A Life Wasted

It's hard to believe that it's been a year. Granted last year wasn't all that super fantastic, but it's still hard to believe that my ex-brother in law has spent the last year in jail awaiting trial for sexually abusing my niece.

Last week he was found guilty and sentenced to 55 years in prison and a $7000 fine.

Instead of the relief that I thought I would feel, I find myself sad. Granted, I'm thankful that he isn't going to get away with the abuse to my niece and nephew, but I'm sad nonetheless.

Scott was a smart guy. And when he wasn't trying to prove how much better he was than anyone else, he was actually a nice guy. Once he and my sister split up, they both had a huge personality change and I wasn't complaining about either change. He opened up and he felt less compelled to make everything a "I know more than you do" conversation. I had a few decent conversations with him that didn't end with me wanting to beat him with whatever object was nearby and easily assessable.

I don't like being told that I don't know what I'm talking about when I do. If I don't know that's one thing, but when I actually grew up on a farm and raised cows, don't tell me that city boy knows more than I do. Not if you value your life.

Anyway. When we found out that Scott had been arrested and that there was proof he was sexually abusing my niece, I was just so....shocked. I trusted that man. I agreed that he should have custody of the kids the bulk of the time. I felt like I had let my niece and nephew down, by supporting him in his endeavor to get the majority of custody with the kids. I was disappointed that he had fooled us all so, so well. I couldn't believe that we didn't see him for the person that he truly was.

Yet, after a year of waiting, hoping, and praying that he wouldn't get away with the abuse. After a year of conversations with my niece, after a year of conversations with my nephew and knowing that he sent that innocent little boy to bed hungry, simply because he didn't want to give him more than 5 minutes to eat, I'm still sad.

The anger quickly wore off, and the only question I wanted answered was "What were you thinking?"

While I am relieved that the trial is over, and that maybe now, knowing that Scott was going to federal prison and wouldn't be able to "find her" that my niece might have a night where she didn't wake up in fear if she heard a car door outside her window. No child should have to live in fear of a parent. Ever.

 I'm sad at a life that was wasted. Scott had the opportunity to be so much more, to do so much more. Yet, he'll be 93 when he gets out of prison (assuming he serves all 55 years). He will have spent more of his life behind bars than he would a free man. If he manages to get out before then, he'll have to register as a sex offender. He won't be able to go back to his job as a certified nurse's aid. He will have wasted his life over one bad decision. One bad choice. One mistake, that the moment he made it, there was no turning back. I wonder if he knew that. I wonder if he realized what his life would become when he was caught.

Every choice that you make has some type of consequence. Good or bad. Talk about a wake up call.

I went to the gym this morning. The brownie I ate this afternoon pretty much undid all the sweating I did this morning. Sure, the brownie saved me from killing a co-worker, but it had consequences to my overall goal of losing some weight. I guess the one thing I can say about this whole ordeal has been that I've thought more about the choices that I've made. Every bite of that brownie just reminded me of all that sweating I was deleting. I've thought more about how that decision, how that choice will change my life. Sure, in the grand scheme of things that brownie won't make much difference. Unless I have one every single day, and then it will have a greater impact.

My point with all of this, his life could have been so different. All it took was one choice, that shouldn't have ever been an option, to change his life forever.

So, what are you going to do now?

Andrea

I've wanted to write this post for weeks now. Yet, I just couldn't seem to find the words. And even after I found the words, it would be 2 more weeks before you would actually get to read it. Simply because I wasn't ready.

When John and I got married in 1999, I acquired his family, and I acquired Andrea and her family as well. Andrea was the daughter of John's father's best friend. They've been friends since junior high, so Andrea and her big brother Joe, literally grew up with John. He's known them since he was born. John's dad has now been friends with this guy for more than half his life.

A couple of years ago, thanks to all the drama that we have been through with my inlaws, my sister-in-law Jean, was at the library where Andrea worked complaining about me. You know, how I was evil and should be destroyed. Andrea made a comment about how she didn't believe it was true, Jean said that Andrea didn't know me, and Andrea quickly resolved to rectify that situation.

A beautiful and glorious friendship began. We were privileged enough to spend the next couple of years getting to know Andrea, her husband and her precious kidlets. We were blessed enough to spend the last year doing what we could to keep Andrea's spirits up and make the bad days less sucky. And even though to an outsider it would look like we were doing all the work, our lives were certainly enriched by the care packages we delivered and the time we spent with Andrea and her family. See, at 33 she was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer in January of 2012.

Andrea and I joked that we were separated at birth. Where I as strong, she was weak and vice versa. I'm quite sure she was the sane, rational part of my brain, she would probably agree.

Andrea and I managed to build a friendship unlike one I've ever had before. She's the only person who I couldn't put on my "happy face" for. Because we were so much alike, we both knew that the other was just telling us what we wanted to hear. Thankfully neither of us was afraid of calling the other a liar and getting to the bottom of whatever the current trouble was. We both walked away feeling better about whatever situation we were facing. Our relationship forced me to be utterly honest with her about the struggles with infertility, with my inlaws, with my own family, and she could help me find peace about the situation, or any situation really. Of course, I could provide perspective about moments in her life too. Like the night she cried when she missed her kid's Halloween plans because she couldn't be exposed to that many germs because of her weakened immune system due to the chemo treatments. She was busy getting better, better that her kids missed her for one night instead of a lifetime. Of course, I had no way of predicting the future, but my reassurance that she wasn't a bad mother was enough to provide her some peace and ease the guilt.

She taught me how to worry less and let life happen more. There wasn't much that chips and hot sauce wouldn't fix, or at least soothe. She taught me that I'm stronger than I think, and that it's okay to slow down, to say no, and to not make an offer I didn't want to hold up in the first place. She taught me to to hand over more of life's little inconveniences to God, like job loss, sucky exam grades, and burnt biscuits. She taught me that there was nothing better than texting about our husband's when they went off to the lease for the weekend. We probably saved each other years of therapy and marriage counseling.

Andrea had the ability to make you feel like you were the most important person in the room when you were around. She was tons of fun, and thanks to her and relationships that she had cultivated with other people, I've gained a few new friends that I'd like to get to know better. They certainly can't replace the relationship that I had with Andrea, but they can certainly add to my life and they already have. Andrea had the ability to put things in perspective, even if it wasn't a situation that she fully understood. She also had an amazing capacity for forgiveness and she truly understood and practiced the "turn the other cheek" concept.

From the moment of her diagnosis of Stage IV colon cancer, to the emergency surgery which removed her colon, ovary and appendix, she never believed that the whole situation wasn't trucking along exactly like it was supposed to be. She might not have always liked the results or the outcome, but she fully believed in "rolling with the punches and giving it to God". And she did. She showed amazing strength and a fighting spirit when most people would have caved under the disappointment of another setback.

There were moments of laughter and moments of tears. There were moments that I would have gladly traded places with her, and moments she probably wouldn't have given up even if it meant a different outcome. Even though I can't send her a text message or find her sitting in her chair at her home, she's still here. I hear her voice every time John irritates me about something, her offer of "Do I need to take care of him?". I hear her voice every time I've had a moment of self loathing over school. "Girl, I did the 13 year plan, it's not a race." I hear her every time I see her kids. She's in her daughter's laughter and joy over a Christmas gift. She's in her son's fearlessness. She's in her husband's stubbornness. She's in every yellow or purple butterfly I see. She's in the purple shirts I own, simply because it was her favorite color. She's in the moments of doubt, I can hear her telling me to not worry so much that it will all work out in the end. And you know what, she's right.

I can hear her voice telling me how much she loves "you guys". I can even hear her now as I type this, saying "sheesh" that she doesn't deserve all the hoopla. She'd even be slightly annoyed that this post is literally, all about her. Yet, this is probably one of the few places she is wrong. Her friendship literally changed my life.

