The Diagnosis

In this post I referred to

"a diagnosis that surprised me, yet was expected, rocked me, yet was a strange sort of relief. I have been drafting a post in my head since this summer about it. I'll eventually write it down, but I am not quite ready yet. I'm still rocking a bit too hard with it. (I promise, there is no need to worry, it's not that big a deal - it just rocked me.)"

It is very hard to write this down. It seems silly, I know, and in some ways probably seems like not a huge deal (I'm not dying or anything), but it's a Really Big Deal for me. It's hard to write about, to make public like this.

In May 2013 I realized I was depressed. Not the "oh, I am so depressed because NBC cancelled Up All Night" kind of depression (although - really - I loved that show), but real, clinical, "is my life really worth living" depression. I read a blog post in which a woman lawyer I'd followed for a while described very honestly her experience with depression, and I thought, I think that's me. I told Bryan I thought I might be depressed and he suggested I call my doctor. I didn't.

Then one Monday night a couple of weeks later, I got upset about something very, very small and very, very stupid and I... lost it. I'm not sure how to describe what happened, other than I sort of... snapped. Something in me broke, and it was awful. I cried so hard I almost hyperventilated. I actually wished I could hyperventilate. I couldn't speak, I couldn't pray, I couldn't even control my own thoughts for more than a second or two, and my own internal voice turned against me, calling me a failure, a terrible wife, mother, friend, and lawyer, and completely unlovable, and saying I was just like my mother - crazy. I was literally curled up in a ball, rocking back and forth, shaking my head "no", and I couldn't stop. I was just hoping I would pass out. Eventually it all slowed down and I was able to lie down, Bryan rubbing my back and praying aloud, and I calmed down and fell asleep. But it was embarrassing, and absolutely terrifying.

Tuesday morning I called my doctor. We talked through the PHQ-9, the screening tool doctors use for making an initial diagnosis of depression. It was immediately clear I was depressed, and if I had been entirely honest it would have been even more apparent and even alarming. I didn't even realize then how bad really it was. My doctor told me the diagnosis - the one I was expecting, but still so, so afraid of - and scheduled an appointment right away.

I was immediately given a prescription for an antidepressant. That first pill was so hard to take. I stared at that bottle for a long, long time, sitting on the couch and trying to deny that I needed it. I didn't want to become my mother (who has been diagnosed with borderline personality disorder), and I kept feeling guilty for causing such a fuss when I really wasn't all that bad (I realize now I was wrong about this). I finally opened the bottle, took out a pill, and stared at that for a while, willing myself to take it and at the same time begging myself not to. It just felt like taking that medication would make it real, final, undeniable. Finally, I had a soft, fuzzy and somewhat blurred thought - my kids deserve to have a mother - me, their own mother - who is present, engaged, positive, and able to function and love them in a way my mother was never able to. If this little pill would help me become that person, I would take it, for them. Every day for a thousand years if I needed to. So... down the hatch.

More to come.

It's been a long day...

I drafted this post more than three months ago, and didn't publish it. I didn't want my first post in a long time to be such a downer, but it is what it is, right? I want to be real. I'm backdating so it makes sense, but really publishing this is July.

Rosi Golan (if you don't know who she is, look her up on iTunes - she is awesome) has this song called "Been a Long Day". It's a beautiful song, and it's been on my mind for the past ten months or so. My favorite line is "It's been a long day / And I just want to hide away" - that's pretty much how I feel.

This has been a very rough year. Well, ten months so far. Lord, help me for the next two.

It began (sort of) in May, with a diagnosis that surprised me, yet was expected, rocked me, yet was a strange sort of relief. I have been drafting a post in my head since this summer about it. I'll eventually write it down, but I am not quite ready yet. I'm still rocking a bit too hard with it. (I promise, there is no need to worry, it's not that big a deal - it just rocked me.) I took a short leave of absence from work, and when I returned, part time, with a treatment plan in place, I thought the rocky part was over.

Then this happened in late July. And my whole community - the whole world, it seemed - heaved and moaned with grief. I'll never in my life forget standing in line with my friend to check out at Vineyard Vines, a size 6 blazer, a size 6 white shirt, and size 6 khaki pants in our hands, holding each other and sobbing, while the world spun out of control around us. It is still a very raw, tender, difficult part of my heart to touch (and all of our hearts, I'm sure). Eight months later, and I still just can't believe I will never see his sweet face again, his beautiful brown eyes so full of life and mischief.

I was so happy to say goodbye to 2013.

