Friends! Thanks so much for stopping by! I invite you to visit my NEW website @ http://www.amyrochellebowser.com/

All of your favorite posts have been moved and I will be adding new ones daily. It's been a hectic 6 months for us but as soon as the holidays are over I can promise you that I'll be back to writing!

Much love to you all!

XOXO

Amy

The Innoncence Inside a Box of Crayons

When I was younger I remember the excitement of opening a brand new box of crayons and pressing a freshly sharpened stick of pigmented wax to a piece of paper to create a masterpiece that was fitting to my imagination. I have watched that same anticipation in my daughter with a new box of crayons since I trusted her to color on paper and not the walls. And every year since being old enough to go to school, we go shopping for supplies and I watch her as she eagerly chooses a fresh box of crayons to bring to her new classroom. This year in particular she chose the box with the brightest pink because “Mama the pink is brighter in this box.” Details. So we purchased the rest of the supplies on the list and then went home and boxed everything up in her brand new rainbow colored, Dalmatian pencil box that came with a lock and key. Another exciting moment in her life as she placed everything neatly in that little metal box and tucked it away along with all of the other school supplies in her new backpack.

As I watched her that day I wondered how much longer I would have these innocent moments with her. I wondered how much longer she would beam with pride when opening that new box of crayons and prudently choose each crayon as each serves its own purpose in bringing her picture to life. Surely, this being her last year in elementary school, it will be the last year that a box of crayons will be seen on her school supply list. Next year will be an entirely different school, different faces and just another milestone to add to the already growing list. Those crayons have not only played a significant role in developing and expanding her creativity, but they have also abetted in reserving her innocence. It’s an innocence that I have watched slowly fade as she now declines my hugs before we depart in the school hallway every morning.

My not so little girl survived her first week of third grade, just as I knew she would, however I’m still trying to recover from the fact that time is moving entirely way too fast for me and I now have a third grader. As much as I try to preserve her innocence, I have observed her maturity and desire to branch out lately. I see it when she lets go of my hand while we walk side by side and again when she chooses time with her friends over time spent with me. There was a moment while we were on vacation recently where I had to compose myself and keep the tears from falling after we entered into an elevator and she didn’t request to push the button like usual. I reflected back on the days when pushing that button was such an accomplishment for her. Her face radiated with triumph after figuring out which was the correct number to push and she was fascinated with how such a thing could transport us to different levels in a building. It’s moments like that that I have taken for granted for all of these years. And now that they are gone, I realize how significant those moments were in substantiating her innocence.

The night before the big day, I laid in bed with her and begged her to stop growing; to stay right where she is so that I could enjoy her being my little girl forever. “But Mama, if I stay little forever you won’t get to keep watching me grow up and do great stuff.”  She is wise beyond her years. I am certain that the days that she will allow me to choose her outfit the night before the first day of school are gone. The days that she’d allow me to hold her hand on the way in to the once big and terrifying building that held new faces are few and far between. And gone are the days that she’d dare to let me kiss her goodbye in front of all the now familiar faces that she looks forward to seeing each day. Time is flying and my baby is changing. The few things I do have left that attest to her innocence will also dwindle and become valued memories. But for now, we still have movie snuggles and goodnight kisses. We still have the nights that she will call to us from her bed asking if she can sleep in our bed. We still have the echoes of animal sounds coming from the playroom as she plays with her farm set that she insisted on buying from a yard sale. We still have coloring books and indubitably, we still have crayons.

I Surrender

My husband and I ran our first 5k together today. I welled up with tears as I crossed the finish line. Not because I knew I placed among the first 10, but because two months ago this was not possible. Two months ago I laid in a hospital bed in the ICU unsure if I was coming home to my family.

I haven’t wanted to talk about it. When the man who witnessed it all courageously brings it up, I walk away. Of course he wants to talk about, he almost lost his wife and those were his babies too. But I am weak and I am damaged. Weak because I am afraid of the darkness. Damaged because all I have known for the last year is pain. But the ruthless memories of that painful season continually find their way back to me and I know now that it’s time to face my fears.

We were reluctant to try and get pregnant again but we didn’t want to spend our lives wondering what if. Six months ago we found ourselves back at the infertility clinic asking for help. We spent two weeks anxiously anticipating if it had worked. We spent another two grateful for another chance. And then we spent another ten paralyzed with fear after discovering that we were having twins. I was at even more of a risk being pregnant with two babies because of my history. And I was no longer a candidate for the procedure that we hoped would keep me pregnant. I prayed to God each night to wrap his arms around my growing babies and keep them safe until they were developed enough to live in this world with us. Ten weeks of sleepless nights. Ten weeks of overlooking the present because we were so afraid of the future. And then our worst fears had come true. I could see the look of concern on the ultra sound technicians face. Proof once our doctor had confirmed. Baby A’s fluid was low and my cervix had shortened. One week later it was immeasurable. I was admitted to the hospital right away; right in the same room where we found ourselves last summer. This wasn’t real life. It couldn’t have been. But it was. Four days went by and there was no activity. We were given hope for Baby B. We were told Baby A would not live once he was born. If this was the sacrifice we had to make then we would get through it, we said. Just seven more weeks and our baby’s life was viable. We went home and I spent the next two days bedridden and scared, but we were hopeful. And then life took another turn. It’s a blur from there. I have flashbacks of my husband driving manically for two hours to get me to the hospital. Flashbacks of the pain that shot through my body as it prepared for labor. Flashbacks of him calling to me as I went in and out of consciousness as sickness took over my body. Several nurses swarmed into my room. I cried in pain and I was begging my babies not to go. I didn’t want this to be over. I can’t do this again, I thought. My prayers were not answered. I felt every agonizing contraction before I delivered Baby A, yet I vaguely remember holding him. Everything was happening so fast. I heard the doctor discussing the possibility of needing the rapid response team to come in and I saw a look of terror in my husband’s face. As I was being transferred to another hospital I was suddenly begging God not to take me too. I labored Baby B in the ICU of another hospital. My husband stood there watching helplessly as I received blood transfusions, bags upon bags of IV fluids, test after test and as I cried in pain both physically and emotionally. Infection was flowing through my bloodstream taking away my ability to focus on my twins. I couldn’t understand why this was happening to us again. Not only did we just lose our twins; our two sons that we prayed like hell for, but now we weren't sure what the status of my own health was.

My body betrayed me yet again. It gave up on my pregnancy and two more lives that deserved to be here with us. Left me to grieve again. Took away my ability to take in a painful yet desperate moments with my sons. I desperately wish I could have those painful memories of holding my sons because they confirm their lives. They put faces to the lives I carried inside of me for four months. But I can’t remember and that brings more pain than my loss’s themselves. Those moments were taken from me. I missed my little sister’s wedding and lost precious time with my daughter while I spent the next week in the hospital recovering. These are the memories I am left with and cannot bare to relive. My family has endured more pain in the last year than some people do in a lifetime.

So instead of reliving the pain, I tucked those memories away when we got home from the hospital. I put on a face for everyone around me so that they wouldn't have to feel sorry for me. I shot my husband down every time he reached out to me with pain in his heart. I thought that if I just forgot about everything I wouldn't have to hurt anymore. But today, as I crossed the finish line, I thought of them. I thought about all of them. When I started this journey, it was for Brody. I blogged about his life with the hope of helping someone else who has experienced loss. After I lost the twins I lost my passion. Passion for writing, running and everything else that speaks to my soul. Today we ran for a great cause. For every woman fighting and who is a survivor of breast cancer. But today we also ran to remember them. To remember that we are strong no matter what challenges have come our way. Today we faced our fears and I am no longer afraid of the darkness that comes with pain.

