Tag Archives: Love

You are the light of the world

09 Wednesday Nov 2016

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanksgiving, Blessings, Change, Election 2016, Glorifying God, Intentional Living, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Perspective, Prayer, Prayers, Tough days

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Let there be peace on earth
And let it begin with me.
~Seymour Miller & Jill Jackson, “Let There Be Peace on Earth,” 1955

 

It is a policy of mine to be neutral on this little blog, keeping the stories more about how I overcome my personal struggles, my path to a more peaceful and simpler life, and how I seek out joy in little ways. However, I do want to share with you the words that I posted to my personal Facebook account this morning, since it was received with much positive response:

“No matter if you are feeling shocked and saddened, or overjoyed and triumphant about our president-elect, at the end of today, when the strength of our feelings have simmered down a bit, let us reflect on the fact that we are still Americans–free people so privileged and blessed to have all that we do living in this great nation of ours, especially in comparison to most of the world around us. Let’s not forget how we are called to love one another, despite the differences that divide us, and that our children are truly the future. Live your life with joy and integrity, help those less fortunate, be a light in the world, forgive each other, and offer peace and a smile as much as possible.”

 Maybe, the next four years look grim to you, with the bright horizon forever dimmed by the despair for where you think this country is headed. Try not to lose hope, reader friend. Maybe, the next four years looks bright and prosperous to you, defined by a positive change, and hope for what’s to come. My friend, please don’t lose focus of what is truly important. No doubt, America is headed in a new direction. And, we must brace ourselves for the unknown, and pray for a better tomorrow. At the end of the day, my hope is that most Americans still believe in all that holds true in “life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness,” and the inherent goodness found in each of us.

Let’s not forget that peace and change begins with our individual selves. We can choose the good and spread that light between us. If each one of us could do that— make a habit of spreading that kind of light and love throughout our homes and communities—just imagine how beautiful our country would look in the afterglow of peace.

How can you be a light to the world around you? In what ways do you seek out joy in times of despair? 

On Miscarriage, Sharing your Grief, and your Right to Remember

03 Monday Oct 2016

Posted by in Love, Memories, Miscarriage, Motherhood, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges

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Sweet little flower of heavenly birth, you were too fair to bloom on earth. ~ Author Unknown

 

Miscarriage is quite a unique type of death experience. It haunts your mind and heart in ways that are difficult to put aside. Not only are you losing a child and the dream of that little person, but you often never know what went wrong to cause the child’s life to end so soon. The grief process after a miscarriage can be a lonely, arduous time.

Although you might feel like hiding away, try to share the truth of your pain with those closest to you. Reach out and be honest, raw, and open about what it is like to lose a child so suddenly. What I have learned over the years is that no one truly understands what you are going through—especially the incredible strength miscarriage and baby loss asks and takes from you—unless the person has experienced the same type of trauma, themselves. You can still try, though. It is worthwhile to include your loved ones in your grieving process, if only to honor the life of the child you grieve for so desperately.

At first, the well-meaning friends and family you open up to might be uncomfortable with the level and intensity of your sadness as you grieve for the child you will never see, hold, nurse, nor raise. They may try to comfort you with what feels like unsympathetic comments such as:

“Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.” (Sorry, but this life I carried inside, actually did mean something to us. It was our child.)

“It wasn’t really a baby yet, anyway.” (As if a pregnancy test and a beating heart on a screen one day, but gone the next, can be denied.)

“Don’t worry, you’ll get pregnant again soon!” (As if they know this for certain—they don’t. And even if you do become pregnant soon after your loss, the next child will never replace the love and dream you had for the child that never lived.)

Feel free to tell your loved ones the truth—that you are grieving because you just lost a child. Explain that the heartache you feel is over all the hope and dreams you had, but have gone away. Gently inform that just because the baby hadn’t been born at an age when they had a fighting chance to live, his life still had meaning.

