Letter to You

 It's Father's Day and we spoke for only a few minutes. There are moments in a marriage where one runs out of words. I miss the moments where touch could communicate everything I wanted to say to you. I miss not having to figure out the explosions in my mind, how to define them, and then releasing them from my mouth. I miss my heart racing, my pulse jumping, my breath catching, because you walked.in.the.door. I miss the way your eyes dance when you're laughing. I miss throwing my head back because you said or did something hilarious. I miss sitting next to each other on the couch. I miss feeling like our lives were moving forward. I hate living, while also being on pause. 

I'm tired.

Who are we in this next chapter? Who are we in this current one? Why does it all feel so confusing, boring, underwhelming, and overwhelming all at the same time? Why do I feel incapacitated, like I can't take a deep breath, because I don't get to see you every day? Why does love feel so unfair sometimes? Why am I so jealous of schools and hope and promise of the future? Who are we anymore, babe? What are we even doing here?

There was such a lengthy period of time where I could answer those questions with ease. Everything felt so clear and focused. I knew the point. I got the brief. We were in it to win it. Then I saw the shit show of the fallout. The decisions that have broken my heart into thousands of pieces and then poured salt in the gaping wounds. There are moments where I used to scream from the mountaintops, tell the stories as loudly as I could. I used to fight for the families, fight for the marriages, fight for the country to understand the reality behind it all. We are not the characters that are displayed on tv. We are so much more nuanced than that. I spent years fighting to make leaders understand what the experience was of the spouses and the kids, the girlfriends and the parents. I fought with all that I could to make everyone's voices heard. I fought until my heart was broken and bruised.

I want our children to understand that while the Army defines its backbone as the NCO, there's no soldier without their family. Period. There's no military fathers without the other half of the equation sitting back in America, while everyone barbeques, holding their crying children, putting on a happy face, hunkering down and just.getting.through.it. While simultaneously figuring out care packages, fighting to keep the connection alive via text, conversation, email, letter.

I'm so tired.

I feel so broken. I feel so drained. I feel exhausted and conflicted and unable to describe with any level of efficiency even the slightest element of how I feel. The minutes take forever to pass, and what has felt like a year has only been a couple of months. War is not for those who have seen too much of it. There's a necessary naivete. I feel angry when I hear people say We have to support this to save the world. I want to scream that they have exactly zero understanding of what that means, feels like, or looks like. Zero. I want to yell how easy it is to state when one's not sitting alone without their absolute favorite human being, for the seventh deployment, for the 102nd (and counting - adding in a separate tour, and not including training) month of sleepless, lonely nights. I'm the one sitting here trying to keep it all together waiting for the day when this current shit show will end and I will be able to take a deep breath and finally fall asleep.

I miss things making sense, then you get on facetime and I lay there staring at you, in the dark of our room, until the sound of your breath makes me fall asleep. I push my aching heart up against the imagination of what it feels like to be wrapped up in your embrace. I slow my breathing and go to the moments where you're hand is interlocked with mine, and everything feels simple and calm. I miss you.

November 24

 America,

Our wedding was nothing at all like I envisioned my wedding day would be. I was terrified to get married. Terrified. So I asked him to stay with me (calm down folks...) the night before. He woke up early and snuck out on the day of our wedding. I still remember him kissing my forehead before he grabbed his dress uniform and walked out. 

Our wedding day was probably how I would define awful. We were married in a mess of a building, by a guy we didn't know, on a day where it not only rained, but also dropped a tornado. We had no real wedding cake (a quick Walmart sheet cake), a dress I hated, no photographer, and on and on. With all of the awful components to the day, there are beautiful things that stand out to me. 

He stayed because I asked him to. There wasn't a debate about it, or an argument, or me begging him to do what I needed him to, he just did it. In that subtle, small moment, he showed me that he would always choose me if he was capable of doing so. He kissed my forehead goodbye in the morning, something he has done every single morning that he has been here to do so. 

I have written, and spoken, many times about the moment with my Dad in the foyer before walking in, but I will do so again. I was having an awful day. I was disappointed and overwhelmed and afraid. All of my sisters had walked in and it was just me and my dad. I was sitting on a bench and he looked me square in the eye and said If you don't want to do this we will walk out of here right now and NO ONE will say anything to you about it. In that single phrase, my 21 year old, scared self, had the safety of her Dad saying that no matter what, he would protect me. He and I had the bond of a lifetime, and I did not have any clue, at the time, what it must have been like for him. In that moment, he must have been recognizing that I was never going to come back. In that foyer, my Daddy was letting me go, and double checking that I was ready to do it. He knew that we would never be close by again, and every close moment would be short lived through vacations or trips or phone calls. I remember saying I want to marry him Dad. I'm just scared. He responded Well then you hold on to me darlin', and I'll get you there. I linked my shaky arm through his strength and down we went. What a gift that I get to hold that memory of my sweet father so close to my heart.

