Not until I have something impressive to tell you. You may have read my latest story (one post back), my dramatic narrative of my 3 month stay in the hospital.
Truth is: it feels like not much has changed.
Yes, I am home now and my kids are with me. Last week I spent one full day alone with them. Despite a few eye rolls, my 12 year old did most of the work. Thank the Lord for half grown little people and all thier youthful energy. I wait longingly for the day I can have even half of that energy back. Some days it feels like I might not ever get there.
You see I still can't walk very far without getting winded, my trach site is still open, I still cough and get choked up if the air is not just right. My chest tube sites can feel like knives in my side from scarred tissue. My hands are a mess, still not healed from blood pressure meds in the ICU. I need help going up and down stairs. Withdrawals aren't the easiest thing I've ever experienced. I still can't drive, can't pick up my baby, can't bathe myself, and can't lay on my side because I feel like my lungs might cave in. These are just my limitations right now, big or small, there they are hanging over me day after day.
This is why I don't want to write. I want to tell you my story from the end. When I'm healed, when I feel like me again and everything is back to normal.
But lately God whispers to my heart, "Tell this part of your story even though you feel its undone. Tell it from the middle; tell it from right where you're at. And remember, I Am still writing."
I don't want to seem ungrateful. I keep saying I'm so glad that God let me keep participating in life and I have a new outlook on everything. Sometimes I people watch from my wheelchair and I just think how much we take for granted the everyday, just to be walking around on 2 feet; to be healthy enough to go to work or to take care of people we love. "Do you know just how beautiful your life is?" I ask myself. So I admit I'm human and impatient and I want my miracle to be finished. But it's just not quite there yet.
But as I lay still and wait for sleep I try and count the things I can do.
I can walk some, there was a time my legs forgot how to work.
My trach site is going on its 7th week and it's. so. very. close. to being healed.
My coughing fits no longer last for several minutes leaving me exhausted and feeling defeated.
My scarred tissue will heal and the doctors seem hopeful that most of my fingers will too.
I've dropped most of my meds, only one to go. My very conservative doctor even felt safe to take me off antibiotics.
I need less and less help on the stairs.
I taught baby Joel to climb up into my chair for a cuddle. When I kiss his soft little head I vividly remember how I longed to be able to hold him a few short weeks ago.
As for the other limitations, I know I will get back to them in time.
It's not always the first thing I want to ask myself but I try, "what CAN I do?" Instead of dwelling on things I can't.
Another thing I can still do is encourage people through writing, through sharing my story openly and honestly. So if your in a place that feels like you're in limbo or progress is antagonizingly slow, just know I'm right here with you in the middle. It's not always a fun place to hang out but it is one where we can exercise our trust in the One who is still writing.
I'm embarrassed to even try to say thank you for all you've done through all of this.
You've been my personal nurse. You may have a nursing career but this is something different. You have sat by me countless hours; sometimes talking, sometimes silent. You have changed dressing after dressing, coached me on medication, and made sure that I understood the fast talking doctors. You've sponge bathed me, changed my bed pan, my clothes and my sheets almost every day. You made sure I was as comfortable as I could be. You learned trach care and wiped mucus off my neck countless times. You've came early stayed late, and even stayed all night just because I was really nervous about having another tube put in.
More than a nurse, you have been my faithful friend. You have waited with me and been bored with me. You've watched endless hours of HGTV with me. You have brought me almost every meal only to throw most of it away because I was too sick to eat. With tears in your eyes you told me you would rather quit your job than have me sit in the hospital alone. You listened to my fears and cried with me. You encouraged me with words Jesus would whisper to my heart. You have modeled sacrificial love and servanthood with out even blinking.
I won't be able to thank you enough in this life time. I can never return the favor and you probably wouldn't let me if I could. Because you're just being you.
And I know this is just what good mothers do. They have staying power. A supernatural energy to protect their offspring, to shelter them when there is a storm.
I'm starting to want to put a few things down. I've waited and waited because:
1. I can't stop coughing
2. I'm not sure I wanted to remember.
Thankfully I don't remember the first half. When I hear the bits and pieces I shudder. I rejoice that I'm alive. I cry because I just don't understand how quick life can change; it can be ripped right out of your hands. But mostly I cry because of how prayer really does affect our world.