To the Man Who Raised Me, I Give You My Blessing

My five year old memories are a little hazy, but I remember this to be the year of my life that you entered. The year of my life that life forever changed. You had no idea what you were getting into. But how could you as you had no children of your own. I was a confused little girl who had no idea how to be a daugther to a Father as mine had left me wondering, but you held on and attempted to show me. It's no secret that we struggled in maintaining a relationship. I stretched your love thin and pushed you away. You pushed right back not knowing how to handle me yet you never walked out the door. Today, you may not know it, but I haven't forgotten. I haven't forgotten about the many nights you would come to my rescue when I cried of an earache in the middle of the night. Or when you doctored my bloody elbows and knees almost every summer night after falling from my bike. I remember catching cray fish in Grandpa's creek while you told me stories of your own childhood in that same creek. I remember Cat Stevens playing in the car while you shared lessons of life with me hoping that they would stick. I remember playing catch with you in the backyard and how you patiently reminded me over and over again to turn my glove so that I could catch the ball. I remember how you would ask me to go on walks with you always repeating that I need to walk on the inside because it's your job to protect me. I didn't know what you were protecting me from then, but I get it now. I haven't forgotten the way you held me when I would cry for the man who left me, when you secretly wished that it was you that I was crying for. I didn't understand it then, but you assured me that I didn't deserve a man that left me wondering why I wasn't good enough to stay and love me. You reminded me time and time again that you would never leave. That you loved me and that I was good enough. I know I didn't listen. I know I made it difficult for you to love me. I remember how you struggled as I got older. I tested you and you certainly lost your patience. Who could blame you really. I was a stubborn child who never let you forget that you were my abandoners shadow. We fought tooth and nail and sometimes we'd go days without even so much as looking in one anothers direction. But I remember when you finally gave in. You'd yell at first and remind me of my faults. And then you'd reassure me that you loved me and that you just wanted what was best for me. For many years I didn't allow you to be my Father. You lived with the consequences of my first Dad's decisions just as I allowed them to mold our relationship into the turbulent one it was. But today, I want you to know that I give you my blessing. Today I want you to know that you are and always have been my Father. My Dad, my rescuer, my knight in shining armour. Sure, we struggled to bond. But today, I have one of the greatest gifts you could have given me. My first Dad had erased me, but when you appeared into my life you changed it and I never had to wonder if you would be the next one to leave me. You taught me how to be who I am today. That I am worthy of love and what it means to love back. You taught me that a Father's love is unconditional and because of you I have found in my husband what I have found in you.

Today we celebrate you and express gratitude for the relationship that we have. But today I also want you to know that you are celebrated everyday and everyday I am grateful for the bond that we have. Today, and everyday, I give you my blessing to be my Dad. Because you have always been and always will be. Thank you for being the Dad that my first one couldn't. For contributing to who I am today and showing me the ways of life. For making life fun and for coming to my rescue everytime I need you. For loving me no matter what decisions I made and for forgiving me for the mistakes I made. I love you Dad. Happy Father's Day!



 

 

 

 



We Can't Do This Alone

A couple of weeks ago someone had asked me when I was going to post another 'inspirational' blog. I was flattered to say the least, but to be completely honest, I haven't been feeling very 'inspirational' lately. I've got worries on my mind and in my heart that are beyond my control but I can't seem to let them go. I've been wrestling with doubts and fighting off the demons of fear for so long that I've secluded myself from the world around me. The idea of sharing this with anyone is extremely daunting, so instead, I've been hiding behind the mask of perfection. We all do this in our own way, don't we? We live in a world full of judging eyes and opinionated mouths, so naturally we would throw a mask on and put on a façade that leads people to believe that everything is OK out of fear of being arbitrated. But isn't that just another burden to stack onto our shoulders?

When our children are scared or upset, don't we encourage them to talk to us? To lay their fears and worries on our shoulders? And don't we comfort them in return? Suddenly after offering our love and validation our child feels more settled, right? So why should we be any different from the person we are trying to raise.

When I was living in one of my darkest moments I had friends that came out of the woodwork offering their support, a shoulder to cry on and even homemade dinners because somehow they just knew that something as little as attempting to prepare a meal would be a very difficult task to accomplish. I feared their judgment but they proved me wrong. I allowed myself to use their shoulders when I needed them the most and before I knew it I began to feel the weight lift from my own. But for some reason seeking out those shoulders has proven to be extremely intimidating. Why is that? Why are we so afraid to be vulnerable?

Of course life isn't really all that bad, but I've discovered that fear and worry have a way of magnifying situations. It's paralyzing, ya know? Suddenly, it becomes hard to see beyond whatever is burdening our lives. And if you're like me (there has to be someone else out there like me) you allow your mask to hide these burdens because speaking of them makes them that much more real and surely we don't want to inflict our problems on anyone else. And let's be honest, we don't want anyone to see past our less than perfect lives. I know I don't. I want the world to see a smile and believe there is truth behind it, because that's inspirational. But there's beauty behind ashes, isn't there? And sometimes we need a little help to come out of the fire. Maybe that's the truth that's really inspirational.

So that's what I did. I had been hiding away so long that I forgot what the sunlight feels like against my skin and what fresh air does for my soul. I went outside with a great book that had been sitting on my nightstand for two months and I let my skin soak up the bright sun while taking in the fresh air. And then I read something encouraging that I so desperately needed to hear. Because I need inspiration too. Let me explain.

Becky Thompson is an incredible author and in her book, Hope Unfolding, she writes:

"You know, I have read many articles that say if you want to have a better relationship with your spouse, you need to do x, y, z. If you want more peace in your home, then you need to do x, y, z. And many of those ideas just might work. They might produce temporary joy, temporary love, and temporary peace. But they will run out. Love and patience and peace that we try to manufacture with our own hands will always run out because these things aren't coming from the over flow of our hearts."

And then:

"Rather than stay close to Jesus and let Him carry it all for us, we often just give Him some of it. 'Here Jesus. You can hold the things that I can't, but I can clearly manage the rest of this on my own.' When really, we should just give him everything."

Is it just me, or does this put a lump right in your throat and hit you right in the feels? Maybe it hit me just right because I found it to perfectly fit with my own life. Look, this isn't about God, or beliefs. This is so much more. It has to do with the burdens of life that we all too often carry on our shoulders alone. We aren't meant to walk through life alone. Whether you let the weight become His, or someone that you love and trust, let someone carry the weight with you.

We can hide behind the mask of happiness and perfection all we want, but at the end of the day we are still tired. And we are still worried and fearful. So in attempt to find my faith again through the darkness of fear and worry I contacted someone that I trust. And then I poured my heart out to the other end of the phone. I took my mask off. And you know what?  I hung up feeling like weights had been lifted. I shared my burdens with someone else; but not for them to keep. Hear me friend. Sometimes we need to acknowledge our pain with others so that we can feel validated. So that they can help us to see another perspective because we can become blinded by our own manifestations of a problem. I can sleep a little better tonight knowing that I'm not the only one that feels the way I do. (What do you know, there are people like me) That how I feel is OK and maybe light can be found in the solutions that were offered.

Maybe you are a new parent and are trying to figure this new role out. Maybe you're trying to navigate a new road in your marriage, or you're struggling to meet a deadline at your job or striving to please your boss. Maybe you've just come to a cross road in your life where not a whole lot makes sense and you're confused about what the next route is. Is your seven year old challenging everything that you say like mine? Or maybe she's growing up right before your eyes and you just need to cry to someone about it. Maybe you hate your job and you are desperate for a way out. Has someone that you love left you in the dark about your relationship? I don't know, maybe you're a lot more like me than you thought and you're just over analyzing the way someone looked at you or something someone said to you.

Whatever your struggle may be, remember that you don't have to do it alone. One thing I know for sure in my chaotic, crazy and confusing life is that I am glad that I don't have to. Many thanks to my new found friend for uplifting me today. And to my book, the sun and the fresh air because it spoke to my soul.

