Her.

America,    

    I have two best friends: one that I am married to, and one that I am not. You know an awful lot about the one that I am married to, but I don't talk about BA as much. I will attempt to do so now.

    I am not one prone to a lot of labels. Calling someone a "best" anything is something I am generally opposed to doing. I think that a best friend is something hard fought to win. It comes with responsibility, dedication, commitment, and loyalty. I don't just offer those commitments out willy-nilly. When I met BA, my whole family decided that she was my "best friend." It took me a while to get on board. 

    She and I are a lot alike. As we grew in our friendship, the similarities kept on coming. Where we are different, it compliments. I am heavily prone to the dramatic (anyone surprised!?) while she is super even-keeled. I panic, she reflects. We are both passionate, focused, incredibly smart bad mofos handling life like bosses (haha). She can make me laugh so hard it hurts. She can take a dark and cloudy emotional day and remind the inner-hot-mess-of-myself that she is not alone, and she'll be okay. She inspires the shit out of me. She navigates life with such wisdom and grace, and it annoys me (on occasion) that she doesn't see it in herself. It's a privilege to walk with her while she loves our God, her husband, and her children, while tackling new challenges, seeking out answers, and navigating the hurdles of growing older.

    I do not hold the eloquence in writing that she does (she's an author), so I struggle to describe her. She was the greatest gift that Fort Benning ever gave me. I know that I can call her and rant and rave about my pitiful life (cue tiny violins), and she will support me, my marriage, my motherhood, my Catholicism, and my femininity. She doesn't judge me when I utter a plethora of curse words in one sentence, and a genuine prayer in the next. She totally accepts my personal obsession with Moses, as someone who sees it almost as clearly as my husband and children do (but she's not under any contractual obligations to accept it. LOL!). 

    I told her today that we can go for weeks without talking, but no matter what she's my best friend. Like it or not! Sort of like the blood-in-blood-out vibe of my marriage. LOL! I wish, with all of my heart that we could live in the same city again, but even if that is not meant to be, I know that in Heaven (when we get there) we will be laughing, talking, and having the world's best time. 

    She's amazing, America! What's some things you cherish about your best friend?

September

I'm sitting here on our couch, wearing your ring, wrapped up in your ghost. I'm rounding the bend to forty. A significant age. You were not here for my 18th, 21st, or my 25th birthdays either. I feel the air leave my chest and it's as if the inhale hesitates to come. I'm here and you're there and I keep telling myself that we chose this, that I chose this, but it isn't helping at all because the air doesn't want to fill my lungs and my heart doesn't want to beat and my eyes don't want to stop leaking. 

All I want is you.

It's lame and pathetic. I have a million things to be grateful for. I have a million moments to stay rooted and present in. I have so many experiences that I am living here and now. I hate that I feel like I'm living in pause between the moments where you are on the phone and when we hang up. I hate how physically my body aches for you. I am so fortunate that God has given me so many arms to hug. I am so grateful that our children are such fantastic, beautiful, glorious, magnificent creatures and that while you are away the five of us get to deepen our bond and connection to each other. I always wish you could see how amazing they are in these moments when you're away. They have a bravery, courage, and dedication that is outstanding to see. Of course they have all of these things when you're here too. It's probably that my eyes spotlight it more when they are not so focused on you...

Moments like right now I want to give up. I want to say screw it to all of our plans and directions. I want to say I'm tired of this lifestyle, throw in the towel, and move on to a different life. These moments make me hate in a way that I have never hated before. Because, Love, this love moves my heart through such overwhelming grief that I feel like I can't breathe. 

You know, better than anyone, how much I loathe any sense of weakness in myself. You also know how utterly weak I am for you. It's bizarre how much I love that, though. Love, though it moves me to the greatest depths of despair, is the most profound gift that I can pour out of myself. I will empty my flesh of everything I am, if it gives me one more moment of sustenance to love more. Love hurts so much, Love, that I am moved through weakness and sorrow to something I can never adequately put to words.