That day, we had no clue what our marriage would walk us through. We had no idea of the enormous heartaches and challenges we would face. We were just two scared young adults who knew without a shadow of a doubt, that we had to face the world together. What a treasure this marriage is to me.

Mess

 America,

Every attempt to write about him, or to talk about him, falls short. It's like trying to write a piece of music that expresses how the ocean moves against the shore. Nothing quite sums it up. 

If you come to me to support the dissolution of your marriage, you're not going to get it. I believe that marriages are made to be hard, heavy, challenging, exhausting. I believe that marriages are like trying to win a race to the top of Mount Everest. They take an astronomical amount of blood, sweat, tears, endurance, and perseverance. They take a multitude of cursing escapades, an abundance of begging God, and words of praise. Marriage is messy and hard and ugly. But it's also more beautiful than the most beautiful sunrise you've ever seen. It's more breathtaking than a full moon as it's low against planet Earth. It's more outstanding than the sight of your favorite person after a long time apart.

My marriage has been as ugly and messy as they can get. There have been more nightmares and hardships than anyone other than him understands. There have been so many screaming matches, silent treatments, and moments where all hope was lost. There were years of darkness that I didn't believe we could crawl out of. He's an asshole and a gentleman and the funniest person I've ever known. He's stubborn beyond what anyone can possibly imagine. He's also the safest place I've ever been. He's the most supportive person on the planet. He is willing to dive in, head first, with me in all of the darkest places I've been. He holds my hand and sits next to me waiting for me to be ready to climb out of the holes I sometimes find myself in. He supports the grief I feel about the struggles we navigate, and he somehow thinks I'm fantastic when most days I'm a centimeter away from being a complete and utter basket case.

There have been so many periods where we didn't like each other at all, where we felt like the Grand Canyon was between us and connection was impossible. We have walked through hell and back and there again. 

Marriage is amazing. I'm forever only his. By God's grace we're still messing it up, and building it back together again. By God's strength we're still fighting to be holding each other's hands, and wrapped around each other at night. There's no one on earth that compares to him. I'm thankful for every war we've fought, every battle we've lost, every moment we've laughed, and every second we've been together and apart. This mess is magical.

Trainees

They sit there staring at me, with pleading eyes.

What's it all really like?
What's your favorite duty station?
Are you happily married? They say you can't be and be in the Army.
Do you care about us?

Every time I see them, something in me is changed. Every time I drive past, my heart aches. I love seeing how they change around their families, the version of them that I am blessed to spend time with disappears, confidence swells and joy overwhelms. America, I wish you could see how these boys are brave. They have a courage that I can't define, and it's simultaneously wrapped up in what-the-heck-have-I-done???

I tell them how much I admire them. They joined knowing that we are at war. There are no illusions in their minds about what they are facing. They know that a fight is ahead of them: fights against their fears, their drill sergeants, their desire to sleep, the enemy...

My husband asked me why it impacts me so. I told him it's because I know what's ahead. I've been to too many funerals and hospitals. I've had a front row seat for too many divorces, and fears. I know the enormity of the task before them, and I know that the vast majority of them will have an extremely difficult time handling it. I know that they will desperately look for someone to comfort them, and then make it almost impossible for them to come anywhere near to their heart. I know the walls that will exist, and I know the effort it takes to tear them down. So I feel compelled. I feel burdened. Pour in as much Love, as much courage, and as much Goodness as I humanly can, in the few hours I spend with them, as those walls are being built up. And I hope that it will stay there, with them, forever.

Broken bones

I'm sitting here in my living room, wrapped in an afghan, cup of coffee beside me, listening. I'm listening to the noises going on around me: my children singing songs and talking to each other, my brain swollen and sore from a recent injury, my arm: broken and wounded...

I'm alive.

I was riding my bike with my Newfoundland, as I do almost every day. A number of situations came in to play that were unusual, on this particular day. We hadn't ridden in several days because of a medication I'm on that needs me to not be out in the sun. My bike was shaking and handling funny, so I slowed down to get off of it, when a neighbor's unleashed dog came out around a vehicle to approach me. My dog (who can pull up to a 1,000 lb cart), yanked hard (part pent up energy from no walk, and part wanting to play with a dog, and part puppy nonsense that has trouble with impulse control) and launched me about 10 feet over my handle bars and on to the ground. I heard my head hit the ground. I felt the impact.

