Seahawks and Magnets

3-3...back in mid-October the Seahawks Super Bowl repeat plans were dimming. It was getting to the point where I dreaded going to work because I would be confronted immediately with "What's wrong with your team?" "What happened to the Super Bowl repeat?" I would smile back politely and say "They'll do it! I believe in them!" And I did. I never doubted that they would come back strong and finish exactly where they deserved to be, the number one seed. Well, I maybe had some doubts sometimes. But I didn't show anyone that. Any team that goes through a season together forms a bond, a strong connection where everything just clicks. And then in the off-season, you lose key players. Maybe you trade Red Bryant. Or maybe Golden Tate decides to take a better offer. And your team balance is thrown off. You start the new season with new players, old players missing, injured players, the Madden curse looming, lots of hype, the same-old NFL hatred of the Seahawks. And then people are flustered when they suddenly find themselves sitting at 3-3. People declare our season over. We're out of contention. Our Super Bowl dreams are gone. And I just kept saying "It's ok. They got this." And I'd lay out the reasons for the loss that week. 

But then they clicked. They found the groove for the 2014 Seahawks team and they went on to win nine more games, only losing one more game, and clinching not only a playoff spot, but the number one seed and home field advantage throughout the playoffs. 

I was so blessed to be at that game, at all of the home games. To watch the teamwork and the amazing plays and the team bonds and even the heartbreaks. Holding my breath as Russell threw a pass. Grabbing my friend's arm as Marshawn barreled through the defensive line towards the end zone. Crossing my fingers as Hauschka kicked a fifty-plus yarder through the uprights. It was amazing!

The ferry rides back to Bremerton are always jam-packed with Seahawks fans. Tired and happy and cheering and buzzing with excitement. And this ferry ride was no different. For the first part of the trip, we sat with a lovely couple from Shelton. We chatted about football. They asked if Kristi and I watched away games together too. We said we didn't, that Kristi watched from her hometown and I watched with my girls. They asked about my girls and I took the chance to brag about them. Kristi found a friend on the ferry across the way and I continued to chat with our new football friends. She asked more about my girls, and then asked what my husband did and why he didn't join me for the games. I explained to her that he had passed away (that question doesn't bring fear to my heart like it used to. A brief stabbing is all). She apologized for bringing up something so awful and I told her it was ok. She asked about how we handled something like that. I explained that we were a good team and that we were all pretty strong and that we have an amazing support system. That we were ok! She smiled and said what a wonderful testament we were to family strength and making it through adversity. I smiled at her and told her I was proud of us for surviving a lot. Our conversation came to end and I went to find my friends again. 

When I got off the ferry and made my way to my car, my thoughts were with my girls. I wanted to get to them and hug them. So I went and picked them up and as we were driving home, I told the girls about my experience on the ferry. How proud that lady was at hearing our story and how that had made me proud of us, proud of them! That they had survived so much across the span of their little lives and they were such an inspiration to me. 

Amelia smiled at me and told me that we should be proud of all three of us. That we all fought and prayed and trusted God to get is where we were at that very moment. 

"Mommy, it's like we have magnets inside of each of us, and our magnets only stick to the people that are good for us. You know what happens if you can't find the right side of the magnet? Well, our magnets stick. And we are the strongest team ever! Hey! Kinda like the Seahawks! We are awesome, just like they are! Aren't we, mommy!"

"Yes, Amelia. Just like the Seahawks...our magnets are super strong. You have no idea how strong my magnet is attracted to yours..."

They will never understand. I'm sure it's a lot of pressure to put on two little human beings. But they will never understand how strong their magnets were for me. How their magnets were the only reason I got out of bed in the morning. Why I went to work each day. Why I pushed and continue to push to be ok. 

Our magnets are strong...Seahawks strong. I hold my breath as I watch Amelia perform on stage in dance recitals. I grab my friend's arm as I watch Emerson experience something challenging and make it through to the end zone. And I cross my fingers as they weave their way through life experiences. Much like the 2014 Seahawks, with all of our rough patches and all of the hard days and all of the tears that we shed, we've been granted the number one seed, with home field advantage throughout. We are in control of our destiny. We are in the drivers seat of our season. And when I look back at our record, we may have started off shaky at 3-3, but I can guarantee that we will be conference champs. Our future is bright! Our magnets are strong! And the trophy will be ours! And I can guarantee we'll be back-to-back champs...Go Duncan girls!!

And Go Hawks!!

A Horrible Common Thread

Putting my girls to bed is the hardest part of my day, I think. Well, maybe other than the 500 IEPs and meetings that happen throughout my day. But honestly, I know there are many moms that count down the minutes to when they can tuck their little monsters into bed. And I'm not saying that I don't also have those days where I'd like to maybe change the clock or just start the bath-bed routine a little bit earlier. But, most nights I dread tucking them away into their beds and turning off the lights and walking away. Why? Because I like spending time with them. I like playing with them. I like listening to their fits of giggles as they dress up or dance or draw together. When I tuck them into bed, the house is quiet. So quiet. Most nights too quiet. 

Then, without the distraction of a four-year-old and a seven-year-old, I start to think. And wonder. And daydream. And that almost always turns into anxiety. Or panic. Or sadness. You see, it's hard to experience loss in life and not have that be a constant thing just hanging in the back of your mind. People often want to know when I'm going to be over that. It's been four years since Brian died and life as I knew it started unravelling. I should be over it. I should be done with that. But, that's not how grief works. And that's really not how complicated grief works. 

Something that is difficult and has made it hard for me is that after loss, after going through the death of Brian, I began to be hyper-aware of other people's grief. You almost "take on" another person's sadness and pain as they go through it. News of tragedy or death or loss sends me reeling into my whole process again. My heart aches for that person. I know pain. I know loss. I know not wanting to get out of bed, but also wanting whatever the new normal is going to be to carry on as soon as possible. I grieve for that person. I grieve for their loss. And I grieve for my loss all over again. 

My story never matches anyone else's story. And I doubt it ever will, but even that doesn't matter. Loss in general is loss. And it is difficult. It is hard. There is a horrible commonality that you share and that is that a piece of your life was sucked away. A piece of your family, your hopes, your dreams is gone. That hole is permanent. That hole is damaging. That hole is devastating. And that hole, for me, is exposed every time I have a friend or a coworker or a loved one go through the process of loss. 

The other side to that for me is my mission to help. My mission to hold them and protect them and give them advice in how to survive whatever stage they may be in. I have no idea if it is helpful. I have no idea if it is wanted. But my personality has always been to fix things. To make things right. To help wherever I can. And I have to believe that God has placed me on this path at this very time to help others who are experiencing loss. I have to believe that He has a higher purpose for all of this, for taking my husband when he did. So, I try and find the good in this situation and help. Giving advice to those that have felt loss, when needed. Helping those who surround those who have experienced loss understand this horrible process and how to bolster them up.

So, when my friend's husband was killed in a car accident a couple years ago, I sank into my office chair and cried at my desk. And then I did my best to love and care and support her through her time. And I try to watch her to see if there are still times when she needs me. 

And this summer when I heard that my friend's son passed away, I volunteered to cook a dinner for her. I wept the entire time I baked bread and shredded chicken and drove to her house, but not before I messaged her to let her know that if she didn't want to answer the door, that was ok because that was the hardest part for me when people delivered meals...visiting and smiling and thanking people for their kindness. It was appreciated for sure, but another exhausting piece. 

And this school year when a friend had a miscarriage I sobbed in the bathroom at work and had such a hard time and I eventually took dinner to her. (What's up with our need to make food for people that are grieving by the way?! I appreciated it, but stopped it as quick as I could. After week three of casseroles I really just wanted some chicken mcnuggets!) I was so happy to help and I hugged her and hugged her some more and then sobbed some more in her living room. 

There are many other stories it seems. And with each story, with each new story of loss, my heart breaks. So many people are going through too much. And I can't fix it all! I can't make it better for everyone. I am the admin of a Facebook group for young widows. There are over 300 women that are part of this group, in all stages of loss. And it is staggering to me to hear some of their stories. To know that they too have sadness. And I do my best to make sure that I answer everyone  that posts to the best of my ability. Because, like I said before, God's plan and mission for me is much bigger than to just have had it end four years ago when I heard that my husband was dead. That is not how my story ends. My story ends with helping people. On both sides of the grief fence!

So, if you are grieving or in the process of loss or losing someone, I will be here for you if you need me. And, if you are on the other side and are unsure how to help or what to do or what to say, I will be here for you if you need me. Just don't mind me when I cry because I can only be the one to try and fix it because I have been through it. And going through it once usually means that you go through it again as your friends and family are experiencing it. 

Grief sucks! It is not linear like I wish it would be. It is not predictable. It can't just go away, even though many of us would like it to. So, be kind! Be understanding. Just listen. Don't be afraid of us that have experienced loss. Don't rush us through our process, no matter where we are at, whether it's four hours, or four years. Don't assume all is fine just because we are upright and at work and smiling. But also don't assume that we are depressed or continually grieving or hiding our true feelings. It takes a while but the smiles become sincere again. Don't ignore us because you think we need space or you're afraid that you'll upset us, but also don't necessarily hug us out of the blue, especially at work when we have to hold it together. But send us messages letting us know you care. Write us post it notes letting us know you are praying. Send Facebook messages offering help or a shoulder to cry on. Text an occasional "I love you!" Cook us dinner, sometimes...or offer to take us out for McNuggets!

My purpose is greater than my husband dying. That's not how my story ends. I get to be here for others! I get to know more about death and suicide and other topics that I can't bring myself to talk about quite yet, but someday maybe I will. And that may open a whole new realm for me to try and fix. I hope that I get to help others! And I hope the people that I try and help now know how deeply I love them. How deeply I feel their pain and their loss, even though it is so different. We are connected by a horrible common thread. But I prefer to see it not as a horrible common thread, but as a human moment where we get to reach out and help each other heal souls! Thank you, dear friends, for helping me just as much as I hope I am helping you. 