A lot has been shared on Facebook so you may know most of this story but this is my telling, my perspective.
My whole family had been sick and I was the last to get it. It came on pretty strong with aches, sore throat, coughing, that kind of thing. Two days of this had me at urgent care where they concluded I had the flu but they couldn't give tamiflu since I was still nursing Joel. Rest and fluids and you'll be fine he told me. I went home to a miserable night of coughing up blood but I wasn't worried because Google said unless it's bright red no cause for alarm.
Early that morning I felt like I was having an asthma attack, only I grew out of my asthma years ago. I felt so weak and breathless that I couldn't get out of bed. I was getting scared and knew I needed help. Of all nights to forget to charge my phone this had to be the worst. Unfortunately John was sleeping downstairs with the baby since I was sick. I resolved to at least get to the top of the stairs.
I crawled out of bed over to the stairs. I tried calling out but I was breathing so hard I couldn't get my voice loud enough. Luckily there were some toys and random things laying in the hall. I started pitching them down stairs. John stumbled over and once he saw me he knew something wasn't right. I whispered in broken speech that I could barely breathe. He carried me over to the big windows in our room and opened them hoping the cool air would help clear my lungs. He left me sitting on the window seat to see if he could find some medicine. I sat there feeling so weak I might fall out that window.
In a matter of minutes the squad was parked outside with its red lights streaking across its surroundings. A paramedic carried me down the stairs of our skinny row house and next thing I know I'm taking an ineffective breathing treatment and trying to answer questions through restricted breathing. It felt like someone was hugging me too tight and wouldn't let go. I was afraid but never imagined the outcome to be remotely serious.
Once in the ER they tried different breathing masks to no avail. And after that my memory drops off. I don't know if I blacked out, I've tried so hard I just can't remember.
Apparently I was transported to a couple different hospitals until I ended up at the UC cardio vascular ICU. During all the transporting and trying to figure out what was wrong, things were going downhill fast and I was in multi organ failure before they knew it. Friends and family were gathered, prayers were going up and hope was shaky. Once at UC, the process of saving my life was set into motion. I was on a vent, ECMO, had a tracheotomy and put on every drug under the sun. I was there for a month fighting to live but I remember nothing. Just flashes.
I remember being strapped to the bed while tubes were inserted in various areas of my body. Fighting, I remember fighting to get up and seeing the pictures on the wall of my life, my beautiful family that my grieving yet prayerful mother had taped up. I remember trying to communicate so hard but just not being able to. I remember tears and horrible nightmares. But I also remember the staff lining the hall as I was wheeled out to be transferred to a Long Term Acute Care facility at Christ Hospital. They all clapped with smiles and waves, celebrating my life. I really didn't understand still what I had been through.
I was in LTAC for another month trying to repair some of the damage that was done. I've had chest tubes, feeding tubes, IVs, a trach, and more pain than I thought my body could endure.
I've lost most of my muscle mass which I'm trying hard to regain. Right now I'm in rehab doing just that. For 3 hours every day I am up exercising and relearning to balance and walk. It can be really exhausting after lying in bed for as long as I have. I was terrified to come here, scared that I couldn't do it. But I've been surprised what a little trying can do.
I've been up, I've been down. I was depressed for the first part of my stay that I was conscious. I was in shock: how could the flu knock me down so hard?
(Which I'm learning more and more that it wasn't just the flu, but more like a rare H1N1 combined with strep which led to double pneumonia and infection in my blood). But the more I heard about the darkest part of this story, I can't help but be thankful that I made it. I've seen miracles before in other people's lives and my own. But our day to day life tends to make us forget.
We forget that miracles aren't just in the thin pages of the Bible that's tucked away somewhere. They don't just happen to other people. The thing is miracles happen during pain and suffering. We don't see miracles in the everyday drive to work, do the dishes life. Maybe things come together like extra cash comes our way right when we need it. Or we find our car keys just in time. No. Miracles involve pain and grief, hurt and true loss. Miracles can be slow, they can be a process. We might not always recognize them. And maybe sometimes they don't show up at all and we are heartbroken and we ask why. I wish I knew but I don't. All I know is that I'm here against all odds.
