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.

Good Grief!

"Aren't you done with that yet?" This is a question that I get a lot from people. I think that they are trying to be supportive. I think that they are trying to help me through something. I don't think that they are intentionally trying to be mean and hurtful. Three years, seven months, sixteen days, and about eight hours since my husband took his last breath. That's a lot of time. And a lot of things have happened since then. Good and bad! A lot of events have filled the spaces in between my husband dying and this moment where I sat down at the computer to resurrect this blog. It's not that it went away ever. Life just happens, and a lot of the time, spending time with my kids or washing dishes or just laying on the couch doing nothing seems way better than typing a blog post. But, this particular post has been churning in my head for some time now. And tonight, after a conversation with Amelia, I decided that it was time to write it. I was tucking Amelia into bed tonight and doing our usual "Just one more thing mommy moment" when she said, "Mommy, are you sad that daddy is dead?" I sucked my breath in for a second, sat at the edge of her bed, and said, "I am sometimes." "What? Why do you say sometimes?" "Well, sometimes I don't even think about it anymore. Sometimes I'm so happy with being your mommy and I'm so happy with being a friend and a daughter and a coworker that I don't think about not having daddy around anymore." "But sometimes you do think about him?" "Yeah, sometimes I do think about him." "Is it OK for us to still be sad about daddy?" "Of course it is! It might take us a long time to still be sad about daddy and as time goes on, there will be things that come up that make us sad about daddy all over again." "Isn't it time that we're done with that though?" And my heart fractured into a million pieces because my seven-year-old has heard this, and the most likely source is probably me. I shook my head at her and said, "No, Amelia. There won't be a time when we're completely done with it. There will be times when it is better. But, daddy was part of us, part of you. And he always will be. It gets easier. And it gets better. And the time between missing daddy and not thinking about him gets longer and longer. But there isn't a time frame to just be done. We're done when we're done. And we get as long as we need. This is our process. And your process is different from my process. And Emerson's process is different from our process. We can be here for each other. We can hug and kiss and love and support each other through. We can ask our friends and family to hold and carry us through. But we each have to go through what we have to go through. And it's all ok. And whatever pace we go through is ok." "So, what if I don't want to cry about it now, but maybe I want to cry about it when I'm a teenager?" I held her hand, and said, "Then, I will be right here to love you and carry you through that time when you need to cry. Because you probably will need to cry when you are a teenager. And that's ok!" "OK, mommy. I'm glad we talked about this. I was worried I was running out of time." "Nope. You take all the time that you need. I'm right here to help you through whatever you need." "I love you mommy! I'm right here to help you through whatever you need too!" "I know you are, Amelia. And I love you, with all my heart." I kissed her and squeezed her good night and walked to the living room for the night. They say there are five stages to grief. They say that everyone goes through the stages at different times. They say that people go through the stages more than once, or may go out of order. Some steps are skipped and not gone through for a while, or maybe ever. The stages are 1) denial and isolation, 2) anger, 3) bargaining, 4) depression, and 5) acceptance. When I read through these, I can certainly tell you which ones I've experienced. Anger was for sure the one that I settled in, and stayed in for much of the last three years. As I've stated before, I go to counseling, and my therapist and I have had many discussions about how easy the anger stage is for me. I settled there and I've stayed there for quite some time. And it makes it easy. Anger is easier for me than any of the other stages. I don't really like to cry. I really don't like to show emotion. I'm sure there may be a few select people that would disagree with this statement, but I don't like to be sad in front of others, so anger is easy. Even my best, closest friends are pushed away when things get hard. When I get to a place, perhaps in the grief cycle somewhere, where depression sneaks in, I am quick to push anger to the forefront and push my friends away. Anger is easy for me, because it hurts way less than the others. Things have been great. The stages of grief had died down, or so I thought. I was feeling good about things. Life was great. Things were going smoothly. And then there were some bumps in the road. Some news that was unsettling. Some pain and heartache for friends and loved ones. And there comes grief again. This time, it did not come with anger. It came with sadness. Depression. Tears and heartache. The feelings of not being able to breathe. The feeling of needing to lie in the lap of a friend and sob until my soul couldn't sob anymore. So, it got just before that point and the anger came back. And I pushed away. And I ran. And I felt cornered and angry. And I opened up and shared with someone that I was having a rough time, that I was sinking into old patterns, and that person said "Aren't you don't with that?" and my process came to a halt. I felt guilty. I was ashamed. They were right. I should be done! Three years, seven months, sixteen days, and eight hours is too much time to waste on this. I've had my time with grief. It's time to be done. It's someone else's turn. I can't keep cycling around to this over and over. So, I shoved it down and moved on. Put on a happy face and move forward because you're done. And then a seven-year-old voice of reason tonight gently pushed me over the edge that I needed to hear. She needed advice. She needed to know that she didn't have to be done. She needed to know that she could revisit this if she needed to. And I needed to hear that too. From me. From her. From whoever! Grief isn't just done. Losing a husband, a partner, no matter the circumstances behind that loss, is devastating. I didn't just lose a husband that night. I lost the father to my children. I lost my partner. I lost the second pair of hands for housework. I lost the second income for our family. I lost the second person to help with decisions. I lost the hopes and dreams for our future. I lost the guy that knew how to program the electronics. I lost the person that took care of the little crises in the house like broken toilets, or burned out light bulbs, or changing batteries. And I get to grieve for all of that. No matter what anyone says or thinks, I get to grieve...Amelia gets to grieve...Emerson gets to grieve. And if I can look for the blessing in any of this, I have learned to be gentler to my friends and loved ones who need time to grieve. Because it doesn't ever go away. It gets quieter...for a while. So, good grief! It's all part of the process. It's all good. It's all working towards what we need in that moment. It's all part of the process...any grief process. Whether it's death, or diagnoses, or loss, or whatever! So, if I want to be happy and not talk about it, honor that! If I want to sob in your lap and tell you how badly my heart hurts, please don't freak out and tell me I should be done. If you see me sobbing in front of the Blue Moon in the grocery store, know that that was Brian's favorite and I still can't really walk down that aisle without thinking of him. And if you are one of the super unlucky ones and I push you away and show you my angry side, just know that I'm so sorry...this roller coaster ride is not fun for any of us! We'd like to get off anytime, but all we can do for now is hold on and pray for the operator to slow the ride down for just a while. Good grief!