So, tonight, I write this post and I find myself sobbing as I write, thinking about another friend today who has suffered the loss of a husband. And I pray, and post a message of love and prayer on her Facebook page. I grieve for her and her family. And once again, I grieve for myself. But, I look forward to a new tomorrow where I can maybe help. And try to fix things the best I can. And just offer up knowing that I am here...whenever you need me...

The Show Must Go On...

My girls are dancers. Many of you most likely know this from either talking with my girls or me, or seeing my 5,000 posts featuring my Amelia, the Sugar Angel, from this weekend. We spend many hours at the dance school, and many hours at home dancing and practicing and twirling batons and working through steps. We have tap shoes and ballet shoes and hip hop shoes. I should purchase stock in WalMart and Target for all of the money I spend there on tights and leotards. I can make the best ballet bun ever if needed, even though I kinda suck at braids and even pony tails. We have vats of hair gel, boxes of straight pins, hair nets, bun holders, dance skirts...you name it, we've bought it. 

As I said earlier, Amelia performed this weekend in her dance school's production of The Nutcracker. She was a Sugar Angel. She, and 15 other little girls in pretty blue dresses, donned wings and halos to open the Second Act of the performance. This is Amelia's second year of doing The Nutcracker. She loves it and looks forward to it all year!

But, there was something different a couple weeks ago. My big girl is much like me and gets very anxious. She worries about everything and is very much a perfectionist. She wants everything to be perfect. She wants to be involved in everything. She loves dancing and performing and singing and acting. And she is involved in a lot. She is involved in five dance classes at dance school, which keeps us at the school at least three nights a week. With Nutcracker added that was a minimum of two more days of practice. She needed to perfect her part in The Nutcracker. She needs to learn five dances for the Christmas recital coming up, including tap, ballet, baton, hip hop, and modern. She also found out she got the lead role (with two solos) in her class Christmas pageant at school. And it all got to be a little two much a few weeks ago. 

As I was tucking her in to bed one night, she burst into tears. When I asked her what was wrong, she started sobbing, telling me she didn't know what to do. That she was so nervous for everything and she was tired and stressed. As I crawled into bed with her and clung to my little seven-year-old, my heart broke for her. I asked her what I could do to help. She told me she just didn't think she could do it all. That it was too much and she was going to fail and let everyone down. I quickly grabbed her hands and we prayed. I prayed for strength and a calm over her heart. I prayed for God to direct her in what she should do. I prayed for answers for me as her momma, to find the balance between letting her do the things that she wants and the things that she loves, but also preserving her childhood and her sanity. When we were finished we talked about cutting out some activities. Maybe not doing five dances, but rather only picking her favorites. However, I also started in on commitment and that I understood if she didn't want to do ballet or tap anymore, that she didn't have to, but she needed to wait until AFTER Nutcracker was over and recital was over so that she didn't let down her teachers and classmates by not doing her part for the dances she has been practicing in class. She heaved a very big sigh and looked at me and said, "Mommy...I know...the show MUST go on!"

I smiled at her and began to consciously make her bedtime a little bit earlier every night. I made sure that I worked with her on learning her parts for the Candymaker's Wife in her school play and we practiced the dances she wanted to practice. 

As I was getting her bun ready for her last Nutcracker performance today, Amelia wrinkled her nose and said, "Mommy, remember when we talked about cutting something out a while ago? Well, I've thought about it, and I love everything that I do! I love dance! I love singing! I love acting! I don't want to cut anything out! So, really...the show WILL go on I guess!" She giggled. I smiled at her and kissed her forehead. "I'm so proud of you, Amelia! And I will support whatever you want!"

She looked at me and shook her head. "Well, I don't want to quit anything! You can't get anything out of life of you quit!"

I smiled at her again and told her that she was absolutely correct, but that taking care of yourself is also important! Taking time to rest and relax is so important. She said she understood, but that her relaxing was in those classrooms at the dance school. That she loves to feel her body stretch and move to the music. That she loves to watch her baton fly through her fingers. That she loves the other family she has found at her dance school. And I once again told her that I would support her in whatever decision she made. She put her little hand on her hip, motioned for me to continue wrapping her ponytail tight into a bun and once again said, "The show MUST go on!"

And so it is with life. Or at least my life! There are days that it is just too much! Work and housework and kids and IEPs and running errands and driving kids to dance and packing lunches and...too much! There are days that I would like to curl up in bed and just cry! But, the show must go on! If there is any piece to my day that starts falling apart, I have to smile and keep going because there are lots of people counting on me on a daily basis. My students count on me to pull myself out of bed, even if I have a migraine, because they will be eagerly waiting outside my office door for their speech time. My principal counts on me to be at the playground for morning duty so that the children remain safe. My special education team members count on me to get my testing and paperwork completed so that we are not out of compliance. My two little girls count on me to pick them up from dance and get home at a decent time and maybe even remember to take out something for dinner. The show MUST go on!

But there is also that piece about taking care of yourself. That is harder as a mom...as a working mom...as a single working mom. I get through with a lot of help from friends and family. My mom can make a ballet bun with the best of them. She and my dad gladly take the girls so I can enjoy football days with my bestie, or concerts with friends, or out to dinner with coworkers. My amazing babysitters/Godparents to my children/extended family/miracle workers take my kids to school for me, and pick them up and drive them all over the county for dance lessons and speech therapy and counseling. They get there early and stay late and are amazing and oh so important! They help the show to go on!  And I have an entire village of people that love and take care of us! That show up consistently for me and my girls. That cheer us on as our show goes on!  Thank you to all of you! Who push us and encourage us and help us to keep going! In order to get through life, the show MUST go on! Thank you for being a part of our production, for if you are reading this, you are indeed part of the Duncan girls' production! Whether it be support cast, costumes, makeup, refreshments, ushers, script writers...you know which part you play! And if you aren't sure, ask me! I love an opportunity to share what you mean to me and my family!! I hope that one day I can reciprocate and help you with your show! Because your show must go on also! Ask me to fill in wherever you might need me! I would love to help you out with your production...no matter what phase it's in. I'm sure it's nothing a vat of hair gel won't fix!

I'm FINE!

It has been an interesting theme that I have watched develop over Facebook posts the last few weeks. Talking about people asking "How are you?" and also discussing the answer that should follow. I certainly have an opinion on both sides of this equation.

"How are you?" can be such a loaded question. When you are asking that question, do you really pause and think about what you are asking? Do you stop to wonder what the answer might be? There are many times in life where "how are you?" is interchanged as a greeting. You're expecting the person to answer "I'm fine!" and you both carry on with your day. You don't expect the exchange to last any longer than that. 

But what if the person has more to say? What if the person sees your question as a moment to connect with someone? I know it depends on your relationship with that person. Asking a stranger "How are you?" as you are passing each other in the aisles at Target is going to feel very different than asking "How are you?" to a friend who just lost their spouse or their child. But should it?

Human connection rarely happens anymore. And I think that not only changed the way we ask that question, but it also changed the way we answer that question. "I'm fine!" is typically how I answer that question, but that is certainly not the answer that is running through my head. Some days, I AM fine! Some days are good and things are even fantastic, but I still say "I'm fine!" and the opposite is also true. Some days I am NOT fine. Some days I'd like to answer "Actually, today really sucks. I wish I was still home and in bed and that the world would just stop for a minute." But I still say "I'm fine!" And we go about our days. 

As people, as friends and family and coworkers and even Facebook friends, I think we can do better! I think we can start to put more meaning into our question of "How are you?" And not just surrounding events in lives that we know are hard! Not just right after tragedy has struck, but always! What world problems could we solve if people genuinely wanted to ask (and answer) "How are you?" How many suicides could we stop? How many school shooting plans would be reversed? How much anxiety and depression and spirals into mental illness could be erased? Just by genuinely caring and asking whole-heartedly "How are you?" Looking into the eyes of someone and saying "How are you?" and not silently praying they answer "I'm fine!" so you can both move on with your day. 

I was lucky. I am lucky! I had people that asked and genuinely cared about what my answer was. I have people that hear my answer of "I'm fine!" and know if I really am or not. Everyone needs these people. Everyone needs someone that can say "I know you're not..." and I really feel like God has given me the path he has given me so I can stop for a second, think about my question, and ask it with sincerity to see how my friends are doing. I know there are so many of you hurting right now. My heart hurts for all of you and I try hard to ask "How are you?" and wait for a real answer. 

But we also need to get better at answering that question. We need to listen to the question and know that they are asking because hey really care! They really want to know. So say, "You know, I'm not great..." or "I'm not sure how I'm going to make it until tomorrow." Reach out! Let people know you need help. Let people know that you are not fine! Ask for help! Ask for prayers! Tell people you need them because even though we need to ask the question better, most people are not mind readers either. The answer of "I'm fine!" isn't startling to people so it's a signal to move on. Search out the next person who might not be fine. 

There is SO much hurt and pain and anger and horrors in the world right now. But something beautiful can come of these atrocities. And that is the chance to love someone, the chance to spread love and kindness and help to those who need it most. We don't ask for help very naturally, but it could be as simple as saying "I'm not fine."

For the record, if you asked me today, "I wouldn't be very fine" but I know that I have amazing people that will help me get there! And tomorrow is a new day! So maybe tomorrow I'll be fine...

It's Not a Competition!

I am the department chair of our speech-language pathologist group this school year. It is my job to run the department meetings, help people problem-solve, assist our special education director with decisions regarding the department, make sure everything is running smoothly, maintain the budget, and, my least favorite part of the job...listen to complaints. In a department of almost thirty people, sometimes the complaints really roll in. It is my job to listen to what they are saying and see if there is any sort of solution I can come up with. For example, this week I fielded calls of help from SLPs who are over their caseload caps, one person doesn't have an office space that is appropriate for seeing students, one SLPs works with a teacher who wants to know how she is going to make up the time she missed for her students while she was out sick, and another was worried that she was going over her alloted budget but really needed the supplies she was asking for. I listen to the calls or emails, and either solve the problem, talk to my management committee (who are an amazing group of women with helpful ideas), or take it to the director. The chair job, on top of my regular duties as an SLP can be overwhelming at times. Who does the chair complain to??