I was dazed, stunned, and a plethora of medical crises education washed over. Assess, assess, assess. I sat up, and my neighbors crowded around.

Are you all right?
Just give me a minute. I just need a minute. What happened? Where am I? Can I move? Oh my gosh! I'm on the ground. I can sit. I can move my feet, and my legs and my arms. Oh my arm! My arm hurts.

You're bleeding. Your bleeding really bad.

I looked over and saw blood dripping down my arm from my shoulder. The skin was gone and gravel was embedded. It's going to suck scrubbing that out...

Boe was freaking out with confusion. He was so excited to be outside, but now I'm being surrounded by people. I remember watching him trying to figure out what to do. He wasn't sure if he should be playing or protecting, or enjoying some attention. I told him to chillax and he laid down.

I asked a neighbor to make sure my eyes were not shaking, and that my pupils were even. I was slightly dizzy, but nothing overly intense. I knew that my head was the first priority, the rest could be dealt with. Brain's bleeding and whatnot are no good, no matter the situation.

A neighbor helped me home, along with my children. I wanted to get in the shower as soon as possible. I needed to scrub the gravel out of the left side of my body (shoulder, hip, leg, arm), and there was so much surface area to deal with that I knew a shower would be easiest. Adrenaline stops pumping relatively quickly and it's more helpful to navigate extreme pain when it's still flooding the system.

I took off my helmet, and glanced down. The foam was shattered. It was still intact because the plastic pieces are glued to the foam, but the foam was completely broken. My neighbor said I heard your head hit the ground from inside my house. That's why I came out. Wow.

In the shower, as soon as the water hit, the adrenaline wore off. I screamed, I mean actually screamed. The pain was undefinable. I soaped up and scrubbed. I knew it was going to hurt. I also knew it had to be done. Infection is nothing to mess with. My kids ran for the first aid kit, so I could treat and dress the wounds after I got out.

When I got out of the shower, the pain in my arm surged. Trying to dry off and get dressed was practically impossible. I screamed through the entire ordeal. This was not the horrible skin pain of shredding off flesh, this was deeper... it was bone pain. I will deal with this after I address the bleeding...

I gauzed, wrapped, and bacitracin'd my cuts. Then I went to the arm. Can I move it? Can I touch it? Is this muscular or bone? It was here I discovered that my arm would not lift about a ninety degree angle. Crap... I might have to go to the ER...

The kids grabbed ice packs, while I elevated my arm. My head was starting to really hurt. I started sobbing. Not out of self pity. The pain was very intense. I called Chief, who told me to go to the ER. I argued, because that's my nature, but he was right so I went.

The triage nurse was concerned by how calm I was. In fact, she was quite concerned, especially given my head injury. The took me off to X ray very quickly. I screamed and cried through the entire experience. It was agonizingly painful. But I knew that when it was over, it'd be over.

I broke my arm on the tip of the radius. It's tiny, but it's leaking bone marrow tissue out into the surrounding tissue. No cast, because of the location of the break. Just a sling and ice. I can't take any pain medications because of the brain injury. Pain meds increase bleeding risks, so my body is navigating this injury all on its own.

Pain is powerful. My body is telling me it's hurt. It's telling me to slow down, rest, stop.

I'm alive.

No, I won't be riding with Boe anymore. I am not mad at him in any capacity. He's a dog and he was doing what dog's do. I just know it's not worth the risk. I'll have to come up with a new way to give him the joy of hard physical work, without risking my life. Anyone have a cart they'd care to share? ;)

I am in a decent amount of pain. But to be honest, this accident has filled my heart with joy. Why, you might be wondering? Because I didn't die. Seriously. If you saw my helmet, you would maybe understand. In that singular moment, if I had not had a helmet on, it could have been my brain on the pavement. The story could have ended with my children watching me die in the street. It could have been with a funeral, instead of a broken, painful arm. I'll take the arm. I'll take the extra days, minutes, hours, to tell my children how much I love them. I want the extra moments to share with them the things that I've learned, and the joy I feel in being their Mom. I want the extra days to kiss my husband and wake up in this beautiful life I am so fortunate to live.

I'm alive!

I celebrate life. I celebrate one more chance to pour out my life, my love, my heart into the world around me.

Our time is running out. It's the craziest thought, but it's immensely powerful. We have a limited number of unknown days on this planet, and our time is running out. There isn't enough time to share it all. There isn't enough time to love enough. There isn't enough time to say all I want to say...