Discovering Purpose Behind Tragedy

My husband and I had the privilege of speaking on the parents panel at the Western New York Perinatal Bereavement Network's Resolve Through Sharing Training on Friday to share our story of loss in front of doctors, nurses and other medical personnel. This was very near and dear to our heart's not only because it aids in our grief journey, but also because it was important to us to share with doctors, nurses and other caregivers the importance of bereavement care through our own experiences. When I started sharing my experiences with loss I had no idea where it would lead. Of course, I knew I was taking a risk in putting myself out there and potentially making others feel uncomfortable. I know pregnancy and child loss are very sensitive topics, but I also know that there are people out there who are desperate to find their own voice; that need to be validated and reassured that their own loss is not insignificant. I also know that what I experienced with medical personnel in accordance with both of my loss's was not anything I would ever want anyone else to have to endure. So began my journey of making a difference. In addition to starting my blog last year, I also submitted my story to the WNY Perinatal Bereavement Network with hopes that it would be shared in their newsletter and help others who were also experiencing grief in child loss. I was linked to this organization after my loss with Brody and have received an incredible amount of support from the women who run the network. Shortly after submitting my story I was asked to be apart of the parent panel for the RTS Training and my journey was confirmed. This is what I was called to do. So many signs have been placed in front of me since the loss of my son's, and coincidentally, the same day we spoke was the same day that I found out I was pregnant with Brody last year.

Our story has reached so many people, but even if it were to have just found one person, my mission would have been fulfilled. We are stronger because of sharing and we are making a difference in the lives of so many. I know you all have heard my story but it has gained such a bigger purpose and for that I am forever grateful. I have attached a small piece of my speech to share with you all.

I stand before you today on the one year anniversary that my husband and I found out we were pregnant with Brody. I believe that I was meant to be here today; to tell my story with the hope of making a difference. We talk about our grief because it is a part of us. Grief is timeless; as timeless as the love that we have for our children. We have learned to live again and life surrounds the hole in our hearts that will never really go away, but if you ask us, we don't want it to. The hole reminds us that he is there as we yearn to feel his presence. For me, the hole that has inevitably been dug into my soul contains an anguish of two losses. Yet, woven into my every being is the strength I have gained in building life around loss. If it weren't for that, I wouldn't have a story to tell or a difference to make. We choose to look at it this way because we have to. Grief knows no boundaries; it knows no pain and no time. We tell our story not because we are seeking sympathy. We tell our story because it gives us strength. We share our grief because we know that there is someone else in the world that needs our strength; that needs someone else to give them a voice to tell the world that their baby, no matter how small, matters. Much of society places more value on loss if that person breathed breath and lived life on earth for a designated amount of time. My sons did not have the privilege of taking their first breath after birth, but they lived. Their hearts beat fiercely and they bounced playfully in their safe havens for the short time they existed. How much time must pass before a life is worth grieving; before we recognize life as a life at all? 

Thank you all for your continued love and support throughout this new journey I have taken in sharing my life. I am so grateful and beyond blessed.

To the Man I Have Loved for Five years, Because I Don't Tell You Enough

When we first got together my now husband and I would lay in bed for hours and talk about everything in life. So long that we would fall asleep just before he had to wake to leave for work. Back then titles were scary. We both had just left relationships behind and were taking a chance on something that we feared may not work. Five years later, though, I am still certain that our path's were met by fate. I was and still am persistent and a controlling perfectionist. I walk into a room with a loud entrance and sometimes I am more stubborn than I like to admit. Somehow, the laid-back, quiet, caring and gentle man that I thought only existed in my dreams fell in love with me. He always said that celebrating anniversaries was senseless until there was a wedding anniversary to rejoice about each year. And mostly, our relationship has been timeless, even now, almost two years after our wedding day. Recently, though, it dawned on me that five years has come and gone in the blink of an eye. I never had an exact date embedded into my memory of when it all began, but I do know that it was during the remnant's of winter. It seems impossible, really. Some days, I still feel like a little school girl when we're together. My heart palpitates and my stomach spasms like it would if I were on a roller coaster. 

Since realizing that I have been happily in love for five incredible years, my thoughts have gradually traveled down memory lane, generously reminding me of how lucky I really am. Sadly though, as a busy life would have it, these reminders are rarely spoken out loud and instead, quick hello's are exchanged at the end of a long day along with a wealth of chaos standing between a much needed trade of love and affection. 

So, to the man who I still find myself drooling over, even on our worst days, you are the best thing in my life. And for the record, by worst days, I mean the days that life consumes us and we forget that somewhere in the midst of it all, our relationship really does exist. You may not realize it, because I innocently do not tell you enough, but I see you. I feel you, I feel for you , and I want you, every single day. 

I listen to you, you know. In the middle of the night when you and the rest of the house are sound asleep. I listen to your light snores as I lay in bed, restless and in love. I reach for you and hold onto you in that moment. The arm that I gently wrap around you moves with your chest as you breathe. And in that moment I am blissfully aware of the incredible life that we lead.   

I also watch you intently as you do something you love. You probably aren't aware of my eyes that are locked on your every move when you connect a paint brush to a canvas or when you swing your hockey stick and puck into a much anticipated goal. I watched you the other day when you dragged me to work with you to finish up one last thing. I sat in the car with the slobbery, panting dog and overly antsy child of ours. I watched you work and then again when you walked proudly back to your family waiting for you in the car. It's moments like that make my heart feel full of love. I don't tell you enough how grateful I am for your hard work everyday to support our family. You don't hear enough that you are the most selfless and hard working man I know. 

I haven't told you in awhile that my heart races on the rare occasion that we get to spend a date night together, just like old times. Even in the middle of the most mundane of days, the thought or sight of you increases the contractions of my heart. Seeing your name across the screen of my phone instantly puts a smile on my face. My stomach spasms when I watch you play with our daughter. And then again when she throws herself at you and wraps her tiny little arms around your waist. Your laugh is contagious and your smile can brighten any room. I prefer to smell your cologne over fresh laundry detergent any day and I am more than grateful for your unlimited talent in taking on all of the projects around the house that I relentlessly force you into. You are way too humble to admit it, but I'd say your skills are just as good, if not better, than Chip Gaines. Maybe you didn't know this, but I really do pay attention to what you say. When you text me in the middle of the day with a "sigh, I might as well go eat worms" because I haven't been paying attention to you, my heart bursts with love. Because you always want me, and only me. 

I know I don't say it enough, but as promised, I love you today more than I did yesterday. Five years has ultimately felt like a few short months, but I think that's the way it's supposed to be when your happy and in love. This journey has been quite adventurous and I expect that the next five years will trump the last. So, because I don't tell you enough, thank you for being you and all that you do. Five years seems like quite the milestone now, but I imagine in ten years my heart will be twice as big. 

My handsome husband, you drive me beyond the brink of wild and I love you more than you'll ever really know. 

Photo Credit: M.Tingley Photography

Serenity in Guilt and Chaos

Chaos is a constant distraction in our home. While we are parents to just one busy seven year old, we also parent and house a large dog with a humane personality along with an overweight cat who both don't have quite enough room to chase each other around in. You might wonder how a family of three, or rather 5 in our world, could possibly know and understand the true meaning of chaos but friends let me tell you, we've earned the name 'crazy house' for good reason and most days I see the insane asylum lurking in my future. Chaos can be fun and remedial for the humor and adventure seeking soul and that soul is me; most days. But then there are other days when my thoughts take me to another place. When the chaos becomes a burden on top of my frail shoulders. When the noise becomes deafening and the thought of being locked away in a padded room seems more like a blissful vacation rather than a feeling of entrapment. Let me explain.

The door latched on the wall that separates the bathroom from exposure never actually shuts when it becomes occupied. Maybe for the other two occupants of the home, but never for me. There was a time when the door would latch into place on the other side of the doorframe as soon as I would enter the bathroom. And almost instantly, the click of the latch led to shouts from the other side of the door from my child who suddenly had interest in how my day went or from my husband who suddenly forgot which cupboard the Tupperware is stored in. And then there was the furry paw from the oversized feline that would feel his way underneath the doorframe. And of course there was large rear end of our human like dog pushing herself against the door thinking that might actually cause the door to fly open just so that I remained in her sight.