I met another guy like me, he came with his wife to visit my room. I think his chances of living we're even smaller than mine, but there he was sitting in my room talking and laughing. Living proof of healing. Another miracle breaking through suffering.
I really don't know what to make of all this. I'm still processing and probably will be for some time. I suppose miracles are really just mysteries to us and sometimes all we can do is be grateful. I feel like I've barely scratched the surface. As I sit here in rehab and look out the window over the city I think about all the people milling around down there. I think about their stories, their pain and if they've experienced miracles. My story feels so little, so small in this huge hospital filled with hurting people. I look at them and try to smile. I pray for their miracles to come soon.
I couldn't be more grateful to the people around me and my family. If you said a prayer or encouraging word. If you visited, waited in the lobby or brought food. If you have sacrificed time, vacation days, or a drive to Cincinnati. Some very kind friends organized a benefit to raise money for our medical bills. My hairstylist even came to cut my hair to make it more manageable. Maybe you sent a card or made a card, maybe you clicked 'like' or shared an update on Facebook. You might have bought a gift or gave money. Maybe you listened to my story. If you're reading this now: thank you from the bottom of my heart. Every little bit has gotten me through. I can't thank you all enough for your support.
I stop and think all the time, "I can't believe it has almost been one year." Time is such a fluid concept but it just keeps trudging on day after day. Yes, some days it flies by and we think "where did it go?" But this last year? It has drug on and on. Its felt more like 2 years, maybe 3. And when I think, "I can't believe it" its from sheer joy that it's almost done, it feels like an accomplishment.
Before you dub me a cynic, let me explain. I've alluded in my sparse blogging over the past year how Joel will just. not. sleep. I know, I know, babies aren't supposed to sleep and they have to learn and they will eventually and so on and so forth. All parents go through sleepless nights and weeks and *cringe* years. I get it. It's nothing unique or out of the ordinary. Most people look at me like I'm crazy when I say my baby won't sleep and maybe they are thinking "what did you expect exactly?"
Some perspective on what I mean when I would say "he won't sleep." He would go down in the evening at varied times and wake up every 2 hours on the dot. He would eat and usually go right back to sleep. (There was an occasional night/series of nights when he would wake around 4 am and think it was morning.) He would "sleep" for 10-11 hours before he was up for good. Now this is totally what you expect from a newborn. (At least my other two were like this and were for the most part good sleepers by the time they hit 6 months. Joel must have missed the memo on how we do things around here.)
Naps? 40 minutes tops. Sometimes 20. Other day time habits? Constant eating. Nursing every 2 hours, baby food 4 times a day after he turned 7-8 months. Before that it was more varied because he stopped having regular bowel movements when we initially tried cereal and purees at 6 months.
Initially this was really concerning because his doctor was starting to think something may be up. After one appointment around 6 months, he had a CDC done and it came back with a really low iron level and some other irregularities so our doctor directed us to the ER at Children's Hospital. We were there all night, waited 7 hours or so to get in. Once we were seen, they ran every test they could think of only to find nothing wrong and joined us in our confusion as to why we were there. We left with a prescription for a multivitamin iron supplement. Cherry flavored.
So with the health issues ruled out, I thought, "Am I doing something wrong?" That's when the search was on.
I pored over all the books, blogs, and articles about baby sleep. I tried to apply scientific reasoning as to why his sleep cycles weren't connecting. I tried all the methods I could think of: I co-slept, he slept across the room in a crib, and then I docked the crib to our bed with one side down. Before that I tried him in a swing, a mama roo, a rock and play, a pack and play, and even in a car seat for crying out loud (he was sick!). I swaddled, tried a sleep sack, footie pjs, just a onsie. I let him cry within reasonable time constraints,(maybe he will get tired and give up?) I picked him up at every little sound (maybe he is waking himself too much?) I've nursed, not nursed, nursed one side at time (foremilk, hind milk imbalance?), my husbands given him formula at night. I have tried cereal before bed. I have even tried to feed him baby food pouches in the middle of the night. White noise. Music. Pacifiers. Gas drops. Essential oils. Cool mist. Room darkening curtains. Baths. Massages. Night time rituals. Desperate. Completely desperate. That's the phrase you are looking for.
