After the Storm

I spotted a ladybug on the van, after paying an astronomical amount of money to get it fixed. 

I'm kind of afraid to say this, but life feels like it's getting back into a normal groove. I feel like myself. I feel genuinely happy.

Last weekend, I cleaned my whole house. I cleaned the carpet in our bedroom. I even vacuumed out my car. I paid all the bills.

I cooked all week. I went to the gym twice. We got the van back. (We're not going to talk about how much it cost to fix, I'm still recovering from that panic attack.) I didn't leave work Friday with a giant list of things that I haven't done yet.

I still worked too much. I still didn't sleep enough. I still ate three brownies and a donut. Oh, and I had my first Shamrock shake, which I really shouldn't have. It felt like an Eve in-the-garden moment. Now, I have the evil knowledge. I was definitely better off when I didn't know what that tasted like.

But - I feel like we're getting there.

Storm clouds out my dad's hospital room, yesterday. He's doing better, by the way.

It was 70 something degrees yesterday, before the storms rolled in. And even though it was cooler after the storms, the sun came back out.

So, maybe that's where I am now. The sun is coming back up. It's not as it was before these storms, it's different.

But the blue skies are peeking through, and you can feel Spring coming.

I'll take it.

A Different Kind of Valentine's Day Celebration

You know, the thing about Valentine's Day is that it changes.

It's always on February 14th. But the shape it takes in a relationship changes. If you've been married, or in a long-term relationship, you probably know what I mean.

I have a core value that is this: If it feels forced, it's probably not what you should be doing.

I could have gotten Michael a card and a bottle of wine. He could have rolled up to Kroger and gotten me roses and chocolate.
But - we didn't.

And you know what? It's totally okay. All we wanted was rest, together. And we got it. I just woke up after sleeping for 12 hours.

Life since last Summer has been one heavy challenge after another. Life has tried to tear our love apart and tear our teamwork down.

But we stand. Strong enough that all we need is a text message to mark the holiday about love. This morning, I looked back through previous Valentine's Day posts and I love each of them. This year, we'll celebrate five years of marriage. And already, you can see our seasons through those posts.

Our rule for Valentine's Day is homemade gifts only. So I guess the wine and chocolate I mentioned above wouldn't have worked anyway. When Michael asked me to marry him, he posed the question, "Will you spend the rest of your life making memories with me?"

My answer: yes.
So - this Valentine's Day, that's what we do. Homemade valentines. We make memories.

Previous V-Day posts:
2013
2012
2011
2010
2009
2008
2007

The One with the Update on my Dad

You can tell I've been back at work, because I haven't written a word in a week.

Well, that's not true. I've written news scripts and e-mails. But every time I go to work, the blog dies a little.

Anyway. We received the news about my dad not long after I wrote that post at the Starbucks last Saturday. He has irreversible lung disease. The scarring that has already happened won't heal, but they can treat him to slow it down and the goal is to get him home. He's made awesome progress in the last week. He graduated to a regular oxygen cannula. Yesterday when I visited him, he sat up in a chair beside the bed for more than an hour, soaking up the sunshine.

My brother will be home Monday. I know my dad is looking forward to seeing him, and has worked hard to get stronger for Chris.

This roller coaster is intense. I'm glad for every moment we have left together. No matter how long that is.

Last week, when I was crying and writing at the Starbucks, I saw this little girl and her dad.

I wanted to grab her little hands, hold them tight - and tell her to stay as close to her dad as she can. Love him, lean in to him, learn from him, and be friends.

Hope Floats Up In The In-Between

Over the Summer, I read Jeff Goins' The In-Between. Great book. Get it.

The In-Between is right where we are right now. My dad survived a risky lung biopsy on Thursday. He came back off the ventilator yesterday.

Now, we wait.
Until Monday, at least, that's what we are thinking.

That's when the pathology results are expected. So that we can know what it is that appears to be quickly destroying his lungs.

It's hard to think about anything else. It's hard to stop googling and reading medical journals and studies.
That's because we are in-between.

Jeff writes, "There are no throwaway moments - not when it's easy, not when it's hard, not when it's boring, not when you're waiting for something to happen. Throw those moments away and you will look back someday, bereft at what you missed, because it's the good stuff, the best stuff. It's all there is."

So, we wait.
My dad's room in the ICU is filled with laughter and memories the past couple of days. For now, that seems better than quiet and beeps, so I'll take it.

Each moment of it.
As I brace myself for what is next - whatever that may be.

My sweet, giving mother-in-law is in town, taking care of Michael and baking cookies and taking Brokaw for walks.