Today I poured out all of the hurt around my birthday to you. I cried and cried and I hated feeling that way but I have always known that I can be selfish, broken, shattered with you and you will hold it. You will let me be all of those things and you will listen so that I can pick myself up by the boot straps and keep on going. I love that today you didn't remind me that we, as a family, chose this. I love that you didn't say that I need to think about all of the wonderful people that I will have to share that day with. I love that you didn't tell me that this is the military way, or that I need to toughen up, or that I should feel any differently than I feel. You let me be angry and hurt and sad. You sat with me while I cried, half a world apart. 

My birthday will be hard because despite all that I know will never happen, I will still be aching for the door to open and you to be standing there. I'm glad that my heart longs for that so desperately. I'm glad that after twenty years of loving you like a crazed individual that has not changed. I hope our children have loves like this. I hope they have passion that never dies, affection that never dries up, and butterflies that still dance around in their stomachs even after so much time. 

I love you, Love. I'll be seeing you.

Love

The month of my fortieth year. The year that one has eyes on with a laser like focus after 25. The only thing I want is you. The hurt is heavy, love. The weight feels like something I don't want to hold. I'm whining...

You are the only man I have ever wanted to be beautiful for. I probably should have written "human" because I have thus far never desired to be beautiful for a woman, but I digress... You're the only person I have ever worried about my outfit, my hair, my eyebrows, my nails... You're the only person that I have agonized over whether or not something flatters me in all the right places, for. I have spent more hours wanting you to think I'm beautiful, than I care to admit. But yet, here I am doing so. 

When I was young and single, so many people told me I needed to go-for-the-guy who was stronger than me, more stubborn. While I never disagreed with that, I also knew that I needed my "person" to impact more than that: I needed to feel like a woman. Perhaps that's what your strength has ultimately given me: the ability to be feminine, vulnerable, fragile. When you came in to my life, I didn't have to "be" anything anymore. Just myself, with all of her pieces, both intact and broken. I could be afraid of the dark, struggle to always fall asleep, insecure and uncertain, while yelling with a confidence unrivaled. All of me. 

When our children inevitably read this blog, I hope they most take away this life lesson in regards to love: be with the person who scares you so ferociously because they help you to be a more fantastic version of yourself. Period. Let them see it all, exposed, open, and if they compel you to further greatness, then you know. Be also that person for them.

When I complain that I can not handle the tasks laid before me, you are the voice that cheers me on, with genuine support and an abundance of laughter. When I believe lies about myself, you are the voice that reminds me to listen to the truth. When I feel like I can't keep going, you come along side of me with such a joyful energy that I can focus on my breathing and take it one step at a time. 

I love everything about you, love. I love watching you grow and develop and deepen yourself as a man. I love watching how you love me. I love listening to how you equip, serve, and lead the people you work with. I love being your partner in crime, the ear to your jokes, and the heart that you hold. I miss you. I'll be seeing you.

1st born and college!?

 I still remember the way that the light fell on you when you were about two weeks old. You were sleeping and I had peaked in the room to see if you were okay. The afternoon sunlight was beaming through the window on your hair. You looked like you were glowing. I remember thinking that I would die for you. I would kill any selfish desire I had for myself and I would throw all of every single element of me into being your mom. I remember it being so powerful that I quickly grabbed my camera and took a picture. I wanted to remember you, in that moment, for the rest of my life. Funny how my brain remembers it so perfectly that the actual photo is unnecessary.

College is beckoning you and all I keep recalling is every moment where my heart chose you over and over again. Sitting up in the middle of the night for the two am feedings, rocking you while you slept on my chest. I was exhausted beyond what I could have imagined at the time (let's be real... the triplets made that period seem restful. HA!). I sat there in the dark saying enjoy this. It won't last long. Treasure every second that you can keep her safe, close to your chest. 