Invite your family and friends to join you on your grievous journey so they can reach a clearer understanding of miscarriage and baby loss. Allowing these loved ones to hold your hand along the way will open up their eyes and minds to the right and privilege that is yours alone to honor and cherish your miscarried babies in any compelling way, and how you’ll forever carry their memory imprinted on your heart.

 

How have your family and friends helped or hindered your ability to grieve a miscarriage? 

The Insurmountable Grief of Miscarriage, Stillbirth, and Infant Death

02 Sunday Oct 2016

Posted by in Infertility, Memories, Miscarriage, Motherhood, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, October 15th, Past, Peace, Personal Challenges, Wave of Light

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“Some people say it is a shame. Others even imply that it would have been better if the baby had never been created. But the short time I had with my child is precious to me. It is painful to me, but I still wouldn’t wish it away. I prayed that God would bless us with a baby. Each child is a gift, and I am proud that we cooperated with God in the creation of a new soul for all eternity. Although not with me, my baby lives.”
― Christine O’Keeffe Lafser, An Empty Cradle, a Full Heart: Reflections for Mothers and Fathers after Miscarriage, Stillbirth, or Infant Death

 

In America during the month of October, advocacy campaigns support a list of worthy national causes, including those meant to raise awareness and support for the early detection of breast cancer, anti-bullying attempts, and domestic violence prevention. Though, a campaign in October that reaches the closest to my heart is the one that was deemed integral to supporting mothers and fathers devastated by pregnancy and baby loss.

In an effort to do my part to support those grieving the loss of a baby, as I have suffered six times before, I will be devoting my blog posts this month of October to spreading awareness and support. (Please feel free to read some of my blog posts and what I’ve shared in the past about my miscarriage experiences.) The blog posts I feel compelled to share this month will reflect on my personal story of miscarriage: how each of my baby losses have shaped, molded, and changed me; how The Husband and I have coped over the years with so many losses; how we have chosen to honor each of our angel babies; and what the grieving feels and looks like now.

My greatest hope for October is that you will join me in spreading awareness of pregnancy and baby loss, perhaps by lending your support to those suffering this insurmountable pain, and honoring all the children that gained their angels’ wings before their precious feet ever touched the ground. Thank you, gentle and kind readers.

Have you suffered a miscarriage or experienced the loss of a baby? What support do you wish you had during that time of loss and grief? Does sharing your story—through writing, creating art,  talking about the experience, or honoring your child(ren)in a special way—help at all?

Why My Forehead is Clear of Ashes Today

18 Wednesday Feb 2015

Posted by in Ash Wednesday, Change, Glorifying God, Lent, Tough days

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“Although the life of a person is in a land full of thorns and weeds, there is always a space in which the good seed can grow. You have to trust God.”

~ Pope Francis

Today is Ash Wednesday. The Christian’s forty days of Lent has begun as it does each and every year. As Catholics, wearing the mark of a cross of ashes on one’s forehead represents the start of our most sacred time of year, preparing ourselves for Easter, and moving ourselves personally from darkness to light.

Today, I had good intentions of attending Mass with my son and his first grade class at our home parish. Instead, he is with Baby Girl and me, resting and fighting off a chest cold. To be quite honest, I’m not fasting today, either. At 35 weeks pregnant with another son, I’m finding it difficult to do much of anything these days but eat, rest, repeat. I’m making my sacrifices in other ways, however. Such as giving up social media, praying more whenever my anxiety levels kick in, going to bed earlier rather than staying up late to watch a show or read a novel.

This Lent, I’m slowing it down and taking each day as it comes. During the first six weeks of 2015, God has thrown my family quite the curveball and we’ve been carrying a heavy cross upon our hearts and shoulders ever since. In moving towards acceptance of some horrific realities as of late, I’m trying to leave the future in His hands, trying to let go of the guilt I feel, and trying to embrace this new normal for our lives. In my heart, I pray that the isolation we’re feeling is only temporary—no matter how long a time we must endure the pain.

