn's disease would lead us to colon cancer. Believe it or not, aside from a full out miracle, I was praying it was colon cancer, because my understanding is that colon cancer responds very well to treatment, and liver cancer does not. We saw the oncologist, set up appts to start treatments, and the next day cancelled it all because the colon biopsies came back negative for cancer.

Then we were referred up to UW in Madison to the Gastrointerological Oncology department. They reviewed Dad's tests and scans etc. We met with a surgeon who told us the tumors make surgery not feasible because there wouldn't be enough healthy liver left over. They even showed us the CT scan of his liver. No less than 3/4 of it was tumors, and that was to my not-medically-trained eyes. Then we met with a Chemo doctor (didn't know you could actually specialize in that) and she was very compassionate and careful in what she said, but she told us that chemo might buy us time, and it would only buy us months. Two weeks and one day later he was gone. He passed at home. Surrounded by family. Daughters holding his hands. Family praying the rosary. Leaving peacefully. We said what we wanted to say before The Strong Drugs took full effect. The priest was there to administer The Sacraments before they took effect. He went directly to Heaven. But I still want him here with us. Healthy. Mowing the lawn. Getting mom's milk. Taking care of His Girls like he always did.

We met with a GI doc early on who said they no longer give time frames on prognosis because they've had patients that they may give a few months and they live 5-6 years. And I thought to myself

"Five years isn't enough!"

We got 5 weeks after that.

I just keep thinking things that sorta don't make sense. Things that everyone who has lost someone they love deeply thinks. Things that everyone knows don't make sense. Things that none of us can change. But somehow, being on this side of the thinking, it feels stupid to even think it.

We're not supposed to be here.

He's not supposed to be gone.

I want My Daddy back.

He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.He's not supposed to be gone.

My Dad was not a Talker. He wasn't a particularly affectionate man. There have been times in my life where I wished he'd been different. Where I'd wish he'd hug me more. I'd wish he'd talk to me about deep and serious things and not just whether or not my oil had been changed recently. And right now, all I want is for him to be sitting in the computer room at their house playing spider solitaire and watching whatever is on cable.

A family friend got married in August. She got to dance with my Dad at her wedding. I have lovely pictures of them. And I catch myself feeling jealous and hoping she realizes how lucky she is to have danced with him, because I won't get to.

I struggled with depression before. I knew what lethargy and apathy were. I knew what it was to not care. I have achieved a whole new level of those in the last week and a half. And I know I have a right to be sad and a right to feel depressed and for today it's ok. But I already wonder how long it will last. What will my home look like if/when I snap out of it. Will people stop checking on me before I make it out the other side. How many nights will I cry alone. How many times will I slip and think of him or talk of him as if he's still here. Do people think it's weird that I don't frame all my conversations about before and after. Do I care of they do. Will I manage to lose some weight through this or will I pack it on with comfort food.

I don't want to do this.

I don't want to be here.

I don't want this to be real.

Do they see it in my eyes? Can people tell something is wrong? What did that girl at TJ Maxx think when I returned the bag and cried because the socks I bought him because his feet were so swollen were on that receipt? Am I phoning it in already? Is it weird that I can go days without crying? Have my neighbors heard my sobbing yet?

I don't want that figurine. I don't want these plants. I don't want the roses. I don't want to think about thank you notes. I DON'T WANT TO DO THIS!!!

Last week as we prepared for the funeral arrangements Mom and I talked. I told her that some people think the last steps of grieving are moving on and getting over it. I said that when it comes to losing a loved one, a person, those are BS. You don't move on, you don't get over it. But you do find a New Normal. She agreed. Later on she told me she decided she was going to make Dad proud of her. She decided she is going to do things and keep going and go to work and visit with people and stuff. And she was going to make him proud of her. And I was proud of her for deciding it.

Tonight I wonder if I'll make him proud. I wonder if I'll find my equilibrium before 2012. I wonder when I'll figure out what New Normal is. Yes, I realize this is all still very fresh and new and grieving is a process and mourning takes time. But when left to my own devices I tend to wallow. I want to mourn and grieve. I keep reminding myself that this is ok. The ugly cry is acceptable. The sobbing without breathing followed by gasping sobs is ok. That standing in my kitchen waiting for the pasta to boil with tears running down my face is ok. I am feeling things, and that's good. I am sad, and that's right. and somehow in spite of that, and my degree in social work and my classes in psychology and having lost a few people in my life ....... somehow none of that prepared me for the depth of grief that floods me. It is so much deeper and stronger and more intense than I expected it to be. And I find myself very glad that I am at home as it washes through me.

