A few years ago (around 7 now) my life got shaken … not stirred, shaken. My 44 year old aunt at the time was diagnosed with a rare form of leukemia (the week of our wedding actually). She spent 14 months of the end of her life fighting the illness before succumbing to it.
This shook my world. Not because I hadn’t experienced a loved one dying, I had. Not because I was fairly close with her, and I was. Not because I couldn’t go on with out her in my life, I could. But because I didn’t think any of this would actually happen, I mean this kind of stuff happens to ‘other people’. If someone you love gets sick, you pray for them and they get better (at least if you’re spiritual enough they will), or so I thought.
Up until the last few days of her life my family was in denial. We all heard the words that she wouldn’t make it but we couldn’t get past her ‘rally’. She was sent home to die and they expected she would within a couple of weeks – 2 max. After 2 weeks she seemingly began to get better. Her hair was growing back (duh, she was done her treatments), she was hopping and bopping, she had pep. One of my last visits with her was crazy weird. The previous ones were held in her bedroom, with her in bed and I in a chair. She was weak yet spunky, willing to be completely honest and open with her feelings and hopes for us as a family to go on and just chill about stuff. We talked about her struggles with letting go of her husband, about giving her blessing for him to remarry someday, and about how much she would miss being at her only son’s graduation and wedding. She also warned me to ‘be careful what you wish for’ - apparently she had always joked about not wanting to become a grandmother because of the connotation of getting old, now she was getting (to some degree) what she wished for.
Anyways, this visit was different than the others. She was up and dressed, wig in place, make up on. It was night time (another big deal). We hung out in the living area and SHE asked ME if there was anything I needed, then she got me a drink. This visit was filled with good conversation, laughs and essentially … life. It was an amazing gift. We got many gifts when she arrived home. A chance to be honest, I asked her a ton of questions which no one else would (I thought ‘Are you kidding? She’s dying I’m getting it all out there’). A chance to say: ‘Good bye, you’re the best, we love you, we’ll be ok’ even though we weren’t sure we would be. And we got not two, but seven weeks with her.
After it was over and life went on, I fell apart. I cried more than I have ever cried in my life. Not so much during the day – I mean I had to ‘keep it together’ and I was known for that, but at night, before falling asleep I would sob and sob. I would wonder how this could possibly happen to our family. This went on for months as I grieved. Poor Wally said that after several months he almost lost it with me because all I ever did was cry. He wondered if I would ever stop.
During the months that followed I grew bitter with some of the close friendships I had because no one understood my reaction. All my Christian friends seemed to keep saying things like ‘She’s in a better place. You had a gift of extra time with her. She’d want you to be happy.’ Here’s the thing, my reaction wasn’t ALL about losing my aunt. It was about realizing that I’m not immune to tragedy. And though I feel that tragedy is a bit of a strong word to use for this, that’s how I felt. Again this ‘tragedy’ wasn’t all about the person I lost, but that I indeed could lose something real and something important to me. It wasn’t in my hands. I was grieving over my innocence and over the belief that God would protect me from the heart break I was experiencing, and He certainly didn’t. In fact he did the furthest thing from it, He allowed me to feel the pain - physically my heart ached. Before that I thought heart break was only a saying.
Seven months after my aunt died that same family buried my grandfather and my grandmother’s brother (they died a day apart). A week before that my other grandmother passed away. These deaths were sandwiched around Christmas. Two of the three people had drawn out illnesses – and the other had attempted suicide a month before dying of a heart attack. I was also grieving the loss of a couple of very close relationships during this process – which I think died off because of this process.
During these months a transformation took place. First in a seemingly negative way (I remember at one point I said the words ‘pissed off’ to one of my friends on the phone about something else and she was stunned – I was changing). Then after a while I really started to re-examine myself, my life and my perspective. I became aware of my humanity and of how fast life passes us by, and how we do in fact get to choose how we live out this gift.
Did I want to live it out with passion or with fear and trepidation? I did not want to live life in a bubble any longer, scared of ever little challenge and fearful of all of the ‘what if’s’ out there. I began to realize how much control I had over some things and how little control I had over others. I then decided I would do my best not to let life’s heart breaks stunt my growth, if anything I’d allow them to challenge me to go forward. I decided that no matter what I was given in life I would do my darnedest to make something better out of it.
Though I am far from perfect at living this out and most often I feel as though I stumble more than I succeed (just read my last post), I can honestly say that I am doing my best to pursue a life that allows itself to get shaken … not just stirred.
Wednesday, July 15, 2009
Tuesday, July 14, 2009
A few light and funnies
So I thought I would just write out a few conversations I shared this week with different people I met along the way.
The following statements were made within the past week by the one young gentleman I support:
“Eva, you look stunning today.”
“Why is your nose always red?”
“Your thighs are large” (Apparently this is quite the compliment since this fellow has a serious thigh fetish).
“You have a beard and a mustache, they’re blond.”
“So you don’t like to be touched eh? That’s too bad for your husband.” (This was stated after I told him not to touch me (he's rather affectionate), that it wasn’t appropriate and I didn’t like it.)
One day he was shooting hoops with his basketball in the driveway, only some of the shots turned into him whipping the ball and narrowly missing the neighbours’ brand new car. I asked him to tell me next time so I could ‘spot’ the car. He was very annoyed and said “Why are you so worried all of the time?!”
I asked him how he got to be so good at basketball and he replied in all seriousness: “The talent is just in me, like my dance moves.”
“Eva, Justin (another staff) thinks you have a funny personality.” (So I’m wondering, if it’s funny ha ha or funny odd). This guy wanted to clear up any uncertainty I had by his statement and said “He doesn’t think your hot, he just thinks your funny. He said that you are hilarious.”
Man on the elevator ...
I met a man on the elevator today that did not seem to act as though he lived here (perhaps his mother did, though he was old enough he could’ve as well). We conversed about the slowness of the elevator and stuff.
He finally looked at me and asked “Do you live here?”
I said “Yup”
To which he replied “Oh. You don’t seem to fit the age demographic for people that live here.”
I responded with “Oh really? How’d you guess that?”
He chuckled in disbelief.
Flowers ...
Today Wally brought me home a bouquet of flowers, the first in a very long time. I was touched and happily surprised. Later on I asked him where he went to buy them (since he wasn’t any later coming home). He didn’t say. I told him that I liked them very much , he smiled shyly and said “Well you told me once that carnations were one of your favourite and when I saw these I figured you would like them.”
I tried to stifle a giggle then replied “Carnations aren’t one of my favourite. Gerber Daisies are and I don’t mind a rose by itself, but carnations aren’t really one of my favourite.”
Then ensued another great debate that left me wondering WHO the person is that likes carnations so much. I love my Wally and I think he still loves me.
The following statements were made within the past week by the one young gentleman I support:
“Eva, you look stunning today.”
“Why is your nose always red?”
“Your thighs are large” (Apparently this is quite the compliment since this fellow has a serious thigh fetish).
“You have a beard and a mustache, they’re blond.”
“So you don’t like to be touched eh? That’s too bad for your husband.” (This was stated after I told him not to touch me (he's rather affectionate), that it wasn’t appropriate and I didn’t like it.)
One day he was shooting hoops with his basketball in the driveway, only some of the shots turned into him whipping the ball and narrowly missing the neighbours’ brand new car. I asked him to tell me next time so I could ‘spot’ the car. He was very annoyed and said “Why are you so worried all of the time?!”
I asked him how he got to be so good at basketball and he replied in all seriousness: “The talent is just in me, like my dance moves.”
“Eva, Justin (another staff) thinks you have a funny personality.” (So I’m wondering, if it’s funny ha ha or funny odd). This guy wanted to clear up any uncertainty I had by his statement and said “He doesn’t think your hot, he just thinks your funny. He said that you are hilarious.”
Man on the elevator ...
I met a man on the elevator today that did not seem to act as though he lived here (perhaps his mother did, though he was old enough he could’ve as well). We conversed about the slowness of the elevator and stuff.
He finally looked at me and asked “Do you live here?”
I said “Yup”
To which he replied “Oh. You don’t seem to fit the age demographic for people that live here.”
I responded with “Oh really? How’d you guess that?”
He chuckled in disbelief.
Flowers ...
Today Wally brought me home a bouquet of flowers, the first in a very long time. I was touched and happily surprised. Later on I asked him where he went to buy them (since he wasn’t any later coming home). He didn’t say. I told him that I liked them very much , he smiled shyly and said “Well you told me once that carnations were one of your favourite and when I saw these I figured you would like them.”
I tried to stifle a giggle then replied “Carnations aren’t one of my favourite. Gerber Daisies are and I don’t mind a rose by itself, but carnations aren’t really one of my favourite.”
Then ensued another great debate that left me wondering WHO the person is that likes carnations so much. I love my Wally and I think he still loves me.
Monday, July 13, 2009
Ripping off the band aid …OUCH!!!!
Ok so I’ve been avoiding this post for a few days and more recently several hours. One thing I’ve learned that I love about blogging is how honest I can be without feeling judged (or like I’m going to get into heaps of trouble). I love the freedom to write how I experience and see things. I would say in general I am a fairly honest person to talk to. I don’ think that I sugar coat my opinions or am too afraid (most of the time) to tell you what I think – that is if I know you are really listening to what I am saying. Anyway, this is one post I’d rather skip altogether.
This post is about the one thing that humiliates me the most, reveals one of my truest struggles, and yet seems to be something that is acceptable in our culture. I realize that once I say what it is many people will laugh it off as ridiculous and may respond with: ‘Get over it. You’re not the first, you won’t be the last, it’s not that big a deal.’ But to me, it is. And right now, it hurts. For the sake of honesty and for the hope of perhaps some encouragement or connection out there, I will do it.
*Peeling off the band aid*
I have a serious self image problem that is closely affiliated with my addiction to certain foods. As I say in my profile here: ‘I am a chocoholic and Mondays are never far away.’ Unfortunately it seems to be the motto of my life and it has hurt more than it’s helped. Let me back track a bit and tell you when I first found out I was different …
I was five years old and standing outside of my kindergarten room when one of the grade one girls came up to me really close and stared me straight in the eyes and said ‘You are so fat!!’ She said it really mean like and with absolute disgust. I really had no idea what she was talking about. In the years that followed I soon found out. Through out my time in elementary school I don’t believe a day went by (after gr.2) that I didn’t get teased for being fat. That probably sounds like an exaggeration; the sad part is that it isn’t.
I remember being outside on the play ground and not being able to play hopscotch or skip with my friends without kids yelling names at me. Every possible name you could think of: fatso, tub-o-lard, submarine, cow, pig, and many others. I would go home and be upset and my mother (who had gone through the same torment as I as a child) would ask me what was wrong. I wouldn’t say and she would guess, then tell me ‘Stick and stones will break your bones but names will never hurt you, just ignore them.’ Wow! I think that MUST be one of the most ridiculously false sayings ever written! Anyway, I hung in there and was one of the shyest kids around, scared of what anyone ever thought of me – even my closest family members.
At one point I clearly remember sitting on the edge of my bed looking down at the bright yellow painted trim in my ballerina wallpapered room and taking the cord for my headphones and wrapping it around my neck and pulling both ends. I recall wishing I had the guts to do it. You know how old I was? 8 or 9. Sad eh? The only wish I ever had was that one day I would grow up and be beautiful. Every star, every birthday candle, every wish chip (how appropriate – ok I needed a little humour here) I wished the same thing – beauty. To me, during my growing up years at least, beauty was physical and it definitely meant being thin. Two things I’d never been told I was or had experienced…
… until I started to ‘grow up’. You know the growing up where your body changes into someone else’s body. This is when (for a girl) you see your hips have parted like the red sea and your breasts … well they are supposed to be coming any day now. When you discover areas you would soon need to groom in ways you never thought you’d have to. Yes, this was puberty. For some it is their saving grace and for others … well let’s just say life’s not always fair.
For me though it was a good thing. It meant I had some control over things, at least to some degree and I would take advantage of it. A big change came when I was in grade 8 and hunting for a graduation dress. I barely fit in the biggest size and I cried and cried. I decided enough was enough and I was going to do something. From that June to the following December I worked hard and lost 40 pounds on my own. I also bought contacts and got a new hairdo. I finally felt beautiful, (as beautiful as I thought I could ever feel). During this time I also became a Christian and decided to work on my inside too. Thing got better.
You’d think that would be the end right? I wish. Unfortunately my struggles have continued on into my adult life, always going up and down on the scale, never in an entirely healthy way. All along this journey I have watched my mama (who I mentioned struggled as I did when she was a child) grow into a morbidly obese person, carrying with her emotional baggage and years of hurt. This constantly looms over my heart and reminds me of what I could become. My biggest fear isn’t being morbidly obese. My biggest fear is not living my best life (forgive me please for the ‘Oprah-ism’). My deepest desire is to live a life that’s full. Full of joy, freedom, love, presence, and peace. Who doesn’t want that?
So, as I write about all these things I want so deeply I have to confess my serious indulgence over food (namely sugar). The other night I went to a new library in town, it was downtown in an area I didn’t know, it was busy and a little scary for me. I had to eat two chocolate bars to get enough courage to go. I had planned to make today my first day of ‘good behaviour’, a friend and I planned to meet downtown and mark our healthy eating endeavors with a visit to a Vegan restaurant. It was closed; needless to say we found another restaurant that served fries as a side dish. On the way home I felt so bad that I bought two more chocolate bars to ease the pain, of course I felt worse after that.
Those are only two of the last seven days I have abused food to help me cope (Let me tell you, there were SEVERAL others). I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, I don’t thing these foods are wrong on there own, but when they are truly used as a drug (that really is how I see them too), I know they aren’t for my benefit.
I’m not sure where to go from here or what I expect anyone to do. I fully know the logistics to losing a few pounds: duh, move more, eat less. But what are the logistics for my heart? How do I heal my heart? I’m not really sure the answers to these questions but I will continue to pursue an answer or at least at some point let go so Someone else can help. I feel that I need to apologize for my honesty. For using this as a self help forum. But this is part of my life and who I am. Maybe there’s someone else that can relate, or even help, I don’t know. It’s off though, the band aid is off and my uglies are open for all to see. Beware! There may be more to come… I am hopelessly flawed, but I’d like to think that’s what makes me beautiful to Someone.
This post is about the one thing that humiliates me the most, reveals one of my truest struggles, and yet seems to be something that is acceptable in our culture. I realize that once I say what it is many people will laugh it off as ridiculous and may respond with: ‘Get over it. You’re not the first, you won’t be the last, it’s not that big a deal.’ But to me, it is. And right now, it hurts. For the sake of honesty and for the hope of perhaps some encouragement or connection out there, I will do it.
*Peeling off the band aid*
I have a serious self image problem that is closely affiliated with my addiction to certain foods. As I say in my profile here: ‘I am a chocoholic and Mondays are never far away.’ Unfortunately it seems to be the motto of my life and it has hurt more than it’s helped. Let me back track a bit and tell you when I first found out I was different …
I was five years old and standing outside of my kindergarten room when one of the grade one girls came up to me really close and stared me straight in the eyes and said ‘You are so fat!!’ She said it really mean like and with absolute disgust. I really had no idea what she was talking about. In the years that followed I soon found out. Through out my time in elementary school I don’t believe a day went by (after gr.2) that I didn’t get teased for being fat. That probably sounds like an exaggeration; the sad part is that it isn’t.
I remember being outside on the play ground and not being able to play hopscotch or skip with my friends without kids yelling names at me. Every possible name you could think of: fatso, tub-o-lard, submarine, cow, pig, and many others. I would go home and be upset and my mother (who had gone through the same torment as I as a child) would ask me what was wrong. I wouldn’t say and she would guess, then tell me ‘Stick and stones will break your bones but names will never hurt you, just ignore them.’ Wow! I think that MUST be one of the most ridiculously false sayings ever written! Anyway, I hung in there and was one of the shyest kids around, scared of what anyone ever thought of me – even my closest family members.
At one point I clearly remember sitting on the edge of my bed looking down at the bright yellow painted trim in my ballerina wallpapered room and taking the cord for my headphones and wrapping it around my neck and pulling both ends. I recall wishing I had the guts to do it. You know how old I was? 8 or 9. Sad eh? The only wish I ever had was that one day I would grow up and be beautiful. Every star, every birthday candle, every wish chip (how appropriate – ok I needed a little humour here) I wished the same thing – beauty. To me, during my growing up years at least, beauty was physical and it definitely meant being thin. Two things I’d never been told I was or had experienced…
… until I started to ‘grow up’. You know the growing up where your body changes into someone else’s body. This is when (for a girl) you see your hips have parted like the red sea and your breasts … well they are supposed to be coming any day now. When you discover areas you would soon need to groom in ways you never thought you’d have to. Yes, this was puberty. For some it is their saving grace and for others … well let’s just say life’s not always fair.
For me though it was a good thing. It meant I had some control over things, at least to some degree and I would take advantage of it. A big change came when I was in grade 8 and hunting for a graduation dress. I barely fit in the biggest size and I cried and cried. I decided enough was enough and I was going to do something. From that June to the following December I worked hard and lost 40 pounds on my own. I also bought contacts and got a new hairdo. I finally felt beautiful, (as beautiful as I thought I could ever feel). During this time I also became a Christian and decided to work on my inside too. Thing got better.
You’d think that would be the end right? I wish. Unfortunately my struggles have continued on into my adult life, always going up and down on the scale, never in an entirely healthy way. All along this journey I have watched my mama (who I mentioned struggled as I did when she was a child) grow into a morbidly obese person, carrying with her emotional baggage and years of hurt. This constantly looms over my heart and reminds me of what I could become. My biggest fear isn’t being morbidly obese. My biggest fear is not living my best life (forgive me please for the ‘Oprah-ism’). My deepest desire is to live a life that’s full. Full of joy, freedom, love, presence, and peace. Who doesn’t want that?
So, as I write about all these things I want so deeply I have to confess my serious indulgence over food (namely sugar). The other night I went to a new library in town, it was downtown in an area I didn’t know, it was busy and a little scary for me. I had to eat two chocolate bars to get enough courage to go. I had planned to make today my first day of ‘good behaviour’, a friend and I planned to meet downtown and mark our healthy eating endeavors with a visit to a Vegan restaurant. It was closed; needless to say we found another restaurant that served fries as a side dish. On the way home I felt so bad that I bought two more chocolate bars to ease the pain, of course I felt worse after that.
Those are only two of the last seven days I have abused food to help me cope (Let me tell you, there were SEVERAL others). I don’t want you to get the wrong idea, I don’t thing these foods are wrong on there own, but when they are truly used as a drug (that really is how I see them too), I know they aren’t for my benefit.
I’m not sure where to go from here or what I expect anyone to do. I fully know the logistics to losing a few pounds: duh, move more, eat less. But what are the logistics for my heart? How do I heal my heart? I’m not really sure the answers to these questions but I will continue to pursue an answer or at least at some point let go so Someone else can help. I feel that I need to apologize for my honesty. For using this as a self help forum. But this is part of my life and who I am. Maybe there’s someone else that can relate, or even help, I don’t know. It’s off though, the band aid is off and my uglies are open for all to see. Beware! There may be more to come… I am hopelessly flawed, but I’d like to think that’s what makes me beautiful to Someone.
Saturday, July 11, 2009
Introducing (drum roll please) ...
Sweet and Sour! Who are Sweet and Sour you ask? Well they are the two other members of mine and Wally’s family. The two members that seemed to have more input regarding where we lived than we did. For them we pay more for rent than we should, for them we take trips to the emergency clinic and pay $400 (I know – ridiculous, especially for a frugal person) to have a bladder infection taken care of on a Saturday, for them we get up at 6 am every morning. Sweet and Sour are our pooches.
Sweet and Sour are, like their names, as opposite as two dogs could be. Sweet is my baby. We got him 8 months after we were married around the time I was beginning to countdown the months until I could get off of the ‘pill’ and start thinking about having a baby. I was beginning to remind Wally of the expiration date on our 1 year agreement about waiting to have a baby post wedding. I don’t remember having the conversation about wanting a dog at all or getting one. I just remember that when he went away for a retreat of some sort we didn’t have a dog and when he came back we did.
Sweet is the epitome of his name. He is happy always, even when you yell at him. One time he did something really bad and I sat there and yelled at him and how bad it was and I made him stay in a certain spot for several minutes. He just looked at me, took it and wagged. In fact Sweet NEVER stops wagging his tail – ever. There is no one he won’t go up to and try to persuade to smile. He is nearly always by MY side and when I’m gone he will wait sadly by the door for my return. If I’m in the kitchen he’s under foot, looking up with his big brown eyes as if to say ‘love me’. Sweet is a lover.
And then there is Sour. Also one who carries his name to it’s fullest. Sour we sometimes refer to as our cat. Think of all the characteristics of a cat, well Sour holds most of them. He’s a snob, he will only let people pet him on his terms, he will go ahead and eat both sets of dog food (Sweet would never do that), he spends hours hiding under beds or the couches, has a keen interest in birds and squirrels, and he looks for heaps of soft and lays on them. Sour doesn’t know how to really play unless it’s with Sweet. He is not good socially with others from his species, when Sweet wants to meet another dog on our walks, Sour Parana bites him until he stops pulling. Wally and I believe if Sour’s thoughts were audible he’d have a potty mouth and would be smack talking us constantly. Sour essentially thinks he is the king.
Sour was brought into our home exactly 2 years after Sweet. By that time Wally and I had been married for 2 ½ years and baby fever had really set in. The only way we got away with not having a child earlier was because of Sweet. So I once again started to remind Wally that our next agreement was soon coming to an end (3 years of waiting) and it was time to … think about babies. Again I don’t’ really remember a long discussion about it. I think we actually noticed an ad in the newspaper one morning and picked Sour up that afternoon. It was obvious we hadn’t thought the whole thing through. When we arrived home that evening with Sour, Sweet had uncharacteristically gone to the opposite side of the room we were watching T.V. in and curled up facing the corner so he wouldn’t have to look at us. Needless to say Sweet wasn’t so ‘sweet’ on Sour.
Through the years, though we intended them to become additions to our family instead they have become our family. When we realized that babies of our own MAY not be a part of our future or at least not when we were hoping they would be, Sweet and Sour softened this reality and filled in the cracks a little while we awaited new horizons. If you are someone facing infertility (which I cannot claim to fully understand) or some one who’s had to rearrange dreams or put them on hold and you feel that hole of loneliness - I recommend getting a dog. I have heard time and time again from those facing these situations that (as silly as this will sound) getting a dog has healed some part of them as a result. Whether it’s waiting out an adoption, finding out that dogs are enough, or just giving them joy as they figure out where they are headed next – dogs can be your therapy.
There is so much more I would love to post about the issues regarding our desire to start a family but the funnel is clogged right now (my brain) so I’m trying to let stuff trickle out on it’s own.
Sweet and Sour are, like their names, as opposite as two dogs could be. Sweet is my baby. We got him 8 months after we were married around the time I was beginning to countdown the months until I could get off of the ‘pill’ and start thinking about having a baby. I was beginning to remind Wally of the expiration date on our 1 year agreement about waiting to have a baby post wedding. I don’t remember having the conversation about wanting a dog at all or getting one. I just remember that when he went away for a retreat of some sort we didn’t have a dog and when he came back we did.
Sweet is the epitome of his name. He is happy always, even when you yell at him. One time he did something really bad and I sat there and yelled at him and how bad it was and I made him stay in a certain spot for several minutes. He just looked at me, took it and wagged. In fact Sweet NEVER stops wagging his tail – ever. There is no one he won’t go up to and try to persuade to smile. He is nearly always by MY side and when I’m gone he will wait sadly by the door for my return. If I’m in the kitchen he’s under foot, looking up with his big brown eyes as if to say ‘love me’. Sweet is a lover.
And then there is Sour. Also one who carries his name to it’s fullest. Sour we sometimes refer to as our cat. Think of all the characteristics of a cat, well Sour holds most of them. He’s a snob, he will only let people pet him on his terms, he will go ahead and eat both sets of dog food (Sweet would never do that), he spends hours hiding under beds or the couches, has a keen interest in birds and squirrels, and he looks for heaps of soft and lays on them. Sour doesn’t know how to really play unless it’s with Sweet. He is not good socially with others from his species, when Sweet wants to meet another dog on our walks, Sour Parana bites him until he stops pulling. Wally and I believe if Sour’s thoughts were audible he’d have a potty mouth and would be smack talking us constantly. Sour essentially thinks he is the king.
Sour was brought into our home exactly 2 years after Sweet. By that time Wally and I had been married for 2 ½ years and baby fever had really set in. The only way we got away with not having a child earlier was because of Sweet. So I once again started to remind Wally that our next agreement was soon coming to an end (3 years of waiting) and it was time to … think about babies. Again I don’t’ really remember a long discussion about it. I think we actually noticed an ad in the newspaper one morning and picked Sour up that afternoon. It was obvious we hadn’t thought the whole thing through. When we arrived home that evening with Sour, Sweet had uncharacteristically gone to the opposite side of the room we were watching T.V. in and curled up facing the corner so he wouldn’t have to look at us. Needless to say Sweet wasn’t so ‘sweet’ on Sour.
Through the years, though we intended them to become additions to our family instead they have become our family. When we realized that babies of our own MAY not be a part of our future or at least not when we were hoping they would be, Sweet and Sour softened this reality and filled in the cracks a little while we awaited new horizons. If you are someone facing infertility (which I cannot claim to fully understand) or some one who’s had to rearrange dreams or put them on hold and you feel that hole of loneliness - I recommend getting a dog. I have heard time and time again from those facing these situations that (as silly as this will sound) getting a dog has healed some part of them as a result. Whether it’s waiting out an adoption, finding out that dogs are enough, or just giving them joy as they figure out where they are headed next – dogs can be your therapy.
There is so much more I would love to post about the issues regarding our desire to start a family but the funnel is clogged right now (my brain) so I’m trying to let stuff trickle out on it’s own.
Thursday, July 9, 2009
Beauty unseen
Today I got some sad news. A friend of mind e-mailed me to let me know that her aunt had decided to terminate her pregnancy. Here’s the situation: her aunt is a 42 year old married woman, with a healthy 2 year old son. She met her husband late in life and they hoped to raise a family together like most couples do. Several weeks ago they found out that this baby she was carrying had Down Syndrome and most likely a few other birth defects. She was 18 weeks along. The baby was well formed, with the ability to hear and be startled by noises and was in the process of having it’s skin form (ok there’s a real name for that but I can’t tell you want it is – starts with a v).
Depending on who you are you will have an initial response: either for the mother or for the baby. Mine was for the mother, but not necessarily how you’d think I would respond. Of course I felt compassion for her, as she felt as though she had to make such a decision: to keep her child or to let it go. The fact that she felt as though she had to judge herself and her strengths within her as to whether she could indeed handle a child with special needs or not is incomprehensible. I could not fathom ever having to make that choice about myself. Am I able to care for this child? Am I the best this child could have? Will I be inflicting pain on this young life by giving it life itself? What horrible questions to have to ask yourself!
I have to believe the mother of this young life made this choice out of love (as I write this I am surprising myself with this reaction). Our automatic response is to believe that NOT choosing life is the coward’s way out. By choosing to give up the life we think that mom is deeming the child inside unlovable, invaluable and not truly sacred. But could it be that the mother was the one who felt unlovable, invaluable and unsacred? Could it be that she just did not feel capable of being the best mom this child could have?
By asking these questions I am in no way saying I agree with her decision, in fact my strongest reaction of all is sincere sadness for this family because of the loss they will experience without even knowing it. I don’t mean the loss of life – they will certainly still go through the grieving process of both the life that moved inside of mom and the dreams they shared for their family. But I mean the absence of a new kind of beauty they would have been able to experience from a brand new perspective. Trust me, if you haven’t had the chance to meet and really know people with ‘challenges’ you have been left out of an entirely different realm of this world. In my opinion the most honest and real realm there is (and I have VERY limited experience).
Here’s how I know no matter what your child is born with or how greatly ‘challenged’ or challenging your child is, with God you can be given what you need and then some. (It doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it is possible)…
About 6 weeks ago I took one of the guys I support to church. What happens there is his father meets us in the parking lot we strap the gentleman into the wheel chair (he can walk but is very aggressive and hits out a lot, in the chair he is easier to manage in public). He wheels himself into the church with dad (who’d be around 55-60 yrs old), his dad sets him up (with the staff right behind) and the young guy sits for about 3 songs during worship. All the while dad is giving him constant treats to keep him from hitting (not bribes, as he is at a very low intellectual level, but reinforcement and a distraction really). This guy is pretty tough on his dad and mom (physically). He’s pretty tough on most (and has a heavy arm – I know!). Here’s the thing. The day I sat behind this father sitting with his son, I had NEVER in my life seen someone love so much. That father LOVES his son. I don’t mean that he loves him therefore he ‘puts up with’ him, I mean he LOVES him - period. It pours out of his pores. If I was a softy I would’ve cried but I didn’t (which worked out considering my job at that point), but I was AMAZED and felt my heart move. This dad regularly takes his son for visits and keeps up the church routine (after the songs dad takes son out of the chair in the foyer and walks with him around the near empty parts of the church to ‘bond’). THAT ladies and gentlemen is love – beyond what any human could give to another on their own.
Now back to my friend’s aunt. Please pray for her. My heart absolutely aches for her and is so saddened by the loss of the beautiful person that was once inside of her. She hasn’t any faith and at this point God is the only One who could heal this wound. She’s a child too, just as important as the one that lived inside of her.
It’s weird. Since working in this field I have come to understand both sides of the debate. My hope will always be for life to be given. Not because it’s the right thing to do but because we need to be reminded that whether our child is physically and developmentally perfect, we should never be trying to ‘do it all’ alone.
Depending on who you are you will have an initial response: either for the mother or for the baby. Mine was for the mother, but not necessarily how you’d think I would respond. Of course I felt compassion for her, as she felt as though she had to make such a decision: to keep her child or to let it go. The fact that she felt as though she had to judge herself and her strengths within her as to whether she could indeed handle a child with special needs or not is incomprehensible. I could not fathom ever having to make that choice about myself. Am I able to care for this child? Am I the best this child could have? Will I be inflicting pain on this young life by giving it life itself? What horrible questions to have to ask yourself!
I have to believe the mother of this young life made this choice out of love (as I write this I am surprising myself with this reaction). Our automatic response is to believe that NOT choosing life is the coward’s way out. By choosing to give up the life we think that mom is deeming the child inside unlovable, invaluable and not truly sacred. But could it be that the mother was the one who felt unlovable, invaluable and unsacred? Could it be that she just did not feel capable of being the best mom this child could have?
By asking these questions I am in no way saying I agree with her decision, in fact my strongest reaction of all is sincere sadness for this family because of the loss they will experience without even knowing it. I don’t mean the loss of life – they will certainly still go through the grieving process of both the life that moved inside of mom and the dreams they shared for their family. But I mean the absence of a new kind of beauty they would have been able to experience from a brand new perspective. Trust me, if you haven’t had the chance to meet and really know people with ‘challenges’ you have been left out of an entirely different realm of this world. In my opinion the most honest and real realm there is (and I have VERY limited experience).
Here’s how I know no matter what your child is born with or how greatly ‘challenged’ or challenging your child is, with God you can be given what you need and then some. (It doesn’t mean it’s easy, but it is possible)…
About 6 weeks ago I took one of the guys I support to church. What happens there is his father meets us in the parking lot we strap the gentleman into the wheel chair (he can walk but is very aggressive and hits out a lot, in the chair he is easier to manage in public). He wheels himself into the church with dad (who’d be around 55-60 yrs old), his dad sets him up (with the staff right behind) and the young guy sits for about 3 songs during worship. All the while dad is giving him constant treats to keep him from hitting (not bribes, as he is at a very low intellectual level, but reinforcement and a distraction really). This guy is pretty tough on his dad and mom (physically). He’s pretty tough on most (and has a heavy arm – I know!). Here’s the thing. The day I sat behind this father sitting with his son, I had NEVER in my life seen someone love so much. That father LOVES his son. I don’t mean that he loves him therefore he ‘puts up with’ him, I mean he LOVES him - period. It pours out of his pores. If I was a softy I would’ve cried but I didn’t (which worked out considering my job at that point), but I was AMAZED and felt my heart move. This dad regularly takes his son for visits and keeps up the church routine (after the songs dad takes son out of the chair in the foyer and walks with him around the near empty parts of the church to ‘bond’). THAT ladies and gentlemen is love – beyond what any human could give to another on their own.
Now back to my friend’s aunt. Please pray for her. My heart absolutely aches for her and is so saddened by the loss of the beautiful person that was once inside of her. She hasn’t any faith and at this point God is the only One who could heal this wound. She’s a child too, just as important as the one that lived inside of her.
It’s weird. Since working in this field I have come to understand both sides of the debate. My hope will always be for life to be given. Not because it’s the right thing to do but because we need to be reminded that whether our child is physically and developmentally perfect, we should never be trying to ‘do it all’ alone.
The similarities and differences between Eva and Wally
Ok so there have been times in the past 8 years of marriage when both Wally and I have wondered how we could be so wonderfully matched together – only by God’s design.
And then there have been just as many times through the years we have wondered who’s hair-brained idea it was for us to get together?! In so many ways we are alike, for example: our faith, morals, introvertedness, desire to do our best in life, being content with the small things in life.
Yet there are so many other ways we are completely different. Here are just a few:
• I NEVER close Tupperware containers properly – this drives Wally crazy!
• I love to take any possible chance to hang out with pretty much anyone - Wally thinks long and hard before committing to any social gathering and his preference would be home (most of the time).
• When we diet Wally loses 13 pounds the first week - I gain 2.
• I have a HUGE desire to travel and would love to backpack across Europe - Wally’s preference would be a Sheraton
• I won’t hesitate to wear clothes off of my laundry pile with a boat load of wrinkles (I’d just throw a hoodie over top) – Wally will not wear a shirt that looks like it got left behind from the wrinkle patrol
• I think you should wear your jeans at least 3 or 4 times before washing them (I’m a bit frugal) – Wally wears a pair twice and to the wash they go
• Wally thinks going to the movies is a social activity – I think it’s one of the most anti-social activities you could do
• Wally hates country music – until recently it was really the only music I listened to
• I’ll eat food past the expiration date if it looks ok – Wally is much more particular
• If Wally does the dishes you can be sure they are clean – if I do them you can be sure you’ll get leftovers from the last meal
• Wally thinks before he talks – I’m not nearly as skilled at this
• I think next year we should move to a foreign country and try a new culture – Wally is looking for a job here
O.k. so these are just a few examples of how we are different. A few of Wally’s school friends have commented on our differences but have said at the same time how much we are also so much alike and right for each other. That doesn’t always come naturally…
Recently I shared with Wally my longest and deepest desire to take a few weeks (ok initially I asked for a few months) to go and serve abroad, perhaps with little brown orphans in an under privileged country some where (I have a heart for orphans). This has been a loooooong time dream for me that I gave up on when we married (I figured there would be our own children to take care of soon enough). For the longest time Wally said he couldn’t let me go. He didn’t want to risk me getting hurt or killed or something else terrible happening while he wasn’t around to be there for me. I tried to convince him that I’d be ok but he wouldn’t by it. So I let it go a little and just tried to remind him that this was my heart’s desire and hope. It took a few months, but one night when we were joking around I had gotten out of him his blessing for me to go for not one day longer than 3 weeks. I was ecstatic! I am.
You see that’s what helps our marriage work: realizing the other person’s hopes and calling. It’s not always easy to give up our wants but if you want to continue to grow in that relationship sometimes you have to let go a little, right? I didn’t want to let go of my dream and Wally didn’t want to let go of his desire to hold onto me. It would be easy to bolt in the other direction and say ‘I’m going to do it anyway’ (I’ve wanted to do that a million times), but how would that bring us closer to one another? I don’t think it would.
As much work as it seems to be when you are so different I am going to count myself lucky to have someone that compliments me, challenges me and loves me the way my Wally does. (Even if we frustrate each other to no end!)
And then there have been just as many times through the years we have wondered who’s hair-brained idea it was for us to get together?! In so many ways we are alike, for example: our faith, morals, introvertedness, desire to do our best in life, being content with the small things in life.
Yet there are so many other ways we are completely different. Here are just a few:
• I NEVER close Tupperware containers properly – this drives Wally crazy!
• I love to take any possible chance to hang out with pretty much anyone - Wally thinks long and hard before committing to any social gathering and his preference would be home (most of the time).
• When we diet Wally loses 13 pounds the first week - I gain 2.
• I have a HUGE desire to travel and would love to backpack across Europe - Wally’s preference would be a Sheraton
• I won’t hesitate to wear clothes off of my laundry pile with a boat load of wrinkles (I’d just throw a hoodie over top) – Wally will not wear a shirt that looks like it got left behind from the wrinkle patrol
• I think you should wear your jeans at least 3 or 4 times before washing them (I’m a bit frugal) – Wally wears a pair twice and to the wash they go
• Wally thinks going to the movies is a social activity – I think it’s one of the most anti-social activities you could do
• Wally hates country music – until recently it was really the only music I listened to
• I’ll eat food past the expiration date if it looks ok – Wally is much more particular
• If Wally does the dishes you can be sure they are clean – if I do them you can be sure you’ll get leftovers from the last meal
• Wally thinks before he talks – I’m not nearly as skilled at this
• I think next year we should move to a foreign country and try a new culture – Wally is looking for a job here
O.k. so these are just a few examples of how we are different. A few of Wally’s school friends have commented on our differences but have said at the same time how much we are also so much alike and right for each other. That doesn’t always come naturally…
Recently I shared with Wally my longest and deepest desire to take a few weeks (ok initially I asked for a few months) to go and serve abroad, perhaps with little brown orphans in an under privileged country some where (I have a heart for orphans). This has been a loooooong time dream for me that I gave up on when we married (I figured there would be our own children to take care of soon enough). For the longest time Wally said he couldn’t let me go. He didn’t want to risk me getting hurt or killed or something else terrible happening while he wasn’t around to be there for me. I tried to convince him that I’d be ok but he wouldn’t by it. So I let it go a little and just tried to remind him that this was my heart’s desire and hope. It took a few months, but one night when we were joking around I had gotten out of him his blessing for me to go for not one day longer than 3 weeks. I was ecstatic! I am.
You see that’s what helps our marriage work: realizing the other person’s hopes and calling. It’s not always easy to give up our wants but if you want to continue to grow in that relationship sometimes you have to let go a little, right? I didn’t want to let go of my dream and Wally didn’t want to let go of his desire to hold onto me. It would be easy to bolt in the other direction and say ‘I’m going to do it anyway’ (I’ve wanted to do that a million times), but how would that bring us closer to one another? I don’t think it would.
As much work as it seems to be when you are so different I am going to count myself lucky to have someone that compliments me, challenges me and loves me the way my Wally does. (Even if we frustrate each other to no end!)
Arrest her for false advertising!!!
Have you ever been afraid to tell someone a truth about yourself because you’d be accused of false advertising?
For example, I go to a gym. It’s a part of a chain of gyms targeted at women who would never normally go to a gym. It’s designed to be simple to use, easy to access and give the feeling of acceptance to anyone, big or small, that walks through the door. It is successful at this. Very successful. Before I was introduced to this gym through a friend I wouldn’t never considered stepping up and joining a gym.
Why? Well, to be honest I’m no muscle woman (shocking, I know). I have no aspirations to be one. I just wanted to go to a place to get active, hopefully lose a few pounds and feel better in my skin. I didn’t want people to find out I went to a gym, look at me and say ‘Oh well that’s nice, good for you!’ While really looking at my thighs and thinking ‘I’d hit the Thigh master a few extra minutes today honey!’ (That happened to me this morning on the elevator).
About the false advertising ... At this gym you get a t-shirt each time you’ve reached the hundred visit mark. So there are 100, 200, 300, all the way up to 1000. One day when I was at the gym I turn to my left and see a 400 pound woman sporting a 600 visit shirt. I’m kinda saying to myself at the time ‘Um, lady are you sure you got the right shirt? You can’t possibly have made 600 visits and still have that much weight to lose? And isn’t that bad advertising for the gym – they obviously didn’t think this t-shirt thing through at all.’
I know it sounds horrible but that’s what I thought the first time I saw it. Then this morning I was walking to the gym and I was contemplating a few things and I realized that I am indeed doing the same thing, only in a different way. Here’s how: I’m a Christian. (Oh my goodness I can’t believe I said that!). And for the most part I am not the type people would guess to be ashamed of it and really I think if it wasn’t for myself (and a few others that I know) I probably wouldn’t mind sharing my secret. Another reason I hesitate to share this about myself because I feel like I come across too many people that think because we share the same faith we'll like each other, OR that because we have differing core beliefs we won't. I don't ever want that to be the assumption, I miss out on too many great people that way.
Here’s the thing, I’m not ‘there’ yet. I still yell at people when I’m driving, look at others as less than myself, don’t take the time to smile and engage people in conversations when the opportunity arises. I’m just not there yet. I AM the 400 pound woman that has had the 600 visits to the gym without any tangible evidence to prove it.
So the question is: do I wait then to become everything a good advertisement is before I start sharing with others about the coolest discovery of my life? Perhaps the lady at the gym has improved her health in a million ways I can’t see (and since I don’t have before and after shots of her innards I’ll have to guess that they ARE better now than they were before). Maybe she has developed a confidence that has changed her life in others ways. It could be that she came into the gym weighing 600 pounds and I should just shut my big fat yap already!
Who knows? My best guess is that I need to stop waiting for perfection to come and just get out there and be the best I can be the best way I know how. Be a real person. If the 400 pound woman at the gym came up to me and shared her story, her challenges and triumphs, don’t you think I would listen? Probably. Because by sharing her story with me I get an ‘in’ to the road she’s traveled and I would see her with my heart rather than my eyes and maybe in some way, big or small, that would help me continue the journey - whether I look like a 600 visit patron or not.
For example, I go to a gym. It’s a part of a chain of gyms targeted at women who would never normally go to a gym. It’s designed to be simple to use, easy to access and give the feeling of acceptance to anyone, big or small, that walks through the door. It is successful at this. Very successful. Before I was introduced to this gym through a friend I wouldn’t never considered stepping up and joining a gym.
Why? Well, to be honest I’m no muscle woman (shocking, I know). I have no aspirations to be one. I just wanted to go to a place to get active, hopefully lose a few pounds and feel better in my skin. I didn’t want people to find out I went to a gym, look at me and say ‘Oh well that’s nice, good for you!’ While really looking at my thighs and thinking ‘I’d hit the Thigh master a few extra minutes today honey!’ (That happened to me this morning on the elevator).
About the false advertising ... At this gym you get a t-shirt each time you’ve reached the hundred visit mark. So there are 100, 200, 300, all the way up to 1000. One day when I was at the gym I turn to my left and see a 400 pound woman sporting a 600 visit shirt. I’m kinda saying to myself at the time ‘Um, lady are you sure you got the right shirt? You can’t possibly have made 600 visits and still have that much weight to lose? And isn’t that bad advertising for the gym – they obviously didn’t think this t-shirt thing through at all.’
I know it sounds horrible but that’s what I thought the first time I saw it. Then this morning I was walking to the gym and I was contemplating a few things and I realized that I am indeed doing the same thing, only in a different way. Here’s how: I’m a Christian. (Oh my goodness I can’t believe I said that!). And for the most part I am not the type people would guess to be ashamed of it and really I think if it wasn’t for myself (and a few others that I know) I probably wouldn’t mind sharing my secret. Another reason I hesitate to share this about myself because I feel like I come across too many people that think because we share the same faith we'll like each other, OR that because we have differing core beliefs we won't. I don't ever want that to be the assumption, I miss out on too many great people that way.
Here’s the thing, I’m not ‘there’ yet. I still yell at people when I’m driving, look at others as less than myself, don’t take the time to smile and engage people in conversations when the opportunity arises. I’m just not there yet. I AM the 400 pound woman that has had the 600 visits to the gym without any tangible evidence to prove it.
So the question is: do I wait then to become everything a good advertisement is before I start sharing with others about the coolest discovery of my life? Perhaps the lady at the gym has improved her health in a million ways I can’t see (and since I don’t have before and after shots of her innards I’ll have to guess that they ARE better now than they were before). Maybe she has developed a confidence that has changed her life in others ways. It could be that she came into the gym weighing 600 pounds and I should just shut my big fat yap already!
Who knows? My best guess is that I need to stop waiting for perfection to come and just get out there and be the best I can be the best way I know how. Be a real person. If the 400 pound woman at the gym came up to me and shared her story, her challenges and triumphs, don’t you think I would listen? Probably. Because by sharing her story with me I get an ‘in’ to the road she’s traveled and I would see her with my heart rather than my eyes and maybe in some way, big or small, that would help me continue the journey - whether I look like a 600 visit patron or not.
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