The days have been long, tedious, heart-wrenching, and unimaginable–much like the beating, gripping, wretched journey Christ, himself, traveled. Even though it feels like our family is being pulled apart in too many directions, that we’re unraveling at the seams, I know God has a plan for our lives—and especially for the lives of our family members experiencing the most pain, facing the greatest challenges, carrying the heaviest crosses of their lives.

This Lent, I’m taking the advice of Pope Francis, quoted above, and trusting more in God. I must. I see no other way.

Choosing Love in the Tough Times

25 Saturday Oct 2014

Posted by in Change, Forgiveness, Inspiration, Love, Marriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Mothers & Sons, Parenting, Peace, Personal health, Perspective, Tough days

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“Be content with what you have;
rejoice in the way things are.
When you realize there is nothing lacking,
the whole world belongs to you.”
― Lao Tzu

 

I’ve been working on being content with what I have. Trying to fall in love again with my home. Trying to be happy with what I own, and being fine living without accumulating much more than what we already have. It’s a tough war going on inside of me. I see friends with bigger homes, houses cleaner than mine, their kids better dressed and well-mannered, enrolled in the greatest of sports opportunities, their lives seemingly soaring with perfection when my own seems a jumbled puzzle of trying times. I struggle with the balance of being fine with what has been given to me and what we work hard to maintain; what is being asked of me and what I feel I can manage with grace and balance, and it isn’t much.

I’ll admit my tendency toward selfishness gets the best of me many days. In realizing this awful truth about myself, I try to combat the inner-greed by turning my attention toward the practice of giving thanks daily. Over the years, I’ve retrained my brain in a way to instill a sense of gratitude, not loss. At first, I thought my efforts fraudulent; now I know that’s farther from the truth. What contemplation of blessings brings is a perception of will and a renewed mind, body, and spirit. A peaceful place of heart and a contentedness of spirit grows with practice. Amazing what a simple, “thank you for my good health, thank you for the kids I finally have, thank you for the husband I can’t even believe is mine, thank you for the goodness all around me” can do for one’s overall emotional and physical health.

What I’ve garnered from the practicing of minding grace is that my environment is affected by my natural discontented spirit. My home is a large source of contention, in this game, I’m afraid. Too often, I’m nervous when new friends are invited over for the first time, when family gather, even. My inner-critic feels fear of being judged for our ancient couch covered in a decade-old, faded Pottery Barn slipcover, the discount pillows strategically arranged to camouflage red marker and juice stains, all of the bargain Craigslist finds. Years ago, I used to be proud of my frugal nature, the knack I possessed for scoring the hidden gems at consignment shops and Goodwill. Deep down, I know I have nothing to be ashamed of, for this is who I really am—a delightfully frugal, sort of crunchy-kind of woman concerned with too much excess. Honestly, I’d be a nervous wreck having much nicer things than we own since my kids are still in that exploring stage, hard players, not too careful with a red marker in hand. They don’t care if our things don’t impress. So, I shouldn’t either.

“We need much less than we think we need.” 
― Maya Angelou

If I’m completely honest with myself and you, my patient readers, I’m not—at all—that unhappy with our place of residence. There have been countless wonderful memories made here, certainly some major heartbreak, but mostly the inner-workings of a family trying their best to live and love together inside the confines of a relatively small home. Most days, I like that we live among one another, that there aren’t too many places to hide away, that The Husband and I are teaching our children to be happy together. After all, what matters more than those we love?

What is restless, truly, is my heart. And when this cracked, pumping vessel of mine becomes restive—as it is now—I realize that the unease is due to a level of great imbalance within our family, something is off-kilter inside the four walls of our home. An imbalance that I can’t seem to tip back to level. Discontented in spirit is a personal defect I struggle with each and every day.

