An Open Letter to My Son: You Are Not A Dinosaur

*Nothing in this blog is written with the intention of offending anyone. It is simply my observation of a recent social situation I found my son in, and that I found myself in. This is a real-life event that was revolutionary to me, and this is my perspective of it/response to it.

Dear Son: 

I’m not sure you’ll ever read this…but you might. Maybe someday, you’ll realize that your mama talked about you online, and you’ll decide to root through the archives to find out what I said…and I hope you do. Because in spite of the mistakes that I have/I will made/make, I think the biggest thing you will glean from these archives is that I love you with my entire heart and soul, and that my hope for you is nothing less than a personal relationship with Jesus…and that I am endlessly grateful to Him for you, your sister, and your Daddy…But, I digress:

Son, I want you to know that in spite of your best efforts, You Are Not A Dinosaur.

I know, I know—To be a T-Rex, in all of his roaring, short-armed glory, would be a wonderful, exciting thing. You get to be the biggest thing on the playground! You get to be the center of attention! You get to command the room, to be the most frightening, coolest, awesomest thing around!!!

Buuuuuut, you’re not a T-Rex.

You’re a you.

And while you’re pretty much the center of my world, to everyone else you’re another person in the room…and in some situations, your roaring and stomping about is kinda scary/annoying/weird (although I think it’s adorable).

Over the weekend, I had the chance to watch you in a different social circle. You were the only boy in your age group; the only boys in the room were older, and they were related. You haven’t learned about “cousins” yet, because we don’t live near our families. We don’t come from what’s called a tight-knit family, and although we’ve been fine with that up until now, I’m beginning to wonder if that should somehow change (I have no idea how, being as you are considerably younger than most of your cousins on either side, and/or we live too far away). I watched you play with the little girls that were close to your age, until they decided to run off like little girls do, and play amongst themselves. Then I watched you try to break into the group of boys/cousins that were older than you…You went up to them; they carried along with what they were doing. You tried to be a dinosaur and to chase them (it worked on the little girls), but they paid you no mind. You went over to them and roared louder; they still paid you no mind, and one of them actually kicked you.

You weren’t hurt (physically), and he was duly reprimanded; you continued playing like nothing had happened, and I kept my distance, following you around the room in case you decided to jump off of something/attempt to injure yourself.

I realized something in that moment.

I realized that you were echoing what was in my heart…I had wanted to talk to a group of women that were my age, but they formed a tight circle, and I continued to be on my own. If I could have roared like a dinosaur (something that, in my head, translates to, “Hi! Will you be my friend? I don’t know anyone around here very well, and I’m a tad lonely, being as my husband seems to know/like/be liked by everybody, and I feel like a total freak show, so could you just talk to me so this cafeteria doesn’t give me a high-school flashback?!?”), I might have…It is EXHAUSTING, to be in a group of people that you’ve known for several years but don’t really know, and to smile and act like that’s all okay, when what you really want to do is just leave and never come back, because it all feels like a complete waste of TIME.

In my heart, I was roaring.

In my heart, I felt totally rejected…and when I saw you trying to get the attention of the boys by roaring like a dinosaur, it broke my heart. You’d roar, and your bright eyes would dart back and forth between their faces, looking to see if they’d heard you….looking to see if they would accept you into their circle, and to see if they would play with you.

Sure, you were fine (it seemed), but I was not. Feeling rejected for myself is one thing, but seeing it happen to you? I’m not cool with that.

I realize that you’re 3. You’re not drawing the same things from perceived social rejection like I am at 38. You’re not looking at things through a lifetime of being a perceived extrovert (when you’re actually totally NOT). You’re 3. You have a lifetime of rejection ahead of you, because you’re a human being, and that’s what we do to each other, regardless of whether or not we’ve slapped a “Christian” label on our shirts. You will spend your lifetime making friends, losing friends, being made fun of, making fun of people, and learning the ropes of relationships. I can’t learn these things for you, especially since I haven’t learned them well enough yet myself.

I wanted to pick you up and carry you out of that cafeteria. I wanted to hold you, to tell you that it’s okay—you don’t need to be friends with those boys, anyways; you’ve got ME. And later on in the day, I called my own Mama, and told her about my own perceived rejection, because even when I don’t have or can’t make friends, I have MY MAMA.