And then, in the last few months, I've seen two teenagers I know and love with my whole heart face situations no one their age (or, really, any age) should have to face, and I have shouldered the grief for the loss of a piece of their innocence and the anger that resulted, directed toward the adults in their lives who should have known better, who should have never put them in a position to face it.

Then, a few weeks ago, on a Sunday evening, Bryan got a call from his brother R that one of his other brothers (he has three, all of whom are older than him), S, was very very sick. S had been battling colon cancer for two years, and they were sending him home with hospice care. Nobody had any idea how long he might last. Bryan hadn't been back to visit in almost exactly three years.  He and I were able to fly back home to visit on Tuesday, hold his hand, and let him know we love him. He was able to communicate in spurts of lucidity, and he knew Bryan was there. He also knew he was dying. Bryan held him and prayed and they both cried and I couldn't even watch. We put together puzzles with others holding vigil, delivered meals, bought groceries, clung to each other, talked through arrangements, and sat in silent disbelief that this 43-year-old man, with a wife and two children, was, very certainly, very near death. We came home with heavy hearts on Friday, and then the next Wednesday we got The Call. S had died overnight.

The whole family flew home this time. Bryan was chaperoning a trip to DC, so we picked him up there on our layover, where our wonderful friend (Auntie) Megan was keeping him sane. We stayed for a week with R, and spent almost all of our time with Bryan's family. We visited S at the funeral home with Bryan's brothers (R and M, both of whom are older than S) and their wives, their mother, and S's wife and children. S, who was in the construction industry his whole life, was buried in a t-shirt and jeans, with a crowbar in his hands. The funeral was difficult - it's so impossible to understand why a man so young, with so much yet to offer, had to die. And to waste away like he did... it was just brutal. And now his sixteen year old daughter has no father to walk her down the aisle, his thirteen year old son has no father to teach him to shave. Two more teenagers I love in pain they shouldn't have to face.

Bryan's mother, another woman (ironically, with the same first name as Grant's mother) burying her son far before his time, was so broken she could barely stand at the burial, and Bryan, R, and M literally held her up. It was such a picture of his family. They are all boys, but they are very close, and they take care of each other and their mother so well (especially M, R, and S, who all live very near each other and their mother). Every need is a family need, every loss is a family loss. They hold each other up. There was absolutely no question and no discussion about the fact that all of us would pitch in to help with the arrangements, the cost of things (S unfortunately had no life insurance), the daily living. In some ways, despite the incredible weight of the grief, it was a beautiful picture.

My dear hope is that some day there will be beauty out of these events. I am not naive enough to think it will outweigh the grief, the sense of loss, the anger, the frustration, the brokenness; I just want a thumb on the other side of the scale.

But right now?

It's been a long day.

I just pray it doesn't get any worse.

Mothers

I find it so interesting to see my friends as mothers.

Once we were all children, adolescents, teenagers, college students, graduate students, always young and relatively carefree, going out on a whim and having dinners in actual restaurants without shushing half of the table. And now we are mothers, caring for lives we helped to create, lives we are helping to shape, little people who rely on us for food and shelter and safety and love.

I love seeing my friends in this role. I love seeing them snuggle their babies (even though some of their "babies" are far from babies!). I love seeing them tossle hair and joke around, speak lovingly into little ears, dry tears, run to the bathroom with a potty training toddler, and, yes, shushing their children. I love to see them teaching their children, training them up in the ways they should go.

I learn so much.

I, who had a hundred mothers and also none, love having these mothers all around me.

(I really love having this particular mother around me... I miss having her close by! And I love love LOVE how she cares for her children.)

Happy Birthday, sweet boy

His seventh birthday was Saturday. I can remember the day he was born. Bryan and I were heading to Canada on a service trip for Labor Day weekend, and we stopped at the hospital to meet him. He was so tiny, but so alert, so full of life, even then.

We celebrated his birthday. He should have been there, enjoying his Iron Man cake, opening his presents, running around with his friends, but he wasn't. Well, not really. His body was there, under the earth, but his spirit was flying high above. We sat on a blanket next to the spot where the grass was just starting to sprout in the dirt, where flowers and balloons and gifts had collected.  We ate his cake, lovingly made by a grieving mother for the son who would never taste it. We read The Birthday Monsters book to our children, and to his memory.  We signed a card, we opened and assembled his Legos for him at his parents' request. Our children played, trying to climb the trees, finding "treasure" in the bushes. It was a beautiful afternoon, and that made it perfect and intensely painful at the same time.