My initial reaction—when life becomes so overwhelming that it can’t be ignored—is that if I could just escape the confines of the instability here then the discontent will release its hold on my family and me, and we will be able to break free of the confines of the pain, the source of disruption, and all the troubles will disappear. In my right mind, I know that these issues we are grappling with will follow no matter the place and space, no matter what the numbers on the mailbox say, despite the size of the mortgage payments. Though, the fantasy of someplace fresher, cleaner, brighter, untarnished is a pleasant divergence from the reality of our messy lives. And so today, I remain stuck inside the walls and look for a resolve inside myself. For, we all know that the only control we have is over ourselves and our own choices.

During quiet times of reflection and prayer, I can change my outlook on the muck before me and merely choose love, stillness and calm, patience, and tender care no matter the trial set before me. It’s my choice. And the choice is yours for the taking, too, if you are brave enough to change.

“You are the sky. Everything else – it’s just the weather.” 
― Pema Chödrön

The focus now needs to be keenly set on love. And not just the mushy-gushy type of heartfelt sentiments, but the difficult, tough-love kind—the talking myself into loving when my heart feels like a stone, when my stubborn nature builds walls around me, when I’m just plain tired of caring. When The Girl retaliates by ingesting foods with her allergens that she knows will make her sick, yet deliberately sneaks down to gorge herself on these intentionally, I need to find the love to deal with her terrible choices and the patience to remain calm when she is sick and wheezing all day long—she, yelling at me, as if I’m the one who made her so allergic and sick, as if it’s all my fault. These challenging times are the times to have compassion for her, to see the plight in her eyes from the slight stance where she stands before me, too often screaming in my face, her pain and anguish shooting daggers at my heart. Even in these trying times, I choose love.

The focus now needs to be on remaining still—right where I am, exactly where I’ve been planted—because any slight movement might erase the magic in the moment—imperfections and all. For, when Baby Girl slides into bed beside me every night lately because of her fear of the dark despite a nightlight in every outlet, and the rising fear she feels of losing her almost-four-year-old self to the baby she once was not so long ago. Even when I feel the anger  in losing precious sleep because of her beside me tossing and turning, snuggling up to every inch of me like she’s going to lose me in the intensity of her fears, I choose to be still beside her in her fear. Even in the middle of the night when I have been awaken too many times to worsen me for the wear—most definitely then—I must find the love for Baby Girl in the morning as she remains cuddled next to me, so innocent and happy, and kiss her sweet porcelain cheek despite my wretched grouchiness. I choose calmness and love, because who knows how long my Baby Girl will want to remain so close by my side?

The focus now needs to be on patience and tender care—the kind that can mend hearts, minds, and moods—the type of uplifting calm and true presence of Love itself. So, when The Boy stays out late with his dad for a Cub Scout camp-out and at 11:00 PM comes home hyped-up on the thrill of Halloween excitement, animatedly describing the fun he had that night with his buddies, too jazzed-up to fall asleep, then suddenly, quickly resorting to full-on meltdown mode, startling his sisters awake—this is when a mindful patience is necessary. Certainly, when The Boy wakes up at his usual early bird time, clocking only eight hours of sleep last night, uncharacteristically grumpy during breakfast, head-strong and groggily resolved to build Legos this morning, speaking only in whiny retorts to his sisters who are annoying him a little too quickly today because of his sleep-induced edginess—this is when I still remain patient in loving him in the rough moments together and all throughout this jolted day. For my son, I choose love because he needs to know that he is deserving of my love despite his having a bad day, and that I will always love him no matter what.

Folks, my dad said it best when he turned to me, just before he walked me down the aisle to be married to The Husband, with tender concern in his eyes and stated, “Remember, LOVE IS A CHOICE.”  My late father’s words have remained within me, and make more sense now than ever before.

“All your life, you will be faced with a choice. You can choose love or hate…I choose love.” 
― Johnny Cash

Going forward, my focus remains inward with the intent of turning all the interior reflection outward realizing the swirl of imperfection in my family’s less-than-ideal traits are so delicately mirrored as my own personal deficiencies, though it can all be overcome in time by choosing love. Humble mom moment.

