A Day of Birthdays

This week has had me thinking a lot about my precious mini's 15th birthday. In a few days shy of a month, she turns the exact same age that I was when I started dating her dad - what a scary thought! But perhaps even scarier than that is the approaching sixth month reminder that that day may not have ever come. 

Years of loving and counseling teenagers had me acclimated to a few things:

Growing up sucks. There is no doubt about this one. We all feel it, whether 13-18yo, 18-25yo or well over that. Growing up means the continual progression of evaluating beliefs, questioning society, and breaking down of the physical tent we call a home here on earth. Without reference points and experience to glean understanding and perspective from, teenage years can quickly become a spoiled soup of emotions, reactions and consequences. 

Teenagers don't understand their parents and parents don't understand why their babies won't heed their counsel anymore. Those years of "don't touch the hot stove" turn into years when counsel is often in one ear and out the other in exchange for personal experience and lessons we'd love to help them avoid. But we can't. Some lessons are only learned by experience, thus heartache and heartbreak become a regular part of the journey we attempt to walk together. 

The need to experience things on their own warps perspectives and gives way to the feelings of over protectiveness all teenagers feel toward their parents. Our perceived need to protect them from all hurt and harm furthers the distance between our shmoopies and ourselves as we grapple with feelings of lack of control over this once tiny being who held onto our every word. 

But what happens when all that gets broken? What happens when a parent becomes withdrawn in a foolish attempt to shelter their child from the grief of losing them one day? What happens when words aren't spoken frequently enough in concern and the final layers of control are stripped away by a world altering pandemic?

On October 19, 2020, our family would have a crash course in learning what happens. With emotions at an all time high and disputed consequences by outside parties, my precious mini felt so out of control that leaving this place on a permanent basis was her only choice. 

As the words "You did what?!?!?" are seared into my memory,  I can see where I'm standing and quickly recall the emotions I felt that night. In her desperate attempt to just not feel those feelings any longer, ingestion of chemicals would be her out. 

The flurry of phone calls and preparation to head to the ER are a little less clear. I sat in the back of the car, holding her hand, both angry and scared at what was happening. Covid meant lockdown at our destination so I, the antithesis of her being, would be the only one allowed in with her. 

I attempted to convey to the staff the newly begun prescriptions and the black label they contained for teenagers but it fell on deaf ears. I'll never forget the ER doctor looking me straight in the face and saying, "If she was really on medication and in therapy, this wouldn't have happened." I should have known then how the rest of the evening would play out. 

After all physical tests had been run and came back within normal range, we sat for an hour with the psychiatrist. He was a bubbly, jovial man who tested her beyond the constraints I was willing to go that evening and even tackled some of the beliefs she had begun to hold. I can't tell you how many times his words of reassurance have been the words I've echoed back to her since that night - "Today (it was after midnight by this point), today you get to start all over. You've burned the whole house down and there's nothing left. Today, you begin rebuilding, one step, one brick at a time...." All of the old was now gone. We were given the chance to begin again by miracle. 

I'll spare details of the rest of that particular journey but that a disagreement with staff caused us to leave AMA. The desperateness I had heard in her voice "Momma please... mommy, no..." quickly snapped me back to the place we both needed me to be. CPS became our newest contacts as sheriff's deputies literally drove up in our driveway behind us. What we had just experienced was something I would never wish on anyone, let alone the storm looming on the horizon. But I would fight now. I would never relent again. With 100% support of our actions that evening from her amazing therapist and our beloved pediatrician of 25yrs, we triumphed over our second ever CPS case in record time. 

This grown up sized child would never lack hearing my voice or knowing my reassurance again. She would, hopefully, come to see the mom she should have always had. 

All those years of youth ministry never prepared me for that moment. I had never sat with the mother of a suicide survivor. With no frame of reference myself, the days of attempting to spare her from the grief of losing me one day quickly turned my focus to days, for the rest of my life, of building bridges, understanding and demonstrating the unconditional love she had been void of during my years of clinical depression. We now had more in common than either of us was willing to admit before - we needed each other to make it through this phase of life - the losses, the depression and the ever shifting sands. 

The months to follow would find all chemicals in our home locked away. All medications behind locked cabinets. And my mini sharing not only my bed but all of her space with me. I all but sat in classes with her. I  couldn't bear to let her out of my sight. How could I? I nearly lost one of the most precious things in all of life to me. 

Almost six months ago. I remember that I didn't sleep that night. I laid there, watching her breathe, waiting for every chest rise and fall just like I had when she was an infant. I still regularly do even though she's back in her own room now. Then I just look at her beautiful face. 

It was never lost on me, the date of those events. It was her half birthday. And now, because of God's grace and mercy we celebrate not only her 15th birthday but her half birthday of life renewed. She holds my hand and throws me half heart hands to complete at every glance. God's given me more time with my Pigs and I'll cherish every moment, even the hard ones. 

Parents, don't take one day for granted. Don't fall into the trap of "tomorrow..." Don't wall off your emotions in an ill attempt to protect your children from pain down the road. Pain is going to happen, it's the trade off for a life lived to its fullest and is only increased when experienced alone. Love the shmoopies. Love them hard. Demonstrate the unconditional love God gives so that there's never a question in their minds - they are loved. And never give up. Never. 