The idea of you not being in your room anymore is very emotional. The idea of driving you to a state far away, and somehow willing my body to walk away and leave feels crippling. What if my legs stop working? What if my heart leaps out of my chest? What if I can't do it? All of these are silly questions because I know that the strength of motherhood will carry me through. Love is so astoundingly powerful that it will help me to do everything that you need me to do. It will help me to give you the tightest hug, and write you a thousand letters, fill packages and send them, and find a way to find joy in the transformation of our relationship. Change is good, but it's also hard.

I will always be your Mommy. I will always want to run to protect you. I will always be willing to kill whatever selfish desire lives in me, in order to more fully show you the Love of God. I will always work against my own insecurities, faults, failures, and weaknesses to be a better example for you. I will always try my best to be humble, to apologize when necessary, and to be your support with grace. You will never have to fear about a place to land if you should fall. Come what may. I love you nugget. More than those small words could ever possibly hope to explain. 

Love

 Love,

    Time stands still some days. I feel like I'm doing all that I can to force the breath to move in and out of my lungs. I feel exhausted and conflicted and all over the map. I feel like every feeling is completely out of control so I exercise myself to the point of exhaustion, and I micromanage the things that I can in the juvenile hope that control will make me feel safe. Control will numb the sorrow.

    Did I mention that some days I wrap myself up in your clothes so that I don't feel like you're so far away? Some days I bury my face in your things hanging up in the closet and shut my eyes so tightly so that I can pretend you're standing there filling them. Some days I long for the physical presence of you that my arms, chest, and body physically aches. Dramatic, I know, but also true.

    We get on the phone and I can't find any words to say because how do I describe the storm in my spirit without making you feel guilty? How do I express how desperately I want you to be here without having to dive in to consequences and choices and decisions that have been intentionally made?

    From the moment I met you, the time spent without you feels like a vacuum of darkness. It feels like all of the best parts of me disappear and I'm left trying to figure out how to keep on truckin'. It's why I ran away the first time you deployed because this love that you've brought to my heart was so overwhelming and agonizing that it was easier to numb myself and shut it down. Except numbing ourselves to hurt always means numbing ourselves to joy.

    I am working on intentionally sitting in the aches that I want to avoid. Grounding myself in the pain so that I don't lose out on any of the sun drops of joy that abound. Looking at your face flooded my heart with so much light today. Feeling the butterflies in my stomach, the longing in my chest, and the many emotions that you wear on your face is a pleasure. Even if we aren't saying any words, sitting silently looking at each other through a phone camera while our children talk about driving, and dating, and college, and all of the things that are such big experiences, all I could do was smile. 

    Look at what we've made. Two broken-family kids, scared to pieces, desperate for the comfort that only the other can bring. We have four human beings who are utterly fantastic, and somehow we get to be a part of that. I look at them and I see you. I see the way you wear your emotions on your sleeve, the way you force yourself to do so.many.things that your heart doesn't want to. I see your endurance and your strength. I see the resilience of a man a million times stronger than I am, capable of holding me up while I learn how to put myself back together, and vulnerable enough to let me do the same for him. I see the way you carry patience like a warrior, understanding that God will make everything okay, even when nothing feels okay.

    You take my breath away. I am now, and have been since I met you, completely in awe of you, utterly yours. You have taught me what it is to feel, to stop numbing myself from the hurts and the harms, and I struggle to remember that when you're gone.

    Right now I'm wrapped up in your sweatshirt, looking at your picture, sitting in the joy and the sadness, the grief and the elation, that has come over the years. I can't wait until you're home.

July 4, 2022

 Kids,

    There are moments where I have wished I was dead. The darkness and the heaviness of life bombards my spirit and I feel worthless, unimportant, irrelevant. Society, reading this, would label me as depressed. I, however, feel that description does not fit the narrative of my life or my being. These moments, these periods that descend upon my spirit serve a purpose. It's my soul's way of saying Hey! You're not taking care of yourself. You're unhappy with something in your life. It's time for a change. 

    Change is powerful, and it almost always begins with me. This morning I woke up feeling so utterly full of sorrow. That simultaneous feeling of sorrow mixes with rage and it serves up a concoction of darkness in my heart. 