As I was listening to calls and reading through emails this week, I got to a point where I was a little bit snarky maybe. I have six students over my caseload cap right now. I have 12 active referrals/evaluations right now in process. I have preschoolers flying into my program. And yet I was sitting through calls from other SLPs who were stressed and tired and wanting help. So I listened patiently, but scrunched up my nose at their complaints. Really? Three over? You're getting two new kids? You can't figure out a schedule that works either? I even vented to my assistant about it this morning, how ridiculous it was that I has to listen to this when I am just as over, if not more so...just as stressed, just as tired, just as over-worked and under-appreciated!

Then tonight I was sitting at my counter, going through mail, when I heard Amelia and Emerson talking. Emerson started the conversation with a "It's not fair!" That cued me in to listen more carefully, assuming they were in an argument. Amelia responded with "What's not fair, Em?" 

"It's not fair that my friends all have daddies!"

"I know, Em! I get sad too! But it's not a competition!"

"What does THAT mean, La?"

"Well, who cares if we don't have a daddy? We get a mommy that loves us for a mommy AND a daddy! She does her best to love us like two parents. And we are lucky! Think about all the bad things that happen to people! Think of all the people we know right now who are going through hard things. We are so blessed! Everyone has to go through things that are bad. But we get through them together as God's family. It's not a competition!"

Amelia is an amazing little girl! And she often says things that reset my thinking! She is right on so many levels! Work is not a competition. It's not about who has the hardest caseload or who has the most kids over their cap or who has the most referrals. It's about working as a team and getting through the rough patches together. Banding together, finding solutions that work for everyone, and readjusting your sails. 

And this is also true for life outside of work. It would be very easy to think about troubles and turmoils and problems and compare them to others. And there has been so much tragedy lately. So many friends and family in pain and suffering and loss. Miscarriages, death of children, murder victims, cancer diagnoses with no hope, house fires, suicides, mental illness concerns. It's all too much!! For anyone! But it's not a competition! We need to band together, help each other out, love on each other, pray for each other! Support one another any way we know how. Cook a meal for someone, make a phone call, send an email, drop to your knees in prayer, give a hug, smile, genuinely ask how people are. 

Life is hard! Work is hard! Home life is hard! But Amelia is absolutely right...it isn't a competition. There are no imaginary points assigned for your level of grief or your workload. We are all being pushed to the very ends of our ropes. At work. At home. Emotionally. Physically. Spiritually. But we need to band together and help each other! Love and support and pray and help each other. It's not a competition. We all need to remember that! 

The Duncan girls carry many of our friends and family members in our prayers. Our hearts are heavy for so many of you that are just starting difficult grief journeys. And we are sorry that you have to carry sadness and heartache at all! Please lean on us if you need to! For many of you carried us through our time of grief and sadness. Love to you all!

The Day the Music Died...

I have blogged about songs before. Music is very much an important part of my life. I associate songs with many moments. I will forever hear the "MacArthur Park" song and think of camping and laughing with Julie, Miranda, and Rachel (YouTube it, gals! And turn it up super loud!). "Bittersweet Symphony" will always get my heart pumping and have me thinking of football time with my bestie Kristi. And I will always be rocked to my core and start bawling when I hear the Israel Kamakawiwo'ole version of "Somewhere Over the Rainbow" as I think of watching 50 First Dates a million times with Brian in our short time together. 

Music has always been important to me. I have been to easily over 100 concerts in my lifetime. I've listened to everything from country to oldies, Christian to hip/hop, metal to alternative. I remember sitting on my dad's lap on our front lawn listening to Duran Duran when they played the Kitsap County Fairgrounds. I remember the time my sister and I almost died in the back of the moshpit at the Slipknot concert at Ozzfest. I remember the first time my friend Tim was launched into crowd surfing at the Blink 182 concert and all I could think about was what I was going to tell his mother when he died. (Sorry, Barb! I did my best!) I'll never forget sitting on the grass at the Gorge listening to Dropkick Murphys with all our friends around us. I remember dying a little inside when Brian took me to see Kenny Rogers and watching my moshpit days come to a screeching halt. And then finding life once again in the moshpit with friends to see my punk roots come full circle with Dropkick just a few weeks ago! Music is my everything!

For a while, the music died for me. Any major life event I have been through has seen me deal with music. Friends having a tough time? Turn on some Weezer. A bad breakup? Blink 182 to the rescue. Feeling sappy? That would be Yellowcard! Missing time with my mom? Kenny Chesney does the trick. Wanting my sissy? Dropkick for sure! When Brian died? My radio went off. I turned my radio off. There was no music. There was no looking for a song to get me through. Just like the radio, I turned off my grief. I turned off my feelings and my emotions and I pushed on. And the radio was off. Before and after work used to be drives where I cranked my music loud and I sang and smiled and thought of life. But now? The radio is off. And I think. Think about my list of things I need to get done at work. Think about the girls and if I'm doing the right things for them as their mother. Think about colleagues that are hurting. Think about friends that are going through life changes.

My life has been undergoing a lot of changes. I have been trying to shift my perspective in things. I am a Christian! I have been for most of my life, but over the years I have lost sight of some of the values and beliefs that were at one time most important to me. So, I am going through a lot of changes. The girls and I are becoming more purposeful in our prayers and in our spiritual life. We are forming relationships with each other and with God that we have been lacking, or maybe just lazy with. We are shifting our thoughts and beliefs and having open conversations and it has been a wonderful growing time for the three of us. In our conversations, I was reminded of some Kid's Praise tapes that we used to listen to in my mom's minivan on our way to school. I had ordered them for my girls a while ago and had put them away for safe keeping until they were old enough to appreciate them. And as most things anymore, I forgot!! I forgot I had them! But in one conversation this week with Amelia, a brain cell fired and I remembered I had them! And guess what?? Music is back on in my car! They are kids' songs. But they are worship songs and they are songs that are filling our hearts and filling my truck with little voices! And it is great!

So, this morning, I pulled my iPhone out of my pocket and put it on shuffle. The first song that came on was a song called "Breathe in Me" by Michale W. Smith. He's a Christian singer that I saw in concert before also. And as I was listening to the song, really listening to the lyrics, I was overwhelmed with many emotions. Sadness, anxiety, uncertainty, hope, pride, joy...so many thoughts and feelings about the lyrics. So many angles to approach the song from. So many tangents of my life. Here are the lyrics to share with you all:

You breathe in me

And I'm alive

With the power of your holiness

You breathe in me

And you revive

Feelings in my soul

That I have laid to rest

[Chorus:]

So breathe in me

I need you now

I've never felt so dead within

So breathe in me

Maybe somehow

You can breathe new life

In me again

I used to be

So sensitive

To the light that leads

To where you are

Now I've aquired

These callouses

With the darkness of

A cold and jaded heart

And so...music is on again. Music is flooding my soul. Lyrics that mean so much and the music that is so comforting, so telling of messages that I need to hear, memories that I need to remember, sadness that I need to process...

And to my many friends who are struggling and hurting right now: don't turn the music off!  Don't shut out feelings and emotions and music! Listen to the lyrics, feel the music, feel the emotions, work through your stuff! And know, that there are so many of you that I am carrying in my heart and in my music and in my prayers at this time. 

All You Need Is Love

It's been a while since my posts have actually been one more thing mommy moments. This doesn't mean that Amelia and Emerson don't give me some good topics to write about. Blogging is hard sometimes. There are too many chores. Too many things to do. Too many episodes of House to catch up on. And then I can't get my brain to focus on the blogging topic. So days go by...then weeks...then months. And soon I imagine that people have forgotten all about my blog and that maybe I shouldn't even bother posting. But I'm posting tonight!

I was tucking Amelia into bed tonight. She's getting a cold or a cough or something yucky and she's not feeling great, but that doesn't stop her from wanting to chat. Tonight's one more thing mommy moment was on plants. 

"Mommy, this week in school we've been talking about plants. And what do you think a plant needs to grow?"

"Well, I would say water and sunlight and dirt..."

"That's all true, but do you know what I think is the most important thing?"

"What's that, La?"

"Love! Do you think plants need love to grow?"

"Oh yes I do! They do need love! The plants that are my favorite and that I talk to and love as I'm taking care of them grow much better than the plants that I don't take as much time with."

"Kinda like us with God, huh?"

Standing in her doorway with tears in my eyes, I smiled at her and agreed. 

"Yes, Amelia. Just like us with God."

"Yeah...that's what I thought. We grow better when we have God's love. I'm so happy that we have God's love! That will help us to grow into great people!"

"Yes, Amelia! We can do anything with God's love!"

"Good night, mommy! I'm glad that I have God's love AND your love! I'm pretty blessed!"

"We are all blessed sweetheart. Good night!"

That conversation was the perfect ending to my day. I had a day today that revealed God's love to me in ways I had never experienced. This was revealed to me in the kindness of complete strangers. It is safe to say that my life the past few years has been a nightmare. A roller coaster of emotions and feelings and the absence of love and peace. And today I was renewed in life as I realized that God loves me! God has planted me here in this life for some reason and he is nurturing me and growing me for a greater good and I need to rest in His love! He showers His love upon me as He is growing me to be what He needs me to be. 

In the mess of everything that has happened I lost sight of many things. I held hate and fear and sadness and blame and guilt in my heart. And with new eyes I experienced the love of God, my Heavenly Father and my faith has been renewed. All we need is love! The love of God! The love of friends and family! The love of other human beings. But mostly the love of God. Bit by bit, little by little, I am learning his plan for me in this world. I am realizing what He needs from me. I am coming to know his plan in all of this mess and chaos. But for now, I'm closing my eyes, taking a second, and realizing and feeling His deep love for me, for my girls, and for everyone!

