The Graveyard

We’re walking to the graveyard for the first time since my grandparents passed away. My feet are sweating, my hands are sweating. The lump in my throat is making me feel vulnerable; one hug and I might collapse. I’m looking and looking and looking for the graves. I can’t remember where they are.

Avalon is skipping a long through the graves; her dress stands out from all the gray.

I tell her, “Don’t step on the gravestones”. A long conversation ensues about why. She runs to the trail. She stops. “Mom, look!!!”

Lying on the unforgiving pavement is a Monarch butterfly. Her intricately swirled fairy wings are perfectly still. Avalon’s blue eyes are wide with fascination and shock. “Mom, why did she die?”  

On the hill there are two beautiful and ancient ladies.  I name them Ethel and Alice. Ethel is supporting Alice. Alice has silvery long hair. They pause at a grave, holding each other, smiling, laughing. I imagine what they are saying. I bet it starts with “remember when”…. They slowly shuffle together to another grave. They pause again. I imagine their tears on a journey, falling down through the patterns of wrinkles.   

I still can’t find the gravestones.

I look up to see the outlines of my mom and dad. I try to decide if this is a miracle or a consequence of living in a very small city. They point and shout to me, “Grandma and Grandpa are over there!”

Finally, we’ve made it to the hardest part. Avalon is unimpressed, but imaginative of Grandma and Grandpa’s life in heaven. The gray stones can’t tell us anything.   

Ethel and Alice have traveled back and forth from their two grave spots several times. It’s time to go. 

The Earthquake

Everything I heard from friends, relatives, and society before you were born is still true… You will disrupt my life. I’m not mature enough to parent. I’m not ready. I don’t know how agonizingly difficult this is going to be. I don’t know what I’m doing. I don’t have enough money. A child deserves two parents with good jobs, health insurance, and a plan. If I screw parenting up & go party, all contact will be cut off. An unplanned child could have a miserable existence!!! I will be a working single mom and you will be in daycare alllll the time. Daycare might damage you!!!

One person said to me, “There is a plan.” Everybody else said, “I’m fearful, and you should be too.”

Baby we’ve made it through some of the hardest days, and some of the hardest days are yet to come. My little book of parenting advice that people wrote in at my baby shower no longer applies. “Don’t sweat the potty-training” (I did) and “sleep when the baby sleeps” (I didn’t!) and “Treasure every moment” (I tried!).

You’re four now, and you have disrupted my life in every possible way. You are nothing less than an earthquake. You make me wiser and stronger and better. I have poured out myself into you. You were always my destiny.

I’m still not enough. And that is where my strength comes from. 

It comes from some of the ones who were formerly fearful. It comes from some of the ones who are stepping into their destiny too.

(And daycare. Daycare is the reason you wrote your best friend’s name yesterday without looking at anything, just right out of your head. At age four). 

I love you. 

Why Asking for Help is Strong

In our culture asking for mental, emotional, material, or physical help is considered weak.

I believe the opposite…

Asking for help is the strongest thing you can do for yourself and your family.

It demonstrates courage, resilience, strength, and most importantly, HOPE.

The act of asking for help whispers, “I’m weak, but I’m still willing to try”.

It cries, “I can’t make it right now, so I’m choosing to trust you with my burdens”.
If that's not strength, I don't know what strength is.

In the last 5 years of my life I have worked really hard only to find that I am never enough. I’ve pulled it together for weeks and months at a time, only to crash and burn. I’ve been a devoted mom, only to hear a voice in my ear telling me that I should be stronger...that I should be much more...that what I’m doing is not valuable.

That is not the voice of truth...

One year during Finals Week, my friend Amanda asked to do my laundry. She returned my laundry basket with another basket filled with a week’s worth of food. I cried. I didn't ask for her to do that much, but I let her know I was struggling, and then I accepted her help even though it was hard for me. I've lost count at how many times my friend Hilary has come over & done the dishes for no reason other than that she saw the defeated expression on my face. There’s a bunch of people who just randomly drop off food at my house or do other things because I try to be honest about what I am struggling with. They can't fight my battles for me, but they can do one act of kindness that makes a huge difference.

I've met so many people who are afraid to ask for help. Sometimes they just need one person to show kindness to them, which will lead to them to feel supported, which will lead to them to the BRAVE act of asking help, which will lead to relief for them and life-long changes.

The one piece of advice I feel the most confident giving? ASK FOR HELP from a safe person or organization.

You are not weak; you are strong.

5 Years Awake

9:45 pm, Friday night, Winter 2011.

I look into the rearview mirror. I don’t even recognize the pair of eyes staring back at me.