Putting this story out here is risky because I know how quickly unwarranted advice can come in from well meaning sources. I am guilty myself of offering up advice because something worked for my child. I feel accomplished and want to share that with you. But advice in this situation makes me feel like you just don't get it. I mean I have been in the newborn funk for almost an entire year now. Normally, I would love advice and trust me I have gotten plenty of it this last year. I am not just a prideful, do it my way kind of gal, At one point, I was asking advice of every mom I would encounter. "Oh you had a baby?? Did they sleep longer than 2 hours at a time? Were they nursed or bottle fed? Did you have a bedtime routine or follow baby's cues? When did you night wean? Did you try anything I haven't tried? Tell me your entire process of how you get your baby to SLEEP."
Nothing worked, nothing helped. I was so tired, I was irrational. I was consumed by not sleeping, it's all I could think about or talk about. I was obsessed, I was angry, I was weepy. My days were blurry and unfocused. I felt like I was stuck in a miserable cycle and like a victim to my life. I had zero energy to do the things that help me feel normal. Not a fun place to be. Sure there were plenty of those moments where I would let my mind rest on how grateful I am for my healthy baby (mostly when I was holding him through nap time because I just couldn't take the chance of him waking). There were plenty of smiles and giggles and celebrating new milestones. But for awhile, those were all experienced with the dark cloud of no sleep hanging over my head.
Now this probably sounds like a rant, a complaint letter of sorts. And in a way it is. Venting is part of the healing process, no? But it's more than that. Because you know what finally helped a little, tiny bit? Acceptance. To just throw in the towel on trying to control the situation and researching every last detail. To just say this is my life and this is how Joel is for the time being and I am done fighting. Writing this all down feels like a pledge to just be vulnerable to the unexpected. Really this applies to all things about our children we aren't madly in love with. To take whatever happens and just roll with it. Instead of dreading and fearing every cry, counting every missed hour of sleep I would just think "I can get through this moment. I will find a way to deal with whatever arises." And one little moment at a time, even though I was (am) still tired as ever I felt the fog get a little lighter.
Then around the beginning of this year Joel started to sleep 3 hour stretches at night consistently. Not a vast improvement I know but it had to count for something. The only thing I was doing differently was laying him in his crib every single time he fell sleep. Even if it was for only 20 minutes I thought, then that is 20 minutes I will use to do something for me. No cleaning or tending to other kids, just only taking care of whatever needs I had been putting off for myself so far that day. By the time he was 10 months, he was starting to take longer naps in his crib. He will usually sleep an hour or maybe a little more if he had a rough night .
And now at 11 months, he can sleep up to 5 hours at a time. He doesn't do this every night and still this is nothing to write home about but it tells me he is able. Hope is in sight as he gradually progresses to a full nights sleep. I usually still wake up every 3 hours and pray that I can go right back to sleep. Most of the time I can, but sometimes I just have to get up because I think my body is just conditioned to waking so often. So I will wake before the rest of the house and have tea and write and do things that help my soul to feel rested even if my body is not.
So I don't have a happy ending where I tell you things are back to normal and I conquered the no sleep drudgery. I have no awesome advice or moral of the story. I will say that I have never valued empathy more than I do right now. Empathy is the one response I have received that makes me feel like I just want to say "thank you, you get it". When someone says "oh man I have been there" they help validate that his not sleeping is not a result of my failure to do something but that sometimes babies and life just throws you a curve ball.