Oh, son…You are so bright and shiny, and the world is so new to you. I know that learning the ropes of social situations will be a process for you, and I’m certain it will be an intense process for me to observe. I have to wonder if I will ever stop wanting to collect you and hold you, and carry you out of the room when your attempts to make friends go south.  I think of all of the times my mom had to rescue me from the cliques and the bullies and the peer pressure I faced even in my Christian school, and I wonder how different/same it will be for you as a boy…I think of the times my mother didn’t intervene, and let me learn my lesson (or when I didn’t tell her what I was dealing with, because I figured she had enough to handle).  I think of the unsolicited advice my mother probably got (granted, with all of the sancti-mommies online, I think unsolicited advice is a greater issue today than it was in the 80’s), and/or the comments other parents made at her methods of parenting (“You’re not letting her drive when she’s 16?!?  What’s wrong with YOU?!?”).

(Sidebar: Unsolicited parenting advice is yet another form of mom-shaming. You don’t like that my son sits in his stroller while we eat dinner in an establishment that doesn’t have a high chair, instead of running around like a hellion? KEEP IT TO YOURSELF. I can see that you don’t agree with my methods; I really don’t care. Thank you, but no thanks.)

I’m going to do my best for you. I’m going to try to watch you learn your lessons; I’m going to try to take the necessary steps back, to let you jump when you need to…but I will be close enough to catch you if I have to.  People may tell you I’m hovering. They might even be so stupid as to tell you that I’m so close because I’m afraid to lose you, because your sister passed away (if anyone EVER says that to you, let me know, because I will handle them. Harshly.). 

Son, I love you more than words. I will be here when no one is impressed with your dinosaur impression, and you can roar all you like. I might even roar with you.

I will not tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest, the best in the world. I will tell you that you are the smartest, the cutest, and the best in MY world. The World will show you that you are simply YOU…that you are not a dinosaur, no matter how much you want to be. You are just another little boy, growing up and figuring life out with millions of other little girls and little boys, who have mommies and daddies who have different rules, different goals, and different priorities.  I can’t make that any easier for you.

What I can do is to point you toward the Lord…I can love your Daddy, and in this unstable world we can provide a stable home for you to grow up in. We can love you, kiss your boo-boos, hug your little chest, and let you cry when you need to. We will laugh and play with you, and you will continue to be the center of our world; hopefully, you can carry that love and stand on the foundation we will lay in your life. That foundation can carry you through the rejection of friends, girls, whatever…you will always know you can come home and be the biggest dinosaur in the room. And you’ll always know that if you need us to pick you up and carry you out of a situation, we will…We will discipline you as needed, we will make mistakes, we will forgive and ask for forgiveness, and we will all grow in this process…

Our family is just….well, we’re a bit different, and you’ll figure that out. In our social circles, lots of mommies don’t go to work; lots of kids go to school at home; and lots of families have lots of kids. We don’t do/have any of those things, for multiple reasons that I constantly second-guess. There are things you won’t get to be a part of, but there are really cool things that you WILL get to be a part of, and we will do our best to keep you as involved as possible. Your family is really unique, and you’ll learn to appreciate what makes us special, and what makes us perfect for you. You’ll also learn that your family is fierce, incredibly loyal, independent, co-dependent, colorful, hilarious, messed-up, and awesome on every side…just like a lot of families. We’re all going to be here for you, and we can all roar, together.

Life is all about learning. We never stop, whether we’re 3 or 93. Just like this weekend, there will be so many times that I will look at you and learn about myself (good and bad), just as much as I try to teach you by my own example (also good and bad).  We all have times where we feel overlooked and uninvited, and we all have a dinosaur in our hearts that just wants to be acknowledged and loved…We all want to belong.

My little guy…my brave boy…how I love you, and how I wish I could learn it all for you, to keep you safe and unharmed. I wish I could take all of your hurts for you (and therein lies an entire volume dedicated to the grace of Christ), and make life as easy as possible. I wish I could make all of your friends for you, and filter out those I don’t want you to know…in my Type-A mindset, I wish I could make all of your plans and run your life to be as bump-free and methodical as possible. We all know that’s completely impossible and unhealthy. You have to grow, learn, discern, process, evolve, and eventually, break out on your own, away from our carefully-cultivated nest and out from under my ever-vigilant watch.

I’m absolutely terrified/exhilarated/petrified of that day…

But it’s coming…

And every day is one day closer.

You are going to be so amazing…I can’t wait to see what God has planned for your life. These things, these worries I have, and this journey you’re on, are so far beyond you right now…you have so much to learn and to grow into.  Take your time. Go slow.  Be free to be loud/annoying/weird to the world.