I’m driving around in circles.

Congratulations, you are so high that you can’t remember where your boyfriend’s apartment is.

I pull over to call my boyfriend. It’s 10pm, & he’s already so drunk that he can’t even give me directions. We both laugh; it is a hollow moment in an empty companionship. We are so numb that we are powerful.

Back on the road…Don’t worry, I’ll find you!

 Suddenly there are lights behind me. A cop. One who I’ve spoken to before... “Have you been drinking?” “No, officer!” (Me? Drink and drive? Never!) “Well your turn signal is out, get it fixed!” He smiles.

 I faked my way through another conversation.

~

2 AM, Friday night, Winter 2016.

I look in the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman staring back at me. She is very alive; her eyes are the opposite of dull. She is also so very tired. Her puffy dark circles are atrocious. The extra pounds sit uncomfortably on the surface of her body like they want to jump off; the stretch marks & sags from growing her baby ensure she will never wear a two-piece swimsuit again.

The 2,000 word paper has been written. The child is safe & warm in bed. Tears slip down her face because bedtime was so hard. The fighting, the crying, the struggle to put on jammies. In 5 hours, her alarm will go off to begin another day.

The days feel like years long, but the years feel like a day…

And best of all there is peace & hope. Fullness in place of emptiness. Shade in the burning sun, a covering over shame, a fountain of water for thirst. Some of the chains were broken immediately, falling off quickly; some of them are cracking, they will fall off soon.

Life was given to me in every way. The pain that caused me to be dead in the first place is slowly shrinking. Victory has been promised to me. Now I live to tell about it.

“For the LORD your God is the one who goes with you to fight for you…” (Deut 20:4)

Little Ears

While we were downtown today, a curly, red-haired pre-teen fell backwards off his chair. Everyone at his table reacted loudly. After he got up to leave the table, his friend approached us said directly to me & my daugher: “If you were wondering, my red-haired friend is an alien”. 

My daughter looked at me with wide-eyes. She didn’t understand.

The boy laughed and walked away. My daughter stared after him. Her hair is constantly being brought into the spotlight by strangers on the street. She hears that she is red-haired at least 3 times a day.

My first reaction was anger.

There are so many things we “like” or participate in on Facebook. Or we just tolerate them, scrolling by with a smirk. Even though I know most of my friends, I’ve seen many memes or comments making fun of other races, social groups, body parts, etc. Online is not real life; it’s just harmless fun…..

Today a boy told my my 4-year-old daughter two things:
1. Be embarrassed of people who accidentally fall in public...Or, be embarrassed of other people.
2. Specifically, red-haired people are embarrassing, different and weird (or whatever alien means to him…).

It makes me really want to rethink the things that I laugh at. What is acceptable online (Hello to all the Ginger Memes) is NOT okay to tell a little kid in real life. Why do we get to like and laugh at things online that we would never say in real life? I am guilty of this as much as anyone else.

Thankfully today I can tell my girl that she’s beautiful for more than her physical appearance. Later in the day our 3-year-old friend Theo fell, and a 4-year-old stranger quickly and compassionately helped him up.

Little people know our attitude, concerns, dislikes. Little people learn the rules of what is appropriate to laugh at, and what’s not. Little people know who we like to spend time with.

Little ears hear your phone conversations, your whispers, your heart. Be careful.

My Constant One

I carried all 40 pounds of you for hours at the fair. I took you to the doctor when you were sick. I went to work for you, went to bed late and got up early for you. I spent hours in the bathroom with you, helping you bathe and re-potty training you. I cleaned up accidents. I folded laundry for you; I dropped you off and picked you up from two different daycares. I packed you special lunches; I went grocery shopping for things you will eat. I did paperwork for you. I cried sometimes because I was physically exhausted from taking care of you.

~

And in a moment of anger and emotion, because I wouldn't let you watch TV, you burst out, "Mom, I don't  want to be your daughter anymore". Emphatically. Repeatedly.

~

I laughed. Because I know that you don't mean that. Because I know that I'll hear that again. Because I love you so much I lay down my life for you every. single. day, whether I feel like it or not.

~

I've never seen a clearer picture of myself than tonight than in your angry, 4-year-old face, my sweet girl, while you tried to disown me. How many times have I told my Father, "I don't want to be your daughter anymore". I'm ashamed to say how many times. How many times I've shouted angry words at Him because of how I feel.

~

He gets it. He laughs: "Oh honey. I love you so".

~

He never changes. He loves me and cares for me every day. He is there on the bad days and good days.

~

And baby, I'll always be your mom.

Fair Magic