Do I Look Healthy?

My husband and I decided to go ahead and see a genetic counselor. Going to a doctor, hoping they find something wrong with you, and then praying it can be fixed, feels a little strange. Our appointment is today, and – while getting dressed – I realized I was trying to pick an outfit for the occasion, like we all sometimes or always do (depending on the occasion, person, and his or her pretension to style – or maybe just vanity). But this time, I realized I was trying to pick something that made me look healthy. 

What are the qualities of an outfit that makes me look healthy, you ask? I am not really sure, but I guess not necessarily one to hide behind, but an outfit that makes me look vibrant, strong, and like I wouldn’t have a genetic dysfunction causing my pregnancies to fail. Yeah, one like that.

I think I found myself imagining the doctor scanning us, garnished in our healthy outfits, and pre-approving us. I imagine the doctor looking at the test results and, if there is an abnormality, simply thinking it cannot be so because we just looked so darned glowy in that consultation! Either way, I am realizing I am obviously a little nervous about the appointment.

I think I am at a point where I can talk about losing Adam Gabriel without getting weepy, but I can never tell for sure. Depending on the question, the phrasing, and what traumatic triggers might be set off, my reaction varies. Usually I am okay, but always my heart is racing inside. Always I feel incredibly vulnerable. And now I am voluntarily asking another stranger to rummage through my body and soul, bringing to the surface the subject that has torn my heart into shreds.

Maybe focusing on the outfit was just the easiest thing to do. Looking healthy seems a lot less stressful than worrying about what uncontrollable truths lie underneath my skin. But, as I’ve written about previously, this life is all about peeling off our protective thorns to get busy living the life we are really meant to live.

Here I go.

Extra Confetti – The Summer Solstice

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My regular readers know I am a big proponent of celebration and seizing the day (e.g. stealing nectar of course). I’ve decided celebrating the summer solstice this month will be a fabulous way to fit in a little extra confetti.

I’ve become interested in energy: the energy we carry and let go; the energy we absorb from nature and others; the energy we decipher through a strange combination of using our senses together to know for sure something or someone is right – or very not right – for us at any particular moment in time. Well, the summer solstice is the longest day of the year, giving off so much sun energy that solar panels everywhere will be feeling delightfully overfed. Why don’t we partake in the positive energy absorption, too?

For the last very long moment in time, my life has been full of sad and disappointing energy from which I have been trying to properly detox. This garbage energy is SO hard to properly dump, but I am using all the healthy methods I know (like laughter, play, eating more vegetables, and meditation) to rid myself of whatever droopy energy I can. I am welcoming anything full of life and rigor, anything relaxing and fun. Just like a solar panel, I will be trying to capture all the sun I can get, and I will make a concentrated effort of this June 21.

I am thinking beautiful napkins and fancy drinks. Cake. My favorite flamingo and pinwheel straws. A large blanket on some quiet grass. And – to make a peaceful transition from the sun, in all its heightened glory, to it swinging away from us for the next 6 months – there will be star watching after dusk.

Putting a Lasso On Life

I am putting a lasso on life. I don’t mean that in a controlling way, but only in the wild cowboy way.

The weather is getting nicer and I’ve decided I am going to make my life go the same way. I am chasing the things that make me feel alive. First, my husband and I just bought paddle boards. We have a beautiful lake near our home, and we’ve been riding out on our walk-on-water boards, frequenting private tree-lined nooks and crannies where we can laugh at each other as we try to balance doing yoga or just lay back and look at the open sky. We have been running, laughing, eating healthier, and trying to work less. We have been cuddling with our dog.

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Some days this is easier than others. It’s crazy to me that relaxing can be hard. But, it is something I am getting better at doing. I’ve become a truly independent consultant at work which made me feel surprisingly more relaxed than I thought I would. Sometimes we carry around burdens we don’t even know are so heavy on our backs. My husband and I also have been church hopping, and I think we’ve found one where we can breathe deeply and connect to others easily. There isn’t much – or maybe anything – better in life than that.

Another thing I did for myself lately was visit two of my closest friends (one being my sister) in the Pacific Northwest. They spoiled me with love and companionship. Among the hikes, spa treatments, beach campfires, reading of stories to my nephew and niece, shopping, red wine, and solving the world’s problems, my heart began to become light again. The trip gave me a new, positive energy for doing this work of lassoing that was so needed in my life. Sometimes spending time with those that cherish your soul can heal you beyond what anything else in this world can offer.

So, if you need me, I will be lassoing life. Whether or not life decides to cooperate with the things I cannot control, I will be spreading my wings and breathing deeply. I will be taking in the sun, or the moon, and counting the stars at night. I will be rejuvenating my spirit, infusing it with the best things I can reach.