Someday. Someday I'll find my equilibrium. Someday it won't be quite so intense. Someday I won't wonder what other people think. Someday I'll realize I have found my New Normal and I'm functioning well again.

But for today I weep.

The Unfairness

My family got hit with The Unfairness this week. As a 30 something adult you know that bad things happen to good people all the time. And you hear stories of The Unfairness coming out of left field and hitting families all the time. There are fundraiser banquets and walks and bicycle rides and awareness seminars, constantly, it seems. But even as you see all of those and you pray for those people and you feel badly for them, you never think for a second that your own family might someday get hit with one of those things, those things that are so unfair. The bad things to good people. The worst things to the very best people. The time taken away from people that barely had any to begin with. The pain to the person who has done everything in their power for their entire life to ease their loved ones through life as much as possible.

When The Unfairness hits, everyone has some sort of reaction towards God.

Why did he cause this?

Why did he allow this?

Why won't he fix this?

Why is he taking so long?

Did we do something he didn't like?

Is he really, truly a good God?

Does he actually want good things for us?

How can this possibly be any part of his plan for good in my life?

Hopefully we scream and we wail and we swear and we beat our fists on his chest and we scratch at him. And when we are spent, we curl up in his arms and weep. I hope that we all stick around for the weeping part. Because that weeping bit, that moment is where he shows up the strongest for you personally in your heart of hearts. That place that no other person in this world can even approach. That is where you find peace through the hardest things you've ever faced. That is where you find strength to fight like you've never fought before. That is where you can finally unleash all the fury and terror that you are holding back from everyone else.

Hopefully curled up in his arms is the safest you have ever felt. Hopefully you know that he truly is good. That he actually does want good things for us. That he does have some sort of plan, even if that plan contradicts the one we've had 100%.

Hopefully in the dark of the night when your heart breaks for The Unfairness that has shown up in your life, you go to him and let him gather your tears. Hopefully you do know that he may be the only one that can handle all that fury and rage and terror. That whatever The Unfairness has brought into your life, that he has felt it too. That he understands. And even if you can't believe that The Unfairness will bring anything good, you can believe that he will not leave you for a nanosecond while you fight and weep and lay spent and empty. No matter how much love and support you have around you, there will always be times when no one will answer their phone, and no one is home, and no one is on the internet (ridiculous, I know) and you will feel like you are weeping alone.

But you're not.

That is the exact moment that Love Is Here waiting for you. Just waiting.

Not expecting.

Not asking.

Not requesting.

Not taking.

Not draining.

Not nagging.

Not complaining.

waiting to take you in his arms and share with you just how much he truly does love you. That even if you were the only one on earth who needed him, he would still have died just for you.

And some of you are skeptical. Some of you are scoffing. Some of you think I am a nutball. And that's fine. Truly it is. You have your process and situations and life-lived-thus-far, and I have mine. This is where I have landed. This is one of the only things in this whole mixed up crazy world that I believe without hesitation or equivocation. I have my doubts about specific things at times, but since November 9, 1996 I've never doubted for a second that he died so that he and I could have this direct, personal, intimate connection. That I could sit here, writing through my feelings about The Unfairness with tears running down my cheeks, and even as I rail at him and beg him for different, that he is sitting right with me, waiting for me to be spent and remember that the only thing that gets me through a day is his presence in my heart and world. That the only reason I can get through a day is because he is holding me together. That the only reason I haven't shut down entirely and lost that great job I just started is because he is putting strength in my limbs and tasks in my mind to keep me moving.

This is the thing I can't seem to express. The thing I can't seem to put into words. The thing I can't say out loud because it looks a little crazy in print and I can't imagine what it would sound like spoken aloud. But that is the only truth I know right now. That is the only thing anchoring me right now. His love and presence is the only thing I can actually count on. I wish that for you. Each and everyone of you fighting your own battle with The Unfairness.

That somehow through it, or before it, or in it, or after it, you would find yourself in his arms.

safe.

loved.

planned for.

cared about.

died for.

redeemed.

connected.

That you would be able to find that peace in the hardest thing you've ever faced.

That is where you find the strength to fight like never before.

That is where you finally unleash all the fury and terror that you are holding back from everyone who may not get it.

That he wants to be By Your Side as you go through this valley. That somehow you find that The Unfairness isn't fair, even to Him. That at the end of you, you find Him and in Him you find you. That someday you can read my feeble attempt to express this thing beyond words and it makes sense to you. That someday we can share our stories and know we aren't alone in the world or in the fight against The Unfairness. That someday The Unfairness is no more.