I'm pretty sure what I posted on Facebook on December 4th sums it all up

"I've thought all day about what I wanted to say to you on this space. As I picked out my purple shirt today and the bracelet with the yellow and purple butterflies. I've thought about the text messages, the phone calls, the date nights, the Christmas shopping expedition of 2011. I've thought about your infectious laughter, your "hey guys!" greeting, and your sweet smile. I've thought about the strength you've shown through the treatments, doctor's appointments, and the overwhelming pain. Yet tonight, as I hugged your husband, and I told him that he was stuck with me, I heard your laughter and your voice telling me to give him grief. Thank you for all the text messages, the phone calls, the emails, the friendship, and the love. You had such a huge impact on my life, in ways that I probably won't even realize for quite some time. Thank you for changing my life, and for letting me be a part of yours. Hold that tiny baby that was gone from my world too soon, and save me a seat, we will have lots to catch up on. I love you."

 

Today I'm thankful that I didn't really lose her. Sure, I can't sent her a text message or laugh about something her husband children did, but she's still here. I'm thankful that I'll see her again, and that she's no longer suffering from the pain and misery of cancer, but also from life's disappointments. I'm thankful, that because of her faith and choices that she has made I'll see her again. When the moments of grief and missing her seem to overwhelm me, I can just close my eyes and see her beautiful smile, and I know instant comfort and peace because she's exactly where she would want to be.

Gertie Goes to Heaven

Today is another sad day around here. Gertie went to the pathologist on Monday.

Yep, you read that right. The gallbladder was evicted on Monday.

I feel fantastic. That pain in my side that I've lived with every waking moment since September. Finally gone. Gertie was a sick little puppy. Highly irritated and inflamed, and I would imagine a few more months and the words ruptured would have been included in the picture. It was bad folks.

Thankfully, the right doctor gets the job done. Now, I'm working on getting back up and running. Here's the rundown.

Saturday I had an appointment with the gastro that I had been referred too. I was thankful that my appointment had been moved up, and that this doctor does random Saturday clinics, so that I could get in earlier. So we sat in the waiting room, I studied for a business law test, and Brad played on my Kindle. We got back to the room, and started going over everything with the doctor. He mashes around on my belly, tells me he's quite sure it's the gallbladder, and that they can admit me. Huh?

I've spent 2 months with several different doctors and 5 minutes with this guy, and he's going to poke me in the hospital, do a scope because I'd been taking unbelievable amounts of Advil so that I could function through the pain. He was concerned that I might have an ulcer on top of everything else. Thankfully my stomach was fine. So they make arrangements to get me on a list to get my gallbladder out on Monday.

They came in late Saturday night to get some blood for lab work, and couldn't find a vein. I'm not typically a hard person to get blood from, but after 2 months of not eating right, not drinking enough, I was severely dehydrated. I had thought I was bad, simply because of the headaches I was getting, but I couldn't get any other doctor's to voice the same concerns that I had.

Sunday I laid in a bed, and tried to take naps, mostly because they had kept waking me up every 90 minutes the prior night. So Monday morning at 5am they came in to get me to take a shower, and put on a beautiful hospital gown. I'd been wearing my own pj's, because let's face it, those hospital gowns only cover part of the parts, and I prefer all my parts to be covered. We were on the list for about 1:30 surgery time.

John's sweet cousin came about 8 and sat with us until they wheeled me to the OR, and then sat with Brad while I was in surgery. Her presence probably kept some of my nerves at bay, because when they came to get me, I wasn't nervous, just a slight surreal feeling. I think part of me still believed that I'd wake up and be in pain, and nothing would have changed.

Now, here's where it gets dicey. They gave me something to help me relax, and then John kissed me, and told me he loved me, then they wheeled me to the OR. I remember getting in, and climbing on a table, and not much after that. Which is disappointing, I'd have liked to have looked around and checked things out, but I was unconscious before I had a chance to do much.

The next thing I remember is waking up in recovery with some serious pain, which they gave me a shot of the good drugs for. Then my mouth and throat were so dry from the tube that I asked for some ice chips. They pretty much gave me ice, and then sometime later, they told me they were moving me back to my room. I remember John, and his cousin standing their, and I remember seeing my father-in-law and sister-in-law standing outside my room. Then I remember them letting me pee, because they were pushing some serious fluids. They got me in bed, then started checking my vitals, and I suddenly remember having the urge to throw up, and I did, twice. But they said that with all my innards confused by the lack of the gallbladder, that it wasn't surprising, and it wasn't much. I felt really groggy, sore, and like most of Monday is a blur.

They let me come home Tuesday morning, around 11, and part of Tuesday is still foggy. I remember coming home. I remember spilling a glass of water in the floor, and I remember eating dinner. But not much in between.

Yesterday was better, and today was even better. The soreness is starting to get more bearable, I've cut way, way back on the pain med's, and when I woke up this morning I felt good. I felt good for the first time in almost 2.5 months. No nausea, no pain, no headaches. Just like I'd had a good night's sleep.

Of course, after a couple of hours up and moving around, that all changed. I'm still worn out. I know that it will take me some time to build my strength back up, and that even though I only have a few incisions, that this was a major surgery and ordeal for my body to get over. Especially since it had been going on for so long. I know that the next few weeks and months are going to be rough until I rebuild some of my strength. But I'm just so thankful to be feeling better that I'll take the need for lots of naps. I think I've slept more today than I've been awake.

Right now, I'm just thankful to not feel Gertie stabbing me constantly. So, I won't complain about the naps, and the 2 week vacation from school, and the limited activities after that. I'll be thankful that Gertie won't be around at Christmas and that I won't have to create a DIY website for organ removal, because let's face it, another few months, and I'd have volunteered for the test dummy.

When Words Are Not Enough

I wish I could tell you how many times in the last few months I've picked up my cell phone to send a text message to my friend Andrea.

Andrea was diagnosed with stage IV colon cancer earlier this year, and amazingly so, our friendship has grown to new depths because of some odd conversations that we've had along the way. Conversations about our spouses, mutual friends, and several oddities that we have discovered we share. Apparently there are other people in the world who won't drink milk after it has been contaminated by cereal.

A couple of months ago, Andrea faced a ruptured colon, several days in ICU, several more surgeries, and more complications. She's had to make choices regarding her quality of life that I can't even begin to fathom, and what's worse, she has to live with those choices. Which is usually harder than making the stupid decision. Especially if your me, and over analyze, over think, and worry about the how's and the what if's and the unfairness of it all.

Yet, in the last few months, thanks to her illness and lack of desire to deal with people, and my subsequent health issues, college kicking my butt, and my own crazies (that have absolutely nothing to do with her situation, just me being paranoid that I've said or done something wrong), have caused our friendship to be less...involved.

Which I don't like. But at the same time, I understand. She faces choices and fights on a daily basis that I hope I don't ever have to face. She's got 2 babies that she's trying to raise, well 3 if you count her husband. She's got other people showing up at her door, showering her with love and strength to help her find the will to keep fighting and to keep moving forward on the days that she just doesn't want to get out of bed. She needs that. Her family needs that.

I miss those text messages with Andrea, and I find myself picking up the phone, and staring at a blinking cursor, because me, the girl who always has something to say, even it's wrong, can't find the words. I can't seem to tell her that I've missed our double dates. I've missed being able to text her when I've had a particularly sucky day, or a funny moment that I just wanted to share with someone who's first language is also sarcasm. I've missed her. I've missed her sweet kids, and thanks to my husband being on a hunting lease with her husband, I don't really miss him, near as much, anyway.

Yet, I find myself terrified of saying the wrong thing. Even though, I'm quite sure, that we've been on the same brain wave a lot lately. Be sick and in constant pain for 2 months, you'd be amazed at the things you think about.

As school keeps going and the pressure keeps building, and I keep adding stuff to my to do list, I keep realizing how truly important those things that we often abuse, and take for granted really our. Like our health, our spouses, our children, our friends. You don't realize what a vital part of your existence they are, until their existence is threatened.

As my doctor's appointment approaches on Saturday, the fear of the worst wants to kick in. What if it's not something easy like a weird food allergy? What if it's something that I'm not prepared for? What if I have to quit fighting for good grades, and fight for my life instead? What if.....