 

“However mean your life is, meet it and live it; do not shun it and call it hard names. It is not so bad as you are. It looks poorest when you are richest. The fault-finder will find faults even in paradise. Love your life, poor as it is. You may perhaps have some pleasant, thrilling, glorious hours, even in a poorhouse. The setting sun is reflected from the windows of the almshouse as brightly as from the rich man’s abode; the snow melts before its door as early in the spring. I do not see but a quiet mind may live as contentedly there, and have as cheering thoughts, as in a palace.” 
― Henry David Thoreau, Walden

In Loving Memory, A Wave of Light

15 Wednesday Oct 2014

Posted by in Infertility, Love, Miscarriage, Motherhood, Mothers & Daughters, Mothers & Sons, National Pregnancy and Infant Loss Month, October 15th, Poets and Poetry, Tough days, Wave of Light

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Surprised by Joy

BY WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

Surprised by joy—impatient as the Wind
I turned to share the transport—Oh! with whom
But Thee, long buried in the silent Tomb,
That spot which no vicissitude can find?
Love, faithful love, recalled thee to my mind—
But how could I forget thee?—Through what power,
Even for the least division of an hour,
Have I been so beguiled as to be blind
To my most grievous loss!—That thought’s return
Was the worst pang that sorrow ever bore,
Save one, one only, when I stood forlorn,
Knowing my heart’s best treasure was no more;
That neither present time, nor years unborn
Could to my sight that heavenly face restore.
IN LOVING MEMORY
October 15, 2014

Wave of Light

 

For the Man That I Love: Giving Thanks Day Two (30 Days of Thanks)

03 Sunday Nov 2013

Posted by in 30 Days of Thanks, Love, Marriage, The Husband

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“I know what it is to live entirely for and with what I love best on earth. I hold myself supremely blest — blest beyond what language can express; because I am my husband’s life as fully as he is mine.”
― Charlotte Brontë, Jane Eyre

If it were not for my husband, the laundry would pile up too high, the bills would never get paid, and the tone about our house would be constantly set to serious. My husband brings an unmatched amount of love, light and laughter into our marriage, family, and home. He’s a crazy ultra-marathoner fool, but I love him nonetheless. (He unselfishly finds the time to train for his marathons during work lunch breaks and early morning weekend running sessions as to not disturb our family togetherness, nor my precious need for sleep!)

As a loving spouse, he bestows upon me the frequent mental, physical, emotional and spiritual mini-breaks he knows I need and that are detrimental to my health as a stay-at-home-mother of three children, one with multiple exceptional needs. He makes it possible for me to have ample time to write, read, exercise, and get lost for a few hours if ever the need arises. He gives me all the time that I need, really—whether it be for solitude, to fuel my literary passions, or to fit in just a tiny bit of pampering.  If it were not for him–my husband, my partner, my best friend–I would never have found or felt the love I always dreamed of and prayed for before our fateful reunion one early summer night twelve years ago.

Our life is not perfect, our marriage has and continues to be tested, and our family life is definitely not what some would consider ideal. However, we choose love, each other, and this life together with every new day we’re given–in an unbroken fashion–as a team. He’s far from perfect, and I realize I’m even farther from it. Nonetheless, we’re perfect together.

For choosing to love me despite my litany of unloveable traits and qualities, I profess my gratitude for the man who I love–an incredibly loving, exceedingly hard-working, extraordinarily attractive husband who knows what it means to live out his sacrament of marriage.

Beautifully ordinary

29 Wednesday May 2013

Posted by in Baby Girl, Fathers & Daughters, Love, Peace, Writing

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It is always the simple that produces the marvelous. ~Amelia Barr

 

Moonlight glows inside

to a gentle rise and fall,

Heart to heart they rest.