He should have been there.

But he wasn't.

Someone's carelessness and inattention at a summer camp pool took him away over a month ago.

Yet I can still feel my lips on his hair, my hand on his head, as I gave him a kiss on the crown of his head. It was the last day of Vacation Bible School, and I was watching all of the children of volunteers for the hour before the action started.  It the last time I walked him up the stairs to the main sanctuary, the last time I told him to have a great day. I remember thinking to myself that someday he would be too old for me to do kiss his head, too tall for me to even reach.  A week later, I was with a good friend, purchasing clothes for him to wear in his coffin. Size 6 khaki slacks. Size 6 white button-down shirt. Size 6 navy blazer. All I could think was that nobody should be buying clothes this small for this purpose.


Eden, my sweet daughter who looked up to him probably more than anyone else she knows, who always wanted to be wherever he was, when I told her that he was gone, said through her tears, "I think the whole world is going to be sad." And in some sense, it was. Our whole world was sad; he was a very vibrant part of our amazing, tight-knit community.

I believe that he is somewhere better, that he is not sad at all, that he had the best birthday ever on Saturday. And I know that somehow good will come of it; maybe not enough to outweigh the tragedy, to make the stinging stop, but some good.

But I still miss him dearly. I ache for his parents. I wish it was all a horrible dream.

Secret of the Plains

Growing up in Oklahoma taught me a lot of things - how to work hard, how to appreciate people, how to be polite even if you have to do it through clenched teeth, how to fight for what you want without sacrificing integrity.

But growing up in Oklahoma also taught me a secret, something that only people from plains states can fully comprehend: the sky is not blue.

This was not a lesson learned in science class. This was a lesson learned on summer evenings, when the big, open sky would stretch its arms out over the plains and take off its facade, revealing its brilliance in pink, purple, orange, and red as the sun dipped below the horizon. The opposites of blue were displayed gloriously. This, I thought, was the sky's truest form, and as the sun disappears it reveals itself, intimately, to the world below.

I remember one time flying with my private-pilot dad in a little 2-seater Cessna airplane at dusk, watching the sky light on fire as the sun gave its brilliant finale, breathless at its beauty and wishing the airplane was fast enough to keep up with the turn of the earth, to make it last forever. My dad took a photo with his SLR camera, the bright orange of the sky reflecting on the wing of the plane, and had it framed. It's a beautiful photograph, but no camera can truly capture that moment. Or any like it. And I've never seen anything quite like it anywhere else.

It's an amazing thing to behold, and when people ask me what I miss the most about Oklahoma, I have no hesitation.

Sunsets.

P.S. Do a Google image search for "Oklahoma sunset" and this is some of what you see:

It's over.

On Monday my city was attacked.

On Wednesday I watched as the federal courthouse was evacuated for a bomb threat, literally right outside my office window.

On Friday Bryan and I woke to the news that we were on lockdown, that one suspect had been killed and police were searching for the other IN OUR TOWN. 1.5 miles FROM OUR HOUSE. We stayed inside all day, beautiful weather outside notwithstanding, windows and doors shut and locked against whatever evil may be lurking outside, kids restless, trying to stay informed while trying to shield them from what was happening.

And then we found out that the two suspects lived just a couple of blocks from the place we lived in while we were in graduate school. They went to high school just down the street from there, in our direction.

When the police gave the all clear, we - along with a few neighbors - went outside to get some air. And then we heard helicopters. And then someone from across the street told us we should go back inside, that there were shots fired again. And we hunkered down, terrified again, watching the news, until we rejoiced with our town, with our city, with our country, that he was caught.

It goes without saying - but we will certainly say it anyway - that we are incredibly thankful for the law enforcement officials who worked tirelessly to find these guys, to neutralize them. And we are incredibly heartbroken for the loss of life, injuries, and fear that these two men caused.

There is a jumble of emotion inside me at this moment - relief, sadness, anger, fear, thankfulness. But I don't think I could put it into words right now even if I tried.

Right now I am trying to focus on what I know to be true - that even though we are weak, as Eden so aptly put it today: "Nothing can hurt God. Even if a balloon pops in his nose!!"

Distracted.

Despite the mountain of work on my desk, I can't seem to focus.

I keep re-hearing the sirens outside my window.

I was nowhere near the finish line, but I was downtown, at work, feeling trapped and unsure of what was happening - was I safe? how would I get home? when could I leave? is this even real? this is my city! why?

There's so much to say, most of it already said, but I sit here trying to focus on revising documents and passing diligence information back and forth and it all seems so useless. So insignificant.