I'm sitting here in my living room listening. I can hear my children building and creating lego cities. I can hear my body healing itself and demanding rest. I can feel the love of my husband pouring out from miles away. I feel joy. I feel gratitude. I'm alive.

Jake

They handed me a blue collar before they brought him out and turned him over to me. He was abandoned by a family who moved and "couldn't" take him with them. He was huge and gentle and energetic. Blue became Jake, but we always kept that dog collar from the very first day.

The furry four legged love of my life is dying. As I write this to you I can't stop sobbing, reminiscing, aching. It's an ache that there's little comfort for. The agony of knowing when the right "time" is, is really being selfless enough to let him go...

The justification process for keeping him alive is really non existent now. He isn't really eating well. He falls quite frequently now. His eyes... his eyes beg me for mercy. I yelled at him for giving me that look. I yelled at him for dying. I yelled at him because I don't want this.

We've set "goodbye" dates and passed them. We've made plans and ignored them. We've argued against ourselves about whether or not we should give him "one more day to perk up". We've looked at the events of the day and tried to decide whether or not we should push it because we have something going on. We've ignored, ignored, ignored the inevitable.

How do you know when it's time? I can't tell you how many people have said "you just know". Well, no I don't. Because what I "know" and what I'm allowing myself to "know" are not in sync. A grieving mind is a powerful tool at seeing only what it wants to see. A selfish heart is completely able to ignore how rapidly he breathes, how little he eats, how often his legs fall out from under him, how much he shakes. A selfish heart can ignore all of that or can mentally look for the one. thing that he still "enjoys" and say that's reason enough to make him endure all of this agony. And I have one hell of a selfish heart. Because I don't want to say goodbye. I don't want to take him to a clinic where they'll give him a shot and I'll walk out with his blue collar and no him. I don't want to walk into my house and not see his brown furry face. I don't want to sleep and not hear him snoring away. I don't want to sit on my couch and not have him irritating me by laying on my feet, or half on my lap.

You know the end is here when the conversations about him are all past tense.
Remember how he used to pull weeds in the yard? And he would carry them over to the rocks because he didn't want them in the grass? Remember?
Remember how he used to pick up all of the tiny pieces of trash on the floor so that the triplets wouldn't put it in their mouth?
Remember how he saved my sanity and figured out what Bruni needed when she was a baby? Remember how he rescued me from near hysteria over the endless crying? Remember?
Remember that time when he decided he wanted to be held and jumped into my lap and then had this sort of consciousness that he was massive and probably shouldn't be sitting there? But he just resigned himself to what he'd already done and decided to "roll with it" and how funny that was? Remember?
Remember how he NEVER let anyone touch the babies or Lolli, but he did it in the most gentle, unobtrusive way, so that people never realized what he was actually doing? He ALWAYS put himself between a "stranger" and our children. People thought he was just friendly, or annoying, but we knew it was really about safety?
Remember how he would kick out my giant teddy bear when Chief was deployed and slip himself in its place? He HATES that teddy bear!
Remember his last hurrah of destruction where he ate the Tucks pads? Still wonder if that was the first or final act in that day of household terror.
Remember when he fell in love with that stuffed animal bird? How he would carry it around like his puppy and love on it endlessly? Remember how he dug out the brand new one he didn't even know existed (we didn't show it to him), directly out of a pile of bags without touching ANYTHING ELSE?
Remember how he would always either spoon me, or force me to spoon him, and how the process was so slow and gradual that you'd never even know it was happening until you woke up in that scenario with him happy as can be.
Remember how he was every time it rained and he wouldn't leave the porch to go to the bathroom because of his passionate hatred of water, but if there was snow... if there was snow he was the happiest dog on the planet. He would bolt out and run around like a crazy dog, rolling, diving, jumping in the frozen water.
Remember the first time he experienced a vacuum? That thing was the devil and he was certain it had to be immediately destroyed.
Remember how he was during and after his first bath? Yikes!
Remember how he hates all small dogs with a passion, but you get him around a puppy and he becomes father of the year. He would take on this goal of protection, instruction, and leadership that was absolutely beautiful to watch.
Remember how mad he was at me when I dropped him off at the Kennel overnight because we were moving and I didn't want him getting out? How he wouldn't even acknowledge my existence for two days? 
Remember when he picked Foofi up off of the ground and launched her with his nose?
Remember when Foofi would jump up on his back like he was a step stool to reach something she couldn't reach under normal circumstances?
Remember the time he dragged a Husky and a Doberman across the yard while they struggled fiercely against him?
Remember how panicked he would get every time suitcases came out, or boxes were being packed, or anything "going away" was involved? Until he realized that when we left, we brought him too and then he started to enjoy it.
Remember how when Chief left for his gazillionth deployment he would sit and lick away my tears, and hold my hand with his paw until I felt comforted. Remember how he would wrap his big furry arms around me while I slept, as if he took on this charge of physical and mental protection of me, in Chief's absence. 
Remember all of the personal, and beautiful things that he has shared with each of us, igniting this magical bond between himself and humanity, that can't be shared?