It's mind numbing, and I find those 'what-if's' sneaking in during the quite moments of my day. I keep trying to tell her to shut up. I keep hoping that it's something simple. I hope that it's easy. I hope that it doesn't screw up my life too much. Then, I think about Andrea. She had all those hopes too. She had all those dreams too. Sure, her's might not have involved college, being a world renowned chef, having a cooking blog that makes me rich and famous, losing a million pounds, and being a Victoria's Secret model at 40, but she had them. As I've sat in class rooms this week, and looked around, it's hard to imagine giving up on that. It's hard to imagine any of it. Cancer and serious illness were supposed to be things we had to deal with when we got old. They were supposed to happen to other people, to other families. Not to us. Not to 30 years old. Not to 18 year olds. And certainly not to an innocent child.

Unfortunately, life doesn't always work the way that we plan. God's plan unfolds in there, and we are supposed to make the best of it. We are supposed to find the blessing. We are supposed to be the light to someone else's darkness. We aren't supposed to be the darkness, searching for a light.

I can only hope. I can only have faith. I can only hope that this is where my plans and God's plans are the same, or at least in the general vicinity of each other. I know this, the last few years, I've had a hard time coming up with something other than the usual "family, friends" thankful list. This year, I've discovered that I don't have to do a countdown to Thanksgiving on Facebook with the rest of my friends and family about what they are thankful for, simply because I've spent the last 2 months, finding it.

~She is clothed with strength and dignity; and she laughs at the days to come. Proverbs 31:25

~Would you dare, would you dare to believe, that you still have a reason to sing? 'Cause the pain that you've been feeling, it can't compare to the joy that's coming. So hold on, you gotta wait for the light, press on and just fight the good fight. 'Cause the pain that you've been feeling, it's just the dark, before the morning. -Josh Wilson's Before the Morning

Love is....

Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres. Love never fails.  ~1 Corinthians 13:4-10

John's sister got married on Saturday, her ceremony was a little different than one I have been to before, as there was audience participation in a part asking that we help to guide them and support them. There was nothing wrong with it, just different.

As the pastor got to a section in their ceremony, as often happens, the famous "Love is patient" spiel began. Yet, at the love is kind section, I got a little side tracked.

Love is kind.

Love is supposed to be kind, but somewhere along the way we all screw that up. Every.single.person.

After the sit down with my inlaws a few months ago, I had hoped that relationship was on the road to recovery. Instead I think that relationship might not ever "heal". To a certain extent, I think that the majority of the parties involved have gotten to a place of comfort, a place that's easy, and instead of pushing forward and trying to change things, so that the past doesn't repeat itself, I think that we have moved on.

We are still often excluded from things. But, with wedding planning taking up a lot of time, we ignored it. Until we found out about John's grandmother being in the hospital, again...via Facebook. No phone call, no text. No nothing, just a post on Facebook, asking for prayers.

So while the pastor was reciting the passage from 1 Corinthians all I could think about was that love was supposed to be kind. I wished I could have stood up and shouted at John's parents, his brother and family and his sister. Love is kind. It's not supposed to hurt. They don't have to love me, but don't they realize what their indifference has done to their son, to their brother. It's not supposed to keep score. Yes, I've screwed up. I'm not perfect. But then again, I keep forgiving them, I keep turning the other cheek, I keep trying to be patient and kind. I often feel that I fail. Here lately they have certainly added to my own self esteem and self image issues. I'm critical enough of myself, I certainly don't need them worming into my head.

Love is patient.

Granted, no one is not going to get mad at someone that they care about. I love John, but every now and then he gets on my very last nerve and I get angry and say things that I shouldn't, and that I honestly don't mean. Yet, I often keep my mouth shut for a while and wait until I'm way past the boiling point, and all the little frustrations come spewing out too. It's not perfect, but it's who I am. Yet John is patient, he lets me vent my frustration, often at his expense, and then he wants to love me. Which, to a certain extent really annoys me. I want to be mad at him and he wants to hold me and tell me how much he loves me. Which is a total mad killer, just in case you were curious. Yet, at the same time I know that he still loves me, even if I did just threaten to beat him to death with the bag of trash.

I'll admit I've acted with less than patient intentions towards John's family. I've screwed up with them too, but to a certain extent, I feel like they want to hold that against me. John's brother's wife isn't willing to forgive. She isn't willing to sit down and at least tell me what we did wrong. She's made up her mind and she isn't willing to move forward. I'd like to tattoo the verse "it keeps no records of wrongs" on her forehead. Wonder if she would notice that?

There are big plans for our future. Plans that I'm not yet willing to post for the whole wide world to see. Mostly because I'm not 100% ready to take that step off the cliff into the unknown. These plans, will change our life. They are going to harbor moments of pure terror, heartache, joy, happiness, and love. They are big enough moments that we have told only a select few people who are important to us, because we simply are terrified. We want to be sure. Plus, after a few conversations with John, I think that we want to see what the future holds with my inlaws. They will play a small part in our future plans, and we need to be prepared for them to play there part and things go back to normal, or for our relationship to change completely.

Love never fails.

Danger Will Robinson, Danger.

I have used this blog as a place to vent to and share deep and not so deep thoughts. Well, today this blog is going to become a personal outlet for some current frustrations in my life. Namely my mother. Don't get me wrong, I do love her, even though this post will probably not portray that.

Saturday evening we took my dad to the emergency room. Which right now seems like a lifetime ago, could be because I'm exhausted. But, I digress, and it's way to early to do that.

I don't understand how she couldn't see how very sick he was. I walked in the door and after 5 minutes of conversation with him, I knew that he wasn't ok, even though he insisted he was. He was panting like my dog does when he lays in the back yard in 100* weather and sun bathes. Yet, he was sitting almost completely still in a chair. He assured me that he was just having a bad day. Um. No. He wasn't thrilled to be going to the doctor when my grandmother, his mother, and I convinced him that he should be going to the doctor. But he finally caved. Which, I'm very thankful for, otherwise we would be planning his funeral. His doctors have assured me of that fact. Another couple of days and it would have been too late. Right now he lies in an ICU bed with a tube shoved into his stomach to provide him some type of nourishment, as well as on a ventilator. There isn't a doubt in my mind that another day and he would have died.

My mom wanted me to take him to the doctor while she watched over her grandkids, my niece and nephew who were visiting for Spring Break. Her reason was that he would change his mind. We intended to follow her with the children in tow. It wasn't the ideal situation, but you do what you have to do. My husband dealt with the children while I sat in the room with my father waiting on the test results. My mom debated leaving once we discovered that he was going to be admitted. I'm glad she didn't, simply because when his CO2 levels got too high, he kinda flipped out, and I was thankful that I wasn't there alone with him. Not because I was afraid of him, but because we needed 2 hands so he didn't rip his IV and stuff out, which could have been a disaster.

We finally got him moved to ICU and about 3am went home. She stopped by my house and we called my step-sister and shared with her the latest information. At 4am the hospital called to tell me that he was being moved to a ventilator, because his blood gases still weren't where they needed to be. Awesome. They also informed me that they were taking him for a CT scan, because they were concerned that something else might be wrong.

We finally managed to make it to bed, but at 5am, I heard my cookoo clock chirp. The nurse called again at 6:45, and my alarm went of at 9 so that I could call my grandmother and give her an update. As far as they knew, he only had pneumonia, they didn't know he was in ICU and I didn't want them to show up and the hospital and not be aware of what was going on. So I called and gave them the low down.

Sundays at my house usually involve a lot of things. Like cleaning, laundry, grocery shopping and homework, but since I'm on Spring Break this week, homework is just a very bad dream. My grandmother was at the hospital, so I figured that I would take the opportunity to clean and do a little laundry and that I would take the afternoon shift. So we spent an hour mopping and scrubbing, just in case my mom needed somewhere to crash, my house was neat and clean. Not that it's usually a mess, considering it took us a whole 60 minutes to get it done.

We got ready and headed to the hospital. We chatted with the nurse and got the low down on how he was doing today, and what the plan was now. My mom was planning on coming for the evening shift. But her electricity went out and she refused to leave. So she didn't come Sunday.

Monday, I had to work. I had planned on working full time this week, and even though he was in the hospital that was still my plan. I wanted the extra cash to help to catch us back up after John's bought with unemployment. So I got up and went to work. There was a misunderstanding between my mom and my grandmother and if not for my insistence, she probably wouldn't have made it on Monday night either.