What an amazing feeling! Unconditional love! Just watch us grow!

Four Years

I know exactly what I was doing on October 18th, 2010. Almost down to the minute. I remember the email I sent to my friend telling her how Brian made two car payments towards our Kia. I remember the IEP meeting I had after school that day and texting my babysitter to tell her I'd be home a little late. I remember being stopped by another teacher on my way out the door and my heart sinking, only wanting to get home and not talk about work anymore. But then being humbled when she began spilling her guts to me about her husband and what a rough time they were having. I remember feeling guilty for being selfish and then spending the next hour standing with her while she shared and cried and asked for advice. I remember apologizing to my sitter for getting home so late as I frantically threw together dinner for Amelia and making rice cereal and getting baby squash out for my little Em. I remember putting Amelia's plate of mac and cheese and dinosaur nuggets on the table. I remember picking Emerson up out of her bouncy seat on the counter and swiftly snapping her into her high chair. I remember picking up the spoon to airplane some cereal into her tiny mouth...and then my phone ringing. And my already-spinning-out-of-control life shattered into a million pieces. 

The rest of that evening is a delicate mixture of blurriness and precise clarity. Hearing my mother-in-law ask if I'd heard from Brian. Her asking me if I knew he didn't make his appointment in Seattle. Asking if I knew how his job interview went. My mind began racing as I kept repeating "I don't know. I haven't talked to him."  She hung up and then called me back...she was frantic as she explained that his stuff was in labelled boxes. And that there were letters sealed for each of us. She stated something about her theory about what was going on but that part is blurry. I walked out of our home to our back deck, leaving my young children at the table so that I could cry quickly and quietly and re-enter my home so my girls wouldn't know something was amiss. I called my parents and my best friend and told them Brian was missing and that his mother thought he had gone to kill himself. I'm not sure how much time passed but a while later I was getting a call from his mother again, asking me if I would know where he would choose to go to end his life. And of course I knew. I told her where he would be. And then I called my sitters and asked them to come back. I needed to go get my letter. Irrational, I'm sure. But that was my driving force. I needed my letter. I needed to see what he had to say to me as his final thoughts on earth. 

The rest of that night is something that I would like to be able to stuff away forever. I don't want to have any of those memories seared into my brain and onto my heart. But they are there. I will never be able to forget that day. Even four years later. 

This year has come and gone and I feel like I am in a much better place. The day came and we had a great time. A day filled with fun and family. A day at the pumpkin patch. A day filled with coffee from my bestie, Jack Daniels ice cream, playing games with my girls, a conversation with a new friend about faith and hope and strength and a prayer for healing and happiness. Four years seems like forever ago and just yesterday all at the same time. 

It's difficult to grieve and go through emotions. I have read many articles on complicated grief. I'd say my situation brought around complicated grief. But I am healing. My girls are healing. This day came and went without too much upheaval. Amelia and Emerson went through the day not having any idea the significance of this date. For me, there were moments throughout today that swung through all the emotions. A quick burst of anger when taking my kids' pictures in the pumpkin patch wondering why anyone would choose to not stick around for those moments. A quick and quiet cry in the bathroom at the pain of remembering the fairy tale I thought I had. A stabbing pain in my heart for the fleeting thought of what should have been. The emptiness in my stomach as those little thoughts and moments went on throughout my day. Just briefly these blips would find their way to the forefront of my brain, but enough to make my heart sink and my head spin and tears well in my eyes. 

But then, joy! Emerson and Amelia giggling uncontrollably together. My dad laughing in the truck. My mom sharing a story with me about a radio prank and hearing how tickled she was to share. Emerson squealing in delight as she stomped puddles in her boots. Amelia listening intently to a song and then singing at the top of her lungs. My dad hiking through a mud-filled pumpkin patch with a forty pound pumpkin on his shoulder and a four-year-old at his side. A quick hug and I love you from my friend as we ran through for coffee. A text from my sissy with pictures of my niece and nephew at the zoo. Joy! The little bursts of pain and tears throughout my day don't even compare to the immeasurable moments of joy! My girls and I have been to hell and back over the last four years. We have survived. We are tough and we are strong and we have survived. We have joy!

It has been a long, hard road. There have been many ups and downs and I know there will be more coming. But I wouldn't trade those downs for anything. They have molded me and my family into who we are today. And without the downs we wouldn't learn how strongly to cherish those ups.  I know that I have been forever changed by my experiences and I know that I didn't come out this end of things as the person that I was four years ago. But that is ok! I have learned so much. Many more things than I've ever wanted to learn. But I have also been given many gifts!  I now know to slow down! Work is not the be all, end all. It's not about money or cars or houses. It's about time and love and friendship. It's about pausing to make sure that the people that are important to you know how much they mean in your lives. Never forgetting to say "I love you" or passing on one more hug or one last touch. It's about dancing in the rain and not worrying about picking up the house, but sprawling on the carpet and playing a game. It's about pausing for a minute to just take life in. It's about being with people that you care about. It's about smiling and being kind to strangers. It's about giving your everything to the people you love, even if you don't think you have anything left. It's about remembering the little things in life, like sending a card to someone just because, leaving sticky notes on a car to let someone know you're thinking about them, sharing hugs and tears, remembering important dates, like anniversaries and birthdays and even dates like the day someone lost a spouse or a child or a parent so you can pass on one more hug...one little piece of yourself to help mend a broken heart. 

Four years is a lifetime and a blink of an eye. Sadness and heartache and anger and confusion eventually give way to love and smiles and peace and friends and family. It's taken every minute of those four years, and it will probably take every minute of the next four years also. But each year stronger. Each year with a little more joy. Each year knowing there will be challenges and heartache, but also knowing there will be peace and love and joy!

Thank you to all of the friends and family and loved ones and coworkers that have helped us get through the last four years. And thank you to those that have lived through the crazy with us and helped us get to the joy. And thank you to those who will be signing on to get us through the next four years. My only hope is that I will be able to return the love and kindness and joy and hope to help you all tenfold in a time of need, or even just because. 

Much love to you all! Have joy!

It Was Never Plugged In At All

I have debated many times about writing about this topic. I don't want to know about this topic. I don't want to have been impacted by this topic. I don't want people to know that we have been impacted by this topic. But I feel like everyone is weighing in, so maybe I should also. 

Writing about this is gut wrenching.  My soul sears with pain for the mere fact that I can give my two cents. Robin Williams...we've all probably read the news articles and the 50,000 responses to the news that came yesterday. Robin Williams, a sufferer of depression, committed suicide. It all got to be too much and he made the decision to end his life. The man who made the world laugh, couldn't find a way to make himself ok with life, and so he ended it. 

There have been debates raging ever since. There's the camp that talks about how depression is something that people just need to get over. That if they just find the joy in life or find Jesus or find whatever they feel their soul is missing, then they wouldn't feel the need to commit suicide. There's the camp that angrily refutes this theory. That states that depression is a disease, much like cancer and that it kills just the same, in that the depression can erode away a person's will to live and make them want to end it all. There are people saying that Robin is finally at peace. There are people saying this statement will push all the suicidal fence-sitters into making a move and ending their own lives. There are a lot of experts weighing in, and a lot of people that are no where close to being experts weighing in. 

I am not an expert. I don't have a degree in psychology or psychiatry. I don't know much about depression. I am only a widow and my husband committed suicide. 

I have written on this blog for some time now and this is the biggest thing I have shared, I'm sure. I am very careful about what I share on my blog because I do not want this to be the way that my daughters find out about how their father died. I feel that emotionally my children are not ready to know how Brian died so I stick with my scientific guns and tell them that his brain stopped working and his heart stopped beating and he just died. Amelia, my smart little one, is beginning to catch on that this is not the whole story so she will quite frequently ask "No, mommy. HOW did he die." She has theories of her own. I squirm and get nauseous at the thought of telling her. She's seven. Does she fully understand death? Does she comprehend that death is final? Does she know she can't just kill herself and go see daddy for a bit? I don't know. My therapist quite often tells me that I will just know when the time is right and I know right now the time is wrong. 

Now, I can debate with the best of them what my thoughts and feelings are about suicide.  But I think that's the point that many are missing. All of these debates are our thoughts. Our own personal jaded thoughts based on our experience, or lack of experience, with suicide or depression or anxiety or...  I feel that there are other choices you can make. I feel, that for some, it is a coward-ish choice. I feel that it is not fair to the survivors. I feel that for some people it is a choice. I feel that some people that kill themselves aren't depressed. I believe that Brian was not depressed. He was scared. He was hopeless. He was backed into a corner and felt that ending his life was the only way out. He took the cowards way out. And I'm sure there are people out there that would jump down my throat and tell me just how wrong I am. That I am blaming a man that was depressed or hopeless and that he had no other choice. And again, those are your thoughts. But they are not mine. 

I have spent much of the last almost four years since Brian died angry. Wondering why. Wanting to know what his final thoughts were. Hoping and praying that my faith is wrong and that he at least got a chance to repent and go to heaven. Trying to read the notes he left and figure things out. Confused by the obvious two-path plan he had going. Questioning my own choices leading up to the day he died. What if I had called a bit sooner? What if I hadn't been so firm and so strong in my convictions? What if...there are a million of those when you are a survivor of someone who ended it all without much warning. And it also makes it difficult to recover when so many blame you for his passing. 

So, what's the right camp on this debate? Who has the right idea? Which side is the most accurate? When a tragedy like Robin William's passing happens, everyone has an idea. Everyone has an opinion about how he should have not killed himself. Or how he should have just pulled himself up out of depression and got over it. But is this really what matters most? Yes, suicide is a horrible thing. And depression and other mental illnesses are also horrible things. And neither are addressed well in our society, which gets more and more painfully obvious as time goes on. But, rather than debating the choices of a man who was suffering, rather than turning on each other and debating the ethics and morals of suicide, why don't we take a second to reflect on our own lives. 