Summoned by the dryness of my mouth, I brought with me a neglected water-glass in need of a refill an hour ago and softly shuffled into the dimly lit kitchen. Emanating from the living room, a soft glow and hum traveled from the 37″ screen across the open space to where I stood watching my overworked husband cradle Baby Girl on his chest. As they lay together on our ancient, worn out couch decoratively covered in a faded green slip-cover from Pottery Barn–a wedding gift from over a decade ago–their breath came in unison. Lifting the Brita pitcher to my glass, I quietly watched the man I love will our youngest child to sleep upon his chest. I stayed a minute more to soak up this little piece of everyday joy, wishing I had a camera within reach to capture their shared moment of peace.

Not wanting to disturb their bonding time nor comforting slumber, I parted their presence by carefully tip-toeing back to the front room office and to my work–closing the french door behind me without making a sound. Inside the cocoon of my main writing space, my heart was light. I remained filled with a happy contentment garnered from witnessing the simple, gentle embrace of a father and his daughter snuggled together by the light of the moon.

Beside me, the water-glass is filled to the brim, offering refreshment for the night while I keep going a little while longer at the screen. And as I begin a new hour, I peacefully contemplate the incredible profoundness of simpler moments woven intricately by quiet gestures of love in an otherwise ordinary day.

Simply, love

09 Thursday May 2013

Posted by in AD/HD, Adoption, Attachment parenting, Childhood Mood Disorders, Fetal Alcohol Spectrum Disorder (FASD), Forgiveness, Love, Mothers & Daughters, Parenting, Peace, Stress & Anxiety, Tough days, Writing

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There are times when silence has the loudest voice. ~ Leroy Brownlow

“…Peace begins with a smile. Smile five times a day at someone you don’t really want to smile at; do it for peace…” ~Mother Teresa

 

Day and evening, I have sat diligently at my distressed white Queen Anne desk to begin writing about the past, the present, the dream of tomorrow, but the words lead me nowhere, and I give up mid-sentence. Word documents are left half-explored. Bits and pieces of something remain–and that something has to do with bitterness and defeat. Anger and despair can’t be the only source of my words, so I allow days to pass me by to seek a cure to my writer’s block. I read instead.

A pile of books loaned from Uptown’s public library; a few favored electronic books downloaded to my Kindle; a growing stack of periodicals in the wicker basket beside the French country cream and green checkered love seat in the living room. Covered in my favorite down throw, I seek solace in treasured reading time. If my words are halted, then I will fill the void with other authors’ stories. I think, maybe this reading-only plan will help me to regain the courage I lost over these last three weeks to forge ahead in writing my story. Vindicated after just a couple days spent getting lost in stories, I find myself less harsh, and eager to befriend my ruby-red laptop once again.

Tapping the keys can be a most profound stress reliever. Anger melts away toward a deeper perspective–one borne of rumination, not regret. Word count increases and I feel like myself again.

~

The last couple of weeks have not been easy around here. The Girl has had a fair amount of challenges at home and school and the ramifications are felt all around us, lingering like a storm that begs to break. There are some days when I don’t feel capable of giving her all that she needs, to listen to her constant emotional wreckage, to be present and calm with her nearby. Truly, there are times when I feel like I don’t have an ounce of strength left in me to be her first line of defense when fighting the constant battles she brings to the table. I’m left overwhelmed by the daily management of this child and it has left me drained–so much so that I have to shut down my mind come evening and just be still.

Most challenging at times is the level of patience and calm persistence it takes to raise The Girl. The discipline always seems clunky– not quite right–and the level of perseverance it takes to get through an ordinary day is exhausting. If the everyday occurrences of emotional turmoil, wreckage and hyperactivity were kept to a minimum or happened on occasion then maybe I wouldn’t be living in constant frustration of it all. Before I react or teach, I honestly have to remind myself that she needs me more now in her time of trouble than on an average bad day–especially when I am the main target of her fight. Yes, most especially when she fights with me for no apparent reason.

This morning was a particularly tough one. Already tired that this irrational fight between us was starting at such an early hour, I asked The Girl, “Do we have to do this today?” A shrug was the only answer in return.

“Can you tell me why you are fighting with me now? Why are you arguing with me?” Silence.