There house was horrific when I was there Saturday. There kitchen was buried, their dining table buried, it was like watching an episode of hoarders unfold before my very eyes. There was trash, and groceries that needed to be put away, it was just horrific. So I'll admit that she needs her house cleaned. Bad. So Sunday afternoon and Monday she did just that. She has been cleaning and organizing her house. She blames it on my father that she can't accomplish this any other time, yet I remember when they first got married that he typically helped her, or at least left her alone to get it done.

Yesterday, she was supposed to come to the hospital. I called her at 8:30 and she was a no show. She was cleaning up my father's man cave and just wanted to get it done. Which, is fine, but if that were my husband laying in ICU on a ventilator, I would be there with him. Granted, I would need to be practical, and I might not be there every second, but I honestly don't know. I'd rather not find out how I have to react to that situation. He almost died and she is worried about cleaning her house than about him. Granted he is oblivious either way, but still.

She's never been one to visit people in the hospital. She doesn't come see her mother in law, she often didn't come see my grandfather when he was in the nursing home. And once we moved him to Lubbock, I'm not sure that she ever stepped foot in the door any other days other than the day he moved in and the day he died. She's not a visitor. She would rather you come to her, which I understand too. But life doesn't work that way. It makes me wonder what is really going on between her and my dad. It makes me wonder if they have quit being married and are more like roommates who are affectionate of each other, yet wouldn't mind it if the other walked off a tall cliff.

I was telling a good friend about how crazy it drove me, and she said it seemed heartless. She's right. It's also loveless. Sure, I can think of a million other things that I would rather be doing during those brief visits to the hospital. Yet, I'm there. Every.single.day. I'm exhausted. I had things I wanted to accomplish over Spring Break, and all of that has taken a back seat. It can wait. It's important that my father knows that someone loves him. That someone cares about him. It's important that he hears my voice. Even though I've had some odd conversations with him. I told him last night that his "food" looked like Eagle Brand Milk, but probably tasted like poo. Then that conversation continued on to discuss how exactly one knew what poo tasted like. I don't eat poo, I'm sure he doesn't. I'm pretty sure that's when I realized that I was exhausted. But he looks peaceful, which gives me a sense of comfort in hopes that he will be ok. That he is just busy getting better.

I'm not sure what's going to happen when he wakes up, or even when he goes home. But I have a funny feeling that this is going to change a lot of things in his life and my mothers life, whether they want it too or not. There is definitely going to be an intervention. He's in for a rude awakening. Wake up from a drug induced coma and suddenly your a non smoker, and a health food junkie.  That'll teach him.

Happy Valentine's Day

This post is going to be short and sweet, and too the point. I have way to much homework to deal with for a real love fest. I'm not, feeling the love from my professors, the jerks.

This year I'm reminded of the post I wrote about Valentine's Day last year 2010.

See, this year, my husband has now been unemployed for 3 weeks. I'm thankful that in previous years we have been able to do a little something for each other on Valentine's Day, even if it was just Hallmark and candy. This year, however, thanks to my part time only gig, and still having utilities and truck payments and the need for groceries, we agreed that we would do nothing that cost money. Because the bank doesn't appreciate my offer to pay them in candy in order to keep my truck.

The funny thing is, I'm ok with that. This year, already beat last year's Valentines Day all up. See, I was sitting in a cold classroom, waiting to begin a Marketing exam (that I wasn't feeling very confident about), when I noticed a text message from my husband, asking me to be his valentine. I melted. Literally. His sweet message this morning was enough to calm the butterflies that seemed to be doing the cha-cha in my stomach. I managed to relax enough that I actually felt better about that exam than I did when I walked in.

Then I got to work, with an almost repeat of something equally sweet on facebook. Granted, I'm not posting pictures of flowers and other floral displays on like most of my friends on facebook are. And that's ok.

Because my Valentine's Day will top theirs and grind it into a little greasy spot on the pavement.

I'll have a home cooked meal, that he has put effort into. Something yummy for dessert, that was all his doing. I'll have the dishes washed and put away and the kitchen cleaned up for the night, so that I can study for a test that I have tomorrow. I'll have dessert later that will be a surprise, because I'll be so wrapped up in doing homework and studying that I loose track of time.

Then tonight, when we go to bed and I apologize (like I do most nights) that he has taken on so much while I go to school, he will tell me that he loves me, and that he doesn't mind. That he knows I will do well on the test tomorrow and that he loves me and how very proud of me that he is.

I would love to share that with facebook, but it's not as flashy, it's not at all something to show off to the world that he loves me. At least not in something that can be physically seen or touched.

Instead it's all mine, I don't have to share it on facebook or let the guys I work with harass me about it. I get to share it with the one person who truly matters to me.

His love is simply there, in everything he does, whether he means for it to be or not. It’s there. The flowers, the cards, the candy they don't mean anything. Sure the sentiment is nice, but right now, I'm content to have less. To be doing less this year for each other, to be reminded that there are things more important than flowers and extravagance. Then I think about John's cousin, who is spending this day without his wife, and I realize that in having less, I really do have more.

Happy Valentine's Day.

Saying Goodbye

This year has already been an eventful year for our family. We had hoped that this year wouldn't hold as much sorrow as last year had. With the loss of both of John's grandparents 2011 was a year we were ready to move away from, and hopefully towards a brighter 2012.

Apparently God had other plans. In fact, here lately I here laughter in my head when I start making plans for the future. Deep, belly laughs. The kind that involve tears streaming down the face, gasping for air, and a slight trickle down your leg. Not that I would know anything about the trickle. But still laughter.

This past week has been the first time that my own mortality has been so deeply affected. John's cousin's wife took her own life on Tuesday. She would have been 32 on February 25th, 4 days before John's birthday.

32. She was my age. She was also a police officer, and let's face it, we often think about police officers as being tough, impenetrable, unbreakable. It was hard to watch her husband grieve openly. He didn't try to hide his emotions when they overwhelmed him. He just grieved. It was beautiful and heartbreaking at the same time.

Last week, a few days after we learned of her death, I was headed to school. Thinking about her husband and son that she left behind and thinking about how angry I was that everyone was blaming her for being selfish for taking her own life. That she never thought about her husband or son, when in fact, I know without a doubt that they were all that she was thinking about.

See, I think that suicide isn't a selfish act, but a selfless. Granted the people that are left behind are deeply hurt, they want to understand but can't. They have questions that will never be answered. But I have no doubt in my mind, that as she ended her own life, that she thought that she was leaving their world a better place.

I've never contemplated ending my own life. But I have contemplated walking out of my life. There were months when we stopped infertility treatments that I just simply wanted to walk away from my husband and my family. I stayed up at night thinking about how easy it would be to pack my stuff leave a little note on the table by the door and leave. His life would have been so much better without me in it, without me not being able to give him a child of his own. Or so I thought. Thankfully, I didn't do it. But in the midst of all of that, I never not once, thought about how that would let me off the hook. It was about how much better it would have been for everyone else.

But, no matter what, no matter how much this has sucked, there have been a handful of beautiful moments this past week.

See today, was also Papa's birthday. So this week was already going to be difficult enough. I had dreaded today for his birthday, and then for D's funeral.

I'm going to skip around here, not to confuse, but simply because it will end better this way. Trust me.

Today at D's funeral, and also at her wedding, was the song that helped John and I both survive some hard days and moments after Papa's death. The irony of that was, that the song was also played at D's wedding to John's cousin.A wedding that for some unknown reason, John and I didn't attend. Go here to listen to the song before you keep reading.  I Can Only Imagine by MercyMe.

The moment the beginning notes of the music began, my stomach dropped. I love that song, but like I said, it has some other meanings to us both. I knew John was thinking the same thing I was, as his hand gripped mine. Yet, as the second verse began I realized that the following story, made so much more sense and gave me the peace that I needed to make it through today, through Papa's birthday and now D's funeral with some form of comfort.

See, last week, I'm not sure what I was doing, or were I was going, because just as suddenly as the image popped into my head, it was gone almost as quickly.

It's like I was watching a TV, or a play. Except, I knew those voices, and those people sitting at the table.