He has etched his very essence into my soul. He was our first family pet. I told Chief that I believed him to be a guardian angel sent to help us. He really was the only being that could soothe our daughter when she was little. He was the one who understood what she needed when we could not. He is the one who brought me, and the rest of my family, endless hours of comfort, laughter, and love. So please bare with me as I will myself to let him go. Please pour out grace, kindness, and mercy on my devastated heart. Please pray for my children, and my heart, as we say goodbye. Our children have asked to be present as he goes off to heaven.

He came into my life with a blue collar. And short of my memories, it's about to be all that I'll have left to hold. My God, this hurts.

Edited: Jake went to heaven today. He laid in my lap as I kissed him over and over again while he left this earth. The sobs are heavy and the pain is great, but he is worth every bit of it. He went to sleep hearing over and over again "I love you so much!" By the grace of God, I was able to love him enough to finally let him go...

Spock and Princesses

I live in a world that I've created for myself. It's filled to the brim with meetings, tasks, events. It's an overloaded calendar and a way-too busy schedule. It's a sea of stress and over exertion.

Today I looked up and my eye caught the gaze of one of my children. She was standing about ten feet away from me, watching. I was busily working away at the computer. Emails, homeschool lesson plans, facebook pages all demanded my attention and I "needed" to get it done.

Come and play with me, Mommy.

My instinct was to say Just a minute and the truth is on any other day that's probably what I would have said. More than likely I would have said it in an irritated tone that hinted at "How dare you interrupt me?" But for whatever reason that I can't possibly give myself credit for, I got up. I walked over to her, smiled and picked her up. I spun her around and she laughed and laughed in the way that only she is capable of doing. She kissed my cheek and I stared into her brown eyes. She had a small patch of her curly hair over her eyes, between her glasses and her face. I brushed that aside and said You are SO beautiful. She proceeded to Vulcan Death grip me. I reminded her that I am immune and in my most serious super villain voice I said BUT YOU ARE NOT!!! MWA HA HA HA!

She jumped down, screamed and ran off down the hallway. She did so, in a beautiful tone that hinted at "Come and chase me Mommy!" I happily obliged, and turned myself into a Star Trek bad-gal out to get Ms. Spock (that's who she likes to be).

When it was all said and done I had this overwhelming sense in my heart that this is what I want them to remember about me. I want them to reflect back on their childhood and remember that Mommy got up from whatever it was that she was "SO busy with" and played. Even if she didn't feel like it. I want them to remember us playing with legos, barbies, and baby dolls. I want them to remember pillow fights, Sardines, and dog-piles. I want them to at least know, for a period of time that I hope to make last as long as possible, that they are safe, they are adored, they matter. Especially since reality will come in like a hurricane one day and tell them the opposite of all of those things. When it comes, it will chip away at their foundation, and I want to have built up enough of it to be able to withstand the destructive components of "you suck" that wash over children in puberty.

I want them to believe me when I tell them about how much God loves them, because I have lived a life that has shown them how much I love them.

I can't give myself credit for getting up and playing Spock. I have no idea why I did it. But for a moment, however brief it was, and how little it damaged my unending to-do list from being completed, I made my six year old brown-eyed girl feel like the center of my world. It cost me nothing, but it gave my heart so much joy.

Polar Bear Plunge

When I was younger I had a mental image of my adult life. The picture was so vivid and powerful. I remember the distinct moment where it forked in the road. I had to choose, image or reality. It was time to stop envisioning and start living. You see life pictures are such a ridiculous thing to envision. The real joys, the real awesome moments of life are things you could never have possibly imagined.

The day I married Chief, I felt sick to my stomach. I felt, literally, like vomiting. I felt like a tiger about to be caged. I didn't have all those dreamy, musically sappy emotions that so many people seem to experience. I didn't want to get married. I wanted to be married, but not actually take the step of entering into it. I had no dreams of relinquishing my life, my heart, my self to another human being. So what I had imagined my wedding to be, ended up not happening at all. The truth is that it was an awful day. Sounds funny to write that, but it's true. My wedding day completely sucked. Hated the dress. Hated the church. Hated the rush of it all. Hated pretty much everything about it. Except two things: 1. I married the greatest man I've ever known and 2. my dad made me feel so safe, so brave, in what was probably the scariest moment in my life at the time.