Live! We don't do that much anymore. Breathe in every moment of life and live! Hug your babies as often as you can! Kiss your spouses. Ask your friends how they are doing. Stop working so hard your whole life and have fun with other people. Get to know other humans! Get off social media and be together! Have honest conversations with the people you love about life and feelings and sadness. Don't judge anyone! There's a poster that I've seen before and it's making the rounds again that says "Be kind. For everyone you meet is fighting a battle you know nothing about." This is so true! We are all going through something. In our society there is shame in asking for help. There is shame in depression and mental illness. It is weak if you can't get your life together. There is shame in needing therapy or happy pills or some sort of help to cope. This is ridiculous! What happened to love your neighbor? What happened to coming together to support those that need it most?

There has to be a change. I'm not even talking about a save the world change. I'm talking baby steps. Maybe start talking about depression or anxiety or PTSD or the other mental illnesses that many of us are afflicted with. We need to start caring about each other. We need to start helping people out rather than shaming them into isolation. We need to check in on our kids. On our parents. On our neighbors. On our friends. We need to pull together and try and fix our feelings around suicide and depression. THIS is important! These are the things that need our attention. 

So, love your neighbor. Be a small part of the change that is needed to heal our nation, to heal our world. Don't be afraid to ask someone if they are ok or if they need help. Don't be afraid to ask if your depressed friends have suicidal thoughts. Teach your children that there is no shame in sharing feelings and asking for help. And maybe someday, the suicide rates won't be one suicide every ten seconds. Maybe families won't be torn apart and maybe people that are suffering from mental illness will be able to admit that they need help. Maybe there won't be shame in admitting that you need help. Because there shouldn't be. Be kind...to each other and to yourselves. 

No matter where you sit on the fence in this debate, I think we can all agree to send our love and prayers to Robin's family. His wife and children and friends. Because we can debate the ethics and morals of suicide and depression until we are blue in the face and we may never come to an agreement. But, I think we can all agree to love and pray for Robin's survivors. Because, no matter the circumstances, being a survivor of someone who decided they couldn't take it anymore is one of the most painful things I have been through. Many aspects of Brian's death haunt me day in and day out, one of them being that I have two little ladies that I will have to explain this all to someday. I live each day in fear that I am messing it all up and doing none of it right. So, I pray. And walk each day with faith and love, knowing that God will give me the strength I need to make it through to the next day and to that moment where all will be revealed. So, agree to pray for Robin's survivors. I am almost four years out in my journey and it still takes my breath away to remember that day. I pray for comfort and healing for them as they begin this awful journey. 

Mr. Robin Williams, rest in peace. And now, I'm off to hug my babies and watch some of his movies and remember the laughter he gave us all. 

Be kind. For we are all fighting battles...

Helicopters

The sound of whirring blades has wafted into my house over the last few days, leaving me with a sad, sick heart. The news has been flooded with the stories of little Jenice who has been missing for days, and our airspace has been filled with helicopters. Border patrol and homeland security helicopters have been scouring the air, looking for any sign of the missing six-year-old cutie. Day and night they have been flying over, even hovering over our property as my girls and my niece and nephew were playing in the field, hoping for a sign of the lost little one. A community came together with hope and prayers that Jenice would be found safe and sound.

Sadly, the remains of a child were found today in the vicinity of where the girl went missing. And now a community mourns, even before official word that it's her. My heart is breaking, and the sadness for that little one is compounded by the fact that I can still hear helicopters. They are news helicopters this time, signaling a sensational story for them. 

If you think about it, helicopters rarely signify anything positive. Usually they are searching for something or someone that has been lost. Or they are the news, chasing down their next big story. Or it's airlift, coming to pick up a critical patient to take to Seattle. The helicopters of the last few days have been unnerving, especially as a mom of little girls that are around her age. 

Our one more thing mommy moment the past few days has been about helicopters. Why are they here? So I decided to take this opportunity to talk to them about stranger danger and what they should do if someone they don't know comes up. We talked about fighting back. And screaming. And that if someone was trying to take them or hurt them it was ok to hit a grown up. We talked about guns and  always telling an adult where you are going, even if it's just between neighbor's houses. And then tonight was different. Amelia wanted to know why there weren't helicopters. Where did they go? Is Jenice ok? So we talked about what happened. I told both girls she was found and that she was dead. That brought around questions too. Is she coming back? Is she with daddy? Why would someone kill her? Is someone going to kill me? We talked more about stranger danger. And we talked about even being safe in our own homes. And we cried together and we prayed together. For poor little Jenice. 

I will openly admit that I am judging her parents. I cannot imagine Amelia being missing for 24 hours before I worried and called the police. I wake up in the morning and wander through the house to check on everyone. Even if Sissy, our loyal pup, is not on her bed, my heart sinks a little and I start to search the house for her until I find her safe and sound. I can't imagine waiting a whole day before being worried if my kids were gone. I just don't understand, and maybe I shouldn't try. I am assuming the story will begin to unravel over the next few days and more light will be shed on the series of events that led to this tragic moment. So I will pray for her parents and have compassion on them for they lost a little daughter. 

On the other side of that judgement of the parents, comes judgement of society.  I wouldn't let that much time elapse before I was worried about my daughter, but why do we live with evil and why do we have to worry about the safety of our children? Why shouldn't my kids be able to wander among neighbors and family and friends and have the basic right of being safe? What has happened that we cannot trust strangers? Why do people feel the need to hurt or kill another human? I just don't understand. So I will pray for our community and for a society that just isn't safe anymore. 

There's a term that is used in relation to moms (or dads too) that hover over their children, restricting their ability to be independent. Ironically, they're called "helicopter moms". These are the moms that do everything for their kids, watch over them restrictively, don't allow them to bloom and grow on their own. And most of the time this phrase is used with a negative connotation. Teachers most often dread those helicopter moms.  There has to be a happy medium between the supervision that Jenise's family gave her, and the helicopter moms that smother their children. But I can guarantee that at least for a while, in the wake of the tragedy that happened just up the road from my home, that I am going to be a helicopter mom. I cannot imagine the pain that Jenice's mother is going through right now. And that's where my judgement fades because setting all judging aside, I am a mom. A mom of girls who are four and seven. A mom who sends her girls out the door to the neighbors without giving it another thought. And my heart shatters for Jenice's parents. You're not supposed to bury your kids and no matter the cause, no matter the actions of these parents, no matter the actions of the monster who hurt this precious baby, that's what these parents are doing. They are burying their six-year-old. And my soul gasps for them. 

So I urge you to pray! For our community. For those parents. For Jenice. For society. For your own families. Talk to your kids about stranger danger. And then hug them close. Now, excuse me while I go be a helicopter mom for a while. 

When I Said I Do...

Eight years can seem like a lifetime ago, and just yesterday all at the same time. Eight years ago, I woke up alone in my bed. This morning two little girls were laying next to me, snuggling in and begging for just five more minutes of sleep. Eight years ago I met my sister and my best girlfriends at the hair salon to get the most important updo of my life. This morning I pulled my long, graying hair back in a messy bun and called it good. Eight years ago I carefully did my makeup, listening to the photographer to cake it on so my pictures would come out perfect. This morning I looked closely at my old, tired, wrinkled face and decided that dropping Amelia off at camp didn't warrant any makeup application. Eight years ago my friends and I went out to breakfast to celebrate love and friendship and laughs. This morning there was no time for the stale croissant on the counter. Eight years ago my mom and my friends helped me into my beautiful white gown. This morning I pulled wrinkled shorts and a tank top out of the dryer as I yelled for the girls to get dressed quickly because we were late. Eight years ago I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was doing flip flops as I anticipated walking down the aisle to join my soon to be husband for our wedding ceremony. This morning I had butterflies in my stomach and my heart was doing flip flops as I anticipated the emotions that would flood the day and the stabbing pain that would sear through me as I turned the calendar to August 5th, 2014...what should have been our eighth anniversary. 

Eight years? Really? I guess that's possible. I do have a seven-year-old. What happened to eight years? I can tell you what happened. It plays like a fairy tale at first. Meeting a man that I loved and loved me. Dating. A proposal. A wedding. A new house. A baby. Great jobs. A new car. Camping. Another baby. Family trips. Time together. We made it four years. And then he died. And now each anniversary is a reminder of what we had. And what we don't have anymore. 

This year is different for me. The cycle of grief is weird and hard and this year's anniversary is also weird and hard. All the anniversaries before, I was angry. So, so angry. I ignored feelings and shoved them down. I told everyone I was fine and moved through the day like nothing. This year has been a year of experiencing things from the sadness. I'm not fine, even though I will pretend to be. I'm sad on this anniversary more than any others I think. I cried most of the night last night as I thought about eight years ago. Thinking about all the little moments. I had heard people say that the day was so busy you don't remember the details of your wedding day so I made it my mission to pause at certain points and make a point of remembering each precious moment. I lingered a second longer at the cake table before cutting it so I would always remember the beautiful tiers and details. I looked at the sleeping baby Grace before kissing her and fastening her into the wagon as my flower girl. I paused and looked into my daddy's eyes as we danced our song together. I stopped and took in a deep breath as I walked up the aisle, seeing all of our friends and family there to love and support us. 

And then...that moment quickly turns to another day in our church. Brian's funeral service. Those same friends and family there, but in a much different setting. And the sadness hits me like a punch in the face, leaving my heart searing and me not able to catch my breath. I'm sad. I'm so, so sad. My heart hurts and feels as if it may burst into a million pieces. This is not what I had planned as I was carefully choosing flowers and a DJ and hand-making our wedding invitations. This is not how I pictured spending our eighth anniversary. Rather than date night with my husband to celebrate what an accomplishment eight years is, I'll most likely grab McDonald's for the girls and myself on the way home from dance class.  Instead of picking out something that is, um, pottery (the traditional 8th anniversary gift) I'll be going soon with Emerson to pick out glue sticks and pencils from her school supply list. 