Taking a shower in peace or brushing my teeth in silence have become a past time; a time before I had a child or husband. Usually, my shower time is the same time my daughter realizes she needs something. My dinner is usually cold by the time I have sat down to eat it because my daughter decided she wanted a fork instead of a spoon, her napkin dropped on the floor or my husband needs a refill. When I walk in the door after a long day at work, the golden doodle we call our second daughter cues this as play time. And so the never ending, circle chasing, tail biting and eye pawing between the cat and dog continues until we shut that second daughter of ours upstairs with us for bed. We race to make it to soccer at 10, an event at 1 and then all the way across town to the basketball game at 4, all in one day. Racing against time is a constant in our home. Like, for whatever reason, I think I have time to clean the bathroom 15 minutes before I need to be somewhere. That's my husband's favorite. But don't let the impatient guy that is huffing and puffing while standing at the front door as he waits for his unrelenting wife fool you. He's been known to hold us up in a time of chaos for reasons more than one. But he won't ever admit to that, so that leads to a comical argument in the front seat of the car about who was right and who was wrong. (I promise it's all in good fun)

So one day I had had enough. Enough of the chaos. My husband wasn't home so it was just my daughter and I. Lets not forget the circus that was playing a game of chase. I declared to my daughter that I was going to brush my teeth and wash the day's makeup away with the bathroom door closed, and that I would help her get ready for bed when I came out. This was my desperate attempt to shut the world out for just five minutes. The door shut and so began my daughter's attempted conversation through the sturdy piece of wood that was separating us. So began the game of chase upstairs that, for whatever reason, caused constant and lurid banging on that sturdy piece of wood that was separating me from the chaos. And then I hear a knock at the door as I had a mouthful of toothpaste. My husband was home and was asking if I was OK. And then, my sensitive soul of a child reciprocated and softly asked if she could come in yet. There I was fighting back tears partly because I didn't get that moment of peace that I desired so badly, but mostly because I felt guilty for hiding from my family.

The feeling of guilt is long lasting and mind consuming. Guilt consumes me when I walk out the door to head to the grocery store without my child in hand or husband following behind. (Yes, friends, my husband enjoys going shopping with me.) Guilt eats at me when I ask said husband to replace the requested spoon with the fork for our insistent daughter, even though I know he happily obliges. Guilt persists when I raise my voice at the dog and cat playing the game of chase because I crave a moment of silence and then again when anxiousness shows in my voice when time is against us. Guilt brings me to tears when my family doesn't understand why I have shut them out, even for just a few minutes.

Does this sound close to home? I have to admit, I feel a little melodramatic after sharing stories of chaos with my closest friend who raises three children while maintaining a marriage and two pets of her own. And I know there are others who are in a much greater state of chaos and who carry a heavier weight of guilt than I, but as parents we are all equals. At one time or another we have all shared the same fears and burdens. I'm just here to tell you that I am not coping with life's chaos any better than you are nor am I feeling any less guilty than you for my sometimes ill-temper, my lack of attentiveness during my attempts in gaining a moment of peace or for making my daughter late for soccer because I decided to clean the bathroom before we left. I have pitfalls just like you and sometimes in a state of chaos I don't recognize my own face in the mirror.

Mom's and dad's, I just want you to know that while you are over there agonizing over the way you recently handled your own state of chaos, I am also feeling remorseful for the way I reacted to my daughters last minute announcement that she needed a slip to participate in some event at school. Friends, I threw that slip away two weeks prior hoping that she would forget and my ill-temper was a result of my own guilt for disposing of it. I felt so guilty that I filled that slip out online and donated $20 to this event just so that she could get some puppy necklace in return. And rest assured,  tomorrow we will rush to get my car to the dealership after my daughters basketball game and go back and forth about what we want for dinner in front of our waitress, but only after we bicker about what restaurant we will actually go to in the first place. I will feel guilty for ordering my husband to speed up the car on the way to the dealership and will likely feel overwhelmed with the chaos of the day, but I can promise we will laugh about it on the car ride home.

I don't have any idea on how to achieve an absence of guilt and I dare say that it's likely impossible. And chaos is just inevitable as we venture each day in life. What I can tell you is that chaos can be fun if you choose to find humor in those moments. I can also tell you that guilt can bring great relief once you throw it away and change what brought you there to begin with - but only until the next chaotic moment brings you right back there again. For me, I guess I would rather feel a moment of guilt after shutting myself out from the world to gain my sanity again. And if it wasn't for the chaos, I certainly wouldn't have story to tell or a memory to laugh at.

Until next time, enjoy the chaos.

Breaking the Silence

Recently I sat around a table surrounding a group of women and the subject of infertility and miscarriage was raised. Days prior, I walked into an unwelcomed conversation regarding my own struggle with infertility and my most recent loss.  Both of these experiences triggered very different emotions. While listening to another woman openly share her experiences with infertility and miscarriage, the room suddenly fell into a deafening silence. I felt uncomfortable. But not because of the content of the conversation; I was uncomfortable with the silence that took over the room and with how the woman with the open heart who took a risk must have felt. Here's the thing about this. You either talk about it, or you don't. Whether you are fighting or are a survivor of the infertility battle, suffering from the excruciating pain of miscarriage or other loss, the listening ear or the silent one, you are on one side of the fence or the other. I am not typically the silent griever but when I was approached by a woman only known as an acquaintance days prior, silence filled the room. Suddenly my open heart closed up to the unsolicited comments and advice coming from the woman who believed that she was serving virtuous counsel to her receiver. 

I walked away from both conversations which took place just days apart with a heavy heart. I am, and always have been dismayed at the two very differing perspectives that surround these heavy topics. But I learned something. In a world full of unique, we cannot all possibly share the same idea on the journeys of life and how we are supposed to approach them; infertility and miscarriage included. But for those of you who are like me; who openly, and even silently, grieve your losses and battle with the unpredictable journey of infertility: I get you.  And maybe that's all we need to hear someone say. I offer you my story today because I understand your journey.  I have been a pilot on this same voyage and to be completely honest, it is quite unstable. The particulars and the conditions of my story may differ but I have felt your pain.

Five years stand between two of the biggest losses that I have ever endured in my 29 years of life. My second pregnancy was unexpected and my third I fought like hell for. I was as equally elated for the two miracles that I had been blessed with, even under such differing circumstances. After 17 weeks into my second pregnancy, however, another unexpected twist of fate surpassed my elation and I gave birth to a sleeping baby boy. I remember being wheeled to the operating room just hours after a difficult labor to have a procedure done.  Tears streamed down my face as I processed what had actually happened and what was about to occur in the room next door. To this day, I remember the demoralizing words that were uttered from the attending nurse just before going under. Oh, hunny, don't be scared. You're just crying from all of the hormones.  From that day forward I grieved my loss in silence. I was afraid to talk about the tiny little human being that grew inside of me for 17 incredible weeks and then was gone without warning; my son that only in my dreams I would come to know. I assumed that by being silent I was sparing everyone else's feelings. And if I did talk about him, I expected that people thought I was foolish for identifying him as person that deserved to be acknowledged. So, I rarely mentioned his name and pretended as though I was a mom of one. Eventually the dark moments got a little lighter and with time the nightmares faded into pleasant dreams. A genuine smile replaced the tears that had stained my face and I allowed laughter to fill a once dark and quiet room. I tucked my memories away into a drawer and never visited them again.

Life began to unfold the way I dreamed it would when things were hard. I found love again and together we pursued the journey of conception. Only, we soon discovered that it wasn't as easy as we hoped. After two and a half years of routine date nights, one surgery, a misdiagnosis and several different medications, we gave in and found ourselves at an infertility clinic pleading for the chance to have another child. Our despairing desire to have another child came at a cost. Our entire lives were on a fixed schedule and one that, for once, I did not create. We took three hour road trips sometimes twice a week and then attempted to do our jobs as parents and in the work realm with bags under our eyes. My emotions were on a roller coaster ride from all of the hormones I was taking and there were days when a car commercial could bring me to tears. I felt so out of control of something that I should have been able to govern on my own. Meanwhile, friends and family struggled to find the rights things to say. Your time is coming. Don't worry, you'll be next. It will happen when God wants it to happen. You're still so young. At least you have your daughter. I had to remind myself that they didn't understand this journey. To be fair, I don't even think I did.