Be a Parrot in a Teacup

“The most important thing I can tell you about aging is this: If you really feel that you want to have an off-the-shoulder blouse and some big beads and thong sandals and a dirndl skirt and a magnolia in your hair, do it. Even if you’re wrinkled.” -Maya Angelou
 
There are few writers that can touch the soul like Maya Angelou. As the world mourns her passing, we need to remember to celebrate life – hers and our own. On this earth, she had found her spirit voice – the voice that pierces through all the noise of this world and reminds us what the core of our being already knows to be true. 
 
To tap into our brilliance, like Maya, has to be the ultimate goal. If we can listen for God’s tiny whispers in our life, and figure out how to follow his sweet voice, we will be more talented; more loving; and better teachers and companions. I don’t know the purpose of my life yet, but I do feel I am getting closer to knowing where God’s essence resides. 
 
Sweet Maya, if you are reading this, know that our hearts are with you. Receive our love and thanksgiving for the color and light you’ve brought to this world. Please keep passing your gifts down to us. And, like you, I will keep trying to be a parrot in a teacup – unapologetically vibrant, but acting with grace and gentleness.

Waiting at Heaven’s Gates

When my grandpa died two weeks ago, I didn’t want to tell my mom I was suffering another miscarriage. What a cruel downer to rest upon her already grieving heart. But, when the tears started coming, I had no choice but to share with her all the grief in my heart, too. Such a beautiful, practical woman…she just replied, “Well, don’t you think your three little angels might be waiting for grandpa at heaven’s gates? Wouldn’t that be wonderful?”

To imagine my grandpa’s surprise to meet family he never knew existed, is a sweet vision. I am sure he spent his first few hours in heaven in delighted surprise, being awakened to new truths and companionship at every moment. I also gain peace from imagining him, not only with the love of his life (my grandma), but also taking care of those babies I never got a chance to take care of myself. It makes me feel a little steadier knowing he is up there, with all his kindness and wisdom, making their worlds a little brighter and more comforting.

At this juncture in my spiritual journey, I no longer believe in coincidence. I think every overlapping ideal has been set in our path purposely. I had a dream about my grandpa a few nights ago. He was at a family reunion here on earth, every bit his age, but with beautiful, rested, glowing skin, and a fluidity in his movements he hasn’t had in decades. He simply approached me – me knowing full well this was his goodbye – and gave me a giant, bear hug. No words were needed. I was bawling, yet knew he needed to get back to grandma on the other side. Peacefully, he let go of me and turned slowly to fade back into the other world. Not believing in coincidences, I believe that was his goodbye. I believe, because we were not very close, we didn’t need a long or wordy goodbye, but just an exchange of love and the proof to me that he is in good health and spirit in his new version of life. Maybe, with his new understanding of all I have been through lately, he just wanted to give me a hug because he knew that was something he could do to silently support me.

I will forever hold the vision of my three little ones bouncing excitedly at heaven’s gates, waiting impatiently to usher my grandpa into his next, best life. I will imagine him scooping them up in his arms, happy beyond belief to share his life with these great-grandkids that the continent would have separated him from here on earth. I will remember that I have oodles of family caring for each other in a dimension that is partially closed off to my soul currently. But they are there. Peaceful. In eternal vacation mode. Hallelujah. Hallelujah.

 

When More of Us Are in Heaven Than On Earth

If our spirits enter the body at conception, when do they leave? I am sadly, miserably, waiting for my third miscarriage to commence, and I am wondering when this little soul left or will leave my physical body (and his or her little mass of cells). Do we have to live – even for a day or two in our mothers’ wombs – in order to be granted everlasting life? What is the purpose of this short life that causes tears of sorrow here on earth? How do I process the fact that, while my husband and I are here on earth, we technically have three angel children in heaven to whom we’ve never even been granted a “hello”? When more of us are in heaven than on earth, is that our sign to stop pushing our agenda, our desire to care for and love a biological child in this world?

We are at a major crossroads. Do we do genetic testing and try to unpeel the mysterious layers of how our bodies are failing us again? Or, do we just take this as a sign that our journey does not include those blue eyes lined with my husband’s long, thick eyelashes and his easy grin I’ve imagined on our child’s face?

I don’t know the answer. But, both my husband and I are having trouble feeling in our gut that a biological child is in the cards for us. I think I always had this inkling – and the desire to adopt – so maybe that is as simple as answers get. Putting a dream as close to our hearts as this away forever is a cruel, likely possibility. 