There was this gorgeous table sitting in this room with all these chairs around it. The table had a nice shine to it, and some nicks from thousands of plates and meals eaten at that table. Pictures had been colored there, bread kneaded, it was a well used, well loved table. Around this table I see John's MeMa sitting there talking with her son, Papa, and B (D's husband's sister). They are laughing about something. It must have been incredibly funny, because they are all laughing, one of those gut wrenching, leaves you gasping for breath and the slightest gasp for a neighbor has you laughing even harder. Slightly behind them, almost as if she has walked into the room in the middle of a moment that she shouldn't have interrupted stands D, looking very unsure about what she is doing there and like she is in the wrong place at the wrong moment. The laughter dies down, Papa turns and looks over his shoulder and see's her standing there, so unsure of herself. He stands up and smiles at her and stretches his arms out and says "I've been waiting for you." As she walks into his arms. She knows, just like I do that she is exactly where she is supposed to be.

That they are both exactly where they should be.

Finding Faith

Last Friday I posted the following post on Facebook: ""And I'll praise You in this storm and I will lift my hands, For You are who You are no matter where I am, And every tear I've cried You hold in Your hand, You never left my side and though my heart is torn, I will praise You in this storm." ~Casting Crowns. Send us a few extra prayers today, we have hit a bump in the road and could use some additional strength."

Then on Monday, well you can read about the tragedy that our family endured over the weekend.

Then yesterday, we got more news, that we could have lived without. John's grandmother, Granny, has a mass on her brain.

For about half a second I wanted to cry.

My husband's unemployed, my beautiful niece's heartache, and now Granny.

Yet, as I sat in the truck with my husband, this immense feeling of peace washed over me. It was as if I had taken a breath and blew all of that stuff out and everything was perfect again.

Then I wanted to laugh. Pure laughter, not sarcasm, not because it was the only thing going to keep me from having a meltdown in our driveway, but simply because the thought of that old saying that "God will never give you more than you can bear" popped into my head.

Apparently, I can handle all of this. It's no big deal. God has faith that I can handle this.

So that got the wheels turning and had me wondering, if His faith in me is great enough that I can handle, working full time, school full time, husband's unemployment, nieces situation, Granny, then shouldn't that faith in Him to get us through all of this be twice as large, if not larger?

Sure, I felt silly laughing and joking with my husband about "bringing it", not that I was asking God for more sorrow or heartache, but that I was just so impressed by God's faith in our strength, in my strength. So we laughed, and we both knew that no matter what, everything was still ok. If not even good.

We have a place to live, a car, we are both healthy, I'm still employed. We have so much, and there are some with so little, that it's not unreasonable to have these moments of joy in the midst of unhappiness and trials and life lessons, or whatever you want to call this.

Sure, I have moments where I panic, but they are moments. There are moments of worry, but it's not constant. Because every single time that those thoughts pop up, I have prayed. Some days there have been a lot, and other days, just a few. I've asked for my husband to find a job he loves, I've asked that my niece find peace, I've asked that Granny's mass be something simple and easy to fix. I've asked for the strength to wipe the worry out of my mind so that I can focus on homework.

I'm simply putting one foot in front of the other and hoping that we can learn something from this, that I can learn something from this. There is a blessing in here somewhere. I just have to find it.

Be strong and courageous. Do not be afraid; do not be discouraged, for the LORD your God will be with you wherever you go. Joshua 1:9

“For I know the plans I have for you,” declares the LORD, “plans to prosper you and not to harm you, plans to give you hope and a future.” Jeremiah 29:11

How Well Do You Really Know Somone

Today, my heart hurts. It was a long, emotionally draining weekend at my house.

Friday, my husband lost his job. Their reason, leadership. I'm not sure exactly what that means, and they couldn't really explain it to him either, so to sum it up, they wanted him gone. Awesome.

Then Friday night we had a scare where we thought my 11 year old niece had not came home from school. She was found, safe and sound with her mother, who didn't have custody. Thank goodness, she was safe.

Little did I know that was just the beginning.

Have you ever had that moment, either with a friend of a family member where they just did something so outrageous that you suddenly realized that you never really knew who they were? That suddenly you were looking at a stranger. You recognized the face, but the actions would have never been something that you would have expected that person capable of.

I keep looking and thinking back trying to tell myself that signs weren't there, that there was nothing that any of us could have done to prevent this, or any signs that we ignored that it was happening. I hope we weren't so clueless.

Simply, because it is an ongoing investigation and my sweet 11 year old niece needs to learn to put her life back together. Because suddenly she has lived through things that I can't even begin to imagine, I can't say much because it is an ongoing investigation.

But, do me a favor, send some prayers to her, her little brother, and her mother. They are going to need some extra bursts of strength to help them make it through the coming weeks and months. Then say a few for the rest of her family that loves her. We are all having a hard time dealing with this as we trusted and loved someone who hurt her deeply.

Then, say a tiny prayer for my husband and I, and that he will find a job soon. Something that makes him happy. Because even though my job drives me crazy, when I actually have stuff to do, I love it.

Dear Robber

Dear Robber,

Several weeks ago you broke into my husband's office. You determined that he has personally wronged you in some way and that the most effective way for you to get your revenge was to break in to his office and steal equipment, parts, and just make a general mess. However, this time the jokes on you.

See, if you had really knew your former boss/co-worker you would know that none of that stuff in his office means anything to him. Sure he would be disappointed, but otherwise, it's just stuff. Stuff can be replaced. Everything that you damaged or stolen will eventually be replaced, so you actually did him a favor by allowing him for upgrades that he would have otherwise never gotten.

Your lay-off or termination wasn't personally his doing. He has a boss too, one that often gives him orders that he would rather not follow through with. There are days when he would love to let you continue to work, but sometimes the people who sign his paycheck say differently. So he does what he has to do so that he can provide for his family. Which isn't all that different from your actions, except that you committed a felony, and he just hurt your pride.

So, Mr. Robber, you might think that you accomplished something, but other than finding a very non-productive manner for your rage, you really didn't accomplish much. And now, his revenge will be when you are punished for the crime/s that you have committed. Sure, you might escape capture here on earth, but God has the final say. I'm sure He won't be pleased with your choice, but that's between you and him. See, Mr. Robber, my husband's already forgiven you. He's already moved on and began to rebuild his office. Please know that we will pray for you and those who will be hurt by your actions should you ever be caught, because just about everyone who comes through those doors has a family, and they would be devastated by your actions. I hope your mama is proud of your career choice.

Thank you for reminding us of what is important. Office supplies weren't it.

Sincerely,

The Normals'

How Long is Too Long

I've whined on here a variety of times about issues that we have had with my inlaws. They have ranged from simple things like hurt feelings or bigger things like that World War that has gone on for the better part of last year.

Saturday things started out fairly normally for us. We had an early appointment to take our dogs to the groomers. And by early I mean, it should be evil and illegal to get up at 7am on a Saturday morning. We decided that we were going to stop by a local supermarket that has a deli and makes fabulous breakfast quesadillas. Little did we know the interesting turn that day would take.

John's sister, who was a former employee, was back working in the deli. Talk about surprises. We weren't expecting to see her there, and neither of us was sure how we should react. We chatted with her a little, but not much. We sat down and had breakfast, and as we were preparing to leave, John's parents (whom I hadn't seen or talked to since July) walked in. Talk about surprise. We sat at United and chatted with them for quite some time, then the kicker. They invited us over for dinner.

Yeah, I know. We agreed, simply because we couldn't talk amongst ourselves without them overhearing.

We debated about it the better part of the afternoon until we got a text message asking for us to bring some items to contribute to dinner. Here was the opportunity to get out of dinner if we needed to.

Neither of us wanted the last year to have been swept under the rug and things just to sorta trudge along. We wanted all of the issues from the last year, and honestly from the beginning of our marriage to be all nice and worked out and finished for once. So John sent a text message about how we needed to deal with all of this, and would they be willing to have this conversation over dinner tonight. They agreed.

I don't know about John, but I was really worried about how things were going to go. Amazingly so, they went better than I could have thought. I think that John's parents have a better understanding of our marriage, and of several other issues.