_____ _____ _____ _____ _____ _____

This post was midwifed by two separate friends and a woman I've never met who writes more beautifully than anything I've ever read. The woman I've never met is Ann Voskamp. And she has been given the opportunity to offer a scholarship*** to a woman to the She Speaks conference Lysa Terkeurst puts on every year in July. My two friends separately and without talking to each other both told me I should apply for it. And this is how I do it. I write something that reflects a little of my heart, and I tell you here a bit about She Speaks and include a link, and we'll see what God does with it.

She Speaks is a conference Lysa started to help women connect with the right resources and learning and tools to share whatever message God has placed on their hearts. There are large sessions and workshops. There are high intellectual discussions and nuts and bolts talks. There are many opportunities to hone your craft and share your message and maybe find just the right connection to publish a book. So I am throwing my hat in the ring, and if you have a message you are passionate about sharing on a larger scale, maybe you should throw your hat in the ring too.

***http://www.aholyexperience.com/2011/03/how-christians-create-art-she-speaks-scholarship/

So much time, so little focus

Some of you may not be aware, but I lost my job on Dec 2. No, don't cry for me Argentina, I'm doing fine. It was a shock, well more like a stun and there are reasons behind that, reasons that I don't want in print. But suffice it to say, December was ok. Parents helped me out some and I've been approved for Unemployment, so at least I can sleep well knowing I won't lose my apartment or my car or something.

That whole thing aside, I've dreamt of "designing my life" for years now. Dreamt of living by my own schedule and pursuing my dreams. But it was never a real thing. Never a true possibility. Now it is not only a possibility and a real thing, it is my life. And I have to create, from scratch, the life I've only ever dreamt of living.

One of the reasons I never really went hard-core after any of my ideas for income while living my dream life was that I could never figure out a way to fill up an entire day without working. I could tell myself I'd sleep until I woke up rested. I'd have coffee and devotional time with God. But after that it gets squidgy.

I want to work out, movement, exercise, something to wear out my body a little bit so I don't end the day too twitchy to sleep from lack of movement.

I'd write. Every day. 1600 words is my artificial goal, generated from successfully completing NaNoWriMo this year.

I'd work my direct sales business. Selling the amazing skincare products I've been using for years now to other people. Helping people get them at a discount, and even helping some start their own businesses and change their lives.

In recent months I began developing some ideas for creating a consulting business helping companies here in my local area create and maintain a social media footprint.(be kind about that blog, wordpress is 10x harder to build & navigate than blogger & my learning curve isn't what it once was.) Which I immediately am expanding to include helping direct sellers create their own fanpages and utilizing the power of facebook more effectively.

I am also going to apply to the local Technical college to go back to school for a Web Design certificate. It's something I've thought about doing for years and just never had the drive or inclination to pursue. It's a natural next-step beyond the things I'm already starting.

And I'm applying for jobs. Jobs I would take, jobs I am qualified for, jobs that would, in effect, end all the dreams I just shared.

Plus family and friends. I've always dreamt and wished I could see friends more. Do Lunch or visit away an afternoon. Oh, I'm going to paint my sister's bathroom too. And maybe a household project or two for other friends.

And so I find myself sleeping in. Waking rested, which is glorious in itself. Making coffee, eating breakfast and spending some time reading a book of some sort and focusing some time and brainpower on God. And then it all sort of drifts away.

Yesterday I had it all set in my mind. Get up, breakfast, coffee, devotional. Then Writing! And while devotionalizing I got an idea for a blog. So i sat down at my "new" computer to draft the blog. But Facebook was up, so I had to check and see what everyone had been up to. and if I'm going to do that I may as well reopen my restaurant! And check my City! "It'll Only Take a Second." But it never does!!!

Then I check my business email. That takes me awhile because I did a training this week for my L'Bri teammates on Facebook fanpages and i had a few after-thoughts things to take care of. Not to mention slogging through the Google Alerts I have set up and the newsletters I signed myself up for.

Then a friend messages me on google talk and we chat while I'm doing all of this. Then it's been awhile so maybe I should check back into My City because I've now generated some more energy and can do more "work" there.

and I read an email from a blogger I greatly admire and he has given us "dreaming of a different life" types who read his blog a challenge and I take it. And I brainstorm and write down my answers and answer his email etc etc etc. and suddenly it's time to get ready to go to a friend's for a movie night.

And I think

"Where'd my day go???"

And that doesn't include the days I make plans with friends. Monday I babysat for a friend in the morning. Tuesday afternoon I did an emergency babysitting half hour gig for a friend who was in a bind. Wednesday I did a couple hours for a friend who was getting her ultrasound for #3. Thursday I went to visit with another friend that I've lost touch with because we've both been so busy. And I was so looking forward to Friday at home, no plans, no leaving the house til the end of the day, no distractions, just an entire day to focus on my "work."