When you’re grown, you’ll learn that you are not a dinosaur…

But for now…

Roar as loud as you want.

You Can Thank My Pastor

There are days in church where I feel like I'm sitting here in complete deception. Like, on the outside, I appear to be reasonably sane.....like I am relatively put-together...I've just finished singing, I didn't kill any notes, & the sound guy hasn't given me "the look," so I assume things went well...Everything looks okay...
And then the pastor hits on a sensitive spot in the sermon where the truth come out.....where ish gets real....and I suddenly feel like my heart has been replaced by a giant lump of freshly-blistered tissue in need of debridement that I neither want nor can handle.
I'm face-to-face with my own brokenness, with the after-effects of too many battles, of too much fighting, and of too much expectation of both myself and of the man I married.  I don't even know what to do with myself.
I have been told by more than one person that I missed my calling (they were wrong); I haven't. I know God has a plan, I know there is potential, and I know there is more to both David and to myself than people realize. I know I have dreams I haven't realized yet, and that my place in this life, even at 38, is far from finalized.
I know I have room for change, and for a lot of it.
I am tired of sitting in church, feeling like everything is some epic diatribe of guilt, like all that God is saying is how messed up and broken I am. That's really not what my pastor is saying; it's not what God is saying. It's just how stuff gets twisted in my ears.
Yes, I'm broken-but He makes me whole. Yes, I'm battle-worn-but why do I think I have to be the one who does all of the fighting? Yes, I'm a hot mess-but He calls me beautiful, even though He sees who I really am: frantic, manic, tense, stressed-out, hopeful, confused, and strange. He brings peace to all of that, without badgering me or dumping guilt on my head when I miss the mark.
I don't know where my life is leading. I don't know where things are going, and life right now feels like the days leading up to one heck of a battle. I know I need better unity in my household, and that my husband and I need to stop the BS bickering and come together like we're supposed to. I know we need to handle our financial situation. And I know that I have to drop the gloves and trust the Lord. I'm weary, and without finding true rest in Him, I'm stuck in this hamster wheel.
So, yeah, things LOOK fine. They're not, but they will be.
And it's perfectly okay to ugly-cry when your pastor accidentally says the right combination of words that wreck your barely-stitched-together heart.

Permission Granted

Elizabeth Kubler-Ross staked her claim in the counseling world with her work entitled “Of Death and Dying.” (Yep, that’s a title that will bring the masses….)

The book describes the 5 stages of grief, and I remember studying it in college as I majored in Youth Ministry (technically, I majored in Bible spec. Youth Ministry, but that’s semantics for you), and thinking it was pure genius. The book (http://www.ekrfoundation.org/five-stages-of-grief/) does an incredible job of breaking down the grieving process and of destroying that ridiculous notion that we should all just “suck it up and move on.” It let us all know that YES, you can cry! You can get angry! You can take all of the time that you need! And your grief is as unique as you are—there’s no order, and that’s OKAY!!!! 

My professors at the time had no idea how important all of this information would become to me throughout my life…how I clung to what I learned, and how I so desperately needed to hear that what I was feeling in the wake of my daughter’s death was my own version of normal.

The world tells us we need to do whatever we need to do, to feel better quickly.

Sometimes, our families and friends do the same…they want the “old us” back again, but for me, that person died for a very long time. I know I’m not alone in that…Part (if not all) of my heart went to a very dark, sad place for years, and it took years for all of me to emerge.

And when I finally came out of that dark place, I was someone else…someone who was still me, but who had lost their “shiny.” I went from being like newly-polished metal into being more like a hammered shield—still me, still the same materials, but with an entirely different outlook in every possible way.

It wasn’t an easy journey, and sometimes, it still isn’t. 

This fall marks what would be my daughter’s 10^th birthday, and to be honest, I’m struggling with it. It’s not like I’m going psycho about it; it’s just a painful realization, and I don’t think I should have to rationalize my feelings any further. The labyrinth of grief is so multi-faceted and unique that I am positive that I am right where I should be for my process, and I would like to thank Ms. Kubler-Ross for teaching me that I have that permission.

