Boulevard of Broken Dreams...

There are certain days that hurt worse than others. Doughnuts with Dad day at school often causes us to pause. The daddy-daughter dance that is incessantly advertised and then published about as daddies get to take their daughters out on a date is a bit hard, probably mostly for me rather than Emerson and Amelia. And today, also probably more for me. 

This last Sunday was a new one. The memory verse at Sunday School for this week is the Fourth Commandment. After class we were in the car on the way home and Emerson asked what we were supposed to do with that? We don’t have a dad! Amelia without missing a beat recited, “Honor your mother. Period.” We all broke out in fits of laughter and then talked about how our sense of humor is a bit warped perhaps. We cope a bit differently than others maybe. 

That situation was brought up again today by Amelia. Marilyn started my day with a hug. She said she knew what today was and wanted me to know she loved me, loved us. I quickly left knowing that the tears were on the surface. When I picked the girls up from school Amelia asked why Marilyn hugged me. I took a deep breath and told them that eight years ago today was the day their dad died. 

“Today?” Emerson sounded exasperated. “Why would be pick today?”

“I don’t know why he picked today, Em. He just did.”

“He should have picked 9/11. That’s already a sad day. Why did he have to ruin another one?”

Then the questions started from both of them. Questions that give my momma heart pause and sends aching pains through to my core. What were you doing when he died? Why did you call him? What do you mean he left a note? Did he do it in our house? Where was he? How did they find him?

None of this is in the parent manuals. I didn’t read anything about this in any What to Expect books. I answered their questions and choked back tears. I watched Amelia closely in the rear view mirror as she scrunched her little face up, her signal that she is done and doesn’t want to talk about it anymore. 

Emerson, after taking it all in, asked, “So, what are we going to do?”

Amelia once again without missing a beat said “Honor our mother. Period.” We laughed hysterically again. And moved on with our busy routine. 

Except my heart hurts. It hurts for me. It hurts for my kids. So many things that we were supposed to do as a family. Like daddy-daughter dances and doughnuts with dads and being able to recite the Fourth Commandment without a caveat. So many broken dreams just lying by the wayside. 

The Message translation of Jeremiah 17:14 says “God, pick up the pieces.  Put me back together again. You are my praise!” The pieces of our dreams were broken and shattered, along with our hearts. And those pieces sometimes break lose and the tears flow and the questions fly around. But God will pick up all of those pieces. He will put us back together. He will mend the broken parts and present us with new plans, new boulevards, new dreams. And every time we find ourselves falling apart, He will wait patiently for us to call out to Him in our times of trouble and He will pick up the pieces and put us back together. 

Who Is That Girl I See...

When you spend most of your life inventing and reinventing yourself, the image you see can feel skewed. Some days I forget who I used to be. Some days I want to forget who I used to be. Some days I forget who I am. Some days I want to forget who I am. And some days I just desperately want to be anyone other than who I see in the mirror. 

October is weird and angsty. There are so many emotions that swirl around me during this time that some days the best I can do is close my eyes and hope the ride stops soon. I am fairly certain it was October about four years ago that I sat on the couch of the second therapist I tried to get to fix me, looked into her eyes, and said, “Do you think I’m bipolar? I feel bipolar.” She smiled, informed me that I was not bipolar and then stamped PTSD into my chart and into my life. Bipolar is how I was feeling then. And that’s how I’m feeling now. I’m feeling lost and hurt and euphoric and happy and depressed and anxious and stubborn and brand new and broken all at the same time. 

And then, a friend posted what today is. Today is World Mental Health Day. I didn’t know, but sitting at the head of my bed feeling like a swirling ocean of emotions and trying to breathe and discovering this makes me laugh out loud. Is it mental health awareness day where we want to promote mental health? Is it fight for a cure day for those of us suffering from some form of mental unhealth? Is it a day we should celebrate with no work and being with people we love and doing something to take care of our mental health? Should I celebrate myself? Or should I feel badly that I’m a statistic and am diagnosed with PTSD? How does this work?