Life was never promised to be easy. However, when will I be broken enough to warrant a change of life course? When will my soul be as ready (wise? pure? reflecting of God’s perfection?) as those three little angels I have – watching over me somewhere in an alternate reality – to permit a break from these heartaches I have been enduring for the last year and a half?

I would like to think I was the loving vessel for these souls to achieve everlasting life. To be born to die in order to live again. I have to believe this because it is the only way to endure something so painful and emptying. I will be holding – since not their hands – the moments of hope they each gave me. I will try to process and unattach from the subsequent afflictions. And, I will keep plopping one sad foot in front of the other, believing (or if not believing…hoping…) the best, surely, is yet to come.

Dancing Lines

For the first time since starting this blog over a year ago, I went through and read all my posts. It’s funny how life and ideas prepare you for the next step. One thing that stuck out to me is how I said – before being pregnant, losing our son, losing our opportunity to move back to our favorite city, almost losing our dog (twice – he went back to the emergency vet last week), and another job scare – “Rock bottom is a dancing line. It changes positions as you get stronger.”

Rock bottom is, indeed, a dancing line. I have told my husband recently that I feel I keep bouncing off this rock, thinking I will be leaving it for a good while only to return to the hard, hurtful surface much sooner than anticipated. This sounds dramatic. I know I have a lot for which to be thankful. Although, I have to recognize the pain centers when they present themselves. I have to acknowledge that my life seems to be slamming against this rock over and over again, even if it could (always) get much, much worse. 

I have been trying to transform my painful experiences into love. I believe the only way to create love out of pain is to share my empathy, my understanding, and even my strength. I have learned how vital it is to recognize loss in another’s life. Loss of ego, loss of love, loss of hope…I am learning how to accept those losses in my own life and how to recreate my reality, knowing now that – not only is rock bottom a dancing line – but reality itself is a dancing line. What we think we know to be true is always changing and reinventing itself, so we constantly need to strive for an admittedly painful, yet freeing, complete openness to life.

Painful, yet freeing openness…as we try not to let our egos suffocate the truth (that we are, in each moment, always okay). Naked, taking deep breaths with everyone watching. I think, if I can master this, those dancing lines won’t scare me so much anymore.

Not the Worst Day of the Year

Monday was not the worst day of the year. Monday crept in softly with a blanket of snow, a warm cup of coffee, and an expected five, quiet, stolen hours with my husband driving back to our home from a weekend of nourishment with friends and activities. Monday started off as a lie.

9:00AM: Fear clenched and twisted the contents of our frames with a frantic decision to let our vet perform vital and expensive surgery on our dear Hollywood. Like the moment when I learned Adam Gabriel’s heart had stopped beating just 7 months ago, I swiftly made the necessary decision without emotion. But the inevitable tears and gulps for air found their place in the silence of the car, filling space in the now gaping hole in our hearts. Our little lovebug, our pup with the boundless energy and goofy smiles for all, might not make it through this seemingly ordinary day.

10:00AM: Hollywood was in surgery and my boss called to tell me he could only afford to pay me for 20 hours of work a week. After a frank conversation about longevity of the relationship, among other things, I was left to consider my life in a country town with no extended family, possibly no job (and no immediate prospects in this American district still prospering on what is left of coal)…and no jovial best friend to walk with me at noon or lay beside me as I spend endless hours staring into a computer screen.

11:30AM: Hollywood survived surgery, but his spleen and a small part of his stomach did not. His heart was not beating evenly, but we were to expect that for now. His doctor said tears were okay. She reminded us to prepare ourselves for the worst as the next 24 hours were critical.

2:00PM: Finally home, we were granted visiting rights solely because of the shock of this happening while we were out of town. I didn’t want to think it was because this might be our last visit, but I knew that was a possibility. I curled up on the floor next to him where tissues magically appeared – one box and then two – to make sure we had what little creature comforts could be afforded us in this ghastly situation. Covered by a blanket, with rogue blood spots seen with stolen glances underneath his body, was our little guy taking shallow breaths and drugged into oblivion.

5:15PM: After a flurried house cleaning, we greeted our 6 house guests, planning to stay the week with us. Then my husband and I collected Hollywood to physically transport him to an all-night emergency vet hospital. With sea legs and serious confusion, we led him to the car and lifted him in the backseat, where I sat beside him and let him lay his head on my lap. Again, the shallow breaths were heart-shattering but when I asked him to look at me, his glassy eyes found mine after a two or three moment delay. He was in there still.

6:30PM: Ill-prepared for our guests, we went running through the grocery store with our hearts bleeding and our eyes burning from tears. My husband and I declared this, “A very bad day, but not the worst day of the year.”