With a heavy heart, I turned away from her, hiding my anguished face and my overworked mind tired of trying to figure out what ailed her this day. Exhausted of figuring out if this was one of those “big deal” situations or just her typical moodiness, I just had to turn away. Day after day after day of troubles and heartache–hers and mine–gets old fast.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish.

As I descended the stairs to ready my little ones for the quick drive over to The Girl’s elementary school for morning drop-off, I gathered those two–The Boy and Baby Girl– in overzealous hugs and kisses, taking in a deep breath that filled my lungs with their little kid sweetness. With that breath, also a prayer. A prayer that this downreaching yogic breath would sustain me through the morning with The Girl–in peace. Despite my natural inclination to be annoyed and angry back at her, despite her ability to keep the charade going, I was going to win this war–with kindness, a smile, not engaging her at her worst–fathomless breaths guiding me through. It was my prayer that we were going to finish out the remainder of the morning without any further argument, without turning the gray effect into black, without more hurt feelings or emotional pain.

As I remained strong-willed in my efforts to remain calm, rising above the blackness of mood threatening to take over, my prayer was answered almost immediately. Just when I needed it most. Ironically, The Girl must’ve been doing her own deep breathing upstairs as she awaited my call to gather her belongings and head to the van. Because, once she descended those stairs herself, her entire demeanor had changed and I actually received a half-hug–her attempt at an apology. Her posture and presence dramatically morphed from bitter anger to a softer, calmer, kinder state. In thankfulness, I melted into that awkward embrace, my rigidness relaxing, too.

Thank you, Lord. Thank you for answered prayers and reminding me that I am not alone and neither is she. 

Upon locking the front door, I inhaled a triumphantly deep yogic breath of gratitude. It might not seem like much that The Girl quickly changed her attitude, but to me it was a sign of hope. Truly, a small miracle so desperately needed to sustain both of us after weeks of struggle. At the very least, I knew this change of heart meant The Girl’s morning at school would go smoothly. It also meant that she is growing in her ability to take responsibility for how her words–or lack thereof–and actions affect others. She is developing empathy, I think. This alone is a triumph worth celebrating. My hope is that the turn-around points to her learning how to be sorry. At this point, I’ll accept any attempt at reconciliation from her for a fight that I never saw coming–one that seems to resurface without any apparent pattern and typically without warning. I’d love for this recurrent fight to end so that we can forge ahead in love.

I’ll never stop being her advocate at school, with doctors, or in the community-at-large. But, the ever-present struggle between us at home has to end at some point. All I want for our family is true love and peace–in us and between us. All I want for The Girl is the ability to feel truly loved by us, the knowledge that she belongs here with us, and that she is alright just as she is. All I want is calmer, easier, better days ahead.

One day of simple–this is my Mother’s Day wish. 

All I Ever Wanted

30 Saturday Mar 2013

Posted by in Love, Parenting, Peace, The Husband

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God turns you from one feeling to another and teaches you by means of opposites, so that you will have two wings to fly – not one. ~Rumi

Looking outside from my kitchen window, I’m overjoyed by the scene that unfolds before my eyes and I’m happily distracted by the chaos of kids all smiles from the mere fact that they can finally be outside–free to roam, to play, to move in good weather. My three  content and good kids are playing as well together as they do alone. This is a blessing.  The Girl is getting into every toy, ball, and game kept outside in the sturdy all-weather bin. The Boy is kicking the soccer ball around teaching them what he learned at practice today. Baby Girl is stealing her sister’s Barbie & Ken beach dolls and driving them askew in the turquoise and pink Barbie Jeep over the brick paver patio into the dirt and low brush that aligns the bricks. Soon that level of debris will be a flourishing landscape of high grasses, aromatic lavender plants, and other flowers and shrubs. Soon, we’ll be spending each and every day outdoors as the days grow warmer and the hours of sunlight increases. There was a time when all I could do was dream about and long for such a scene to be enjoying. Often times, I still can’t believe this wonderful life is mine.