I have permission to grieve, and though the knowledge of that may have come from Ms. Kubler-Ross, the grace to do so comes directly from Jesus…from His grace, and His compassion, and from His ability to carry it all. I have His permission to mourn what was and what was not (within reason), and I have His consent to burden Him with my heart. What a wonderful, glorious, awful, thankless thing for Him to carry…what a huge thing for Him to trade, and what a beautiful exchange! I give him sorrow, I share my grievances, my anger, my broken hopes and dreams, my FEARS…He gives me new hope, new joy, new goals, new adventures. He restores, He soothes, and He LOVES. He gives us permission to express all of our massive emotions, and He gives us FREEDOM FROM THEM.

I’ve described my own “stages of grief” in past blogs, but I’m reminded of my own words: Grief is like a body of water. Some days, you’re drowning in an ocean of sorrow, you’re Jack and/or Rose floating on a piece of wood in an overwhelming lost cause…you can’t breathe, you can’t move, and you can’t function.

Some days, you’re swimming in a river, keeping your head up, but only on the surface. The slightest tug/pull/reminder, and BOOM, you’re back in the ocean again…

Some days, it’s a creek, and you walk through the clear water, and it’s up to your knees, and you can handle it, and you can even see some of the beauty in it…

Some days, it’s a puddle that you step in and jump over, impressed that it didn’t trip you up, and you keep walking.

Some days, it’s a raindrop that falls on your face…you hold the memory in your hand for a minute, catch your breath, and you keep going…

Until out of nowhere, you trip, and there you are, back in the river, or the creek, or the puddle, or sometimes, the ocean again…and you start the process over, and as time goes on, you navigate the waters more efficiently, and with more grace, than ever before.

It’s a constant process.

I feel like that as the years have gone by, I learn to predict “the markers.” I know certain things will get to me (like her 10^th birthday, or dresses with flamingos on them, or seeing my niece that was born 2 days before my Hannah died) to various degrees, so I can prepare myself. Some things still catch me off-guard, and that’s okay.  

One of the best things I’ve learned is how to gracefully (seriously!) remove myself from situations and conversations that affect me. I have learned how to stand up for myself when necessary in this process, and when to take a deep breath and extend the grace of realizing that people have the “best of intentions, and the worst of executions” (I should trademark that). People who haven’t been through deep loss are at a loss for what to do or say, but they sure try; sometimes, people who HAVE been through deep loss say things that are dumber/more hurtful than those who haven’t (been there, done that, stuck my foot in my mouth HARD-CORE)! We are humans, we are unique, and we have big hearts and small brains. What really and truly matters is that we LOVE the person who’s been going through grief, and that we remember to put them first. We have a responsibility as human beings, and as Christians, to bypass drama and simply love. Be there for the grieving when the audience/drama has left. Be the meal one month into the process for the family that is so fractured. Be the hug on a busy Sunday morning when worship has rubbed a stinging, healing balm into a shredded heart.  Be the quiet place for the mind that cannot make itself turn off the frantic internal screams of pain.

Grief is such a difficult, unpredictable process, and we all live it out in different ways. The Five Stages of Grief (Denial, Anger, Bargaining, Depression, Acceptance) are worked out individually at times; sometimes, they gang up on you; they play out in unexpected ways. I think the key thing to remember is that they “play out.” 

If you’ve just gone through a deep loss, first of all, my heart aches for you. It doesn’t take much for me to tap back into what those early days felt like, and I will never forget what I went through (publicly and privately). Secondly, please remember that anyone that tells you to “get better,” or “get back into the swing of things,” or, “it is what it is,” or “just go back to work and stay busy, you’ll feel better!”—The person who says those things is not your friend, and is not a kind of counsel that you need right now. They may think they’re helping you, but they’re not. Grief is a pushy beast; she WILL be part of your life, and the more you try to stifle her, the more she will come out in other areas. Your health will suffer; your mental health will definitely suffer. Your entire world will suffer until you let yourself be free. You have to give Grief her time, even though the horrible world keeps right on spinning.

You have to give yourself permission to grieve.

Your family and friends need to give you permission to grieve, even in the midst of their own grief (assuming you have gone through this loss together), and they need your permission to grieve in their own way.

You have to be honest with God; He knows how you feel, even if you don’t even know yourself….even if you don’t want to talk to Him, or if all you want to do is scream at Him (or scream at Him and beat your steering wheel into a pulp—hey, at least I didn’t hit a person).

Please give yourself the gift of time. Let yourself feel; don’t wall yourself off. Know that you’re going to have good days and you’re going to have awful days. As time goes on, you’ll have more good than bad; but at first, those bad days are going to be more prevalent. It’s okay to have a bad day!!!!