As I’ve said in various ways, at 31, this is not where I imagined my life. But grace has found me anyway. I am thankful for my husband’s stable job so we do not have to worry if we can cover feeding six extra mouths this week in the midst of my paycut and our newest set of undesired, unexpected hospital bills. I am ecstatic that I am typing this next to a shaved, happy/tired puppy with an eight-inch scar across his belly held together with medical staples. I guess, instead of the obligatory bad luck in threes, ours comes in about double that, but I have to think the end of this streak is near.

I feel a place inside of me has grown, in the midst of the worst and not worst days this year, and I feel a stirring of something holy…something I need to listen to closely and earnestly. Maybe it’s just will, or purpose, or just knowing what the heck matters to me. Whatever it is, I feel it’s going to lead me out of here.

But, in the meantime, there is love here. There is plenty of light. And, there is the sweetest little guy named Hollywood.

Battling the “Blessed”

For a few years now, I’ve been privately battling the word “blessed.” If you’ve been following this blog, you know that I used to work for a firm with conservative, WASP-like men leading the charge. One of them insisted on having a Christian cross on his email signature and another (young and recently promoted) had committed his instant messenger tagline to indefinitely say, “Blessed.” I try not to be the type of person to announce my faith before the strength of my character (especially in a business email), but – after leaving the firm – I cringe every time I hear the word “blessed.”

Now, before I go any further, I would like to make it clear that I actually identify broadly with the Christian religion (Catholicism) and do not have an issue with anyone’s freedom of opinions outside of the work environment, but let me explain why these pronouncements cause me such discomfort.

Everything I really need to say about the “blessed” is summed up so eloquently here: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/scott-dannemiller/christians-should-stop-saying_b_4868963.html. Just like the author, Scott Dannemiller, I have made it a practice for the last couple of years to instead say I am “lucky” or “fortunate” instead. To make the correlation between one’s positive country of birth, monetary position, network of loved ones, etc., and God’s favor is to forget about all of those whom have been left behind. What about the victims of natural disasters, abandonment, or identity theft? I cannot imagine that God looks with any less favor, or blessings, on them. Like Dannemiller, I cannot believe our Great Creator of all things handpicks treats for only some of us, dropping perfect lawns and 6-figure jobs down to the chosen few. 

It is very dualistic (black and white) to believe that good comes to/from good and bad comes to/from bad. Most of the time, I just think that shit happens and all that really matters is how we try to put ourselves and our loved ones back together. We learn to be more sensitive, more kind, and less sure of certainties. And then we learn it all over again. We give people the benefit of the doubt even when they don’t deserve it. And, we know popularity, money, and power do not come to us because we are so darn blessed. If we have those things, most of us have had to work hard for them and – if hard work wasn’t involved – it’s not because God granted favor. It’s because that wasn’t part of the lesson one needed to learn…it’s because one tumbled out of the planets and are a lucky-ducky, speckle of dust that rolled and landed on more prosperous ground than some other speckles of dust. 

The New Okay

I’ve been noticing lately that I am…okay. I can get through the day – and maybe even the week – without grieving Adam. I miss him, I think about him, and I remember him lovingly, but that heavy sadness that has plagued me hangs around less often. This is the new okay. 

I am okay if we never have a biological child. I am okay if we do and our adoption plans get postponed. I am okay if we have to wait three years to bring a child home. I am learning not to make too many demands on life, but how to still remain hopeful. I think this was always the master plan for this stage of my life. I needed to let go of my resume – whether professional or personal. I needed to learn that deviations from the planned path are not failures. I needed to learn that strength and beauty come from great loss.

There is something else that I’ve noticed, too. Although I do not think I am a jealous person, it has been emotionally exhausting to expense joy and celebration for others. Don’t get me wrong; I have true joy that bubbles up and out of me, and I am so thrilled for my friends and family in their happiness and positive turn of events. But, after the celebrations, I have to retreat and find rejuvenation. I have to come to terms with the reality of my own path at this time and renew acceptance. Each joy celebrated gets easier (my breakdowns or “comedowns” get less dramatic), and I need less time to re-energize. I just never knew that was part of the process until I experienced core-trembling loss. I am doing important “soul work” as my aunt and spiritual mentor says…and it’s hard, yet refreshing at the same time.

I trust that, as the moon keeps fading in and out of the hours, the new okay will turn into the new fabulous/stupendous/couldn’t be happier. I am my mom’s “Life is Wonderful” child and I have faith that I am making small steps to regain my place on the kitchen counter, making chocolate chip cookies, and delivering that phrase to her and all my loved ones who know my joyful and mischievous spirit.