I knew that being married would be tough. I knew Chief better than anyone else, well before I was willing to marry him. I knew that he knew me. I always had the belief that two people should enter into a permanent union with their eyes wide open. They should know the good, the bad, and the ugly before they decide whether or not til death do they part. I held nothing back. I didn't participate in the ridiculous mating rituals of "I'll show you my good side". I always thought that was stupid (I still do, by the way). How can someone adequately assess if the promise is really a good idea if they don't know the real you!?

He knew I didn't want to get married. He knew I was a flight risk. He knew it so well that he knew to spend time with me the day of our wedding (collective GASP!) right before the ceremony (double gasp!). He knew I just had to get through the promise. (I feel it necessary to add, for history's sake, that he threatened the tar out of me too... I will never talk to you again!!! He clearly was nervous I would bail again...) It was like standing at the edge of the lake waiting to join the Polar Bear Club (yes, I'm a member). You're standing there staring in to the water and you feel like your heart is in your chest. You have these self protecting notions screaming so loud you can barely think: get the hell out of here!!! but you have this other part that says I can do this. I want to do this. I know I can rock this. And no, I'm not referring to the wedding day. I'm referring to the relationship. I knew I was made for Chief. I knew he was made for me. There wasn't a doubt in my mind. Not even a slight doubt. Chief and I were meant to be. 

I was standing in the hallway, waiting to go down the aisle to the dude that was going to rock my world, staring ahead at the plunge. My brain was screaming at me to run away... Marriages don't work. What married people do you know that are happy? You're doomed to repeat the mistakes of your parents. You can't handle being alone. What on earth makes you think you can handle a soldier? And then my Dad cut through the internal screaming: "Are you ready?" He must have sensed that I was contemplating running out of the church. He said "If you don't want to do this we will walk out of this church right now and NO ONE will say anything to you." I laughed. (He always makes me laugh when I most need to) "No Dad. He's the one. I'm just scared." He said: "We'll do it together. I've got you." 

And with that, we linked arms and walked down the aisle: I made the plunge. With that I let go of my very life, and gave it to someone else. With that I erased my name, and the disappointments that went along with it, and merged my very self to something new. 

Now, years later (I am battled scarred, after all... haha) I can say that the pictures I envisioned of my adult life were nothing close to what my life is actually like. How could I have ever imagined something as amazing as all this? 

Rumination Syndrome

My son was recently diagnosed with a very rare condition called Rumination Syndrome. To help to define the perimeters of how rare this condition is, there is no known treatment plan for a child of his age. If he was 12, it wouldn't be that complicated, but 5? Nope, nada, nil.

This inspired a phone call to the Mayo Clinic. You know how many children under the age of 10 they have treated with this condition? One. That's right folks, one child. And that child was 9, not five. 

To explain, Rumination Syndrome is where your body involuntarily regurgitates (or vomits) up your food. You have no pain, nausea, or feelings of discomfort. Your food just refuses to stay in your stomach. The result of this is malnutrition. You are essentially starving because your body won't keep food in your stomach long enough to digest it. 

My son is underweight and under-size. He is considered to be the size of a very small four year old. The belief is that it's because he's not getting adequate nutrition. It doesn't matter how much we feed him, it won't stay down.

He was diagnosed three years ago with another rare gastrointestinal syndrome called Gastroparesis. He was the youngest child that his Pediatric GI had ever seen with it. He was 2. This was discovered after he spent a month vomiting every.single.thing that went into his mouth. By the time he was hospitalized (yes it took a month because there was no consistency with physicians and they all kept saying he had a stomach "bug"), he couldn't lift his head. He looked skeletal. My two year old child had lost nearly 10 pounds. 

For the past year, the medications for Gastroparesis stopped working. His condition was getting worse again. We went in for our routine six month check, and his doctor became convinced something else was going on. After a plethora of tests, we discovered he no longer has Gastroparesis (YAY!), but he does have Rumination Syndrome.

Let me put it to you how our doctor put it to us:

Doc: He's got Rumination Syndrome.

Me: Okay. What do we do about it?

Doc: Well... I have NO idea.

Me: Huh?

Doc: This is astoundingly uncommon to see it in a five year old. This is something that we see with adolescents. It's associated with Bulimia and severe anxiety.

Me: Okay...

Doc: I have nothing more I can do. But I'm going to do some research, contact some colleagues, as I'm sure you're going to do as well. Lets communicate and see what we can come up with. 

Me: You've got it.

It's not very often that your specialist doctor is stumped!