We did get some insight into problems with his brother and wife and sister. Which over the course of the next few weeks/months we will be sitting down and working things out with them as well. It's not something I'm looking forward too, in fact it's something that I dread, more so with the siblings than with the inlaws.

There is a lot of misunderstandings all around. A lot. And there is a lot of people who don't have the guts (myself included) to comment to the person that they have the problem with and attempt to work things out. Which I could understand when we got married, Brad and I were young, there was a lot going on in his family at the time that it was easy to just sweep it under the rug and never deal with it. So we did. And 12 years later we are finally attempted to deal with it.

I'm hoping that the next several months will allow us to at least attempt to repair these relationships, and allow us to, in a since start over. Because to be honest, I haven't attempted much effort in the last few years to get to know any of them. It all seemed like it went down hill and that I got tired of trying, and I got tired of it always being my fault. No matter what happened, it was always my fault. That wasn't something that thrilled me either. So here's hoping that we can all put on our big girl/boy panties and deal with this stuff now, once and for all.

Letting Go

After yesterdays long, drawn out, soul bearing post your probably afraid to read this one.

Fear not. I'm back to normal. Well, as normal as I can be. Which is probably not near any normal according to standard industry ratings.

Yesterday was just one of those days when I needed to whine. And when I needed a good butt chewing apparently.

You know that phrase, can't see the forest for the trees. Well, that was me yesterday. I saw the bad everywhere. I saw the worst in myself everywhere, and when you only see the bad, your attitude and everything else just plain sucks. Including your outlook on life in general.

My good friend, who I'm pretty sure is actually my sister and we were just separated at birth, sent me a message about my little post yesterday. She gave me a good butt chewing, and a big dose of perspective. So I guess the 2 tons of pressure that I was feeling yesterday, that I seem to have lost today, I can thank her for.

I have to learn to let go. I've had to learn how to let go of cooking dinner and doing laundry and cleaning, at least the majority of the time, simply because I can't do everything and go to school at the same time. I have to set priorities, I have to manage my time wisely if I want to have enough time to study and do everything else. So I had to learn how to let go of that stuff, and I had to learn to deal with the guilt that I feel when I watch my husband dust and vacuum so that I can study. I've had to learn how to handle that the best way that I can. Which, I'll admit I don't always do. I remember laying in bed one night last semester crying because of the guilt that I felt that I couldn't do everything. After some reassurance from my husband that no, in fact, he didn't resent me for making him chase dust bunnies and wreck spider homes, I felt much better.

My first semester left me feeling like I could conquer the world, and last semester left me wondering if I had lost my mind, and everything else along the way. Those grades hurt. They hurt to admit, and I felt like everyone was just telling me that they were ok, and that they were secretly thinking what a moron I was. When realistically, because all of my friends are old, they don't really care, as long as I pass, so that I can graduate and move back out of the college life and into the middle aged life.

I realize that all of the cliches of "Finding yourself" and all of that go along with college. You learn how to do laundry and be an adult without mommy and daddy looking over your shoulder and guarding your every move. Yet, since I've been there, done that, maybe college will be about me learning to let go. Maybe its not about me finding myself, but about finding out who I'm not and who I don't want to be for the rest of my life. Maybe it's about learning to let go.

I know that my feeling sorry for myself has affected my blogging ability. I actually have a bunch of posts that I wrote, and that were supposed to publish, but for whatever reason blogger saw fit to ignore my advance scheduling. Maybe because I needed that post yesterday more than I realized.

There are exciting things coming. I was approached by a digital scrapbooking company (more details next week) about hosting a giveaway (which will be coming up week after next). I'm looking for a couple other giveaways for the next year. Stick around, things just might get interesting.

A Beginning

When I started writing this post today, I promised myself that no matter how much I didn't want to, when I was done that I would actually print publish, instead of adding it to the rather large collection of drafts that I seem to have acquired in the last few weeks. This post is probably going to require that you pack a lunch, and make a day out of it. Just so you know.

Where do I begin?

That's a really good question. One that I don't have the answer to. I used to think I did, but now, well now I'm not so sure.

Today, well let's face it, assuming we are being honest here, for a long time I've been...well for lack of a better term; lost. And miserable.

Sure, (just so my husband and parents don't panic) there have been times where there has been contentment, happiness, pure, unadulterated joy, but those moments, they are so rare anymore that it's hard to see them at the moment, it's days later that I realize how perfect those moments were. About how at that particular moment everything clicked, everything fit. Everything was perfect.

Some days I hate that I have that Type A personality. That everything has to be perfect. I honestly wish I could be more go with the flow. That things like C's and burnt chicken didn't hurt me. Because realistically, who cries over C's. Most people are happy to pass and move on. I'm happy to pass, but those C's just made me feel like a failure. Like I was less, and add that to everything else, it's been down right hard to get enthusiastic about a whole new set of classes that start tomorrow. For the first time in my life, I'm not excited about school. In fact, I dread tomorrow with the same amount of passion as I do/did with having to go to funerals, memorial services of the people that I love.

I guess, since my posting has been sporadic, this post is going to be too. Sorry.

I'm so unhappy with so many areas of my life, that some days, it's all I can do to go to work and come home and fix dinner without bursting into tears a half a dozen times. And right now, I feel so powerless to do anything about it.

I've also discovered that there are things that are annoying me worse than I thought that they were. Like the issues with my inlaws. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, it bothers me more than I wanted to realize. I have slowly allowed it, along with other issues to eat away at my self-esteem and my self-worth. I realized that a few days ago. See, I'm the peacemaker, when everybody is pissed off at each other, it's usually me that jumps in and tries to smooth the ruffled feathers and get everyone back to being happy again. I can't do that this time. Simply because those involved see me as part of the problem...probably won't see me as the solution if I try to "fix" things like I always have. Plus it's hard knowing that the grandmother-in-law that loved you and cared for you, can also turn against you when it suits her purposes. This is one of those things that I can't fix, and letting go of that has been nearly impossible, but I realized that I'm going to have to let it go if I want to reclaim my life, and myself in the process.

I was sick the week before Christmas. Thanks to the stomach cramps that were purely the devil at work, and barfing up some of the foulest smelling stuff possible, a trip to the doctor was prompted, because I didn't want my gallbladder or any other internal organ to be planing it's untimely escape and me be oblivious. I felt so bad that I even called in sick to work. For the 2nd time in 3 years. (The first time being when I was in the hospital for the equivalent of dysentery.)

:sigh: I can't believe I'm about to put this out there on the internet for all the world to see. It's no surprise to the people who know me and read this blog, but to the rest of the world, it might be or then again maybe not. I'm overweight. Not just pleasantly plump, but if I were to be at the top of my healthy weight range, I would have lost a person. Like a 154ish pound person. It just hurts my heart to type that out. Anyway, back to the doctor. She ordered blood work to make sure that there weren't any other problems as well as checking insulin, glucose, and cholesterol. I'm pleased with the cholesterol numbers, some of the categories weren't were they should be, but it's a big improvement over where they were when she first did that blood work a few years ago. My good cholesterol was through the roof (once again, my theory that the low fat/preservatives stuff played an issue might actually have some truth here). However, my insulin was too high. 22 and it needs to be 20 or less. It's not a big concern, and it's not even considered pre-diabetic. But it was definitely a wake-up call. One that I didn't care to get. But apparently I needed a health scare to get my head wrapped around the fact that loosing weight was no longer my choice. It wasn't a should anymore, it was now a must.

sucky grades of last semester and WHAM! (Insert failure here).

School. Like I said previously, I dread tomorrow. I can't find a single shred of excitement. Just dread. Lots and lots of dread. See, even though no one else thinks so, I failed last semester. My first semester was hard, it was tons of work, there were tears, there were lots of days of constant work and where I was pretty sure I was going to drown. But I pulled it all out with A's and B's. Made the dean's list. Then my girlfriend tells me that it's not a big deal, she did it too. No body cared. Then last semester, oh my goodness. Last semester. I hated my classes, I hated my professors. I hated with a passion. So my grades suffered because I was unhappy. Hopefully I didn't make that mistake this semester too. I'm taking classes that I was excited about when I signed up for them. Sure, there's a few, like statistics that I'm not looking forward too. It's math, it's hard to get excited about math. But the accounting, marketing, science and history classes I was actually looking forward to them.