And right there is where this all stops. How can I be sad when I get to be the momma of two of the most beautiful girls in the universe? Brian and I were madly in love eight years ago. We spent the four short years we had together doing the best we could as a couple. And we made two of the most precious gifts I could ask for. Amelia and Emerson are my heart and soul. They are my reason for going on each day. They are my drive for happiness and the ones that make me smile and laugh and stop the anger and tears. 

So, I celebrate this anniversary without the man that helped me form the Duncan family. And there are going to be things today that catch me off guard and make it hard to breathe. But I will celebrate this day for me and my girls: The anniversary of the start of our family. And it may be easier. I'm typing through tears right now and hearing our wedding song playing in my head so I may be lying.  But I do know that I am a lucky woman, a lucky mom, and I hope my girls always know how grateful I am to have had an August 5th. 

Sugar Bush

Today is August 2nd and I am struggling. With moments. With memories. With tears. With life. August 2nd was my grandpa's birthday. He's been gone many years now, but the pain of him not being here is just as fresh as if it happened yesterday...sometimes. 

He was one of the most important men in my life. I talked to him about everything. He always knew just what to say. He gave great advice. He gave great kisses. He hugged and held. I loved spending time with him. 

As if it were yesterday, I remember running through the field (Little House on the Prairie style!) to go spend time with him. As soon as I heard his transitor radio, that was carefully placed in the branches of an apple tree, turn on in the garden I would race to get ready, hop the electric fence, and run through the tall pasture grass to see what he was up to today. Picking blackberries. Hoeing the rows. Cutting dahlias. We would work together side by side and chat.  I would say something silly and he would laugh at me with his crooked smile and say "I'm not sure about you, Sugar Bush (his nickname for me)!" and he'd kiss my forehead and we'd get back to work. Picking beans. Shelling peas. Smashing oyster shells. Feeding chickens. I loved working with him. One of my most important jobs was chasing the little white butterflies off of the plants in the garden. He wore a black and gray cap that read "Sexy Senior Citizen" every day. He'd see one of those butterflies and toss me his hat and yell, "Go get it!" and I'd run after it. He'd laugh while I jumped over rows and ducked under grape vines to catch the darn butterflies. 

When it came time for me to go to the big city to UW, he and I still remained close. I called him every night at 7:00, because he didn't want me using my minutes on him. One night I forgot and I'm sure he had all of the Seattle Police Department searching ditches for me. My mom called in a panic telling me to call my grandpa. I remember crying as I was so ashamed I had forgotten him! We talked for a while and when I got off the phone, I set my watch alarm to go off at 7:00 every night so I would not forget again. 

I was halfway through grad school when I got the call at work that he was dying and I needed to get home. He was 93 at the time and had been struggling for a while. Our last hangout time had been watching the Huskies win the Rose Bowl at Harrison Hospital because he was having heart and lung troubles. I got off work and raced home as quickly as I could. My mom called me on the bus on my way home to tell me he had died. My phone cut out both times she tried to tell me so I never had to hear those words, but I knew. I sobbed quietly on the bus as I made my way to the ferry to get home to my family. I was devastated. And still am some days...like today...his birthday...

There are many times that I am so, so thankful that my grandpa wasn't alive to watch my life unravel like it did. At many points in that process I thought of him and what he would be thinking and saying during our struggle and I was so glad he wasn't around to watch it all. And on the other hand, I'd give anything to sit at his feet, sob in his lap, and hear him say, "It'll be ok, Sugar Bush..." and have him kiss my forehead. I miss him. I miss everything about him. 

This morning as I was going outside to empty the recycle bin, my girls ran out behind me onto the back deck. I heard them both giggling and yelling "Look, mommy!" I turned and gasped as I saw two little white butterflies dancing around my girls' tiny faces...their wings delicately fluttering and hovering around their heads. And I burst into tears and my heart leapt with joy for I knew who those butterflies were, and who they were for. My grandpa, and probably my grandma, just stopping in to let us know they're watching. They know. They know what I need and they know what we've been through. I can only hope that they are proud of me, and enjoying getting to know my girls from afar. Grandpa would have loved them so! And would have come up with the best nicknames for them ever. 

Happy birthday, grandpa!  I love you, and miss you, with all my heart...

Monsters are Real

One of my girls' favorite shows right now is Martha Speaks. It's a show about a dog who ate some alphabet soup and can now talk. As an SLP, I very much approve. Martha is constantly wanting to learn new words so every episode is packed with vocabulary and the characters spend much of the episode defining the words that are presented. It's great for expanding kids' vocabulary skills! 

In an episode that the girls watched today, Martha visits a haunted house. Some of the vocabulary words presented in this episode were "eerie" and "superstitious." Amelia watched the episode and then wanted to have a discussion about ghosts and monsters. Are there really haunted houses? Everything in that episode can be explained so maybe they're not real. Maybe believing in those sorts of things just means you're gullible (another word defined in the episode). There's no such thing as ghosts or monsters. She seemed satisfied with our discussions and moved on to playing outside. 

But what about ghosts and monsters? Are they real? One of my Facebook friends posted something about this just this morning and it's been on my mind all day. She posted a quote from Stephen King that said, "Monsters are real. Ghosts are real too. They live inside us. And sometimes they win." All day this quote turned over and over in my head. It was a strange coincidence (another vocabulary word from Martha) that my girls happened upon this particular episode of Martha. After reading this quote this morning, I've thought all day of the meaning behind the quote, and relating it to things in life. Not just Martha...the things in that episode were easily explained away, but what about life in general. What about the monster that is accused of researching how long it takes for a child to die in a hot car just before his son perished after being left in the car for over seven hours? Or what about the monster that went on a shooting spree recently at Seattle Pacific University? Or what about the monsters that prey on children?  I think those monsters are real.  Very real...too real...

Monsters are real. Ghosts too. I think they are real in all of us. For all of us. The Stephen King quote above is certainly open for interpretation. And I'm not even sure how I'm interpreting it. Or even if I want to share my interpretation. But I will say that our conscience helps us walk a fine line between being a human being and being a monster. That could be one angle on the quote. I think for me the one that has been rolling around in my brain all day is the part about them winning. There are pieces of life that haunt us all. There are parts of life that will be forever burned into our beings. And for the most part we are strong enough to rise above...to rise out of the ashes and move forward in life. But sometimes, there's a monster, or a ghost, that latches on and pulls us down. No matter how hard we fight or how tough we battle, it's a battle that is already lost. And the monsters win. The ghosts win. They bury themselves deep within, taking memories and friends and support and joy and they win. I, for one, feel that the grief process, the process that I've followed the last three years...is my monster. It's my ghost. And I've risen above! I've defeated the monsters and the ghosts within. But with each slip up, with each regression, comes a ghost that is mighty and strong and powerful. But I fight. And I will keep fighting. The monster is tough. The ghost is strong. He takes a piece of my heart. He haunts my in the night. He cuts me off from those I love and those I care about. But he won't win. I won't let him! We all have a hard enough time fighting the monsters within without having to fight the ghosts too. So, sometimes I struggle through my days and I pray through my nights and I know that one day, I will be free of this monster. I'll be done with this ghost...for good. And perhaps I'll be able to watch Martha with my girls and not think of a blog post...

Snake Oil

There is nothing more desperate than a parent looking to help their child that has something diagnosed. Autism, ADD, ADHD, epilepsy...as parents we all want our children to grow up ok, to be successful in life. We raise them with the hope that they will be productive adults, contribute to society, be smart and talented and successful. So, when something isn't quite right, we as parents struggle with what to do. 

This feeling of desperation is true also in teachers. We are with our children many hours of everyday. We work and sweat and pray that what we are doing is making a difference. And we too are desperate at times. We want help. We want answers. We want the newest treatments and methods. So, a few months ago when I read that a local chiropractor was going to be offering a seminar on these disorders, and would be talking about his treatment of these children, I conned my friend into going with me. We registered and I couldn't wait to listen to what he had to say. I will admit that I'm not a proponent of chiropractors. I've been to one...a few times actually. When I thought he could help me with my pain I went to him. I think I made it through four sessions before I quit. Each session he cracked my neck and made me hurt and feel weird each time he did. So I quit going. When I told my neurologist, he freaked out that he had cracked my neck and told me I can never let anyone do that to me. With my seizures, it's dangerous! So I didn't go back. So I will admit that I went into this seminar as a skeptic. He was claiming that chiropractic care could cure the very things that we struggle to work with every day in our jobs. What a miracle! A simple adjustment could wipe out Autism? A misaligned spine could be causing ADD and ADHD? Perfect! Let's see what he had to say!

So, we went to the seminar. And we were insulted only ten minutes into the seminar as he demonized teachers and the IEP process. He told this room of people that all teachers in schools care about is getting your kids a diagnosis and getting them a pill so they don't have to deal with them anymore. He made sweeping generalizations about special education staff, specifically about teachers in Central Kitsap School District. He stated that he "didn't realize that there were so many teachers in our district with medical degrees" because that's what we do - push pills at our students. I sat there dumbfounded as I listened to what he was saying. I know there are teachers that would like nothing more than a pill for some kids, but to make it sound like this is our ultimate goal? And this was just the tip of the iceberg. He bashed the medical community many times, talking about how they peddle their drugs and push their vaccines.  He made generalizations about physicians and made inflammatory statements with the mere intention of causing a reaction.  He talked about phony science and quickly threw statistics out with no links to the data and research that proved his data. I felt insulted as a professional, as a mom, as a person. 