Today has been one of those near perfect days when the party of five of us are happy upon waking and we have all been able to accomplish a little bit of something that each of us loves to do. Above us, the lemon yellow sun shone brightly and as The Boy remarked on the way to soccer practice, “No clouds are in the sky today! Are they hiding in space?” I’m no scientist so I couldn’t say, but we did talk about how cool it is to see the different types of clouds, but in contrast a cloudless sky is something like a gift. When we returned from soccer practice, the girls and The Husband were knee-deep in outside backyard fun. The Husband was finishing a stain on my Adirondack chairs, the girls were playing and squealing loudly as my girls do, and The Boy didn’t skip a beat as he headed around back to start digging in the sand. Baby Girl was in full delight as she skipped around the yard while simultaneously devouring a banana Popsicle. She came inside only to wipe the fruity goodness stuck on her face and melting down her hands into her coat. As I was washing the grime off my hands, she was begging to go back out there. The Girl informed me that she already had eaten her Popsicle and would like another, please. (Nice try!) However, because I wanted The Boy to have a healthy after-soccer snack and the girls already had their treats, I whipped up a vanilla and fruit milkshake for him and a strawberry green smoothie for me, and shared a little of each with the girls. Not a bad way to indulge in the afternoon! I do believe in the healing power of being outside as much as possible to cure a downtrodden mood and that a brisk walk can cure just about anything. A homemade treat never hurts, either.

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The Husband and I were married ten years ago last December. Although we had known each other since I was in fifth grade, and he in seventh grade, it took us a long time to find each other again. When the stars finally aligned for us and God got us where we need to be, we were quick to fall in love. About a year later, we were engaged and after six more months, finally married. Children were always a shared dream; five the perfect number. We were relatively young when we made the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony—he, 28 and I, 27 years old. By the next year, I was pregnant with our first and we were tentatively excited as the pregnancy happened quicker than we had anticipated, but our hearts were full of love already for our first child. On Easter Sunday, we told our extended families as we gathered for the holiday and the equated joy was awesome to see in the faces and smiles of our family.  It was only two days later that I came to understand just how quickly joy can change into sorrow and that there is no guarantee in this life. At 11 weeks, I began to miscarry and to my dismay there was nothing I could do to keep our Agnes Elizabeth here with us as my body wasn’t equipped to get through the first trimester. This first loss was emotionally and physically painful, dramatic and oh so sudden. The reality is that I don’t think I’ve ever recovered from the shock and emptiness that came with losing her. Our path to parenthood was an uphill climb, often a battle. Our five-year infertility journey was wrought with pain all over the physical map including three more miscarriages, a ton of charting, tests, medicines and hormone treatments, shots, and a slew of other natural and medicinal chances. Toward the middle of it all, I started to lose hope. After the second miscarriage, I stopped feeling hopeful at a positive pregnancy tests and doubtful we’d ever be able to be the parents we so desperately wanted to be. What got me through was The Husband. He was my rock and my strength even when I could see that the effort to be parents was weighing him down, too. He used to tell me that no matter what, he and I were a family—just we alone— and that we’d always be together no matter what. He’ll never know how much that statement of faith and love kept me going through the toughest of times. Our marriage has been tested to the fullest in the first decade of our lives together, but we are stronger for having gone through all the agony and pain. Our togetherness has seen us through too much grief, but has endured to where we are today. I can honestly say that our blessings far outweigh all the trials and heartache we have ever had to encounter. The strength and resilience unique to us also enables us to conquer the day-to-day stresses of raising three children, including one with multiple special needs. There is no other man on this earth I’d rather be with; no greater friend is mine.

~

As the sun descends making way for a moonlit sky, I look outside and the sight before me tells a story of a day of hard playing including a bit of work, a messy and well-used back yard with a trail of play sand, a brick canvas of chalk art, and an assemblage of outdoor toys. All I ever wanted is what I finally have. The blessings are abundant and I am feeling quite overjoyed at the contentedness of my spirit.