Yet right now, I can't get that giant F off of my forehead. No, not for Freak, but for Failure. Those 3 C's are just eating away at me. I don't get C's. Period. I've only gotten C's in math classes, and that was always okay. I got C's in regular classes too. Spanish, Economics, and Business Calculus. But those 3 C's make me want to curl up into a ball in a corner and cry and not come out for 20 or 30 years. It makes me want to think, "you can't do this" "you are such an idiot" "who are you kidding" "you won't ever finish" "your just going to be a failure". Some days I succeed in telling that little voice to jump off a cliff, and other days, well, other days that little voice wins. And it takes another chunk of my self worth with it.

So where does that leave me?

Exactly where I am. I have convinced myself that I can do nothing right. I can't write, so why even attempt to write blog posts. Why even participate in 5 Question Friday, when I can't write, when I'm not really funny. I am so sure that I have annoyed some good friends of ours, who in a few short months have became more like family than friends. I'm so sure that I will never be able to lose weight that I'm just destined to be fat forever. I'm so sure that I'm going to fail all my classes. And I'm so sure that when I do, all these people are going to line up and tell me "I told you so".

And no, this isn't a ploy for the few people who still pop in and read my blog from time to time to give me some props about how great I am. Because let's face it, the posts that I wrote a year ago were a whole lot better than the garbage I've attempted to do over the last year. Those posts meant something, the posts now, not so much.

This was and is about being honest, with myself and with the few people who still pop in and read from time to time. It's about trying to dig out of this hole I have dug myself into. It's about trying to find me again, and not just the shell of the person I used to be. It's about trying to make peace with my life and move forward and rebuild the life I want and not look back in 6 months and think that I should have tried harder, like I seem to find myself doing constantly for the last year. I say that a lot to myself. I should have. I would really like to change that into I am or better yet, I did.

To the family and friends that will read this: I promise, I'm okay. I'm not crazy, I'm not contemplating suicide or anything wonky like that. I talked to the doctor about it when I went to see her 3 weeks ago. She said that it's a lot of things, but she doesn't think it's depression or anything like that. Frankly I don't either. I just think that the last year has held so many changes, so many things that are out of my control that I'm trying to find myself and my footing and let's face it my self worth and confidence again.

I'm not sure where that leaves me. Other than in need of a good couch and a crazy doctor. Okay, probably not really, but still. You never know. I realize that I always put me on the back burner. I typically take care of everyone else, and leave me for last, but that's just me. I just didn't realize that I've been doing it for so long that I've let myself take a back seat that I now think of myself as being less important than they are. Don't get my wrong, I still intend to take care of the people in my life that need to be taken care of, but at the same time, I'm adding my name to that list too. I'm a priority too. And if I want to be treated like one, perhaps the first step is in making myself a priority too.

Selfless

I don't realize how lucky I am, or how much my husband loves me until days like today.

He is willing to sacrifice his happiness, his career with a nation wide company, to change jobs for $20,000 more per year, so that I could quit my job and simply worry about school.

I'm not saying it wouldn't be a blessing. It would. It would make my stress level decrease incredibly.

And he would give up everything he has now, simply because he is tired of seeing me tired.

If that's not love, I don't know what is.

My only response to him: do what makes you happy. I'll work twice as hard at school if I have to, if you want to stay where you are. I'll make sacrifices that I need to so I can do this.

His response: if it makes your life easier, it can only make my life better.

I'm so glad I married that man. I love him with all my heart.

My only regret. That his family wasn't a colony of flies on the wall for that conversation. They might have learned something about the kind of person that their son, brother, and grandson is in those moments.

Evil, Horrible Daughter - in - law

I had hoped that time would work. I had hoped that Papa's drawn out illness would work. I had hoped.

But, I had a feeling that it wouldn't. I had a feeling that things would go back to the same, once my mother-in-law, the matriarch of that particular family had returned. Unfortunately I was right.

I'm back to being evil and avoided. Sometimes I really don't understand family. I don't understand how they can think that they can push me away and have their son in their life too. It hurts him just as much, if not more than it does me. My parents haven't always loved John and the choices that he has made, but they have respected them, and they have kept their mouth shut, and they have at least treated him with some form of courtesy, some form of decency.

I can't make them love me, I can't make them like me. But I would hope that they were all raised to at least be nice to me. Instead, when I speak, what I say is glossed over. Like I never said it. They probably would have preferred that I said nothing at Papa's memorial. Instead of reading this. They probably wish I hadn't shown up.

I can speculate for days.

But instead of a turning point in a relationship. I learned that today, my mother-in-law buys her Scentsy from someone else. Simply for the fact that she doesn't have to see me. I'm not surprised, I'm not even that hurt by it anymore (contrary to the ranting I have been doing). What bothers me the most is that everyone else follows suit. If my mother in law doesn't approve, then John's brother and sister can't either.  They are ruining their relationship with their son, and they don't even see it. That's what bothers me.

Papa's death has left regrets with many. I don't want them to wake up in a few years and regret the choices that they have made. I don't want them to keep pushing him away. He too, has realized that things are back to "normal". No more texts, no more calls, no more.

One day, there will be no more. Now, that's a text message I would love to send, broadcast to a family. They won't live forever, their won't be a good time to "fix" their relationship. We won't live forever either.

Now, the only thing left to do is wonder. What happens from here?

Who You Aren't

It's not who you are that holds you back...it's who you think you aren't. ~Unknown


The last few weeks have been draining, both physically as well as mentally. It's hard watching someone you love suffer, and die. I wouldn't with that experience on anyone, but at the same time, I think it's something that every human should witness, simply because it gives you a big dose of humility.

I've spent the better part of the last month feeling incredibly sorry for myself. With all the drama with my in-laws and my summer slowing slipping away, and some of the plans I had hoped to accomplish with it, it's been a hard few months around here. Self doubt has definitely taken over my life.

Friday on Facebook, one of my contacts had posted the above quote, and it got the wheels turning. There may or may not have been grease involved, since it's been a while since those wheels were turning.

It's not who I am. Why? Because, amazingly so, I'm awesome. I'm sweet, I'm kind, according to the family at the memorial service, I'm an amazing writer. John's cousins poured on the praise, even my father-in-law commented, so obviously, I can, on occasion, write. It's not who I am that holds me back. It's not who I am that things I'm too fat, too stupid, too slow, too old, not worthy, not beautiful, not a good writer. It's the person I think I'm not.

That person, is a real pain in the neck. She thinks all those things. She thinks that I have nothing to offer, she thinks that I can't. When in fact, I can. She thinks that I'm not worthy of praise, and sometimes even love. She thinks that I'm not, and everyone else is.

I'm starting to think that she needs a muzzle. Preferably in pink.

I can. I am. I will. I have.

I can do whatever I want, as long as I put in the effort and the work. I am worthy. Of love, of understanding, of kindness, of happiness. I will go where I want to and do what I want in my life, so long as I work towards it. I have a great family, wonderful friends, and my husband's extended family, with cousins (who let me spoil their children), and aunts and uncles, and a grandfather. Yes, it still hurts that they don't love me. It still hurts that they don't bother to get to know me, but I can't make them. I can only be me, and let them find out for themselves that they have been missing.

That part that isn't me, well she's still me too. She's the one who sometimes pushes me into working harder. She's the one with incredible strength, that let's me borrow some of hers, when I think I can't go on. She's the one who pushes me to do things that terrify me. That person that I'm not, she is part of me too, I just don't listen to her much. Sometimes, she thinks that I'm the one that needs the muzzle. And duct tape. She's the one who tells me I can, when I think I can't. She's the one who pushes me to do better, to be better. She's the one who tells me that I am (fill in the blank).

Most of the time, she could use a muzzle. But don't tell her I said that.

Saying Goodbye

I have dreaded today since July 5th. We knew that we would have to make it official and say our goodbyes, and move forward, I just didn't realize how hard it was going to be. I have quickly learned that each person that departs this life for the here-after, whatever that might be, that you grieve for each person differently.