Finally, please know that time really does heal. It doesn’t make it all go away—that’s a stupid, stupid myth.  In my case, I lost my daughter…she was literally a part of my body, and she was gone. I have scars, physically and spiritually…I will never be the same, and I embrace that (although I used to feel that I should be completely healed, now I know that my scars—seen and unseen—are more like a road map to redemption. They’re markers of healing, and of undeniable change). Time heals, but you will always have a marker in your heart, and it alters you.

And that’s okay.

Ten years is a long, long time…My grief is nothing like what it was, but there is a tenderness there that I will not apologize for. There are things to note in this season that I will probably ponder in my heart more than usual…questions that will come up, and debates I will resurrect with Jesus. The healing process is lifelong, I believe, but if we’re willing, it’s lifelong progress…

We have permission to grieve…permission to question…permission to hurt…We have permission granted by the very Savior Who willingly carries our every emotion and burden, and Who gives us the greatest gift of all:  Answered Hope.

Updates, Labs, and 'Roid Rage...

Oh, those days where I know that I KNOW I'm running off at the mouth....I feel like those days should come with an automatic plunger for my face.

I totally feel sorry for this kid--you know that had to leave a mark!

That being said, last week, I got really sick...I made it through worship, but by the time it was done, I made it back home and went straight to bed UNTIL TUESDAY. I couldn't exactly pinpoint what was wrong; I've been feeling really run-down, my throat has hurt, and I was having such a heaviness in my chest that I kinda figured I had bronchitis, so I finally went to my Nurse Practitioner.
I've been under a lot of stress over the past few months (yeah, I guess cancer can do that). I've gained a lot of weight; my marriage is feeling "unsteady"; and my job has been busier than ever. Everything is weighing very heavily right now, and I feel like my walk with God is definitely suffering.
I've had NO energy, and I'm exhausted. The next friend of mine that puts their vacation pictures of a beach or a cruise ship on Facebook, I swear, I'm gonna barf. :)
All of that being said, it appears that I've simply caught a nasty virus, so they put me on Prednisone (a steroid) to ease the lung strain. Breathing--hey, it's important!
In the midst of that, my labs for February came back, and showed that nope, my thyroid meds STILL AREN'T REGULATED. Are you kidding me?!?!? IT'S BEEN 7 MONTHS!!!!!  COME ON, ALREADY!
Every time they mess with these meds, I gain weight, my anxiety levels go through the roof, and I pretty much feel like my brain is going to explode...It's incredibly difficult to function in this constant state of flux, and it wearies me, not to mention what it does to my family. I'm on my second endocrinologist, and I already feel like I want to knock the resident out. It's not him--it's me. It seems endocrinology is a branch of medicine that I hate. :) Unfortunately, it's something I'll have to deal with for the rest of my life...SO CAN WE GET THESE MEDS FIGURED OUT?!?!?
That being said, they've added Synthroid back in the mix (let's hope it's not enough to make my hair fall out again), plus the Armour Thyroid that I'm on...with all of this, I've decided to make the leap to a full does of the Wellbutrin (150mg) instead of the 75mg I was on.
So....steroids, new thyroid meds, and increased Wellbutrin.
I'm AMAZED at how much I can get done with this kind of energy, LOL. Of course, it also means I'm having difficulty sleeping....Once I'm off of the steroids, things should level out. I'll repeat labs toward the end of April (hey, I'm at 8-week intervals instead of 6-week intervals!), and at the end of July, we'll repeat my PET scan, most likely after a round of something called "Thyrogen," that I have yet to Google.
That being said, back to being sick: Emotionally, knowing that I have cancer in the lymph nodes of my neck is bothersome. Even though I know thyroid cancer is very slow-growing, non-aggressive, and non-life-threatening, being sick has made the nodes in my neck very swollen, which freaks me out...even though I know it's fine. After my next round of PET scans, depending on the node size, they're probably going to remove all of the lymph nodes in my neck. I need to take the time to educate myself on the consequences of that, but I haven't done research at this point, because I think it will be mentally burdensome. I feel like this virus-bug-thing is on it's way out; my nebulizer is a HUGE help, and I'm looking forward to some super-awesome weekend plans with my 3rd-grade bestie. :)
(That's a lot of commas...)
I'm hoping this med change will be the last for a while...I'm hoping I can learn to accept my body in this shape, and stop beating myself up for the weight I've gained (feeling bad just makes me eat more, I swear)...I'm hoping my marriage can catch a break where my health issues stop causing us so much stress, and stop affecting our communication/emotions/life in general....