I've been able to enjoy time with my sister and my brother's girlfriend and my sweet baby nephew, Caplin.

I've had deep, tearful phone conversations with my mom.

All in the in-between.

Meanwhile, the amaryllis my mom gave us for Christmas is like two feet tall, and the pound of coffee I bought my dad for Christmas sits in the cabinet.

And when I have a moment to sit and think and pray, I'm blessed with verses and book quotes and movie quotes that pop in to my head.

I love this one right now, too - from Hope Floats:

"Beginnings are usually scary, endings are usually sad, but it's what's in the middle that counts. So when you find yourself at the beginning, just give hope a chance to float up. And it will."

Holding Hands and Holding On

It's dark in the living room right now. Brokaw is sleeping beside me. Michael is still sleeping in the bedroom. I'm up by the light of the competition on the television, having a cup of coffee and half of a cannoli.

The fog is back.

I spent yesterday at the hospital. We got no good news from the doctors about my dad. The tall Indian doctor leaned over his bedside, looked into my stepmom's eyes and said - loudly and clearly - to make sure she understood - that things are very serious. He said they were "running out of options."

I sat in that hospital chair that reclines, off to the side. My sister's mom held my hand that I had crossed across my body, and squeezed it. I couldn't stop the soft, slow, warm tears.

Not long after that, my stepmom and my bonus mom went to lunch. And it was just me and Dad. It's so dark and quiet and calm in his room in the ICU when no one is in there. There are predictable sounds. The ventilator going up and down, the occasional beep. The wheels of carts being rolled by, just outside the door.

I sat there, holding his warm hand, with one hand.
He had a tight grip that pulsed - like a muscle spasm.

With my other hand, I texted my brother and sister all of the information I was able to absorb from the doctor. I copied and pasted my updates in another text - to my husband.

---
What's happening is so hard to understand. He was doing better, it appeared. He was sitting up beside the bed. Yesterday, he was supposed to have a swallow test. Now, here we are.

The doctor mentioned, kind of off-hand to us that Dad is his most stable patient right now. That slammed me up against the wall. I cannot imagine having that kind of stress in my life! Since he said that, I have not stopped praying for that man!
---

Thank you for your prayers and support and your offers to help in any way that you can.
Know this: There is peace. There is quiet. There is calm. There is strength among the women of this family who sometimes have nothing in common - except for the love they had or have or will always have for my dad.

I want him to pull through.
I'm not giving up, yet.
I'll head back up there today, and grab a hold of his hand again, and squeeze.

Life Under The Heavy Things

2013 wasn't my favorite year. And it really didn't end well, with my dad getting so sick, out of nowhere.

Now, it's February 2014, and it feels like 2013 just won't leave me alone.

I feel like I used to be a blogger.
I used to be a CrossFitter.
I used to cook.
I used to read.
I used to have clean carpets.
I was working on a book, remember?

My resolutions for 2014 were to live in the restoration (1 Peter 5:13), to work less, to continue getting healthier. I want to be content.

I am so weary.
Almost nothing is going well.
I go to work - to relax. There is nothing healthy about that.

I miss my little normal, so much. I need that routine. I want my dad to get better. I want Michael to find a home health aide so that I'm not constantly on duty. I want to have time to blog and go to the gym. I want to have motivation to not eat fast food, and to cook the healthy, fun meals I buy ingredients for.

There have been really great and fun moments in 2014, don't get me wrong. And every weekend, I think "this week - it will be better."

Then - a setback.

Listen, I'm used to juggling.
That is my life - working in a demanding job that I love, managing my home at the level I like it to be managed, working around my husband's special needs.

I know how to juggle.

But when there are a couple of REALLY HEAVY objects out of balance - forget juggling. The heavy things just sit there in your arms. I'm carrying a lot right now.

I miss all of you. I miss pouring my heart out in my writing. I miss lifting heavy things and seeing my friends at CrossFit. I miss doing fun things with my husband. I miss seeing friends.

There are things I'm incredibly grateful for in this season - like my husband, my mother-in-law, my co-workers, my family, my friends and of course - Brokaw.

I don't really know what I'm writing, here. I'm just exhaling. Next, I'll inhale, and get back to those heavy, hard things that are my 'now.'

I miss the light things.

My Dad is Back

What a roller coaster. In a few days, I went from wondering if this was goodbye, to teaching my dad how to use an iPad.

He is making an amazing recovery. Everyone in the ICU is talking about it. The day before yesterday, my sister went to lunch and for a little retail therapy at TJ Maxx, and on our way back to the hospital, I saw this on my phone.