We were fortunate enough to have met our victory after three long years. It had been the longest three years of my life but we knew there were those who would have traded positions with us any day. We had something incredible to look forward to as a family. Each ultra sound and every listen of our baby's heartbeat was an infinite reminder of how grateful we were. However, we soon discovered that this journey, too, would regrettably end for us sooner than we hoped for. My former nightmare had come right back as preterm labor came creeping in and tore my baby from his safe haven. A pain had washed over me that I had never met before. I was grieving the time that it took to create him, the love that I had, have, for him, and who he should have grown to be. I grieved the empty bedroom we began preparing for his arrival and the never ending medical bills that poured in that we would have been glad to pay had they been a result of the son that we got to bring home. I grieved the empty rounded belly that I looked down at each day and every single time someone else noticed that it was empty.

Weren't you just pregnant? 

No, I lied.

Are you sure? 

Pretty sure.

Really, because I could have sworn you were?

I had no choice but to give in. I gave her the short version and spared her all of the heartbreaking details. I even offered a sympathetic smile to the relentless and unwitting woman sitting in front of me.

Oh. Followed by a blank stare. At least he didn't suffer. At least you don't have to watch him suffer. 

There was a part of me that wanted to tell her how beautiful my son was. That he had his daddy's nose and my round face. I wanted her to know that we didn't want him to suffer - but we would have suffered if that meant we got to bring him home. Instead, I changed the uninvited conversation about why I didn't look pregnant anymore and asked about her plans for the upcoming holiday.

Time seemed to stand still for months after we left the maternity ward. I questioned my body and it's capability to do what women are naturally born to do. I questioned my existence, my faith, and God's plan for me. I was dangling on a thread of hope that my husband and daughter had provided for me in those dark, silent moments, but the dark days were lonely days. People that I felt closest to left me to grieve alone and those that stayed didn't know how to comfort me. The silent ones caused me to question the significance of my grief. And then there was the well-intended listening ear. Everything happens for a reason. You should be grateful that you have your daughter. You're so young, you'll have more. Maybe you're just not meant to have more kids. God has a plan for everyone. I didn't believe that this was all a part of God's great plan for my life; it just happened. And, of course, grateful had taken on new meaning when I looked into the big, beautiful brown eyes of my daughter, but being grateful didn't make my arms feel any fuller or my heart any less tender.

I'm not really quite sure when I did start to pick up the pieces but when I did the once shattered fragments of life that fell to the ground slowly began to come together on their own. I laughed again. I danced in the car and belted out the words to my favorite country song. I talked about him. I talked about both of them. I said their names in the presence of others. My two sons, Brody and Kade. It didn't matter what anyone else thought anymore. I stopped referring to their birth as a result of miscarriage because it shortens their lives and the impact they made on mine. Because no life is too small to leave an impact on the lives of their creators. I stopped allowing the opinions and my assumptions of others opinions to dictate my own feelings, emotions and grievances. I no longer hide behind the silent ones or run from the well-intended listening ear. It has taken me a long time to recognize that the intentions of the acquaintance, friend and family member only come from the bottom of their hearts. And that those who stay silent do not deliberately misunderstand. That the silent grievers deserve the right to choose. To those who left, well, what can I say. I realized that we are not all equipped to manage life the same just as we are not all destined for or deserving of one another.

Today, I acknowledge my sons because the only thing that matters to me is keeping their memory alive while they dance the skies of heaven. Today, I do not hide my pain in attempt to spare the feelings of others. And today, I realize that pain is felt differently by each of its receivers. My wounds are still healing but they will always leave a scar. I have discovered that to heal from these wounds I must acknowledge them. I must feel them, mend them and give them time to heal. And once they become scars I will let them be a constant reminder of who I am because they are a part of me. And when someone notices my scars, or when they are on display for the world to see, I will wear them proudly.

No matter what side of the fence you are reading this from, this is for you. Because I think that we all could use a reminder that every walk of life is treaded differently. Many times, myself along with those that stand beside me are misunderstood. But here I am, breaking the silence. I tell my story in hopes that you will be encouraged and empowered to share your own or to at the very least know that I will accompany you on your journey and assist you in healing your own wounds; because you are not alone.

Love, a mom of three.

Trading Your Burdens for Peace, Joy and Love

Sometimes I get so caught up in trying to help and inspire others that I forget to inspire myself. Sometimes I forget to find joy in life and sometimes I am lazy and feel like wallowing in my own mess.  I am a phony.  I don't always follow my own words of wisdom that I deliberately preach to the world about.  After I wrote my last post I uncovered a painful truth.  I've been lying to myself. Am I grateful?  Yes.  Have I accepted that life will happen?  Absolutely.  I am, without a doubt, a lucky woman.  But these last couple of weeks I haven't actually been considering why I am so lucky. Remember those sunrises I was telling you about?  You know, the ones I would gaze at while sipping my coffee in the morning and suddenly I would feel blessed?  Well, I must confess, I have not observed a sunrise in two weeks.  I haven't had time because my hand meets the the snooze button on the alarm one too many times in the morning and I regretfully settle for a cup of coffee on the way to work as I speed through traffic to get my daughter to school on time.  I have not even attempted to find joy in the smiling faces of my family or by the beautiful piece of art that my daughter had been showing off one day and had worked so hard on just for me.  I have been floating through life just trying to make it to the next day. My thoughts have consumed me.  My dog has been driving me up the wall and the thought of turning on the stove to actually cook a meal for my family sounds absolutely dreadful. I've lost sight of the joy's in my life and I've just been going through the motions. I sensed it as soon as it started but I did nothing to intervene.  And then it hit me last night while I rolled around in bed attempting to resume a comfortable spot on our king size bed.  

I wasn't just fighting for a comfortable spot on our pillow top mattress, I was trying to fight off the millions of thoughts running through my head that were causing me discomfort in my everyday life:

Gotta clean the dinning room chairs off that have suddenly become a drying rack for our wet clothes. The bathroom needs painting.  Actually I just want something different to look at - for the third time in two years. So, Aqua Blue or Blue Igloo? I've got to walk the dog or at least convince my husband to so I can finish writing a paper for my Children's Lit course.  That reminds me, the litter box needs cleaning. We're almost out of milk and my car inspection is due - in July.  It's not even Friday but you better bet I've got my top three dinner choices planned out along with how I am going to get it on the table by 5 pm so we can finish by 5:30 and then make it to soccer practice by 6.  Oh look, squirrel.  

You get this idea.  My mind is a racetrack and in my defense I think my thoughts have a mind of their very own.  I have been trapped inside my own mind.  I know I claimed otherwise, but I didn't even realize that I had been consumed by such a burden until that very moment.  We were shutting everything down and heading for bed by 7 pm.  I'd been skimping on dinner and ordering out or just barely mustering up enough energy to make sandwiches.  My hair hadn't met with the blow dryer in two weeks and my poor husband had been taking on the never ending piles of laundry.  I thought I was just tired.  I thought I was just trying to be more laid back.  Or at least I convinced myself otherwise just to avoid the truth but I wasn't actually any of these things.  I stopped looking at all of the little joyous things that typically had the ability to bring me back to life.

Shame.  Regret.  Guilt.  Sorrow.

All of these begin to consume me.  And then I remember those life changing words from weeks before: Today is the beginning of peace and reconciliation.  Right now, this very moment.  I am letting go of the burden.  I have been paralyzed by my own never ending thoughts, worries and concerns.  Some are senseless and some a real.  Regardless, these thoughts were powerful enough to suck the life out of me.  Joy, passion, peace, focus, connection and love - all missing from my soul.  I didn't expect to write this today  (I should tell you that I've also edited this 7 times since posting yesterday).  But I also didn't realize that I had even been missing parts of me to begin with.  I share my heart with you today because maybe you, too, are feeling lifeless.