I remember sitting in the chair in my room nursing Joel not too long ago listening the this podcast where this mom describes her sleep struggles. And I just laughed... and then I cried.. and then I laughed and cried at the same time. It felt like a small victory to have that reaction as I listened to someone say "me too." This mom talks about how sometimes we measure our mothering by how well our children sleep, which sounds silly to say out loud! But unfortunately I think it's true and I could write a whole other post about why it is and other cultural norms that we unnecessarily frame our parenting by. Suffice it to say while her experience was not exactly the same as mine, hearing her voice it and some of the reasons behind it just lightened my load. Revealing our struggles is empowering both for us and our witnesses. It gives them permission to do the same. Empathy is a powerful practice.
This was all over Facebook some time ago but in case you missed it:
::Brene Brown on empathy::
Thanks so much for reading and for being empathetic listeners ;)
Jenna
PS...If any of this post sounds even a little familiar to the season you're in or have experienced.. run to this post over at Sarah Bessey's blog: The Nightwatch such a beautiful, real account of night parenting with purpose.
I have to steal this moment before it steals away from me. I sit on the porch, swinging the baby to sleep. His droopy eyelids put me at ease.
Rain is falling, drizzling from the drain pipe filling the ground on this unusually warm weekend after Christmas. Half of the family has gone to church and after some clean up we just swing.
Theres something about this spot that fills the soul and allows contentment to just be. Theres nothing tugging or sneaking around the back of your mind saying "if only" or "but this." Just for a stand still moment everything is fine and right in this tiny corner of the world.
I talked about writing with mom this morning as we sipped coffee probably not as long as we would like.
I told her how my best friend discovered an old journal from middle school and how it was so detailed it was painstaking to read. I told her how the itch to write is always there, how I miss it. How the vulnerability of it is both difficult and rewarding. Then as I swing I have to scratch these words down, hoping they find their way to a screen.
After Christmas as a child, I always remember feeling full. Like all my wishes had been granted. But sometime within a few weeks that feeling would weaken and things would go back to normal. Wanting more, needing to be filled up and looking in all the wrong places.
As I swing my baby and look out over the soggy yard where I used to play years ago I am full and it has nothing to do with the gifts that were under the tree. I look to where the sycamore tree used to be and I remember that place of solitude and peace. Its not there anymore, it was cut down and I'm sad to say I don't know why or when. But that feeling is still here. Its a feeling I try to return to in my prayers when the world feels a little too big. And here on the porch, with the rain coming down around me I find it. So I pause as long as I possibly can (which isn't long, I hear my middle at the screen door now).
So after a season that leaves us feeling stuffed and overfed and maybe even a little guilty I am focusing on a different type of fullness. This is one that has nothing to do with the time of year or how life is going at any given moment. It comes from source I cant see and can't tap into with my own power. Sometimes it catches me off guard on a day like today. I have to remain open to it even tho I never know when and where it might turn up. This unpredictable timing tells me that its always there, waiting to sneak up on me and make me smile and appreciate life that much more.
This secure feeling comes from knowing a good, good Father. Knowing his peace and grace and provision. But yet, it is just a feeling and we all know how fickle those things are. I suppose that is where faith comes in and we lean in despite how we feel or how our circumstances appear. We count all the goodness of his gifts and look for them even when we have to squint. And then somewhere along the way we find we are content with what we have, right where we're at; no more, no less. True, we may forget from time to time and start making lists of things we need or want only to come full circle and realize the reasons behind those things and that we can have fullness without them.
I hope your Christmas was merry and bright and full of the fuzzy feelings we love. As those feelings fade into the New Year and our consumerism rolls into resolutions, I hope we all had a moment or two of true fullness and that we learn the balance that allows us to always come back to it.
From Ours to Yours,
Happy Holidays
Ps - Love this over at Lazy Genius:
Put down that list of resolutions and read this first
There was one miraculous morning that I woke up before the kids. I wasn't feeling quite well enough to settle back in after the baby's early morning feeding so I stumbled down the stairs for some tea and tylenol. I had every intention in going back to bed, After rummaging through our lacking medicine inventory and discovering there was only caffeinated tea I reluctantly decided to just stay awake. I think about the computer sitting there silently inviting me to type, knowing full well it takes several of these mornings to actually put together a blog post.