Today I spent three hours pouring over medical reference texts, websites, and on the phone with treatment programs. The other day I spent three hours on the phone with the Pediatric Gastroenterology head nurse at the Mayo Clinic. We are submitting a request to see if they will take on my son's case.

This child has endured uncommon experiences from  the beginning of his life. He's a triplet, wasn't supposed to survive in utero, wasn't "supposed" to survive after birth. He wasn't "supposed" to be smart. He wasn't "supposed" to walk. He has overcome so many medical situations. He knows far too much about IV's, hospitals, nurses, and doctors. But you know what? This kid is a rock star. He is smart, funny, charming. He is loving and silly. He loves Star Wars and Star Trek and cars. He has a deep love for all people (young and old, male and female). He befriends almost everyone he meets, even if they're putting in IV's (he HATES IVs). He loves Legos and his sisters. He shouts out "THANK YOU!!!!" to every police officer, firefighter, paramedic, security guard, MP, etc that he sees, whether or not they can hear him. He has a passionate love for all things Army and Marines. He has conquered a thousand odds.

So here's one more thing for this amazing kiddo to conquer. And conquer it I know he will. 

Waves

I was knee-deep in self misery and wallowing. I was trapped in self pitying scenario, like a broken record skipping over and over again. I was lost in the vicious mind-cycle of asking why, over and over again. And one day I woke up and finally accepted the outcome. One day the changes became habits and the habits became the norm and I stopped asking. It was what it was. It is what it is. And it will be what it will be.

So I put one foot in front of the other and I transformed myself to this new reality. I could handle it. I could juggle it all. I thrive in chaos. It's what's been the norm my whole life. I was equipped.

I think I did a pretty good job of it. It started to feel like it wasn't that big of a deal. But then a moment would come where someone would ask about it and I'd list each condition, each challenge, each diagnosis and my whole head would start spinning and I would think Do I really do this every single day!?

The truth of it all is that I am exhausted. I'm sick of doctors. I'm sick of tests. I'm sick of "conditions" and medicine and creams and on and on. I'm sick of going through every single day with eighteen thousand things that my brain has to remember and process and deal with. I'm. tired.

What I most want to convey to people is that parents with children who have special needs are exhausted. They don't need to be pitied or rescued. They need you to understand that sometimes they alienate, they "disappear", they don't call for a while, they withdraw... Not because they don't appreciate you, or value you in their lives. They do it for self preservation. They do it to climb inside of themselves, lick their wounds, and re-emerge stronger.

I am so tired. I am just trying to keep going. It's hard when you're so tired of things you can't change, fix, or will away. I'm tired of conditions and there is nothing I can do about them. I'm tired of all of things that massively impact my life, and I can not influence them at all. I'm tired of medicine. I'm tired of tests. I'm tired of going to the doctor all the time.

I have so much to count as my blessings. I work hard to speak of those things, and to focus on those things. Not in an effort to ignore my frustrations, but rather in an effort to keep my mind focused on the good. It's like being a wave. You can choose to lament over being crashed on the shore, sucked out to sea, and then tossed around over and over again, or you can choose to acknowledge that the sand is always there to catch you.

I am blessed that I have one heck of a beautiful beach always there to catch me. I'm blessed that he is the backbone of all that I am, and that he is strong enough to handle the ferociousness of my crashing down. I am thankful that he resists the force of my churning, but yet moves and bends with me. He works against me and with me at the same time. And the result is something beautiful that only the two of us together can create.

But today I'm tired. Today I'm feeling a bit sorry for myself. Today I want to cancel the doctor's appointments that we have almost every single day for the next week. Today I want to not give any medicines or treatments or any thought to conditions...

But instead I'll keep crashing on that beach. And I'll take great comfort in that he'll always be there to catch me when I fall. Today I'll focus on that, and maybe tomorrow I won't feel so drained.

Shining like the dawn

Do you have kids afraid of the dark? I have one who has apparently inherited that awful experience. She is terrified of the dark, and in true-to-how-her-mother-was fashion, she is almost always sleeping in bed with her sister (remember Jo!?).