Happy (upcoming) birthdays my precious girl. I am thankful for everyday I get to live this life with you. 💕

Her High Heel Rubber Boots

It's that time again and I couldn't be more excited!!! Homesteading and gardening have always been my very favorite hobbies to learn more about. So when momma texted me last night and said, "Daddy wants to know when you want to plant the garden..." my excitement immediately took me to last frost date and all the planning that's involved. 

I ran through supplies on hand in my mind - seeds, potting soil for starter plants, gloves, rubber boots. Stop. 

I have two pairs of rubber boots, both well used. My black pair with dragonflies and pink ribbons remind me of the day I texted Aunt Suzie to show her what I had just ordered. A few days later, I got a text from her of these high heel pink rubber boots with pink ribbons that she had ordered from the same website. After she went Home, I asked for only a few things from my cousins, her boots included. 

If you knew Aunt Suzie or followed her social media updates, you knew she always began tough posts with - "Well, my friends, it's time to put my boots on again and venture on another hike..." Her literary imagery was the embodiment of how she lived her everyday life. When it came to cancer, to nerve damage, to the pain those things brought, she would make her way up the steep slopes of the mountain placed in front of her without complaint, without woe is me, without the anxiety a lack of knowledge about what the future would hold could bring. Did she ever need encouragement? Duh. Yes! That's where our shared infinity for glitter being like God's goodness was born from. 

But those boots. I can still see her beaming from ear to ear about high heel rubber boots. I giggle at the impracticality of heels on rubber boots but smile at the physical representation of who she was. 

This year began pretty rough for us. A covid diagnosis on Jan 3 meant two weeks of quarantine for us all. Family "Christmas" would once again be moved as nearly all of the cousins tested positive starting the week before Christmas until our diagnosis at the end. We had only seen each other at Aunt Tracy's funeral. Another aunt lost to stage 4 breast cancer. It felt like a nightmare we couldn't escape. 

So when I found it, a strawberry sized lump, while Brian was on his 10th day of quarantine, I just couldn't say anything. I froze, literally, for 36 hours. At first I tried to reason it away as someone who has a history of cysts and had been down this road before but this time, this time it was different. The size, the texture, the shape, the lack of pain. 

After those initial 36hrs, I only told momma. Even then I begged her to give me two weeks to see if it would resolve on its own but she knew the difference in all the symptoms just like I did. I, reluctantly, made an appointment for a week later. 

But still, I told no one. How could I? My best friend literally lived this nightmare not even a year ago. How could I drudge up emotions and feelings that were so freshly under the surface? Then there was my family. The greatest source of my encouragement and earthly strength. They could not know. I could not even breathe when I would think about having to tell them what might be. My husband, my kids, my brothers and sister (in law), my cousins, grandmother, aunt and uncles. No way would anyone be hurt by anything that was going on with me. Thankfully, the excitement of finally all being together at "Shrimp Christmas", all now covid free, didn't allow for any quiet time together. I was in the clear now to wait. 

Still, those boots. Sitting by my backdoor, the irony of their possession was not lost in those moments. The last time I went through this, she had been the voice on the other end of the phone. She had been the one walking me through procedures and testing to come. She was the one I called back immediately when I walked out of the Women's Center that last time to say, "Everything is good!" Now, she wasn't here. Her silence was deafening this time. Those boots that had walked up so many mountains were now laying at my backdoor. 

God, in His infinite wisdom, gave me a best friend to walk with this time. Procedures and tests re-explained. Tears shared and reminders of one day at a time were daily, sometimes hourly, occurrences. She knew I didn't want to tell my family, she truly understood why. 

After three long weeks, the nightmare would be put in our 2021 rearview mirror. Many tenuous talks with doctors later would reveal what we had all been praying for - no cancer. Everything else could be dealt with later. 

Those boots. Those high heel, wonderfully worn, half a size too small for me boots. Not only had she figuratively climbed mountains in those boots but she harvested real vegetables in those boots. Vegetables that had grown from seeds and plants she had planted. Plants she had cared for, watered, pruned, fertilized but plants God did all the growing for. 

When I found the adenoma, I didn't water the seeds of fear. I vividly remember not being afraid, maybe it was shock, but just being determined. "Gotta do whatcha gotta do..." - I'm not sure how many times I said that to myself, to Brian, to Toni. 

The most amazing thing to me in all of this though is the continuing faithfulness of God to grow His peace and His comfort, His strength and His provision in and for me. I talked the whole way through the biopsy, oblivious that the procedure had already begun. Momma laughed, she said Aunt Suzie did too. 

I was prepared to put those boots on and hike whatever mountain God put in front of me. But I didn't have to this time. Instead, I'll slip them on next week as we plant our garden. Then, we'll again watch Him produce fruits in total amazement of His unconditional, unwavering love for us. 

Pic: Pickles from the day I got to hang out with momma, Aunt Suzie and Aunt Birdie learning, chatting and laughing. ❤