You see, I've never been a morning person. I have always wanted to be one, make plans to be one, used to feel guilty because I just wasn't one. Living in a sleep deprived state does not help matters much. Just because I am awake doesn't mean I am "awake" a.k.a. "productive". As long as I'm in my pjs, I am probably just doing the bare necessities of flitting around the kitchen to fetch assorted breakfast items and trying to get the littlest boy down for a morning nap a.k.a the 20-40 minutes I could spend putting myself together but probably wont on most days)
There's a timeline for not getting dressed and it looks something like this:
8 am
Me: I am all comfy and warm, plenty of people do breakfast in pjs, Ill just ease into the day...
Kids: I'm hungry!/thirsty!/lonely/tired/bored/need you to listen to my dream I had last night about flying over the edge of the water slide at Kings Island
The baby is crying!! Mom, I think he is hungry tired wet dirty gassy and wants to be carried everywhere while you do things with one hand *maybe* he will take a nap
Will you make pancakes!?
9 am
Me: I could get dressed now but wait there's no clean clothes or towels or time to shower or pick out a top AND a bottom. I should really start some laundry...
MOM!!!!! Come fix the tv/find my toy/watch me go to the bathroom/help me reach this or that
The bathroom floor is wet!
I cant find my toothbrush'
Watch this!!!! Mom watch! Mom watch!
Can I have cookies for breakfast?
The baby's crying! see above for analysis
10 am: ughhh nothing I have fits. I can't nurse/bend over/ sit comfortably/clean the toilet/ be 31 and wear this... maybe I should just wear sweatpants/yoga pants/tights with a long tshirt/flannel/sweatshirt. Why am I changing again? That's essentially what I'm already wearing
"Mom, can you help me with pre-algebra?"
"Joel's crying!!"
"Jayda / Jaren hurt me/said something mean/made a face/breathed in my general direction!!!"
"I spilled something!!!!!!!!!"
"I need _____" fill in the blank with any possible word that may or may not make sense within the context
11 am: Am I going to leave the house today? Have I been puked on, peed on, or was this shirt used as a napkin yet? If so, how many times? Just once or twice? under five times? Maybe its not that bad...
I'm hungry! Lets make pancakes!!
"I need _______."
"Can we go to the library/museum/store/park/cousins house/anywhere but here???"
"Joels crying!"
"When will dad be home?"
"Why are you so stressed??"
"Can I listen to Itunes?"
"I dont feel good Mommy"
"Can I be a shark for Halloween?"
"Can I be a shark now? Lets just make a shark costume NOW!!"
Noon:
Ok its lunch time if I change now the aforementioned will probably just happen, I may as well just wait. and I can probably wait until tonight to run whatever errand I am attempting to do with kids because I can't even get dressed so why venture out in public? I'll just put on sweatpants/yoga pants/tights with a long tshirt/flannel/sweatshirt. Oh shoot, forgot to start laundry... start back at 9 am
You get the point.
Hopefully those of you at home all day experience the same. ((Please say you do!))
Now the fact that we are at junction in seasons it becomes even more complicated. I was pregnant last fall and didn't buy any new non maternity clothes, the clothes from the winter season prior to that still. don't. quite. fit. *deep breath* and they may not ever fit again.
That's ok, its worth it. It's all worth it, That's what we moms say when we feel a little guilty for complaining or even just being real. But it's true, its true, its true. We may even say that to remind ourselves.
The long days where we don't/can't get dressed.
The long nights of interrupted sleep that end in early mornings.
The conversations in the grocery store parking lot that seem like merry go rounds as we try to understand each other.
The 11 hour waits in the emergency room.
The rounds of stomach bugs and loads of laundry that go along with it.
The delayed blog posts or meals or conversations or dreams.
I tend to forget our family is our training ground for out there. Inside our walls is a place where it is safe to be yourself, to explore new ideas, to fail, to fight, to be passionate, to be at rest. I forget that I am creating this safe haven every time I go through the motions of another day. I forget I am planting seeds that will sprout into character and laying the foundations that will hold their values in place long after they move out. I forget that I am creating a space and a refuge that they will always come back to.