The brightest spot of all has been, in a word, Jericho. He's funnier than ever; he's smart, he's bright, and yesterday, he learned his first Bible verse (Gen. 1:1). He's officially potty-trained (only took us 7 months), and he's brave. He announces himself when he walks into a room (sorry, Bread Co.), and he makes my heart explode in the best of ways...My husband is an amazing father to that little boy, and the two of them are bonding heavily over Legos right now (UGH. LEGOS.).

He knows his full name, his numbers, can count to 10 in Spanish, and is beginning to put his letters together to try to spell words (thank you, PBS!). We are beginning to discuss schools, and I'm trying to not be completely overwhelmed at the choices in education...(yeah, right!)...Praying for wisdom is an hourly thing in parenthood!!

The steroids I've been on have made me chatty and slightly-more unfiltered than normal, so my apologies if this is a TMI post...The truth is, I've been very sad lately...Up until this weekend, I'd say it's been since before Christmas that I can remember feeling "right," and it's been....well, sad. Nothing seems right, and I've felt like my joy got sucked out. All of the meds are now adjusted; I've always felt like when things are off chemically, it affects every facet, from the spiritual to the physical to the spiritual. I'm not really feeling like myself just yet, and probably won't until I'm off of the steroids; once the course is done, I think we may have our med combo figured out.

If this blog feels like it just goes in one big, static-ish circle, you're right--it's a rambly mess.
But that's kind of my life right now.
It's more good than bad, but it's a disorganized basket that's taking much longer than I have the patience for, to sort out...
Thank God He has some sort of a plan...knowing that, having faith in His abilities to make this ball of yarn into some kind of a tapestry, is a driving force for me. My life makes no sense...the things we've been through, as a family? In our marriage? None of it makes sense.
Jesus makes sense.
So, in this mess, I trust Him, and I discipline myself to find the joy in the best AND in the worst (and believe me, we've been through worse). These are not our darkest days, by ANY means...they're just frustrating days, but we're moving forward.
We keep walking, together, knowing that He will work all of this out for good, because we love Him. 

Random....

My heart aches tonight, and it has, all day.
I read a letter that I wrote to my daughter last year, as it was published this morning in a collection. Even reading my own words, even when they're as optimistic as they could possibly be, hurts.
I will never be whole, no matter what I try.
Is that how it is to be?
I watched a 30-second video of her in the NICU; I have yet to watch it without feeling the air sucked out of my lungs, even as I am surrounded by beautiful pictures of my beautiful son...
It will be 10 years this October.
My heart hurts, even as I remind myself of the hope I have in Jesus.
It still hurts.
Usually, I'm much more loquacious in my blogs; perhaps in my breviy this evening, the point is made even louder:
It hurts.
I miss her.
My friends with little girls the same age...I can't even begin to disguise my envy and my curiosity...
It hurts.

You Are My Happy.

Last night, there was a dance party at my house. There was a full-on, booty-shaking, jump-up-&-downing, arm-waving, bass-thumping rave in my living room, and it was fantastic.

Did you know that I have a three-year old now?

Three years ago, the second-hardest year in my life had just begun. “It was the best of times; it was the [almost] worst of times,” and it was a tremendous, tumultuous torrent of faith, fear, post-partum psychosis, and sleepless nights.

It was everything I wanted, everything I was terrified of, and everything I needed.

It still is.

Parenthood has drawn more out of my husband and I than we ever thought possible. It has pushed us physically, mentally, and spiritually to our brink, and it has made us more thankful for life, for each other, for Jesus, for breathing, than we have ever known. Parenthood makes you speak in superlatives on a minute-by-minute basis. Everything is amazing. Everything is awful. Everything is incredible. Everything is terrible.

Parenthood leaves no room for middle ground.

Parenthood-post-loss leaves no room for sleep.

It leaves no room to allow the mind to relax (for the first year) because you are constantly fighting the “what-ifs” that want to run rampant in your postpartum-crazy life. YOU CAN’T LET THEM. They’ll take over, and you’ll find yourself in mental hysterics that only Wellbutrin and Jesus can fix. You can’t let it in, not even for a second. It gradually gets better, but I know my first 6 months after JD was born were so mentally difficult. You’re afraid to celebrate the moments, because you alone understand how quickly they can be taken away.