The thing is, he maybe had an important message. He maybe had something that could be presented as an option for our kids. But rather than simply promoting his methods and talking about how what he does works, he bashed the people that are involved with helping these kiddos to the best of their abilities.  I know that there are bad seeds in every profession. I know there are some teachers that want nothing but their whole class to be medicated. And I know there are physicians who are in bed with the pharmaceutical companies that line their pockets. And maybe I'm naive in saying this, but I firmly believe that those of us that work with these children have the best intentions. We do the best we can with the knowledge that we have.

And when there is another option, maybe a better option even, then we present that option with credibility and honesty and integrity. When I first started the SuperFlex lessons as part of my therapy sessions, there were many people, parents, that weren't sure about it. How could a comic book help? How would telling a kid that I'm having weird thoughts about them work? But it does! And I can talk about SuperFlex without bashing SecondStep or any other social skills curriculum that others are using. Do I agree with everything that SecondStep teaches? No, I don't, but I choose to look at the positives of the program and how we can marry our treatment techniques to best help our students because we're all doing the best we can. 

As professionals, no matter what field you are in, I feel you have an obligation to inform the clients that you work with. And as professionals, I feel it is important to inform parents and help them make informed decisions. If Adderall or Stratera or any other pill is the way they are leaning, then I will be there to support them through that. Do I have a medical degree? No. Am I the one writing the prescription for the pill? Nope! But I have twelve years of working with these kiddos. And I know that the pill sometimes is magic! And sometimes it is not. And it would have been nice to be able to say to a parent, "Maybe let's try this chiropractic thing for a bit." but after listening to his talk tonight, I have lost all respect for him as a professional. For when you have to promote your message and your technique by demeaning teachers and putting down medical professionals, the importance of your message is lost. What a shame! He could have brought another idea to the table. He could have asked to work with us to find a good solution. He could have been respectful and professional. 

We all have an obligation to inform our parents of the options and allow them to form their own opinion. We all have an obligation to help our children to the best of our abilities. And had this chiropractor not spent the first portion of his chat insulting the educators that work day in and day out with these kids, we might have been willing to refer our kids to his practice. But, perhaps we can't refer because, as he so harshly pointed out, none of us have that medical degree...

The End of an Era

Ok...I'm going to be sappy for another minute here because really...I wasn't fully prepared for the feelings and emotions that came up today. Today being our last day of school...When June rolls around the excitement of being out for the summer fills my heart and life is good. But this year June rolled around and I was too busy. I was still excited but I had the normal end-of-the-year tasks that I have every year: progress reports, final evals and IEPs to wrap up, turning extra pay forms in, cleaning up paperwork. But we at Jackson Park had the added task of packing. Sorting through all of our things, deciding what we needed and what we wanted, and placing it into boxes for the great exodus to the other side of the fence. Talking about a new building and planning for the new building and touring the new building consumed our year. Watching it go up before our eyes and being a part of the process was so exciting. It was all so exciting. So, today, when I placed the last of my things in the last cardboard box, took my building and office keys off my keyring, and stood back to look at my empty room...I was shocked at the tears that flowed freely. And then I walked through the annex. And walked into the main building. And thought about the memories and the last 12 years in that building. How I walked through the door for the first time, so anxious and nervous to be starting my career, having heard so many things about Jackson Park...and not great things by the way. How I was the new kid so I just got Jackson Park...sorry. How that turned into "don't tell anyone how great Jackson Park is, they'll try and steal my building." for me. 

As I walked I remembered eating lunch with Bonnie and the wisdom she shared with me in my early years. How scared I was of Diane when I first started and I wasn't sure how to read her.  My first IEP with Melody (who I was also scared of) and how that completely changed my views on my services and how that would look forever. So many teachers and so many friends who had passed through the hallways. Paulette. Justine. Anna. Nikki. Shirley. Ron. So many people who have moved on and so many new people who joined our ranks. 

And then it got harder because I thought about all of the personal things that had happened for me in the safety of those walls. Announcing to the staff that I was getting married in the library. Melody announcing to the staff (twice) that I was going to have a baby. Baby showers and wedding showers. Melody holding Amelia for the first time when I brought her to work with me. Amelia at work with me in her first few weeks of life, asleep in a box under my desk in my office. My girls skipping down the hallways to see their "best friends", the teachers and principal that have become my family. Running to Kim when life started to unravel and her walking me through that day. And then knowing that my team, my friends would be there to pick up the pieces. Encouraging words from Mike occasionally when he would catch me in my office for a moment. Holding a crying Wendy and sharing an awful commonality. Having Jean walk in at just the right moment and give me a morning hug. Sending emails back and forth throughout the day with Melissa. Hearing Cece just across the hallway. Knowing I could count on Kim again to be my key buddy. Even having the safety and security of a plan if I have a seizure st work. All of those things flashed before me today. And tears fell. As someone put it, our stinky, couldn't even drink the water building grew on you...maybe like black mold! But it grew on you. And watching the people coming in to take away our lunch tables and desks and chairs and picking our school to pieces like vultures was just too much. Luckily I was done and checked out, and I left that school building for the last time, and I cried all the way home. 

And then, I thought harder about those memories and it wasn't the building. It wasn't the library or the annex or even my office that held those memories sacred. It was the people. It was the faces and the names and the people that made those moments. And although some people have moved on, and more of our friends moved on this year, and our kids keep getting older and moving up and on to better things, there will still be people. People for us to love and people for us to support. Kids to teach that need us desperately. People to help us through this-tougher-than-I-thought transition. Because who knew I would have these feelings? Who knew I would sob tears for the memories on the old Jackson Park?  The place where I got my start and where I've grown personally and professionally. But, there's a big brand new beautiful building and we're moving into it and new memories will form. New thoughts of my kids growing up with my Jackson Park family. New thoughts and new memories. New students with new problems and new strategies needed. New plans and new rooms and a new name! Jackson Park will always be a part of my soul, as it had a very important job of growing me up. And John Hawk Elementary will be just as glorious as Jackson Park was, for just as they say the church is not a building, but the church is the people, the same rings true for our school. Jackson Park is not just a building. It's the people. And I'm forever grateful for my people. They are lifelong friends...they are family...they are mine and I'm so, so grateful for my people!

Happy Father's Day

I just told my mom yesterday that I hate Father's Day. Not because I don't love and honor and cherish my dad because I absolutely do! But when your husband dies and leaves behind two little girls it makes for just one more day where stuff comes up that little girls shouldn't have to think about. So after going to church and hearing at church that it was Father's Day, we came home and the questions started. How did daddy die? How long has he been dead? Can he come back just for today? Should we be sad today? And a few more...I should be happy that my girls talk to me about this stuff. I should be pleased that they are at least processing. But it's hard sometimes when you are wishing it would all just go away and you're hit with another reminder, another day for them to struggle through. And then I thought about my sister. Today, in the midst of me being a brat about today, my parents and my kids and I went on a lovely day trip to Elbe and rode the steam train. We had a blast! And as I was posting pictures to Facebook and sending texts to my sister, I could read the hurt and sadness in her responses. She and her kids were down south, with no dad. No Pa for her kids and a daddy that has been out to sea for oh so long. And my heart was sad for them and I felt selfish and foolish. I had my daddy. I had my girls' Pa. And I was thankful. I watched all day as my girls laughed and joked and smiled and climbed on their Pa. And my whole thoughts about this day changed. My girls are missing their father. That piece is fact and there isn't anyone that will ever take his space in our lives. But, we have so much more than that! We have our Pa. My daddy. Who has been there for every step of my life. He has worked so hard and loved so much. His heart breaks when ours does. He rejoices in our victories. He quietly sat back and waited for me to ask for help in my grief and he carries me through on the days I need him. And he is the best Pa ever! He loves my kids and is there for them, filling that important male role model spot that they need. And I couldn't have anyone better for that job. And I'm thankful for the countless other kids he has filled in for. 

But, I'm beyond blessed! Because Pa isn't the only one. There are many men, many "dads" in our lives that have stepped in or stepped up or stepped over to help me out in raising my two beautiful girls...and helped to raise me too! There's Pa...my daddy. There's Uncle Ben, who loves my girls as if they were his own. Who, when we see him, plays and runs and jumps and is the best Uncle ever. The Uncle who reminds them of a daddy, and who treats them more like daughters than nieces. And we love him!!  There's Tom, who taught me all the important things like how to burp and fart and drink beer and kick start a motorcycle. And also how to never judge a book by its cover because the harshest biker exteriors are really just big teddy bears, and make for some pretty awesome fill-in dads and grandpas. And we love him!!  And then we have Bruce who is pretty much the gold standard when it comes to godfathers. He fills in around the house wherever he can and always has a second to teach the girls how to fly a kite or wind up an airplane. And he loves us and we love him!  There's Gene who will have to be the one to teach my girls about sports. I have football covered but the other ones not so much. He's taught me lots about roses and respect and religion and I know that will be passed down and we love him!  Grandpa Clay came along a little later in life, but he is no less important. He let us borrow a big chunk of his family for a long time, and took us in as his own. He's my other dad, and Grandpa Clay to the girls. He loves them with all his heart and has taught them important lessons like playing the drums, skee ball, and Gray Wolf and we love him! And even Jared who took ten minutes and laid on the floor with my kids and will forever be known as Spider Man...he gave my girls something that day that they still remember and embrace and we love him too! And there are many more!

So, looking at all that I am blessed!! So, so blessed!! I have lots of reasons to love Father's Day. And just because one is missing doesn't mean that we haven't had a hundred more step in to help us out! We are so grateful to all of our dads!! And all of our grandpas!! You all hold such a special place in our heart and we are forever grateful for the part you've played in who we are today!  Thank you! And Happy Father's Day!!