I find it interesting that September 10th is World Suicide Prevention Day and then October 10th is World Mental Health Day. Seems like that should maybe be the other way around. Maybe if World Mental Health Day was more than just a day, we wouldn’t need to even have a World Suicide Prevention Day. And it’s obviously not publicized very well. I didn’t know. I haven’t heard anything except for one Facebook friend that posted about it. But I can tell you that this month is Breast Cancer Awareness month. It’s plastered all over. Wear pink. Think pink. Raise money. Find the cure. And trust me, I am NOT trying to take away from the breast cancer cause at all. We need research in ALL areas of cancer to eradicate these horrible diseases. Breast cancer incidence rates are currently 20 deaths for every 100,000 women. I have grieved and have worried about and have lost more than my share of people from brain cancer, prostate cancer, lung cancer. It’s all terrible. 

But did you know that the suicide rate in males is 21.3 for every 100,000 and for females is 6.0 for every 100,000. Suicide is now the second leading cause of death in 10-34 year olds just behind unintentional injuries. But we are still not talking about it. They give it a day. And then a month later we talk about mental health. For a day. It’s not enough. It’s not saving enough people. It didn’t save my husband. 

I am eight days away from the eight-year anniversary of my husband’s suicide. Eight years has flown by and part of the invention and reinvention of myself that I talked about at the beginning of this post is directly linked to that incident. I suddenly found myself a young single mother with a three year old and a six month old. I had to learn to be strong and do it all and balance life without being “Brian’s wife.” So I have changed immensely. For the better, I feel, but it has still be a process that has changed me into a person I don’t recognize sometimes. Who am I? Who do I see in the mirror? I work hard to see an image that is positive. I work hard to make sure my girls see a mom who is involved and strong and a good provider. I work hard to feel and appear ok. And most of the time, that works. 

It doesn’t work as well in October. I miss my husband. I miss his goofy laugh and his mischievous grin. I miss his smelly fire fighter bunkers in his closet. I miss ironing his State Patrol shirts. I miss the scanner on the counter. I miss making him rum and coke and watching him mow the lawn. I’m sad that he ruined his career and his volunteerism and his family in one fell swoop because of his choices. I’m sad that the good he did in his life is sucked away by the bad that he ended on. I’m sad that rather than just focusing on grieving him I have to be angry and hate him. I’m sad that I feel like I can’t honor and remember my husband that way most widows honor and remember their husbands because he became a monster and I have to balance how I feel about him. So many emotions. I need a mental health day. 

So, there are days that I look in the mirror and don’t know who I am. I don’t know where I fit in this world. I don’t k ow what purpose I have on this journey. And then I remember that God is walking me along this path. He is helping me to discover the message in my mess. 2 Corinthians 12:9 says “But he said to me, “My grace is sufficient for you, for my power is made perfect in weakness.” Therefore I will boast all the more gladly of my weaknesses, so that the power of Christ may rest upon me.” I know that God has already used our story to shine through to others. I know that the hills and the valleys are just pieces to the journey that Father God is walking us through and that looking back, we will see His power and His glory and His grace and mercy. He has a plan for us. He has a plan for me. He has a plan for all of us!

Who is that girl I see? Some days I don’t recognize myself. But, I can smile with confidence and know that that girl is a daughter of the Most High King. That girl is chosen and precious and a princess in God’s kingdom. That girl is more than her struggles, more than her pain, more than PTSD, more than the sum of all of her experiences. She is strong and amazing and beautiful and will rise above the statistics. It doesn’t matter who I see, it’s all about who my Heavenly Father sees. And I know that I’m precious in His sight. 

Fix A Heart...

How do you fix a heart? Many people say time. Right? Doesn’t the saying go “Time heals all wounds.” Sure it does. I’m not sure the person who wrote that knew what they were talking about. Besides, how much time are we talking here? A few days? A few weeks? Try eight years...Is my heart fixed? I really can’t answer that question for you tonight. 