Last night I got a ride home (I wasn't sure if my bus was running and even if it was I'm sure it would have taken forever, because traffic was being re-routed all over the place) and had dinner with my family, grateful for the opportunity to do so, and then after the kids were in bed Bryan and I sat down to watch some of the news coverage. And I promptly fell asleep. It was that hard, hard sleep too, where even if you come out of it a bit you can't stay awake. Apparently I folded two baskets of laundry last night, but I barely remember it. I think my body wanted to release the stress, to relax after several hours of being clenched in anxiety, fear, disbelief.

And I dreamed of running, being chased by a bad man, knowing he was going to overtake me, that I was never going to make it home, and aching for my family's pain.

I know there is good. I know God is bigger. I am thankful for my friends in the medical tent that day, safe from the explosion but skillfully helping those who needed it, and for all of the others who ran toward the smoke, toward the blood donation centers.

But still. I feel a little broken, a little sad, and very distracted.

Shoes for Shriners!!

Last week Eden had her annual follow-up visit at Shriner's Hospital in Boston.  Thankfully, she's not headed for any follow-up surgeries this year, and she doesn't have to be seen until next March. Interestingly, the technology has been advancing in the meantime, so the surgery may be far less invasive when it does happen (hooray for lasers!)

An invitation.
We, as a family, and perhaps especially Eden, have decided it is time for us to give back to this place, which has been so important to us over the last few years. And we would love to give you the opportunity to join us in it as well. We are going to purchase and donate sneakers for the hospital to give to children who come to Shriner's for care from all over the world who need them! Eden is very excited, and has already counted all of the money in her piggy bank (which is full of change she's been collecting since she was a peanut-sized ball in her Mommy's belly) and is determined to buy sneakers "to show the kids at Shriner's that we love them" with her $44.62! We have promised to donate some shoes to her cause, and to ask our friends if they'd be interested to help as well!

How can you help?

If you would like to be a part of our first annual "Shoes for Shriner's" drive, there are two ways you can help:

1. Purchase sneakers in any size from toddler size 7 up (all the way to adult sizes!) and get them to us by May 4 (let me know if you'd like to mail them and I'll get you our address - we're thinking about setting something up on Amazon too so it can automatically ship to us, if there is interest; we would also be happy to pick them up if you're local)
and/or

2. Donate funds which we will use to buy sneakers when we do our family's shoe run, and get them to us by May 2 (we are planning the family shoe run for May 4 or 5). I have a paypal account that can be used for this purpose; feel free to reach out if you'd like the info!

We are planning to deliver the shoes to Shriner's sometime during the first full week in May.

Thank you for considering this cause! If you would like to know more background about why we are involved with Shriner's (and for some never-before-seen pictures), read on. But most of you know this story, so I wanted to make sure we got to the point first!

Why Shriner's? Eden's Story (see also here for the full story, which I still cannot read in full without crying, and the following few entries for the aftermath)

On September 10, 2009, when Eden was just 15 months old, her hands, forearms, and forehead were badly burned on the hot glass covering the gas fireplace in our apartment. She was rushed to Children's Hospital in Boston, and then transferred to Shriner's within hours of her injury. We stayed at Shriner's for just under a week, and then took her home, returning daily for dressing changes. 

Smiling sweetie, after we settled in at the hospital.

 

Playing with her Daddy

Snuggling Mommy

Sleeping beauties

 Eleven days after her injury, she was in the operating room, where one of the country's best plastic surgeons grafted healthy skin from her chubby little thigh onto her forearms, palms, fingertips, and forehead.

About to head to surgery - I always find it odd that we are smiling so big in this picture.

 

Post-surgery, she was so sleepy

Eden's accident was one of the most difficult things - probably the most difficult thing - we have faced as a family, but we were also immeasurably blessed in the midst of it all; we know it could have easily been so much worse.

Once she woke up, she was incredibly loopy. We played Radiohead for Babies (given to us by Shriner's), very appropriate.

Shriner's is an amazing place. We could talk for hours about all of the things that the people of Shriner's - from doctors to nurses to OTs to the incredibly nice woman who cleaned Eden's room every day - did to make the experience the best it could have possibly been, but suffice it to say that, literally, from the minute we walked through the door, we (all three of us) felt respected, supported, and cared for, both physically and emotionally.

Getting some fresh air in the hospital's outdoor playspace

People come from all over the world to be seen at this hospital, and for good reason; the care is phenomenal. What's more, Shriner's does not charge its patients a penny. Not a penny, whether they could afford it or not. They only recently began accepting payments from insurance.