But I didn't! And it makes me frustrated. And annoyed with myself. And annoyed at "The World" for whatever.

I do recognize one thing in this. I have a VERY hard time saying No. To anyone, about anything. I had a revelation about this inability to say No the other day ... but at this moment what the revelation was, is completely escaping me. Something to do with not ever saying no as a child, and something about "buying" my friend's affections, and something else that is just a sliver in my brain right now, but I'm sure it'll come out again eventually.

And so I make these plans.

"On Monday, I'll start again."

"Tomorrow I'll do it right."

"This week I'll make it happen!"

Today I'll be doing laundry and visiting with my parents so I can see other friends tomorrow night. And Monday will start another new week. A Monday that I don't have any plans until 5:45 pm. And a full week with minimal appointments. Maybe the week to turn my world upside down in the best possible way.

Here's hoping for focus!

Weekend Frivolity

I am surpringly close to my extended family.  Not so much because of the family, though they are obviously their own brand of crazy. But surprising because so few people are close to their extended families anymore.

It's funny how you don't realize something is odd or rare until you meet someone to whom the same thing, which is so normal and obvious to you, thinks you're nuts for it.  When i talk about spending time with my aunts and cousins in Iowa sometimes people stare. They haven't seen their aunts or uncles in years.  They know their cousins names but have no idea if they are married or have any kids.  No clue where they live or what they do.  And that seems bizarre to me. 

But then, my mom was a transplant.  Fell in love on St. Patty's day in a bar. Almost bailed on the 1st date.  Ended up falling crazy in love and got married October of that same year.  36 years ago in just a few weeks.  Now the truly crazy part was that she moved 2 1/2 hours away to live with her husband. Who worked second shift. Where she knew not a single living soul. Where they didn't have a phone much less long distance. And I'm not even sure they had a TV.  She used to cry in her dishwater after Husband left for work at night.

So, you can imagine, when they had kids a couple years later.  She wanted to be close to her family again. Especially when one sister was pregnant at the same time and had a daughter just a few months after mom's first. So, began our long treks. Every other weekend, for 10+ years, almost without fail, we loaded into the car at 4:00 on Friday and drove to Dubuque to spend the weekend with mom's family.

Every
Other
Weekend.
For 10+ years.

That's over 200 trips on the exact same highway
to the exact same destination.

No wonder Dad still knows where each and every single passing zone is on that entire stretch of road!

All of this to say that this last weekend, we had a Hayride.  My cousins' kids had never been on one, and someone mentioned it to my Uncle the Farmer.  So we planned it.  Out we went.  Friday at 5, as soon as Sister and I were off work, away we went. Hit the Road Jack!

Saturday we woke up, leisurely.  Got ready for the arrivals.  Greeted and chatted.  Hit the hay rack.  In the rain.  Thank you Amazing Builder Cousin for helping Uncle Farmer get a jury rigged tarp over the top of it for us!  And off we went around the country.  It was cold. And wet. But we were family and we had fun!

Then, when we got home we ate.  One of the most bestest parts of any family gathering.  The Food.  Pork Loin, two marinades. Cheesy Potatoes. German Potato Salad.  Pasta Salad. Bread. Baked Beans. Fruit. Desserts abounding, including pies.

and when we were done and reasonably digested.  the True Fun began.

The 1st Annual Boyer Family Minute to Win It competition!!!!!

In teams of 2 we competed in various Minute to Win It games.  Each team of 2 got 3 lives and when your lives were up, you were out.

Fun and hilarity ensued.  I can't even tell you all of it!  Partly because it kind of blurs together after a few and partly because it's late enough that my brain stopped functioning.

So, instead, I'll show you the 1st video I created (Yep, all by myself!!) of our First Challenge

This Blows.

day 10 - soft hearted

I had a tough time in grade school. I was from the other side of town and, well, to be honest, a little weird. Add to that the unarguable fact that I am 'soft' hearted. Mom sometimes says 'chicken' hearted. I usually say sensitive. But not only was it easy to hurt my feelings, it's actually pretty easy to hurt me physically. A simple punch on the shoulder could be enough to bring me to tears.

And we all know now absolutely, truly, unapologetically cruel kids can be.

I have made peace with it. It was actuallya round Christmas of 2001 that I watched a movie, Stepmom, and cried at the end and thought "I want to be around people that appreciate the tenderness of my heart." And I like to think I have done that. I have paid attention to how people react to me and how my spirit reacts to them. I have sought out friendships with people I am drawn to or people who seem to appreciate or respect my heart and soul. I have cultivated some incredibly good friendships that way.