I had a voicemail from my dad.
Of course, it was an iPad question.

But you guys, I had a voicemail from my dad.
This is one of those little things I thought may be over.

This little thing blew my mind. I love my dad. I wasn't ready to say goodbye. I'm just one in a whole team of women who will help him work his way back to life.

It's going to be a long road, but he is back and we are committed.
I am so profoundly grateful for more time. And that we live here in town so I can help him.

My dad has helped me with a million things over the years.
It's my turn.
Cheerfully.

Thanks be to God and thank you to all of you who prayed for him, supported us, and wished him well. Please keep the prayers for Charlie Brown coming!

On Writing. And Feeling It. At Starbucks.

I had grand plans to jump start my writing in 2014.
I joined Jeff Goins’ 500 Words-A-Day Facebook group.
I downloaded Storyline’s productivity schedule.
I looked forward to regular sessions with my writer-girl pals.
I have a million little lists.

But then my dad got sick, the fog ensued, and I have honestly been running from writing.

Because I’m the type of writer who must face her fear and vulnerability when she writes.
Writing is cathartic for me, which can feel good, but it can also be scary, because I write so honestly that it forces me to face the hard things.

I’m at Starbucks this afternoon, and I feel very writer-y.
I have my black coffee and my macbook at the corner of the big picnic sized table by the window. The afternoon sun is shining in at my back.

There is a girl here, over by the pick-up counter who I’m pretty sure is my friend Nicole and my friend Shoshannah’s friend, Sara. I recognize her from Instagram. This makes me feel like a complete social media weirdo. I kind of want to go say hi to her, but I am self-aware enough to know that’s just weird and just because you recognize someone from Instagram doesn’t mean it’s okay to come out and talk about it.

I am realizing that I’m noticing things.
That’s a very writer-y thing to do.

Like the woman with the red curly hair and the teal peacoat. That color is magnificent with her hair. Her husband looks like a doctor. They wait for their drinks, and browse at the current Starbucks line of stuff that is designed to make you spend money while you wait for your latte. Right now it’s all about caramel lattes and caramel desserts and the signs make it sound like it’s completely okay to order a carmel latte AND a caramel dessert, which it is completely not okay to do, and the mugs are cream colored and gold colored. The whole thing just makes me want to jump in a pool of warm, swirly caramel and spend $20 I don’t have on a tumbler that I don’t need.

I don’t have to worry about this of course, because I order black coffee.

But these people do. And I notice how her husband puts his hand around her as they look at the caramel stuff. And I miss my husband for a moment. Those little touches are so nice.

I go back to thinking about how he looks like a doctor. I’m basing this on his hair that is very much combed over to the side but not in a balding, comb-over sort of way, and his well-trimmed beard. He’s kind of Indian-looking and he has an identification badge on this pocket.

If he is a doctor, I wonder if he can fix my dad. Definitely not going up to him. That would be even weirder than the Instagram-recognition thing.

A woman and an older man just sat down at the picnic table beside me. They stopped to pray over their coffee. The old man prayed, and thanked God for his caramel frappuccino. I love him. He is wearing a polo shirt and a tweed sport coat. After their prayer, which I may have joined in on, just because if I’ve been anything over the last three weeks, I’ve been a pray-er, he talked about how he hasn’t been to church in more than 8 months. I relate.

I can’t hear them now, even though they’re next to me, because the Starbucks is filling up. There is jazz music playing, and espresso beans grinding, and a woman teaching another woman Spanish, and two girls in magenta North Face fleeces in front of me, putting cream and sugar in their drinks.

And just like that, 631 words.
That was easy.

Side note: Is it even weirder to write about the Instagram girl than it is to just say hi?
I'm going to think about it and write about it and not say anything.

Because like I said, I'm feeling writer-y.

The Starbucks has cleared out and now Jamie Cullum's "All At Sea" is playing. I love that song.

Fog

Yesterday was January 11th. I didn't even realize that until I looked at my phone just now. I know it's Sunday.

It's been a month and a day since I've written anything. I've received messages from people wondering if we are okay. We are.

Last time I wrote, I wrote about Michael's pressure sore. It is healing. We found some amazing patches that cost a ridiculous amount of money, but they work.

You can't always buy healing.
But these we can buy, so we do, and they are working, so I couldn't care less how much they cost.

I wish more than anything I could order a patch to heal my dad right now. It's a long story, but he has been in ICU since Christmas night and the last two and a half weeks have been such a roller coaster.

I don't know what to write.
To think.
To say.
To want.
To pray.