I invite you to ask yourself these questions:

What are you missing today?

What does it take for you to feel connected with yourself and the rest of the world?

What does love, joy and peace look like to you? 

I am missing me.  I was missing me and all of my little quirks because I allowed my thoughts to consume me.  To feel connected I need to be surrounded by those that I love most and to be conscious in each and every one of my experiences.  If I am capable of doing so, then I am better able to recognize when I am a little off.

Love is my fur child, Sadie waiting by the living room window for my return home.  Love is the passion I feel for my job when someone thanks me.  Love is in the kitchen preparing a meal for my family that we planned three days prior.  I miss doing that.  Love is eating a dozen Hershey kisses and then getting licked by my seven year old's chocolate covered tongue.

Joy is the game of hide and seek that my human child forces me into when I walk through the door and she is no where to be found.  And then again when she jumps out from behind the fridge, carelessly giving herself away as she anxiously fly's into my arms and declares how much she had missed me for the hour that I was at Walmart. Joy is the little moments spent with my family being silly, because that's who we are and enjoy being.  Joy is in my writing and in the words that I speak to those who listen.  

Peace is at the end of the night when my husband wraps me into his arms, even with a dozen pillows standing in his way, and then effortlessly falls asleep snoring in my ear.  Sounds a little ironic, right? I find peace in this moment because no matter what the day entailed, or what kind of mood I was in, my husband always finds me at the end of the night to remind me that he is still there, loving me every step of the way.

Maybe for you, sunrises and sunsets aren't the answer.  Maybe you don't find joy in being silly and in laughing until tears drown your eyes.  Maybe peace isn't through your husbands loud and abrupt snoring right smack dab next to your ear.  Maybe for you love consists of much more than it does for me.  But whatever it may be, I encourage you to find it.  I encourage you to choose peace, joy and love every single day.  I know that when I do not choose, I am instead unconsciously choosing regret, shame and sorrow.  And I am likely missing out on some of life's greatest moments. From here on out, the reminder is there in plain sight.  I refuse to let the burden of my worries and senseless thoughts suck the life out of me.

It's possible that you are not a relentless thinker like me.  I wish I was more like you.  But I am not. So whether you over analyze next Wednesday's dinner menu, or even tonight's.  If you just remembered you missed a deadline, or have one coming up in six months.  Or if something just rubbed you wrong today and is sucking the life out of you - ask yourself.  Prompt yourself to discover your own inner burdens and replace them with your definition of peace, joy and love.  

They are in the ordinary and if you choose to commit to them today, and everyday, the weight that you may not have even known was there will be lifted.  That is my promise to you.  And who knows, maybe you will inspire someone else to do the same.  

Replacing the Unknown With Perception

"Maybe you're fighting something you don't like today.  Why don't you have a new perspective?  God wouldn't have you there if you didn't need it.  It may not be good, but he knows how to use it for your good." -Joel Osteen

I slept fine the night before my surgery.  I even woke up with a smile on my face the morning of. Probably because I found my daughter lying next to me as soon as I rolled over at the sound of the alarm. Or maybe I don't give myself enough credit and forget that I am generally a very happy person despite these recent curve balls I have been thrown.  Either way, I was ready to face this head on and even more ready to move on.  My husband must have asked me a dozen times if I was OK  on the hour long drive to the hospital where my surgeon would be preparing for my procedure.  "Just fine" I replied almost instantly each time.  It was hard to tell if I was really just fine or if I was just in a fog due to a lack of caffeine.  I was not to eat or drink after midnight and I wasn't sure if I would undertake this instruction pleasantly.  I managed to have conversation with my husband but it was forced through a grumbling stomach and a cotton felt mouth.  Pre-op was scheduled at 8:30 in the morning and the actual surgery was scheduled for noon, but we knew better.  We had a long wait ahead of us.  We attempted to watch a Netflix series through our rather noisy neighbors combination of high pitched cackles and frequent complaints about how long it was taking for the surgeon to come get her.  If you've ever been in an outpatient center you get the idea.  Forget HIPPA and you can certainly forget trying to get any rest.  A nurse came in to change the the placement of my IV and then the surgeon's nurse came in to discuss the procedure.  I lost it.  Through teary eyes I told the story of what brought me to this room to begin with.  I do not typically cry in front of people, especially those that I don't know let alone have never met.  Let me tell you, the fear of the unknown is far more pervasive than fear itself .  I didn't know what to expect here.  I didn't know how my body would react to the anesthesia and I didn't know what the doctor was going to find during this procedure.  I was expecting and preparing for the worst.  How couldn't I.  I've been through hell a handful of times already so it's almost always my subconscious's immediate response when a challenge presents itself. It took some convincing but I managed to collect myself as I gently reminded my fears that I've already been through the worst of it.  I put all of my faith in the surgeon as he looked down at me in the operating room and simply said "I'll see you soon."

And so, it turns out that my body reacts gracefully to anesthesia.  Still a little off, but I'm here. And in even better news, the unknowns are now known.  What was found had no real cause for concern and it's no longer lingering.  We knew this would be the best case scenario. We hoped for this outcome but in no way did we think it was possible considering my history.  God is good.

I am diligently aware that my surgery was a simple one; one that is done almost robotically.  What I was not aware of was the outcome.  And that was enough to put my mind into overdrive.  Today, as I sit here with a much clearer mind, I realize that life is all about unknowns.  We don't plan to miscarry the baby that we had hoped and prayed for.  And we certainly don't plan to have difficulty getting pregnant in the first place.  We don't plan to have surgery because the doctor found an unidentifiable mass on one of our organs.  We unquestionably do not plan for our health to unexpectedly decline or for people that we love to leave us.  We don't plan to have a bad day and we may not plan to overreact about our given circumstances.  What I am trying to say is that life happens.  Bad things happen, every single day.  Finding a healthy way to cope with your given circumstances will be a huge turning point in your life.  For me, initially I have meltdown and I am probably more hard on myself than I deserve.  I look to my husband to tell me that everything is OK; that I am OK.  I don't always believe him at first, but I must say that he doesn't give up on me.  Once I am smacked in the face with reality, I am finally able to put things into perspective.  Here is what I have to offer to you today:

We are going to struggle and challenge will continually present itself throughout our short lives.  We will endure unexpected, or sometimes expected, pain and it will not feel good.  We are going to fall down and we will likely feel like we can't get back up.  But we will.  And the pain won't last very long.  These difficulties are trying to teach us something so look and watch closely as life unfolds. Don't miss an opportunity to grow.  I think that we must remind ourselves that everything that we endure in life, good and bad, is only temporary.  I often forget that when life comes crashing down, the pieces eventually fall back together.  Sometimes I allow myself to wallow in the broken pieces.  I feel so out of control and scattered that I want to crawl out of my own skin.  I forget just like you.  I am my own worst enemy at times, but eventually my own inner strength surprises me. Each new experience in my life provides insight and strength that I never knew existed.  I am learning to embrace the unknown, because life is full of it.  The world is constantly changing and tomorrow's are uncertain.  Time is ticking so why not just live in the now.  Live in the present moments today; the little moments.  We can cross the bridge when we get to it.  So for now, let the unknown provide us with new insight.  

I will tell you that if I had let my fear of the unknown consume me for the entire week before my surgery I may have missed a really great time during our family outing the weekend before and I certainly would have brought everyone else down with me.  Your negativity reflects on others around you, so be cautious of your attitude.  You cannot resist the inevitable; instead you must find the courage to face the inevitable trials that await you.  Our trials are not over.  But our most recent trials have become our triumph.  We can face anything and we are ready to take on our new journey.  I am much stronger today than I was yesterday.  It's amazing what one positive thought can do for the negative mind.  Keep reaching my friends, you too will be rewarded in the end.

