I have been reflecting on November and December of last year after finding out. I don't know if I can ever explain the pain pool I swam in for those 7 dark weeks. I will never forget the Thursday night after we found out. Derrick was going to drive me to the office so I could get my team ready for Friday without me and we drove by my neighbors house with a bunch of women in the driveway, laughing and saying goodbye. I was struck by how just a few hours earlier that could have been me. There were so many days and nights where all I could do was sob and hit the ground just repeating the same word over and over again. I remember not being able to sit or stand to sob. My body just could literally not hold that kind of pain. I would have to get down and curl up and just let it flow. How does life take such a jagged and unexpected exit and how do we go about living life even when pain and sorrow are so closely held also?
It's been a learning process. Each day is easier seen as just that...a new day. Most are chaotic and messy. Some are spectacular and some are just a day to get through. I thought about staying home with my kids many times over the last 5 years. When I was pushed towards it during the darkest time in my life I went into it with very skewed priorities and a certain set of outcomes. My priorities at the time were to just keep breathing steady. At the same time I assumed I was going to be supermom. I was going to spend everyday being the Mom I always wanted to be. Lunches thoughtfully made, homework and housecleaning always done on time. Time for learning in the home and growing up little ambitions carried out each day. What I set myself up for was utter and complete failure.
I recently lost it. Riley had school all day a few Tuesdays ago and after a springbreak I never though twice about checking his folders for what he needed. I met Derrick at school to assume parenting roles while he continued to work and I was so blindsided when other kids were excitedly pulling out there "24 things". Riley looked just broken and he walked into his classroom, shoulders slumped, defeated. I piled Alyssa into my truck, took off for a midwife appt and cried all the way to St Louis Park. I cursed and kicked myself for being so stupid. Why in 10 days did I not check his bag and write a reminder on the fridge? Why did I have to get out of bed at 9:30 the evening before because once again I forgot to make his lunch? Why the hell could I not get this once a week school thing down? And the kicker, I have one in a seat behind me and one in my belly that were in line for such a failure of a Mom. I ugly cried and Alyssa, being the sweet little thing she is, only asked once if I was okay and then just thoughtfully looked out the window.
It was not the 24 things that broke me. It was my perceptions and expectations that failed me. So that day after getting up at 3:15 a.m. and running around for 5 hours before meeting at church to exchange the kids. We drove to SLP, back home, packed up Riley's 24 things, drove to church and hung out in his class since by that time it was 12:45 and he was done in 2 hours. I was going to make up for it big time. We walked in and my son said, "What are you doing here?" Ha, he had completely forgotten about his 24 things and when the presentation of 24 things happened he was only 1 of 5 that had them. He enjoyed it and it was fun but not exactly the paramount of projects I had built up in my minds eye. We finally came home and I sat down for 2 hours only to turn around and go to clean. It broke me. The whole day was just one miserably, long, exhausting day.
It was the turning point for me also. I realized that there is too much time to criticize myself now. I have too much time to realize my failures and shortcomings and grief. Before I was working FT and we had a schedule. I knew I would get done working, get my children, come home for naps and wake up refreshed and excited to spend time with them. I would have 1 thing in mind that I wanted to do together and we rarely screwed that up. It wasn't always cotton candy and balloons but we had it down pretty darn well and it was the norm for the last 3 years.
What I have come to finally realize and still struggle with is there is a part of my heart that is in constant sorrow. I have to acknowledge it and find away to live with it while still living, however unprepared and messy it might be.
This baby that is growing inside of me was for many weeks a crutch. I was learning to take one day at a time and it was throwing me into the future and what it will look like. I was disconnected from Him and almost resentful. Instead of thinking about the gift of life and concentrating on the good, I was concentrating on how God was probably opening a window just as he was ready to close a door in my life. I was consumed with if my Mom would even be able to hold this baby. I would find hope in a treatment only to be reminded that it was a bandaid not a cure. Living in excitement for the future was how my first two babies were, this one was a new norm. I dare not to look ahead because my family is so intertwined in my everyday and my future but how do you do that with new life expanding and growing right underneath that damaged heart?
I recently went to a play with my Mom and I was struck by how weird it was so be out of the house with no children at my heels. It has always and will always make me sad, even when I know I needed the break and was probably not too graceful about excepting it. I went to the bathroom and I felt the new baby moving around and I thought "so this is mercy". This is God reminding me that throughout the depths of sadness and failures I come face to face with, this new life will be there to remind me that I am not in control and will never be. It was equally debilitating and renewing. This baby might be the bandaid that covers my damaged, broken heart. I would never have chose that this new life possibly replace my Mothers but Someone greater than me realized that without it I might not have survived. It's equal parts accepting the grace and gift in this baby and realizing that life keeps on drumming out no matter what. It's the hardest and most difficult lesson I assume I will struggle with for the remainder of our time intertwined together. I very specifically asked that God help me and take some of that pain away. Now I need to accept that answer.
I finally saw this new baby and I thought that would make it real but it didn't. I still find it hard to wrap my head around this as with ALS, but I am excited. I feel the baby moving, I have seen my stomach warped as it moves and my heart skips around when I hear it's heartbeat at home with the doppler. Just because I wept and prayed and pleaded with Him over my first two, I think this was just hard to accept. I can realize that and stop beating myself for being so resentful and so confused about this, #3. I do love #3 so, it's just a learning process about growing and patience and being completely out of control.
I have had this stewing on my heart for so long. Putting my deepest fears and resentments out there so I could clear away for the happy and good. I feel that now. I never re-read what I write it's just alot of verbal diarrhea. I feel clean and empty now and that's what I needed. The post that took a month to write is finally out there and I can pick up the pieces. It's been a difficult start to this pregnancy. Not in the physical way. It makes me feel very vulnerable and dirty to admit that but there it is.
And here He is...we refer to it as He, not sure if that's what we really want or what we perceive would be easiest but Alyssa was a "he" until 20 weeks also so again, here He is. My most difficult learning process in life thus far. My grace and mercy, growing inches below my heart.
Life these days on the home front are filled with uncertainties regarding my Mom. We have prayerfully considered Bejing, Israel, clinical trials here in the US and stem cell therapies in CA. There is no right/wrong answer. There is no cure. My Mom admitted to us that her right hand is showing signs of the ALS. She has terrible abdominal cramping from ALS. My Dad is retiring soon and it should be joyous and a triumph but the reality is that he needs to be home for her and they need to enjoy each day as tomorrow could be ugly. She has an appt at the Mayo on April 7th and we anxiously await the medical opinions that come out of it. So there we are again, hurry up and wait.










