I remember

12 / 31 / 14

I started writing a post today while the little were sleeping. It was about nap time mind-games. The ongoing battle between choosing between doing the stuff you need to get done, or choosing to do something for yourself. I couldn’t finish it. It felt like whining. When I wrote it I was frustrated that I was not keeping up. I was loosing the laundry battle, I couldn’t find 20 minutes to sit down and figure out how to digitally borrow a book from the library even though I got the app for it days ago. I absolutely could not play legos with Shepherd because I had to wet-vac the carpet Charlotte spilled milk all over yesterday. When evening rolled around, I chose not to show love or patience to Erron over a tricky topic because I had used up all my love and patience before he got home. He got annoyance and brutal honesty instead. I needed a time out, and I got it when I ducked out to catch a late movie with my sister after the kids were put down for bed.

Two and a half hours later, I snuck back into a quiet house, and crept into every bedroom to spy on the person sleeping there, adjusting covers, feeling my heart so full of love that it brought on the pinprick of tears. Charlotte just got moved to a big girl bed, and she sleeps in it sideways, like she’s still in a crib. I watched the air move in and out of Shepherd’s lungs with gratitude and gazed at my husband in amazement that he tolerates being last in line as often as he does.

This week I have been obsessing over getting my house back in order, checking off my to-do list and what my hair would look like with extensions. I forgot that to two little people, I am the whole world…I can make it magical by simply showing up. Being physically and mentally present. To one man, I am the center of the universe, I have the power to make him feel like a million bucks or treat him like he’s another person to deal with when he walks in the door. It’s such a life altering perspective that’s so easy to forget.

I needed to remember.

A year in review

12 / 28 / 14

Char's favorite Christmas present was the left over Santa cookies. — Char’s favorite Christmas present was the left over Santa cookies.

Our Christmas decorations are down, the littles’ new toys tucked into closets and the days left in 2014 are quickly slipping away. I’m more than a little relieved to usher in a new year. Six months after Shepherd’s drowning, nearly losing him, I can say we our finally over the hump. The hard, emotionally exhausting part of the grieving process seems to be behind us. We are still struck with hard moments, a quick vision of what we saw and experienced with our sweet boy, but they are much less frequent, and we can dismiss them if we choose to. The rawness has worn off. Erron and I have survived and grown as a couple. Shepherd continues to thrive, grow, and learn new things. As parents, we have adapted to any subtle changes emotionally or cognitively we may be facing.

Erron and I slipped away for dinner last night and it was so sweet to talk about the upcoming year. Ideas for this blog, us serving at our church, plans for our family. I’m all about learning from the past… but man, bring on the new. Facebook keeps trying to sell me on “My Year in Review” by giving me a jazzed up border on a pic I posted in June of an intubated Shep. I cannot delete it from my feed fast enough. Although most of this year revolved around what happened to Shepherd, and the fallout it caused, I’d like to let the hurt and fear continue to fade away while holding tightly to all the good that came from such a terrible accident. The overwhelming love and support that was sent our way from thousands of people, many that we’d never met. The pride I feel from how hard Erron and I worked to get our marriage back on track after such a blow, and the way our family and friends circled the wagons, holding us up, when we were in our worst moments. A faith in a Good God that overflowed in the middle of my worst nightmare.

Not to mention the fact that Erron and I moved states, changed jobs and Charlotte has become this little person that is widely entertaining and lovable.

These are the moments I’d like to remember from 2014, and then I’d like to turn the page and start the next chapter. Happy New Year friends.

Shep turns 4.

12 / 12 / 14

Shep turned three and a half on June 22, the second day of his ICU stay. At this point we still had no idea if we were going to keep him. A precious friend bought pirate decorations and brought them to the hospital room so we could ‘cheer it up’ while we fought for his life. It used to just say “Shepherd.”(Incidentally, this same friend decorated my hospital room when we found out Shep was going to be born at 32 weeks. She’s a keeper.) Now, the banner reads Shep is 4. His party is this weekend. I kid you not, I cannot look at this banner without weeping. Happy tears. I am so, so happy.

When we first got home I would cry at the drop of the hat. Like, ALL the time. A country song could do it, or just looking at Shep in the review mirror while driving. Poor Shep was understandably confused, so I finally had to explain that I was “Happy Sad.”

It went something like this: “Buddy, I’m so happy that you’re OK, but I’m also a little bit sad that you got so sick, so it makes me cry sometimes. Because I’m SO happy that you are OK. They are mostly happy tears.” He seemed to get it and now Happy/Sad is a legitimate emotion in our house which works for me because I think a lot of things can make a person feel happy/sad, or empathetic /grateful….you get the picture.