Then there are good days, Days where we laugh and play and hike in the woods. Days where we are all healthy and rested and getting along and living out what we know to be important. There are days when it just works, I haven't yet figured out a formula to make one of these days happen yet. They seem to come right when we need them, right when we are on the brink of giving up. These are the days that make us say "it's all worth it."
It’s been pretty quiet around here lately (by here I mean my
blog and definitely not my house). I miss writing and free time of any sort and
sleeping. Oh how I miss sleeping.
With no sleep comes that foggy mind that makes you drive off
without unloading all the groceries out of your cart and swear you slipped your
credit card into your bag but it actually went on the sidewalk (truth be told I
never found it). It makes you schedule doctor appointments on birthdays because
you have no idea what today even is. It makes you burn dinner and wash library
books in the washer. I swear, all my domestic skills have vanished.
No sleep also makes blogging near impossible. Besides the
fact that I have no time, I keep losing my train of thought. Before you suggest
a pick me up, caffeine makes my little bundle cranky. In fact this post has been pieced together from different entries on my phones notepad that I jot in while
Joel nurses. Because that’s about all that gets done around here. Baby growing
business is no joke. And apparently if I do find a rare moment to sit down and
type it seems I have forgotten how because I keep deleting whole
paragraphs on accident by highlighting them with the touchpad mouse. Thank God
for the undo button. Where was I going with that?… oh yeah, sleep. I need some.
I did manage to eek out some prose for my home made
anniversary card but never actually penned it, so I’m posting it here because I
FINALLY WROTE SOMETHING THAT MAKES SENSE. Not to mention, we have been married
for 9 years and this last year felt so good to get through together. Also, 9 is
almost 10 and that feels special. Now that you have all that lovely background,
here it goes:
Time is flying, each year goes by quicker than the last.
With each season we pass through our relationship changes shape. Just like our
kids, it neither looks like just you or just me but is a beautiful mix of each
one of us. I tried to backtrack through our time together and remember some significant
event for each year but it all just ended up in one big jumbly blur that was in
no particular order. So here’s a few highlights from our 9 years together:
We purchased a house and a car
and a tiny dog too quickly. We probably got married too quickly too, but apparently
that’s how we do things.
We moved to a different state. We got degrees and more degrees.
We worked jobs we loved and some we didn’t.
We took vacations to the mountains and to the beach and to
big cities and little ones. We’ve done amusement parks and hikes and boats and
camping.
We discussed theology and doctrine and sermons and books. We
led youth groups and community groups together. We have worshipped together. We
have encouraged each other in our passions, in our art or cooking or writing or
constructive arguing.
We have shared dreams of writing a book, planting a church, starting
a non profit, opening a restaurant/coffee shop/fire brick oven pizza joint.
We came to love each other’s families and made friends with
each other’s friends.
We more than halfway raised a tiny woman, who is just. like. me. (sorry you have put up with me double-time) and are working on two tiny men
who I’ll be proud if they turn out just like you.
We moved back home.
We moved to a different state. And one more time, we moved.
We survived a difficult pregnancy, which included losing a
job and bedrest and a hospital stay.
But all of these things, jobs, babies, moving, travels,
school, church, dreams, these aren’t us.
When you pare all of that down, we are just two kids.
Two kids who had many a late night conversation and felt a
common bond.
Two kids who made a leap of faith and a vow of commitment
that they knew they wouldn’t be able to keep in their own strength.
Two kids who were a little unsure of themselves but believed
in a Love bigger than that.
That Love is what makes us “us.” To find this in our
lifetime makes us lucky, blessed, maybe even a little crazy. But that’s ok,
that’s who we are and I love it all. No matter what our life looks like on the
outside that will never change.
Here’s to year 9, onward to 10 and many, many more.
I wasn't going to post this. ( I say that about every other post!) A bit too personal maybe. However, writing this brought such a sense of gratitude for my marriage. Reminiscing can do that. Give it a try. It doesn't have to be poetic, just your story. It's ok if it's not your anniversary or you haven't had any sleep. Let your partner know how much it means to experience life with them and maybe they will take over for a couple hours so you can nap. (thanks sweetie;)