Braving the Darkness With the Light of Hope

Not many people are aware of the full-fledged details regarding my loss. Without really going there I will tell you that I could have lost my own life. This was a very terrifying concept for me to process under the given circumstances. After my water broke I developed a severe infection that remained in my body for three days before it had actually been discovered. My body was going into septic shock once the doctor had finally discovered what was causing my vitals to spike. I wasn’t able to actually process the significance of the infection until we were released from the hospital. “You’re very lucky,” they said, “This could have been fatal had we not discovered it when we did.” I didn’t hear our doctor declare that I was lucky. All that resonated with me was the fact I could have died. I could have left my daughter to grow up without a mother and my husband to grow old without me. I was angry. Angry because in my heart I wondered if this could have been prevented.

Eventually, though, the anger stopped consuming me and I found comfort in what I have been blessed with; I was alive. I had no choice but to resolve to sanguinity; the anger had been eating me alive and was ruining who I was. And so, I reminded myself that I have an incredible daughter and husband and that we have each other. I continually reminded myself of this through my daily struggles. That was plenty enough to be grateful for. I started to see things a little bit more clearly. I stopped looking through the eyes of anger and instead found comfort in the little things. For me, it was watching the sun rise as I had my morning coffee and when I witnessed the joy in my daughter's face after she scored a goal in soccer. It was when we would laugh until we had tears in our eyes because of the way we found our dog sleeping. I found happiness again because I decided to let go of the anger. And once I did, I finally heard the words “you are lucky.” Yes, indeed I am.

But then life happened, as it always does. For a moment, I forgot that life wasn’t always seamless. Our former nightmare had come back, barreling through the door and not letting anyone stand in its way. We discovered that the infection I had several months ago ensured lasting effects. I saw a look of doubt in my doctor’s face when he affirmed the news and my entire spirit shattered. Anger began to consume me again. Every awful memory from our nightmare at the hospital had flashed across my memory screen.

I left the appointment feeling defeated. For the first half hour of my drive home I was cursing in my own head. I felt like I couldn’t control the thoughts that were replaying in my mind. I decided to pray. I prayed to God to give me the strength that I needed to accept our given circumstances. I asked him to grant me peace and to guide us down this new, unfamiliar path as we took measures to secure my condition. I needed something to hold on to and to believe in, so I prayed for hope. And then something happened. My shoulders relaxed and my mind began to unwind. My thoughts went from being destructive to optimistic. I was relieved because I would soon be on my way to safety as I was braving the snow covered roads in my unfit for winter vehicle. I was content in knowing that I would soon be home with my family, with the people who love and support me most. And I was satisfied in believing that everything was going to work out, one way or another. I had hope that our unfamiliar journey wasn’t going to end gravely.

It doesn’t end there. I was relentlessly reminded for the remainder of the day of just how lucky I am. By the man who told me the story about the recent passing of his mother and losing everything he had, including his home. My life wasn’t so bad after all. I was reminded by the sight of a single mother bearing the snow storm on foot while transporting two car seat carriers by hand that confined her twin babies. I have more than I actually deserve. I was reminded again while talking to a woman who shared a love for animals just like me. She spoke of her two dogs with a love in her eyes that I know all too well. I thought about my own dog and my heart instantly became warm. I have people who love me.

It was easy to believe that these events were a result of divine intervention but then a longtime friend and co-worker challenged me and put it into an altered perspective. "Did you ever think that maybe these events occur every day and you just don’t see them?" I pondered on this for the rest of the day and here’s what I came up with:

There are people who are struggling every single day; people that we know and people that we do not know and their battle may require a greater combat. Struggle and difficulty surround me. I work with it every single day with each client encounter. I see it in the news and on social media. I see it in my own hometown and in the eyes of very dear friends who are fighting their own battles. But most days I am so caught up in my own messy, or sometimes tidy, life that I forget to acknowledge this. Shame on me.

God did not place these people in front of me so that I could come to terms with my condition. I believe that through prayer I was able to acknowledge my faults; I was able to recognize that my anger was once again blurring my vision. And because I acknowledged this, my perspective became a little bit more clear and I was then able to see the world through the eyes of the gentleman who had just lost his mother and then again through the admirable woman trucking through the snow coated sidewalks, both of her babies in arm. The woman who spoke of her pets as if they were her children reminded me that there is always something to be grateful for because despite the hand that she had been given, she spoke with a glimmer in her eye and a smile on her face at the mention of her two most prized possessions . She saw the light.

And so my friends, I encourage you to see the light.

Life can be messy and really, really hard. You may be presented with a difficulty that will leave you feeling defeated and possibly alone. But you are not. Everyone around you is fighting a battle that you know nothing about. It’s OK to feel the emotional repercussions of your given circumstance. What’s not OK is to stay in this place. If your health has been compromised, do not let this defeat you. If someone has wronged you, holding bitterness or anger only worsens the pain. If someone you care about is absent from your life, whether as a result of demise or disparity, I promise it will get better. If your house is a mess and nothing is going right today, just take a moment and breathe. Your life doesn’t have to stay in this unwelcoming place; you have the power to remove yourself from it. You, and only you, are in control of your own responses and reactions. Whether you believe in God, a higher power, or nothing at all, I encourage you to have hope. Have hope that your journey will not end in misfortune and have faith that you will not remain in this place for too long; look for the light. It’s there, I promise.

I will confess to you that I still feel conquered and I am terrified of the unknown. I am headed down an unfamiliar path, but I have faith that my care is in the finest hands and I have been assured that this is reversible. My friends, this is only a barrier. I will overcome this. The misfortunes of your own life are just barriers and you, too, will overcome this. You just have to look for the light.

Striving For Progress Instead of Perfection

After we lost Brody my husband and I had an awakening.  We needed to start living we said.  Stop trying to be in control of every aspect of our lives and just live.  Let things be.  Enjoy our family.  Let the housework go.  Put the phones down and have conversations.  We knew that we were over committed, over worked and exhausted.  We never stopped.  I was, who am I kidding, I still am a controlling type A, who if nothing goes my way watch out or else the horns and tail come out (or so my husband jokingly claims), kind of woman.  Let me assure you that I am not a monster.  I am, in fact, extremely loving and affectionate.  I am wild and crazy and love a bottom of the belly, tears in your eyes, kind of laugh.  I love to have fun, I am way too sensitive for my own good, and my heart is big.  But I depend on routines to get me through the day.  I have commitments and deadlines.  I have rules, and my seven year old usually breaks one of them before the week is over.  I push myself way more than I am physically or mentally capable of and I have put entirely way too much on mine and my family’s plate.  When dinner isn’t ready and on the table by five pm I get anxious and short fused.  When everything isn’t just right and something is out of place my heart starts to race and I immediately find the need to fix things.  When we have just three minutes left in the morning before we need to be in the car and on our way to school and my daughter starts to cry because she doesn’t have her chapstick “like all the other girls in school,” I want to yell.  I want to yell because I am frustrated that we are on our way to being late.  In the moment, nothing else matters other than the thing that I “need” control: time, routines, or the picture that isn’t hanging evenly on the nail in the wall.  Or, I want to yell because of something that wasn’t said the way I wanted to hear it, or the mismatched outfit that my daughter insists on wearing to school. 

So suddenly, the day that we came home from the hospital after losing our baby, we were insisting (or rather desperate) that our daughter sleep in our bed rather than maintain that she wait to crawl in with us until early morning like usual.  We couldn’t let her out of our sight.  Having her with us every second lessened the pain. Suddenly, the dishes sat a little bit longer and the laundry waited to be neatly tucked away into our dresser drawers.  Dinner waited to be served until whenever we felt like eating and the play room floor began to close in from the day to day mess that our daughter made.  To be honest, we let everything go.  But we didn’t care because we were enjoying life and taking it all in; this new thing that we were trying felt good.  Really good.  What had happened to us was bigger than any dirty dish that was hoarding the sink or the laundry basket full of clean and folded, or sometimes freshly crumpled, clothes that consumed our bedroom floors.  Bed times were no longer and we lived life spontaneously.  Suddenly, the only thing that mattered was the three of us and enjoying every moment that we had together, because we realized that it could be taken from us at any given moment.  Of course, this always mattered to us, but there was always something pressing, or so I believed, that was pulling my attention away from the things that mattered.