Last night the hallway light, bathroom light, basically every light the kid had the bravery to get up and turn on, was on when my husband got up to go to work (his exact words: our room was lit up like the sun was shining this morning when I got up). They weren't on when we went to bed, so we know someone got up and turned them on. This prompted a conversation with my kids this morning:

Me: Did someone get up and turn on the bathroom and hallway lights last night?
Charchee: (hand up) I did.
Me: Why did you do that?
Charchee: Because I was scared.
Me: Thank you for admitting that you did it. But do you know why we need to not do that? It is very important that we think very carefully about everything we're using on our planet. When we leave lights on while we sleep, we waste resources that could have been used to do something else.
Charchee: Well I was scared.
Me: What are you scared of?
Charchee: The dark.
Me: What about the dark?
Charchee: The monsters in the dark. Well, at least I think there are monsters in the dark, but they're not real.
Me: How do you know they're not real? Did you ask them?
Charchee: WHAT!? Ask them? 
Me: Yeah! Why don't you ask them if they're real!
Charchee: (laughs)
Me: Listen, the world is filled with all sorts of beautiful things that come JUST when you're scared. They're called angels. Angels come in the darkness and they keep watch over you. Maybe those monsters you've been seeing are really angels hanging out in your room! But if you turn the lights on, then the angels hide.
Charchee: Why would an angel come in my room?
Me: Maybe they want to check out your really neat angel halloween costume!
Charchee: WWWWHHHHHAAAATTTT! (laughing) I bet they really like it and they want it!
Me: Maybe you'll be able to catch them tonight and then you'll know it's really angels and not monsters in your room. But you have to keep it really, really dark or you won't be able to see them!
Charchee: Okay Mommy. I'm going to look for them.

I think as parents our instinct is to tell children things are not there or real. But that's simply not accurate. Whether you believe in God or not, there are presences that come and surround us all the time. For some people it's ghosts, for others angels/demons, deceased family members, or it's the dreams and ambitions of a creative mind. Whatever you believe, I think that telling a child there is no such thing as monsters is ludicrous. Maybe my creative child, actually sees monsters in the darkness. Maybe the best thing is to teach our frightened children that scary things really do exists, but there are tools to handle them.

In our home I want to teach my children to understand the things they can not see. There is so much to believe in that is not something we can physically touch or feel. While I absolutely wish my child was not afraid of the dark, I am thankful for the opportunity to dive into this scary experience and show her how awesome the unseen things can actually be. So awesome, in fact, that they're scary ;)

Mr Jones.

I'm supposed to write a little ditty about Chief for our vows renewal that is coming up. Yes, I am started to get pretty darn close to the deadline, but to be completely honest, how do I write enough tiny little words to fill up a 3X5 card about a person who can't be defined? How do I pick a few words to say a lifetime's worth of gratitude? What can I say that will stick with the dude who remember's dates like no other, and can seem to quote things I've said with no trouble at all?

You saved my life. I mean really. I was completely broken. I was curled up on my kitchen floor, seriously considering ending my life, because the honest fact is that no one ever really cared about me. I was on the phone with you and bawling my eyes out about how I must surely be unlovable because no one ever could, would, or did. I think it was the only moment in all my years knowing you where your entire soul was screaming at me, and the ache and desperation in your voice were seeping out. You shouted How could you EVER say that!? I would give ANYTHING to love you if you'd just let me! LET ME LOVE YOU! I would give anything to love you! It was the most impassioned plea. It was filled with desperation, agony, and complete heartache. And it was the first time in my life that I had ever truly, truly known that someone loved me.

You have always known the ugliest sides of me. You have been the object of my deepest agony, my longest darkness, my heaviest burdens. You've been the brunt of my anger, the object of my rejection, the denial of my need. You have felt all of the horribleness I am capable of dishing out. You have never once made me feel like a burden. You have never once made me feel crazy, or insane, or ridiculous. You have never once mocked my immature behavior. You always have placed me above all others, even when I was not your girlfriend.

You have always chosen to see the best in me. You have always chosen to accept my damages. You have laughed at my jokes, handed me tissues when I'm crying, and given me things I never imagined ever having or wanting. You have literally saved my life. You have given me the freedom to fight my demons, the comfort to move past the constant rejections, and the love that my spirit has ached for. You are the only person who knows me. You are the only person that gets me. You are my human version of Agape. You are my mate, my heart, my love.

Thank you for having the balls to dive into my darkness and pull me out of it. Thank you for sharing my life journey with me. Thank you for laughing along this road of ridiculousness with me. Thank you for having four beautiful children with me. Thank you for not jumping ship when it's been tough. Thank you for forgiving my many flaws, and embracing my good traits. Thank you for allowing me to acknowledge my stupidities without shoving them in my face. Thank you for the butt dance, putting up with pillowgate, and my heart's love for a four legged dog who costs us loads of money. Thank you for being strong enough to not only be my man, but to also be my protector, my children's father, my friend.

You and I have always been underestimated and under appreciated by those in our lives. It's pretty freaking neat that together we've been conquering odds and shattering statistics and having one heck of a time doing it. I can't wait to spend a jillion more years being silly with you.