Anyway, for the longest time, I’ve been living in “happy/sad. But I look at that banner, and I am… Just. So. Relieved. Shepherd is turning 4. Thank GOD. We got to keep him. We get to celebrate 4…We get to see what 4 looks like for Shep. What a gift. I’m not sure when my perspective changed, but I can tell it’s shifted. I’m sure it’s a combination of things: time passing, Erron and I figuring out better ways to handle Shep’s emotions, and lastly, I’ve had the opportunity to pray for another OKC momma who was recently in a similar situation with her beautiful baby girl. It was such a privilege to pray for her. This momma’s back-story was much tougher than mine. I begged for her child’s life as intensely as I begged for Shep’s and am rejoicing with her like we did six months ago for ourselves. Her battle is not over, there are big unknowns for her little one like there are still unknowns for us with Shep’s future. But watching this faithful momma walk through what we just experienced helped me gain some perspective. We get to keep our precious babies here with us, in this physical world, where we can hold them, kiss them, love them… a little bit longer. What a blessing that is in itself. I don’t know this mom, I’ve only read her story, but praying for her, healed my heart a little bit more.

Whatever the reason, I’m over being sad. Shep is 4, and I’m so freaking happy about it. It’s time to celebrate.

Shep's first birthday. We like to set the bar low. — Shep’s first birthday. We like to set the bar low.

The unwanted guest

12 / 3 / 1412 / 4 / 14

There are currently five people that live in my house. Erron, myself, Shepherd, Charlotte… and Guilt. Guilt snuck in the back door when we brought Shep home. At first, he was a noticeable unwanted guest, his presence was palpable and overbearing, but he learned how to blend into the background….he wove his way into our everyday life so I forget he’s even there most of the time. I’m so used to Guilt’s presence that he’s like my shadow…but he’s poisoning the well.

Guilt sleeps in my bed, between me and Erron. He likes to whisper in my ear, pointing out how different our parenting styles are, and that Shep would never have been hurt like that on Erron’s watch. I believe Guilt. More than I believe my husband when he tells me Guilt doesn’t need to live here anymore. That he was never welcome in the first place. Now, Guilt is so comfortable with me, he’s on me like white on rice. When Shep is super emotional and has a rough day/week(s), Guilt reminds me, “This could have been prevented, you’re his mother, you failed.” When I’m with my parents and Shep melting down, I get tense, they get a little worried,and Guilt asks me , “Why can’t you get over this? Stop over analyzing! You are weak, and hurting the people you love with your grief.” Even Charlotte is not excluded. She’ll be sassifying the heck out of a situation and while I’m trying to deal with her, I hear guilt clucking at me in the background, “…You’ve dropped the ball on her, you focused so much energy on Shep that you lost sight of Charlotte.”

Just when I’m ready to tell Guilt to get the hell out of my house he pulls out his trump card, warning me,“You won’t make it without me…You’ll get too happy and relax. You will drop your guard again and you know what happened last time. You need me to keep your family safe, the next bad thing is just around the corner, stick with me… and you might just be ready for it.

Guilt is full of BS but he’s a REALLY good liar. So I panic, invite Guilt back in, give him some more room. Just to be safe. My head knows Guilt will not protect me, it will rip apart all that is good… but my heart is afraid.

Thanksgiving at my sweet parents’ house was challenging. I brought my Guilt with me so he could have a field day with the Guilt that lives with them, it’s insane. It drove me to hide in my child-hood closet, hyperventilating over what happened, about how close we were to having a Thanksgiving without Shepherd. We’ve all felt a little crazy at different times these last 5 months, but we’re not. Just guilty. Poor Erron is left out of this club, even though Shep is as much his son as he is mine. Since Erron wasn’t there when Shep fell in the water, I exclude him instead of letting him in, which means he usually has to deal with all of his hurt (and mine) on his own. His pain triggers mine, so he buries it. It’s not right and it’s not fair. But Guilt has me handcuffed, he’s calling the shots.

By writing this down, I’m hoping to drag Guilt out of my house and into the light, where I can expose him for what he really is: A liar, manipulator, a thief of peace and joy. Guilt is a dictator and he rules with fear.

It was an accident. It was nobody’s fault, but I’m a pleaser, I’m a responsible person, I feel like this guilt is my burden to bear….but that would defeat the purpose of grace, wouldn’t it? My guilt is already accounted for and discarded, if I can just hand it over. I’m trying, but it’s hard. It takes time, prayer, and more time. I set it down for a bit, then nervously pick it back up.

There is another voice. One that says, “Come to me, all who are weary and burdened and I will give you rest. Take my yoke upon you and learn from me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest in your souls.” Matthew 11:28

This voice is gentle, strong but loving, and it does not lie to me.
I’m listening.