    On the walk this morning, God and I had perhaps one of the most intense conversations we've had in a while. Why? I asked Him why about everything. Why do I starve myself and still gain weight? Why do I work out 7 days a week, for an hour every.single.day and look like I devour donuts and tubs of ice cream? Why does my size make me so utterly angry? Why is my husband such a heartless asshole when he's deployed? Why do I have to make all of the effort, all of the connections, all of the work to sustain a twenty year relationship? Why does it hurt so much that my children are growing up? Why do I dream about babies literally every single night, jolting me awake and back into reality? Why? Why do I feel so completely alone? Why am I unable to say any of these written words out loud? Why is it when someone calls, or someone makes efforts to connect with me, I instantly play a persona of chipper and happy "everything's fine!"? 

    Today I feel so utterly alone. Today. This too shall pass. These feelings are not reality, they are simply emotions. I have the ability to think logically when my emotions attempt to drown out the reality around me. I am richly and deeply loved. I am not alone. I am capable and strong. I have enormous amounts of self control. I get up every single day and exercise my body, not for a size but for strength. I am not the summation of my emotions. Nor do my emotions define my life experience. This day is rough. You too will have rough days. You will have days where you feel like everything is futile and exhausting. You will want to run away, or give up the good fight. You will feel drained and depleted, like no one sees you, loves you, or appreciates you. You will have moments where your bucket is bone dry and you don't have the energy to turn on the tap. You will have times where your body does not do what you want or expect it to do, and that will make you feel very frustrated. These moments in your life can be very difficult to walk through. I challenge you to ask them Why? I challenge you to follow up the question why with Is it true? 

    There have been days where I wished I didn't wake up. I wanted to escape the hurts that I carry, or avoid the sorrow I knew would come at me. By God's grace, every single minute is new. There are exactly zero duplicates. 

    This morning, I left to walk the dogs on the verge of tears. I felt angry and helpless and ready to walk away. Then 2 came running out the front door after me to go for the walk, completely unaware of the storm in my soul. We walked in the quiet for a while, and then she talked to me about her passions. By the end of the walk, the heaviness felt lighter. Not because she fixed me (we didn't even discuss my feelings whatsoever), but simply because when my feelings were screaming You're all alone! her presence reminded my brain that my feelings are not always true. 

    May we all understand the truth of ourselves, and give grace in abundance. I love you!

Service

 Kids,

    When my cousin mentioned he was moving here and I offered to help him move in, I did not assume you four would help. If I volunteer myself for something, it is me who is volunteering. Knowing the four of you, I expected at least one of you to volunteer to help too because that's the way you are: hard workers, helpful, kind. In the spitting image of your father. It's beautiful.

    When I got off the phone with my cousin, I mentioned I was going to help him move in and asked if any of you wanted to help. To my surprise all four of you cheerfully volunteered. Even the one of you who is the least excited about physical labor (you know who you are). 

    It was beautiful to do something kind with all of you. It was such a delight to my heart to watch all of you work so hard to be useful. I know I said several times how proud of you I was, and how much I valued your help. But I know that as the years pass, and you finally sit down and read this thing, you may have forgotten the moments where you blew me away. In an hour and a half, we had everything off the truck and moved in. None of you complained, or whined, even with scratches and a sprained ankle. Wow. 

    I hope you never stop having hearts of service. To be fair, it is a fundamental element of your parents are. We both believe in serving others. We both believe that the greatest gift we could ever give to someone is our time, though it looks like different things in our lives. I imagine that service will look differently in your own lives as well.

    Thank you for being who you are. As you are growing up the moments of snuggles and cuddles fade away, and it becomes difficult to find the opportunities to express the very genuine and deep high regard with which I hold you all. You are fantastic human beings. I am so privileged and honored that I get to be one of the adult humans who help you navigate the world while you are young. What a joy it is to be your mom. Thank you for being so wonderful.