Fall is my favorite season. I think it always has been. I love football and cooler weather. I love rain storms and Halloween candy. I love fog and pumpkin patches. I love fires and hoodies and cozy sweatpants. But, the beginning of the school year always brings stress. Don’t get me wrong; I love my job. But the stress is there nonetheless. Add in the extra stresses this year of new bosses, new reporting systems, uncertainty of how the people and programs work. It’s a lot. And then there’s the fact that it’s been a stress for me for the last eight years in an extraordinary way.  The anxiety and panic that a simple turn of the calendar page brings amazes me each year. Every year I vow this will be the year that I can make it through without remembering what happened.  This will be the year that seeing October 1st on my calendar doesn’t bring me to my knees at some point in the day. This year has to be the year that my heart is fixed. Well...not yet. 

It’s always been a point of contention for me that my husband chose to unravel our lives on October 1st. We were just heading into the Halloween season when he came home and admitted he had done something so heinous that I knew life as we knew it was over. I remember the room spinning and pieces of my memories of our family crumbling in front of my eyes. My heart was broken beyond recognition. Why would he do this? Why did he choose this path for himself and our family? I still don’t have answers and I still don’t understand. My heart still hurts if I dwell too long in the whys and what ifs. 

Time does fix a heart. Partly. The pain doesn’t last as long. The beats that are skipped don’t happen as often. My gut doesn’t hurt for quite as long as it used to. I don’t make the same “dealing with it” choices I made in the past few years. But it’s a roller coaster for sure. I don’t feel like this is my best “fixed” year. The stress and fatigue of this school year mixed with too many “sure I’ll do that” moments and a frantic dance and school schedule have left me feeling like I can’t breathe. I am feeling the heaviness in my gut and the drive to want to run away and never return is something I fight every minute of every day. I cry myself to half sleep at night and drag myself out of bed in the mornings to punch and kick a bag at kickboxing to try and deal with the pain and the emotions of this time of year. I over schedule and over book and over plan just trying to float through the days and ignore the fact that there are days in October that are forever etched into my soul. Amelia and I are reading Mockingjay and just finished watching Catching Fire. There are scenes in those books and movies where the pain gets too overwhelming for Katniss and they just sedate her. I have joked to a few people that I would sign up for that in a heartbeat. Just knock me out for a while and bring me back when some time as passed, only it isn’t really a joke. There are seconds in the day that get so overwhelming that a shot of morphling sounds like heaven on earth. 

And then in the middle of my wallowing, I get messages from Father God. Reminders that I have come so far, thanks to God. Glimpses of how I used to be. Flashes of how I used to deal with things. There was the year I got drunk and sat in church and cried for hours. I ran away one year and scared all of my people. I ignored everything completely one year and declared how great I felt. It’s been a Jekyll and Hyde journey for certain. This year is no different. I smile and schedule myself and my girls to death and have fun and laugh and push through. Once in a while I reach out to someone, anyone, wanting them to ask how I’m doing. Or ask if I need anything. Or just even remember that today is October 1st and the beginning of eighteen days of memories that tear me from the inside out. But then I don’t want them to remember all at the same time. Ignore it and move on. Fix my heart? Sometimes I feel like there’s no way to fix my heart. Sometimes I feel so broken that I don’t know if I’ll ever feel normal again. 

And then I remember Psalms 46:1 and these words: “God is our refuge and our strength. A very present help in trouble.” So I close my eyes, and fold my hands, and remember that God is the one that gets to take it all. He gets to hold my pain and my angst and my emotions and tears. He gets to carry my burdens and my struggles. He gets to take my heart and all of the shards from the broken pieces and gently place them back together, fixing my heart one piece at a time. He has already gently persuaded so many of the most broken pieces back together. My heart, which was once joyful and happy and light, is starting to slowly take shape in His hands. He is making me whole. He is fixing me. So I trust. And I grieve. And I ask Him to fix my heart, one piece at a time. And I will come back more healed, more whole, more joyful than ever before. 

I thank God each and every day for the journey He has me on. For no matter how painful, no matter how broken I feel, I know He is fixing my heart. One piece at a time. One prayer at a time. One step at a time. My story will help fix others too. And as rough as things are right now, I know that I just need to fall into His arms, press deeper into Him, and wait in anticipation for the healing He has for me. He will fix my heart. I’m so glad I’m not in charge of that part.