When my Gangie died, I remember being numb. I can't remember much from the days and weeks after his death. I know that most nights I drove around and did my newspaper route, crying like my heart was broken. Which it was.

When my grandmother died, I remember the numb feeling, but I also remember the grief for my childhood. She was a big part of so many different memories, and the more I have developed a love for cooking, the more I miss her. It was still heart breaking, but I don't remember feeling numb, our relationship was different then.

When Grandpa past away in April, it was different. We weren't as close, and I didn't feel the impact like I did with my own grandparents, whom I had a very, very close relationship with. So it was normal. It felt normal.

Yet with Papa, because it's so recent and so new, and because of my own special relationship with him, it's mind numbing again. It's exhausting. I find myself going to bed at night and getting up the next day and I feel like I haven't slept in days. Then I look at my father-in-law and his sisters and can't even begin to imagine how hard it is to lose a parent. I know that your supposed to bury your parents and never your children, but I don't think that either can be easy. I don't think that there is any cure all, other than time.

What makes this so hard is the fact that it feels like we have drug this all out since July 4th. We are just beginning. Even though he's officially been gone since the 16th, until Friday, he won't be really gone.

Amazingly so, I'm looking forward to the memorial service. I'm looking forward to listening to my father in law, and his sisters tell stories about their dad. I'm looking forward to the family that will be gathering to celebrate his life. I'm looking forward to the new memories that we will be making and sharing with our kids and with our cousins kids later.

Because like it or not, death is a part of life, and without an ending, life would be meaningless.

Independence Day

Independence Day. After the last forty-eight hours those words will have a whole new meaning.

Today we wait. We wait for test results. We hope. We pray. We reminisce. We hope.

Last night we talked about the pain that Papa has suffered with. We talked about how hard that would be. We tried to prepare ourselves for the worst, all the time hoping for the best.

Sunday morning John's phone rang and we got the news. Papa had suffered a heart attack in the early morning hours. As we got to the emergency room, we were unprepared for the sight of him laying on the gurney, with a respirator sitting with him, helping him to breath.

We learned that the nursing home staff had found him, at approximately 4 am unconscious and in respiratory distress. They began to administer CPR, and in the process of trying to get him breathing again, he went into cardiac arrest. We have no idea of how long his brain was deprived of oxygen. But we hope.

Sunday evening we heard the results of the CT scan and we were pleased that there was no brain injury, mass, or bleeding. We continued to hope. Yet, we knew that the neurological consult would give us more answers.

Today, we hear the news of his lack of response. My heart just broke. As prepared as I thought I was for this outcome, for the possibility of no recovery, hearing that he was unresponsive as they poked and prodded him, I knew that the outcome wouldn't be what we wanted.

Yesterday, July 4th, was supposed to be a time of celebration and joy. It was supposed to be a day of celebrating our nation's struggle to become independent, to celebrate the birth of our government. Instead, it became a celebration of something else.

It became a celebration of life.

48 hours ago, Papa sat in a nursing home waiting for tomorrow when he would return home. 48 hours ago, things were fine. Until a little respiratory problem became a big problem, that led to a heart attack, that led to oxygen deprivation, that led to severe brain damage.

Last night we were given the prognosis. Last night, a son and two daughters made the choice to give their father his independence. They made the choice to send him home. They gave God the freedom for his will to be done.

And today, we wait. We wait for those beautiful moments when God's divine plan will shine through. We wait for those moments when a child will be reunited with the friends and family that have gone before him. We wait for the moment that his spirit is free from his body and that he goes home.

Over the last few weeks we have felt so guilty about the choices that we have made to move out. To move on with building our life. We have struggled with finding peace about the choices we have made.

Yet today as I write this, and as I have had conversations with Papa's beautiful daughters, I have found that peace. I have also seen God at work in all of our lives in ways that I have never seen Him at work before. And that has been beautiful. The duplex that we are renting fell into our laps. It was perfect. Size wise, price wise, location wise. It took days from the time we looked at it, until the lease was signed. Days. The day we signed the lease was the day that we learned that Papa was coming home from the nursing home. Several days later we told him of our departure from his home. And while there were times of strain and tension on our relationship during the 2 weeks that he was home before we moved out, we all tried to make the best out of the situation. We moved out the day after he went back to the nursing home to undergo 2 weeks of rehab and therapy to regain some of the strength that he had lost.

His two weeks was up tomorrow. He was supposed to go home tomorrow. Now I believe that he will go home tomorrow, just not to the one he owns.

There have been so many moments in my life when I have seen God at work. When I have felt his presence, his comfort, his love. There have been times when I have seen his plan revealed and there are times when it has been harder to find. There have been days where I have questioned my faith, and his presence in my life. Yet yesterday I realized that he knew that today was coming. He knew that our lives were going to be turned upside down and our hearts inside out. He knew. He spent the last two weeks helping us to get ready, of finding our home and setting it up. He spent the last two weeks making sure that we wouldn't have to go back to his house and stay there knowing that Papa would never sit in his recliner or walk down the hall or see his babies again. And for that I will always be thankful.

I can imagine that the next few days and weeks will be hard. I can imagine that as we all move forward with our lives that there will be moments of intense sadness and intense joy as we celebrate his life and as we share our memories of him.

Today I'm thankful that God is in charge. Today I'm thankful that he prompted Papa's daughters to come and that they were here yesterday with their big brother and that he had put the idea in there heads a month ago to come here to see their dad this weekend, even though they decided on a date at the end of the month. I'm thankful that our entire family will be able to lean on him and find comfort and peace in the days and weeks to come. I'm thankful that our family has each other.

It Ain't for Sissies

There are stages of life that each one of us must pass through. Infancy, childhood, the dreaded teenage years, and finally adult hood, where you realize that your parent's aren't as stupid as you thought they were.

After seeing John's grandfather at home the past week, I have a new idea of getting old. I don't think that no matter what you do, it can't be done with a lot of dignity.

Granted, every case is different. Every person is different, so the struggles that Jerrold has won't be the same for everyone. His younger brother's life is drastically different. He still works, and has minimal health issues that keep him from living life on his terms.

It's been hard to witness the things that have came with old age. It's been hard to see Jerrold have no real desire to do something different about the circumstances. It's been hard to see him have no real desire for a different outcome. Instead he wants our sympathy. He wants everyone to be the optimist and see that in a week or 2 that he will be "back to normal". He wants to believe that. He wants us to believe that.

The last 24 hours have given me a glance into how our lives would be so very different if we weren't moving out. Do I feel bad? Yes. I hate that he can't care for himself. I hate that he pushed and bullied his doctors and nurses into letting him come home sooner than he was ready. I hate that their own desire to make their lives easier clouded their judgement. After phone calls between the nursing home, home health, and adult protective services; they are in agreement. Even Jerrold has admitted that there might be a small possibility that he shouldn't have came home yet.

Yesterday as we packed and continued to prepare for the move this upcoming weekend, I think that a reality set in for him. I think that he began to understand that things were fixing to be very different. That his life would be very different. I hope that his eyes were opened and that he is preparing himself for what's to come. I hope that he understands that this isn't a joke, and that in 6 days, he will be living alone again.

I hope that when Adult Protective Services shows up today, that he doesn't fight them. I hope that he listens to what they tell him, and that he follows their advice, willingly. Because after the past weekend and watching him sit in his own feces and urine for 38 hours, he is out of options. He is going to have to make some hard decisions, or adult protective services will make them for him.

Getting old is hard. Your body is worn out. And with all the abuse and injuries that his body has seen, it's a miracle that his hasn't failed him before now. His feet are healing and look so much better than they did. But another few weeks of the same routine as he has had the last week, he will be headed back towards the direction that brought all of this on. He has already discontinued his diet. which the high blood sugar helped his feet continue to deteriorate in the first place. It's sad and it's terrible to be powerless.

There is no dignity in getting old. You can only hope that you have taken good enough care of your body that if it starts to fail you that you can still continue to use an adult diaper to help with the embarrassment. You can only hope that you are still capable of changing yourself and tending to your own needs. You have to want to maintain some level of dignity, some level of self respect in order to survive.

One things for sure - getting old ain't for sissies.