I feel like I'm in a fog. Like I'm watching a movie about my life, my dad, my family.
This is so strange.  So sudden. Too soon.

There's a light in my kitchen my dad took down the Saturday before Christmas. There's a note on my counter in his handwriting that says the weird type of fluorescent bulb that needs to be ordered. He is coming back to fix it.

I can't wait for the light to work again, and for the fog to clear.

You Have to Move Toward Him, Even When it Hurts

In life, there are good days and bad days.

I've written about how we've been dealing with this pressure sore on M's bottom for the last couple of months. Some days, it's better and he's up and everything feels normal.

I like those days.

Then, other days, it flares back up, and he's stuck in bed on his side and that's no fun for anyone. There is a lot of sweating and discomfort, and flipping from side to back to side, and there are lots of pillows and teeth brushings in bed.

It sucks, actually.

We had a good day, despite all of this, the other day. Followed by a really bad couple of days.

Thank God for grace. If we didn't have grace with each other, I'm sure we wouldn't be able to keep going, because this is really hard, and it won't leave us alone and we're so tired.

The other night, I slept in the guest room. It was sad. I didn't want to be alone. But the muscle spasms wouldn't stop and I couldn't sleep, so Michael insisted I go.

I begged for mercy as I finally fell asleep on my tear-drenched pillow. I was pretty much out of hope. But, I eventually did fall asleep.

In my dream, Michael was standing in the doorway of the guest bedroom (which is upstairs), telling me it would be okay. I felt comforted in my dream, but then when I woke up, it actually made me feel worse, because I know that's never going to happen.

He'll never stand in a doorway. He'll probably never even see the upstairs of our house. He'll never be able to scoop me up, and carry me and hold me. He can tell me it's going to be okay. He can give me a pep talk, and pray for me, and be strong for me emotionally and spiritually, when I'm spent.

But not if it's not for grace.
Because, he's not perfect, he's human. And I'm not perfect, I'm human.
And this big, huge thing in our marriage also isn't perfect, but it's not human, so we can't even reason with it, or bargain with it.

It's concrete. It doesn't budge.
So, we must.

I cried so many tears over the last few days because I just wanted so badly to be rescued. I want that man standing in the doorway, surprising me with his strength, to scoop me up and save me.

I get so tired of saving myself.

The thing about being married to someone who sometimes literally can't move toward me, is that even when I don't want to/don't think I can/I'm sick of doing it myself, I have to be the one to move.

I have a choice. I can move away from him, or I can move toward him.

Often times, I don't get this right on the first try. And all I do is make things worse. I hate it when I do that.

To the other wives in this situation, make the right choice. Move toward him.
Husbands, remember that your wife wants to be rescued. She understands what you can and what you can't do. Rescue her in the way that you can. It means so much.

John Eldredge describes this need that we as women have, so well:

“I wasn't mean; I wasn't evil. I was nice. And let me tell you, a hesitant man is the last thing in the world a woman needs. She needs a lover and a warrior, not a Really Nice Guy.” 
― John Eldredge, Wild at Heart: Discovering the Secret of a Man's Soul

This morning, I told Michael about my dream. I don't usually tell him about those dreams, because I can't say the words without tears and I can't stand to see tears well up in his eyes. But, I told him, then I laid down next to him and we held on.

Now, as I write, and process, I'm reminded of a Susan Ashton song from the 1990s. This song was on one of the first "Christian" CDs I owned as a new Christian teenager. I've always loved it.

So, you'll pardon the cheesiness of the 90s with me, right? Because here it is, in all its YouTube glory:

You Move Me

by Susan Ashton

This is how it seems to me

Life is only therapy

Real expensive

And no guarantee

So I lie here on the couch

With my heart hanging out

Frozen solid with fear

Like a rock in the ground

Oh but you move me

You give me courage I didn't

Know I had

You move me on

I can't go with you

And stay where I am

So you move me on

Here is how love was to me

I could look and not see

Going through the emotions

Not knowin' what they mean

And it scared me so much

That I just wouldn't budge

I might have stayed there forever

If not for your touch

Oh but you move me

Out of myself and into the fire

You move me

Now I'm burning with love

And with hope and desire

How you move me

You go whistling in the dark

Making light of it

Making light of it

And I follow with my heart

Laughing all the way

Oh 'cause you move me

You get me dancing and you

Make me sing

You move me

Now I'm taking delight

In every little thing

How you move me

So, let's be brave. Let's move toward each other. Let's give and receive grace. Let's rescue and be rescued. And hold on tight. Because the bad day won't last forever. And when it is over, we want to be closer to each other, not further apart.