We got her some Argyle socks and a floppy hat to cover her bandages. Stylin'.

One of the beautiful things about this place is that they are committed to making patients - and their families - comfortable while they are at the hospital, and providing tangible goods to make the stay easier. Within twenty-four hours of our arrival we were given a bag with toys, some regular clothing, and a handmade blanket (which Eden still sleeps with every day at daycare). We didn't know we "needed" these things, but the level of care and thought that they represented literally brought us to tears.

Playing with some of her toys in the hospital with a friend.

Shriner's gets donations from many places, and they thankfully always have plenty of toys. But the one thing they always need is shoes. We see this need as an opportunity for our family (and hopefully some of you!) to serve a place that does so much good, that has done so much good for us in particular, and to help them serve and bless others as they did us not so long ago. We are all very excited about this opportunity, and we hope you'll join us! But if you can't swing it this year, no sweat, we understand! We plan to make this an annual tradition, so there will be more chances.

Thank you for your time - and if you've made it all the way through this epic post, KUDOS just for reading! And please, feel free to forward to others you think might be interested in helping, or link to from your own blog.

Our sweet girl now.

Some of my favorite Leah-isms

My baby is growing up so fast. Exhibit A:

Exhibit B:

In an attempt to remember the aborable-ness that is Leah at 2 years, 2 months, I jotted down some of our favorite Leah-isms. She's learning so much so fast, it's hard to keep up - but she continues to be probably the happiest 2 year old I've ever known. So much JOY exudes from her, you can't help but smile when she's around!


Snapshots of Munchie's day:

"Good morning, Mommy!! Hug!"
"I no yike it" / "I YIKE it this!!"
"Daddy poops. Cows poops. Table poops. Everysbodies poops."
"Everybody done? Daddy done? Mommy done? Deedee done?" (when she's finished eating)
"Huh-RAAAAAAYYYYY!"
"Woooooowwwwww" (almost whispered, in awe at the sunset)
"Pizza Daaaaay!"
"Daddy Daaaaay!"
"Sowwy Mommy/Daddy/Deedee"
"Sssssss baby seepin"
"Namaste" (sitting down, legs outstretched, forehead on her ankles, folded in half!)
"I did it!"
"Go Daddy go! Go Daddy go!" (shaking a pompom, when he dances)
"Good JOB Daddy/Mommy!!" (followed by the potty dance, when she sees us use the toilet)
"Pay pee-doh me?"
"Where my yucy go?" (Lucy is the name of her lovey) "I want different yucy" (we have three, and she's now developed a favorite.)
"Thank you Daddy, thank you Mommy, thank you Deedee, thank you Kathryn, thank you Hannah, thank you Bubba, thank you Curtis, thank you [insert long list of other friends/inanimate objects]" (this is how she prays)

.....................................................................................

Mommy (in the morning, before school, the day after her teacher was out sick): Are you going to see Paula today?
Leah: No, Paula sick. (like it is no big deal that she just answered the question and gave a reason)

Things

Leah's new favorite phrase is "I go potty!!" (Which means, of course, "Mother, would you be so kind as to procure a fresh diaper for your sweet youngest child?")

Eden has started using phrases like "The truth is"

Leah is now obsessed with babies - real and pretend. She loves to put her dolls "Nigh-nigh" (by putting them on their stomachs, covering them completely with a blanket, and pounding on their backs).

Eden loves to teach her sister. And she's surprisingly patient with her when invariably Leah is uncooperative with her agenda. Leah loves the attention and if she's in the mood she will imitate anything Eden does.

Leah is also obsessed with pacifiers - "Bink" she calls them. She doesn't really use them herself but she LOVES to find them in other babies' strollers, on the sidewalk, in other kids' mouths...

We can't find a Disney movie yet that doesn't give Eden nightmares. To be fair we have only tried a few (and are happy to take suggestions!) Tried with the Lion King this week - FAIL.

A friend of mine turned down basically her dream job in government this week - doing exactly the kind of work she loves, for no more than 35 hours a week - for financial reasons. It really makes me ache to have my act together so I can make decisions based on something other than CRUSHING DEBT. Even if that means I stay right where I am, I really want to have a choice in the matter.

I'm turning 30 in a few weeks. And I am feeling very "eh, whatever" about it, except that (i) I feel like it is a great reason to celebrate and (ii) I have felt 30 for a long time - we are the youngest in our group of friends.

And This: