Yesterday I had a rare opportunity and I happily jumped on it. Two of my friends with small children were miraculously kid free on the same night! If any of you have children of your own or friends with small children you will understand how rare of a coincidence this is and how important it is to optmize your use of the time. We settled on meeting for dinner at 8 (already getting late in the evening for a mother of 3yr olds or an old fogie like me) but this was a special evening. A chance to be individuals for a few hours, unencumbered by the needs and wants of a small life force that depends on you for everything. To just be three friends hanging out and having fun together.
We met at the designated location and stood there for about twenty minutes before even getting a table. Dang it all, it's Friday night before New Years!! What were we thinking? Just as I began wondering if we should have stayed in and ordered pizza our buzzer went off and we were in. Dinner was fun and easy with light hearted chatter that only involved the mention of children.....oh just about every ten minutes or so. You see, what no one tells a woman is that when she becomes a parent somehow everything is tied into that little life you gave birth to. You cannot (and honestly don't want to) escape them entirely. I was happy just to have the time to visit and I love their babies so much I never mind talking about them, but as dinner came to a close I felt an odd hesitation. What now? Dinner was over and it was almost 10pm. Ridiculously late now!! Was that it, would we just have a good dinner and that was the end of our rare moment in time?
Thankfully one of my friends mentioned that Yogurtini just happened to be across the way from the movie theatre. We could check out what movies were showing and at least get some froyo. Yesss!!! The yogurt and movie are unimportant, but the gut wrenching laughter and goofiness that ensues when three women who are used to being tucked in for the day hours earlier actually stay out till 2am is priceless. I have not laughed that long and hard since we took a girls trip to California this last fall. As I crawled into bed just after 2 and set my alarm for a mere 4hrs later I knew I would be in pain the entire next day, but the smile on my face and the joy in my heart at creating memories with dear friends was well worth it.
As I am typing this, my eyes are swollen and red, I have a fierce headache and dread every movement of my body....but I am reveling in the memory of fun times. And so thankful to have friends who share my definition of a wild night. :)
Saturday, December 31, 2011
Wednesday, December 28, 2011
Emotional Nudity and Terminal Loss
I have a co-worker/friend who for the sake of anonymity I will call Sven (I chose the name Sven because I love my Scandinavian roots and Sven is of course a very strong Scandinavian name.) today Sven asked for the link to my blog. I have to start by apologizing to you Sven because this post was supposed to be about you. It still is, kind of. But as I sit here writing and rewriting I am realizing it's about something more.
This spring there was born to my family a sweet new baby boy. Sebastian. A beautiful name don't you think? Sebastian was born healthy and strong and so beautiful into my youngest brother's family, the firstborn son. A couple days after he was born a call for prayers went out, there was an infection of an unknown origin, doctors call it neonatal sepsis. I was at work on a sunny spring day when I got a call from my mother. They were on their way to the hospital, the doctors called and asked them to come as soon as possible....something was wrong. I drove to a quiet spot and begged God to save my sweet nephew, "We just lost Aunt Amy two days ago, it's too soon don't take him too."
A couple hours later I received a second call. I drove to the station and walked into the locker room for privacy. I have never acted out in anger in my whole life, but I could not hold it back in my grief. I kicked and hit the lockers for all I was worth. I screamed at God, "Why would you take him?!" My childish fit was over quickly as I shoved everything as deep inside as I could. It's what I do best, shove it down, pack it in and gloss it over. Place another layer of shellac over my armor so no one can see what I'm thinking or feeling. Ignore the pain until it is a dull ache, after all life is pain right? Armour slightly damaged but back in place I left the locker room to tell my sergeant I needed to go home. It was my Friday anyway.
I spent the weekend dodging the 'I'm sorry's' and ' are you okay's' from everyone. That's what I dreaded the most. I wanted to scream, "He's dead what do you expect from me?", but I kept reminding myself they loved me and wanted the best for me. So I slathered on more shellac and smiled my way through the weekend. On Sunday morning I turned on my Pandora station and was hit in the face by a song from Steven Curtis Chapman titled 'Beauty Will Rise'. I knew I needed that whole CD and immediately tracked it down on itunes to buy it. That afternoon I listened to it and for the first time gave way to the grief trapped inside me. I was so far away from my grieving family and had no way to run to them, that broke my heart most of all. Did they know how much I longed to hold them? Then I knew what I needed to do. I called in to work for Monday and planned a memorial service.
Monday morning I sat down on the couch and opened with a prayer and a scripture reading. I told Sebastian how much I loved him and how crazy it was that I would miss him so much when I had never even met him. I wanted him to know I would miss watching him grow, but that I knew my grief was only for my loss and not for his. He was already at the end of his journey and in the arms of the Savior and because I wanted to be there with him someday I had to tell him goodbye and not grieve for him anymore. Because to be overcome with my own grief would hold me back in my own journey home and I couldn't bear the thought of never getting the chance to meet him. Then I put in my ipod and listened to Steven Curtis Chapman as I gardened and cried the rest of the day. Somehow as the sun began to set my heart began to feel lighter.
How does this have anything to do with giving Sven my blog link? Well you see, even the handful of family and friends who I have told about this site have not all heard this story. I am so used to constantly wearing my emotional armor that I keep it on even with those dearest to me. As though I am somehow the Hoover Dam stopping some massive flow of 'Lauraness' onto the world. Truth is I am not protecting the world from me I am shutting myself out from the world. That is the fear I chose to face yesterday when I gave Sven my link. What will someone think of me? How will I ever be able to be 'normal' knowing the truth of who I am is no longer hidden behind some 'magical' smoke and mirrors showing what I imagine someone wants me to be instead of who I am? Now don't get me wrong I am not at all willing to share this link yet with anyone and everyone....but it is a step. Someday I will be more brave, hopefully. For now though, Sven you will have to take me as I am here or just stop reading and pretend you never saw me emotionally naked. (yikes that's scary phrasing!!) And let me remind you....I did warn you before you started reading. Stop now or forever hold your peace. :)
This spring there was born to my family a sweet new baby boy. Sebastian. A beautiful name don't you think? Sebastian was born healthy and strong and so beautiful into my youngest brother's family, the firstborn son. A couple days after he was born a call for prayers went out, there was an infection of an unknown origin, doctors call it neonatal sepsis. I was at work on a sunny spring day when I got a call from my mother. They were on their way to the hospital, the doctors called and asked them to come as soon as possible....something was wrong. I drove to a quiet spot and begged God to save my sweet nephew, "We just lost Aunt Amy two days ago, it's too soon don't take him too."
A couple hours later I received a second call. I drove to the station and walked into the locker room for privacy. I have never acted out in anger in my whole life, but I could not hold it back in my grief. I kicked and hit the lockers for all I was worth. I screamed at God, "Why would you take him?!" My childish fit was over quickly as I shoved everything as deep inside as I could. It's what I do best, shove it down, pack it in and gloss it over. Place another layer of shellac over my armor so no one can see what I'm thinking or feeling. Ignore the pain until it is a dull ache, after all life is pain right? Armour slightly damaged but back in place I left the locker room to tell my sergeant I needed to go home. It was my Friday anyway.
I spent the weekend dodging the 'I'm sorry's' and ' are you okay's' from everyone. That's what I dreaded the most. I wanted to scream, "He's dead what do you expect from me?", but I kept reminding myself they loved me and wanted the best for me. So I slathered on more shellac and smiled my way through the weekend. On Sunday morning I turned on my Pandora station and was hit in the face by a song from Steven Curtis Chapman titled 'Beauty Will Rise'. I knew I needed that whole CD and immediately tracked it down on itunes to buy it. That afternoon I listened to it and for the first time gave way to the grief trapped inside me. I was so far away from my grieving family and had no way to run to them, that broke my heart most of all. Did they know how much I longed to hold them? Then I knew what I needed to do. I called in to work for Monday and planned a memorial service.
Monday morning I sat down on the couch and opened with a prayer and a scripture reading. I told Sebastian how much I loved him and how crazy it was that I would miss him so much when I had never even met him. I wanted him to know I would miss watching him grow, but that I knew my grief was only for my loss and not for his. He was already at the end of his journey and in the arms of the Savior and because I wanted to be there with him someday I had to tell him goodbye and not grieve for him anymore. Because to be overcome with my own grief would hold me back in my own journey home and I couldn't bear the thought of never getting the chance to meet him. Then I put in my ipod and listened to Steven Curtis Chapman as I gardened and cried the rest of the day. Somehow as the sun began to set my heart began to feel lighter.
How does this have anything to do with giving Sven my blog link? Well you see, even the handful of family and friends who I have told about this site have not all heard this story. I am so used to constantly wearing my emotional armor that I keep it on even with those dearest to me. As though I am somehow the Hoover Dam stopping some massive flow of 'Lauraness' onto the world. Truth is I am not protecting the world from me I am shutting myself out from the world. That is the fear I chose to face yesterday when I gave Sven my link. What will someone think of me? How will I ever be able to be 'normal' knowing the truth of who I am is no longer hidden behind some 'magical' smoke and mirrors showing what I imagine someone wants me to be instead of who I am? Now don't get me wrong I am not at all willing to share this link yet with anyone and everyone....but it is a step. Someday I will be more brave, hopefully. For now though, Sven you will have to take me as I am here or just stop reading and pretend you never saw me emotionally naked. (yikes that's scary phrasing!!) And let me remind you....I did warn you before you started reading. Stop now or forever hold your peace. :)
Sunday, December 25, 2011
Going Home
I was recently chewed out for being a 'blog tease' and I must admit that all in all, I am exactly that. I apologize for my lax nature in blogging, but the apology most likely will not change who I am or the fact that my blog entries will typically be very few and very far apart. So, for those few people who are actually reading this, I apologize that you must take me as I am. :) Moving on...
My thoughts on going home....
It is Christmas, a time of year when most people are making the yearly pilgrimage to their childhood homes. (or at least to their immediate families) It's supposed to be a time for family, feasting and reflection on the birth of Christ. But for the most part becomes a hurried weeklong whirlwind of preparation for an ill advised family reunion. I am thankful to say that is not what Christmas is to me. You see I do not get to travel home each year. In fact in my strange little world there is no singular home to travel to. I was born in Minnesota and have family scattered there, my parents and brothers moved to Honduras when I was 15 so they are all there, I lived with my Aunt and Uncle in Missouri as immediate family from 15-24 so I have family ties in Missouri, I have lived in Arizona for nearly 7yrs now and made a dear family of friends and loved ones here and I have a dear friend/cousin and her family in Colorado.....Whew!
I grew up traveling with my immediate family every year. In some ways we grew up in a van traversing the US, Mexico and Central America. Traditional is not a word used to describe my upbringing in any sense. So, at a young age I became adept at making a home wherever we happened to be. In a sense I learned to think of Christmas as time to hold those dear to me close and love them as much as possible.
In my late teens and early twenties I fought with some bitterness over my unconventional upbringing. Why couldn't my family have just been normal instead of feeling some need to go out and 'save the world'? I wanted to go home to the family farm every year and see my growth as an individual through the eyes of my unchanging history. I wanted what so many people have, a steady tradition I could look back at and say, "That's who I am. That's where I came from." Instead I felt I had a mismatched patchwork quilt of memories given in no particular order and left in a pile for me to piece together. Where was home? How was is right that I had to make it up for myself as I went along?
As the years have passed I have softened in my viewpoints of life and my parents choices. True I did not get the experience of a solid unchanging history as so many people do, but I was given something that is so much more. Because my parents chose to travel to foriegn countries and serve others I have family and loved ones scattered far and wide. I was instilled with a great desire to give to other people the rich blessings I have been given, I have seen and touched and felt the pain and joy of so many peoples lives. My parents did not give me one home to come to on Christmas. Without even realizing the enormity of the gift they were giving me, they tought me that home is not a place, it is people. Christmas is not a holiday, it is an opportunity and love is not a stagnant pool you can come back to and take a dip whenever you please, it is a flowing fountain pouring from Christ into your heart and through you into others around you. So, when I feel that overpowering love I know I have come home. Merry Christmas!
My thoughts on going home....
It is Christmas, a time of year when most people are making the yearly pilgrimage to their childhood homes. (or at least to their immediate families) It's supposed to be a time for family, feasting and reflection on the birth of Christ. But for the most part becomes a hurried weeklong whirlwind of preparation for an ill advised family reunion. I am thankful to say that is not what Christmas is to me. You see I do not get to travel home each year. In fact in my strange little world there is no singular home to travel to. I was born in Minnesota and have family scattered there, my parents and brothers moved to Honduras when I was 15 so they are all there, I lived with my Aunt and Uncle in Missouri as immediate family from 15-24 so I have family ties in Missouri, I have lived in Arizona for nearly 7yrs now and made a dear family of friends and loved ones here and I have a dear friend/cousin and her family in Colorado.....Whew!
I grew up traveling with my immediate family every year. In some ways we grew up in a van traversing the US, Mexico and Central America. Traditional is not a word used to describe my upbringing in any sense. So, at a young age I became adept at making a home wherever we happened to be. In a sense I learned to think of Christmas as time to hold those dear to me close and love them as much as possible.
In my late teens and early twenties I fought with some bitterness over my unconventional upbringing. Why couldn't my family have just been normal instead of feeling some need to go out and 'save the world'? I wanted to go home to the family farm every year and see my growth as an individual through the eyes of my unchanging history. I wanted what so many people have, a steady tradition I could look back at and say, "That's who I am. That's where I came from." Instead I felt I had a mismatched patchwork quilt of memories given in no particular order and left in a pile for me to piece together. Where was home? How was is right that I had to make it up for myself as I went along?
As the years have passed I have softened in my viewpoints of life and my parents choices. True I did not get the experience of a solid unchanging history as so many people do, but I was given something that is so much more. Because my parents chose to travel to foriegn countries and serve others I have family and loved ones scattered far and wide. I was instilled with a great desire to give to other people the rich blessings I have been given, I have seen and touched and felt the pain and joy of so many peoples lives. My parents did not give me one home to come to on Christmas. Without even realizing the enormity of the gift they were giving me, they tought me that home is not a place, it is people. Christmas is not a holiday, it is an opportunity and love is not a stagnant pool you can come back to and take a dip whenever you please, it is a flowing fountain pouring from Christ into your heart and through you into others around you. So, when I feel that overpowering love I know I have come home. Merry Christmas!
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