Welcome to Holland

It was never my intention to work in special education. My whole entire life I knew that I was going to be a doctor. Up until my junior year of college, I knew that I was going to be a doctor...a pediatric oncologist. And then God has a funny way of nudging you in a different direction. One night, I got my nudge, and my plans changed, and shortly after I found out that the University of Washington offered a Bachelor of Science degree in Speech and Hearing Sciences. So, that door opened and I walked through. I continued on and got my Masters in Speech-Language Pathology, followed the path back to Central Kitsap School District and have been working for them ever since as a speech-language pathologist. It was never my intention to work in special education. When I started my college years I was immersed in chemistry and physics, cancer and oncology treatments. I volunteered all of my time in hospitals and read medical journals. I knew nothing about IEPs and Autism. Cleft palates and the latest stuttering treatments weren't something I even cared about. But that's all changed. So, I started my career in special education. I will admit that I was intimidated. I was scared. There was so much I didn't know. So much I had to learn. But I work with an amazing team of SLPs in our district who are smart and highly educated and some of the best in our field and I learned. And I also work with special education teachers at my school who are amazing with children, and kind and compassionate and bring their kids further than any teachers I have ever seen and I learned. I love my job. I love the things that I have learned about IEPs and Autism. I love working with kids with language disorders. I love evaluating students and talking to parents about prognosis and plans and what we are going to do to get their kids from point A to point B. There was an aspect of special education that I was not prepared for, however. After Amelia was born Brian and I were the happiest parents in the universe. She was such a good baby. So smart. So special. So loved. I was ecstatic to be a momma to a little girl and loved having her with all my being. She was so smart and was meeting her developmental milestones ahead of time and doing so well. And then, around 18 months, something happened. She changed. She began screaming four to six hours every day. She began banging her head on the floor. She would tantrum over the littlest things. She would scream through church, to the point where we stopped going. She would injure herself, scratching her face and pinching her arms. She would hit and kick me. Something had happened, and being a special education teacher and seeing the students that I had worked with, in my heart I feared that she was regressing and that my daughter was Autistic. But, I also knew that there were aspects that weren't adding up. She was so loving to others when she wasn't in one of her rages. She was social. She was verbal and her language abilities were off the charts. She had other things wrong that we wondered if they were contributing: acid reflux, allergies, poor sleeping habits, night terrors...night after night of worrying, I finally, apprehensively, took her to her pediatrician, crying, sobbing...and told her that I thought Amelia had Aspergers. My doctor laughed at me for a little bit and asked me to tell her the diagnostic criteria for Aspergers, which I did, and I reassured myself right there in that doctor office that Amelia did not have Aspbergers. And I looked at her with tears in my eyes and said, "Then what is it?" My doctor wrote out the words "Sensory Processing Disorder with Obsessive Compulsive Tendencies" and wrote the name of an Occupational Therapist that I needed to call. She also wrote out a plan for medical "rule outs" such as allergy testing, visits to GI doctors to rule out continuing reflux issues, and we started down the path towards helping our daughter. Or, I should say, I started down the path. I waited up for Brian that night so that I could explain Amelia's diagnosis to him. I'll never forget the anger and pain in his eyes as I explained our day to him and told him what we needed to do. I'll never forget him standing up in our living room, walking towards the hallway to the bedroom and saying, "Why did you have to bring your special education into our home?" and then going back to bed. My heart shattered into a million pieces. Did he really think this was what I wanted? Did he think I wanted there to be something wrong with Amelia? Did he think I wanted her to have problems? My heart was racing and my thoughts were swirling, and I realized that I could do one of two things: I could either agree with him and let it all go and hope that it would all just go away. Or, I could take the reins for my daughter, run with the plan we had come up with, and figure out how to help her. Early intervention is key, right? That's what we hear all the time. I could close my eyes and plug my ears and pretend it was all not real. Or, I could scoop my little 18-month-old up, love her with all my heart, and figure out how we were going to help her the best we could. Help her function in a world that was just way too much for her. So, I walked through door number two, and I ran with our plan. We had her tested for allergies, which was the start of her allergy mess. We made numerous trips to Mary Bridge for x-rays and upper GIs and lower GIs. I called that OT and cried with the receptionist about how I couldn't get her to wear socks and shoes and they told me about Crocs. I took her for her eval and they did some pretty weird stuff with her and diagnosed her with sensory processing disorder. My faithful babysitters drove her to Gig Harbor once, sometimes twice per week for therapy and we listened to some pretty crazy advice. I brushed my baby's arms and legs. I got rid of a bunch of toys. I stopped her repetitive behaviors. We bought her rubber chew toys. We made her necklaces. We developed routines. I read and studied and poured over internet sites. I joined Facebook groups and read research. I petitioned to get the disorder recognized as a true disorder. I became an expert in a disorder that I knew nothing about, even working in the field of special education. It was never my intention to live in special education. In part of this process, I was crying to Amelia's OT about her diagnosis. And I consider myself to be very lucky. Even back when it was at the worst, I knew I was very lucky compared to what some of our families have to go through. But, I was still heartbroken. My baby suffers sometimes. When she is not regulated and she can't get herself to feel "just right" it is almost painful to watch her. I was crying to Amelia's OT and she handed me a poem called "Welcome to Holland" by Emily Perl Kingsley. This poem was written in 1987 and I would like to share it here. I am often asked to describe the experience of raising a child with a disability - to try to help people who have not shared that unique experience to understand it, to imagine how it would feel. It's like this...... When you're going to have a baby, it's like planning a fabulous vacation trip - to Italy. You buy a bunch of guide books and make your wonderful plans. The Coliseum. The Michelangelo David. The gondolas in Venice. You may learn some handy phrases in Italian. It's all very exciting. After months of eager anticipation, the day finally arrives. You pack your bags and off you go. Several hours later, the plan lands. The stewardess comes in and said, "Welcome to Holland." "Holland?!?" you say. "What do you mean Holland?? I signed up for Italy! I'm supposed to be in Italy! All my life I've dreamed of going to Italy!" But there's been a change in the flight plan. They've landed in Holland and there you must stay. The important thing is that they haven't taken you o a horrible, disgusting, filthy place, full of pestilence, famine, and disease. It's just a different place. So you must go out and buy new guide books. And you must learn a whole new language. And you will meet a whole new group of people you would have never met. It's just a different place. It's slower-paced than Italy, less flashy than Italy. But after you've been there for a while and you catch your breath, you look around...and you begin to notice that Holland has windmills...and Holland has tulips. Holland even has Rembrandts. But everyone you know is busy coming and going from Italy...and they're all bragging about what a wonderful time they had there. And for the rest of your life, you will say, "Yes, that's where I was supposed to go. That's what I had planned." And the pain of that will never, ever, ever, ever go way...because the loss of that dream is a very, very significant loss. But...if you spend your life mourning the fact that you didn't get to Italy, you may never be free to enjoy the very special, the very lovely things...about Holland. THIS! Amelia is beautiful...and special...and smart! With the help of her amazing OT, and my amazing friends and family...and all the work that she put in, and we put in...and all the work that we still put in, we have come to realize that our Holland is SO much better than Italy! And this is what I wish I could show all of my parents who are in denial, or all of my parents who are having a hard time. This year, more than ever it seems, I am impacted, our team is impacted, by parents who are struggling with their kiddos and their diagnoses. More often than not, I am hearing parents say things in meetings like "How will this look when they apply to college" or "I really don't want that label written in their file" or "It's all just behavior. They don't need a pill." or "They just need to be spanked. Then they'll sit still." No! None of this. I am not saying that I'm an expert on their child and I'm not saying the path that I took with Amelia is the right path, or the only path, but if you don't choose a path that best helps your child, if you don't try the interventions that are recommended, if the team doesn't first put things into place to help them be successful, then there is not way to know if and/or when your child can be successful. Early intervention with Amelia was a life saver! She has made amazing progress since that lost little 18 month old. She advocates for herself and she knows what she needs to regulate herself. There are so many kids that I have in my room that are even older than Amelia who don't get interventions, who don't have ways of being able to regulate themselves and I worry for them. I lose sleep over the kids who have parents who don't want their kids medicated so the kids have to suffer through their days, unable to concentrate on anything for any length of time. I stress over the kids whose parents tell me in meetings that they don't need sensory tools, they just need a spanking, or they just need to practice sitting or they just need to be yelled at. I cry for the kids who have parents who ask me for advice on what to do when their kids are chewing on their clothes, or biting other kids, and I tell them about the chew toys that we bought for Amelia, and then they tell me that they are not going to treat their kids like a dog, and why would I choose that? My heart breaks for the parents who I talk to and recommended speech and language therapy for their children, but they fear it will impact them getting into a good college so they won't sign consent for me to help them. I worry for the parents who are looking for the quick fix, who are looking for the miracle cure, who just want it go all go away. I know that we, a parents, have the right to choose how we raise our children. And I will say, once again, that I may not know what is best for someone else's child. But, when it comes to speech and language disorders, and special education issues, I might know something. And when it comes to sensory strategies, I again, might know something. I understand being in denial. I watched my husband go through that. And I let him go through that. But in order to save my daughter. In order to help her and give her a fighting chance to become a well-adjusted, wonderful young woman, I knew that we couldn't be in denial forever. We couldn't grieve for not getting to go to Italy. We needed to learn everything we needed to about Holland as quick as we could. It was never my intention to work in special education. And it was never my intention to live in special education either. But, since I am sorta doing both at this point, it's hard to separate my life from it. My hope and prayer is that God will open up the hearts and minds of the parents that are given the children that need them. God altered my career path for a reason. I didn't understand it at the time, but I know now that I am working where I am working for a reason. And I am working with the staff and students that I need to be. And I believe a piece of that life path was the prepare me for having my Amelia. Because if I had been a doctor in Seattle working at a hospital, I may not have had the knowledge or resources to know what to do for Amelia. Summer is coming...and change is always hard so for me, for Amelia, for my school babies. I'm excited to spend the summer with my babies. But I worry about my babies at school. I worry about my babies who are told to just sit and listen or be quiet or try harder or calm down. I pray for those kids. And for their parents...that someday they will learn to enjoy the beauty of Holland, and be strong enough to help their kids figure out how to navigate through Holland as well.