Tonight I found out one of those friends is hurting. Badly. Tragically. That is all I will say. But my heart hurts for her and her family.

I cried for her tonight. But I also had to pay bills. Badly. I'm going on this thing this weekend and I need to know how much money I don't have. So, through watery eyes I paid my bills and balanced out my checkbook. While watching 27 dresses for the umpteenth time.

I've said it before, I can perty much guarantee I'll say it again, over and over again. This time, however, I am not going to start any list of my own. I am simply going to tell you to be absolutely certain that every single person you love knows you love them. Send the email. make the phone call. Text if you need to. Or post on facebook. However you need to have it said, say it. Now.

Day 6 - A test, from the book

Give me a memory of your mother, aunt or grandmother.
I remember my grandma got Bell's Palsy. We were at my Aunt Carol's house and one side of grandma's face just drooped. Kind of like when you have dental work done and you can't feel your one cheek and jaw. But we kids, my cousins and I, were around 7-10ish at the time and we thought it was SO FUNNY!! So, we kept asking grandma to eat different things to watch it dribble down her chin because she couldn't feel it. Ice cream. Soda Pop. Whatever. We thought it was 'pee your pants' hysterical at the time. Looking back I'm almost a little ashamed of us. She seemed to be such a good sport about it. I don't remember her getting upset or angry at all. I think she probably just stopped playing along. That story is also my inspiration for the title of the memoir I thinkI ought to write about her one day. I've always planned on calling it "Grandma's Lips."

Give me a memory of the color red.
I was actually just out shopping with a friend tonight and re-told this story. I was at a JCPenney's once trying on tops to go to some event of some sort. And I found this really cute red cable-knit style sweater. It had a criss cross in the chest and a higher seam to go just under your bust and it was pretty fitted. Well, I put it on and stepped out of the dressing room and started laughing so hard!! I realized that my 'girls' looked exactly like eyes (i think it was an incredibly poor choice of bra) and then my belly button was TOTALLY visible right in the middle and then the way it fell across the bottom of my Santa Belly made me look like a walking smiley face. Take a minute and picture this .... CRACKED ME UP!!!!!

Give me a memory of sound.
I am enthralled with the hum of cicadas. I love that rise and fall of their buzz. I usually think "This is summer, this is MY indication that summer has arrived." It is almost as good as chirping crickets or croaking frogs. Actually a swamp full of croaking frogs would probably be my all time favorite noise ever, but the cicadas just hold a special place in my heart.

Give me a picture of a teacher you had in elementary school.
hmmmm, so many to choose from. In fifth grade I had Mrs. Rousseau. She had a solid wood podium at the front of our class. She had frizzy, short, gray hair. She was incredibly stern, but a good teacher. She told my mom at a conference that I was 'more mature' than the rest of the class, as I was sitting there holding my Cabbage Patch Premie doll. She also taught us 'health' and more importantly the sex ed portion of that class. As an opener she leaned across the podium, and pointed at everyone, and in an incredibly stern teacher voice, declared "If anyone laughs at the words penis or vagina, you will go directly to the principal's office." I was barely paying attention at the time and actually laughed at something a classmate said or did and was terrified that I would get sent to the office for it. She either didn't notice me laughing or knew it wasn't a result of paying attention in class.

Tell me about a meal you loved.
I went out to dinner with a friend a few months ago. To a Ground Round about a mile and a half from my house. I got this cheesey, chicken, tortelloni concoction and it was absolutely divine! I love cheese, I'm from Wisconsin, whaddya expect. But the cheese sauce on this perfectly cooked tortelloni with high quality chicken clearly having been marinating in that sauce was one of the most delicious things in recent memory. I was very sad to lose that meal while I went through my lactose intolerance phase. (which I cured by having my galbladder removed, in case you were wondering why it was a phase.)

Tell me about a time you remember rain.
This morning was a lovely way to wake up. Well-rested and awakened by the pitter patter of a thunderstorm rolling in and the occasional far off roll of thunder. But my favorite thing about rain is what it speaks to me. In college I was walking in the slightest of sprinkles and simply being aware of God and His Goodness towards me. I felt like he said to me that each raindrop that hit my skin was ike a kiss form him. As a person who thrives and requires a fair degree of physical contact, that spoke VOLUMES to me. It still does.

10 smells I remember.
Grandma's avon lotion
Ex-boyfriend's colognes
rain
teakwood 7 cardamom partylite candles
garlic
skin, when you're close to someone, like somoene you're dating and you get close enough to smell their skin, not cologne or soap.
enjoli, mom's perfume
fresh cut grass
lake water
wood smoke