But, I must admit to you, this “nothing else mattered but us three” thing slowly made its way back to the bottom of the priority list as our lives began to fall back into the everyday chaos that consumed and overwhelmed us.  I went back to work and fell back into my routines, juggling all of our commitments and deadlines and suddenly my controlling, nitpicking, anxiety ridden old self showed her ugly face again, burdening the lives of those I loved the most.  I even caught my husband following behind: harping, short fused, and exhausted.  Little did I realize that I was setting the tone in our house and everyone else was just following along. 

And then it hit me.  Two nights ago I was putting ear drops into my daughter’s ear as she had been complaining: “Water is making those weird sounds again in my ear, mommy.”  She was afraid of those ear drops and had argued with me before about how “they are going to hurt,” or “they will feel weird, mommy, I just know it.”  And before, I would argue back and demand that she just let me put the drops in so she could feel better.  I put them in and this time she didn’t put up a fight.  But as soon as I was finished she looked up at me and asked, “Can I cry, Mommy?”  Holding back tears of my own, I said "of course you can cry."  And I thought, yes my child, please do cry.  Let it all out; because I will comfort you and tell you that it’s all ok.  And then, the regret set in.  Every stop crying, you’re fine moment replayed in my head right then as I was comforting my fearful child.  Every control my daughter’s feelings moment because I just couldn’t handle the drama that would play out for the next ten minutes that I just “didn’t have time” for.  What had I done to my little girl, I thought.  Here I was, telling my child all of her short life that she could tell me anything and I encouraged her to share her feelings with me, yet I was inadvertently depriving her of actually doing just that.  She didn’t cry when I got the ear drops out because she was being dramatic; she was crying because she was afraid.  And I was “too busy” and just too blind to see that.  She needed me to comfort her with a soft voice.  Instead, I scolded her.  Told her to settle down and to be a big girl.  But she didn’t need to be a big girl; she just needed her mom to hold her and assure her fears that it would be OK. 

It’s difficult for me to admit this to you.  Because in doing so, that would mean that I am a mean and heartless mother.  I know that this is not factual, but to the rest of the world who reads this, I was not there for my child and that may speak volumes as to who I might be the rest of the time.  I share this with you in hopes that you may find that you are not alone.  You are not alone in your frustrations or your irrational actions.  If you find the need to control, you are not alone. 

My husband and I had a doctor’s appointment yesterday afternoon that was out of town and consequently we could not pick our girl up from school.  Instead, she went with our friends and we wouldn’t be able to pick her up until well after dinner time.  Two nights ago this would have made me anxious.  My heart would have raced and I would have snapped back at my husband because he wasn’t driving fast enough to get back home and into our nightly routine.  This sounds absolutely ridiculous to me as I type.  Regret and guilt begin to consume me again.  BUT, this is today.  This is the beginning of peace and reconciliation.  So, on the drive home, I was relaxed.  My husband and I ate dinner in the car on the drive home.  We talked about our lives and the people that we wanted to be for our daughter, for each other and for ourselves.  We laughed as we talked about our wild and crazy dog who was probably waiting for us at home by the window, like always.  We picked our girl up and when we finally made it home it was time to get ready for bed.  Her homework hadn’t been done and she was asking for dessert.  And so, we let the homework go for just a little while.  We sat on the couch and snuggled and I sat there with ease.  We each had a bowl of ice cream that was exceedingly unhealthy, but I woofed it down anyway.  I was at peace, right here with my family.  No routines, no need to control and not one worry about the time.  And that felt good.  Really, really good.  I realized that my daughter could feel it too.  I could tell by how her shoulders were relaxed and by the warm smile that she looked up at me with as she said, "it’s nice spending time with you, mama."  And when my husband pulled us both into his arms and said, "this is what I love the most, right here" while he squeezed us tight against his chest, I realized that this was exactly where I wanted to be each and every day…

Relaxed and at peace

No routines

No watching the clock

Not controlling one single darn thing

And never, ever acting out irrationally again

And so my friends, I leave you with this:

To the mom who is consumed with deadlines and routines or who survives on being in control; put down the phone.  Shut down your computer.  Let things be.  Even for just a little while.  Watch your children play, or better yet, go play with them.  Eat dinner an hour later and eat the bowl of ice cream.  The laundry can wait and so can the dishes in your sink.  Your family needs you.  

To the dad who follows behind, just like mine; take hold of your wife and remind her that the dishes can wait.  That you need her, that you want her and only her.  

And to everyone else; yesterday’s mistakes are not today’s.  You get a do over each and every day.  Do not become consumed with your regrets or with the guilt that washes over you each time you think about the way you handled the meltdown from your child.  You get to do it right the next time and your family will thank you for it, trust me. 

I am a work in progress.  For the record, I did bark at my husband yesterday for not driving fast enough to our doctor’s office because we were late, as usual.  But I recognized it right away and I changed my behavior.  This morning’s meltdown about the chapstick was resolved by the way I reacted to my child’s behavior.  And what do you know, I found her chapstick in my purse just as soon we got to her school.  I changed my daughter’s entire day because I spoke a little bit softer and I validated her feelings.  I understood that though a measly tube of wax may not matter to me, it does to her, and that’s what’s important.  Finding the chapstick probably made quite a difference too. 

Transformations do not transpire overnight.  They take effort and time; but from here on out, I’ve got all the time in the world for the things that matter the most. 

Impacting the World One Release at a Time

My ideas about where I initially wanted to go with my blog changed quite a bit before I officially went "live."  After experiencing the biggest loss of my life I knew the only way that I would heal and find peace would be through helping others.  So that was it; I would create a blog about my experiences with grief.  After all, I am all too familiar with this kind of pain as I have had to say goodbye to two of my children; two sons that I would never get to know (I will save this for another day).

But life in general can be really hard too.  Add grief and loss to the mix, and you're looking at a recipe for disaster, or insanity, but what's the difference.  So everything else, parenting, wife-ing, working, student-ing, playing (because in the midst of the chaos I need to have fun too) running (because this is where I find time for just me) and just living day to day, this is my release.  This is where I become reconnected with myself and the rest of the world.  Because to be completely honest, sometimes I feel like I am going to explode.  Whether it's because I am happy, angry or just downright sad.  Those dark moments don't last long, but when they are approaching, I just need to release.  And when I'm happy, or content or when I have reached a revelation, why not share it with the rest of the world so you, too, can reach your own revelations.

I want my readers to know who I am outside of my loss.  That I am human and live life like the rest of you.  I am your everyday, ordinary mother, wife, homemaker, professional and everything in between.  Though my loss does not define me, it certainly has contributed to a large of who I am today and who I will continue to grow to be as I navigate my way through life and self-healing.  So here I am, sharing my entire life with you; every raw emotion and experience that I have endured can be found right here. I'm an open book and a very real human being.  It is my hope that I can start a pathway for others; whether I can help you find your own inner voice or help you quietly find your way through the twisted pathways of life.   There are very few people in my life that I have to lean on through times of hardship.  I know firsthand what it's like to feel alone and isolated from the rest of the world.  I am only just now learning that my story is not exactly unique.  We are all human, and we all face challenge and triumph.  Some just handle it better than others, don't handle it all, do so quietly or just spill their guts to the rest of the world just like I do.  But I won't ever apologize for that.  I am determined to do big things with my life.  And if I have helped just one other person, then I have at least accomplished what I have set out to do and that is enough for me.

So, instead of filling my blog with emotional tributes to my two boys, because while that can be emotionally fulfilling and cathartic, I decided to also share the rest of me with you to find healing in other aspects of life and so that you can also find healing in your own lives.

Stay tuned world, it gets better.