It’s a feeling that permeates your soul for years.

Last night was a great example: There we were: David and I, jumping around like 2 insane, sugared-up rhythmless Michelin Men around the living room. Jericho, meanwhile, was getting a first-class lesson in how to shake his rear, which resulted in him looking like a tiny, underwear-clad Derek Zoolander. He couldn’t figure out how to “shake” his rear, so he’d stop, stick out a hip, and rock a Blue Steel pose like nobody’s business. Too bad he’s gonna be short, because he can pose like Karlie Kloss! LOL—I kid. Anyways, we were dancing like fools to “Happy,” and while we were in that moment, I wanted to be deliriously happy…

 But I couldn’t let myself…

Because the last time embraced a moment and allowed myself to be deliriously happy (and blogged about it), the next day I found out I had cancer and could possibly, permanently lose my voice (I didn’t).

It took so much for me, that last time, to have the courage to say “I am deliriously happy.” It took a lot, and then THAT happened. And the time before that, when I held my daughter and thought, “I am deliriously happy,” we lost her…that kind of paradigm shift has consequences. I thought I had healed from that, but I guess not.

So now, when I find myself wanting to say that I am “deliriously happy,” I can’t.

I can’t do it.

Not yet.

I’m not mad at God.  I’m hurt, but I’m not mad…I’m questioning…I’m curious…I trust that He has a plan…I know He loves me…but I’m confused.

And I’m afraid to fall…

More than that, I’m afraid the ground will come out from under me, and there I’ll be, flat on my back like a broken mess, yet again…I’m not ready to be broken again, so soon, and I guess I feel like that goes hand-in-hand with happiness, like I can’t have one without the other?

Last night, I WAS deliriously happy.  There, I said it. But it was so cautious…I told my husband I was afraid to feel it, afraid to accept that yes, this is happening: This is a happy moment, with no pressure, no bad news, no judgment, no fighting, and no bill. THIS IS A HAPPY MOMENT, CASSIDY. LOVE IT.

Why is that so hard for me to embrace?

My son makes me stop and hold him…I grab him up, I feel his arms wrap around my neck, and he squeezes for all he’s worth. I breathe in his hair and kiss his forehead. I celebrate every single hug, because I know some day he won’t think it’s cool to hug Mommy anymore. I get all of the hugs I can get, not just because he is mine, but because every hug reassures my faith that happiness IS ALLOWED. We can BE HAPPY in this life, even though the world tells us it’s impossible. 

He says, “Are you happy, Mommy?” “Yes, baby, I’m happy. You are my happy.” He has no idea of the ledge he has pulled me off of, nor will he ever know, because that is too much pressure for anyone (ask David, Senior Ledge Puller). When the questions outsize the answers, my boys are my reminder that Jesus is the Answer, and He carries us all…

I am happy. I really am. And someday (soon, I’m sure) I will allow myself to throw my head back and laugh, and be as carefree as I used to be—as carefree as my beautiful son is—and I will re-embrace the joy that can only be found in dropping the baggage brought on by fear and disappointment. Someday, carefree will come easily to me.

Until then, I will watch it be a lifestyle for my son, and I will do everything in my power to ensure that he stays in that carefree lifestyle as long as possible…

Even if that means looking like a spastic Michelin Man in my living room.

Just an Update...

I am overdue for a catch-up on this thing. It’s been over a month, and what a month it has been…

Halfway through the month of December, I had to stop my thyroid replacement medications (TRH) in order to prepare for the scheduled radiation tracer/whole body scan that was scheduled at Siteman on 1/8/16. You have to stop your meds for 2 weeks, because the meds suppress your Thyroid Stimulating Hormone (TSH) and your thyroglobulin levels (cancer/tumor markers), and your labs need to reflect your true levels. I’ve said before that thyroid cancer will not kill you (it’s true—it’s slow-growing, totally not aggressive—usually—and is easy to treat. You just remove the thyroid and do a simple round of radiation). Nope—the cancer won’t kill you. Getting the thyroid medications regulated, however, just might, as it can make you lose your damn mind. Once you’ve got it regulated, then you’re cooking with peanut oil…but it takes a really long time to do that, and it can change out of nowhere (weight gain/loss, solar flare, mercury in retrograde, etc…I’m kidding. Sort of.). So, we think we have my dosage sort of regulated…maybe…

That being said, I’ve fired my treating endocrinologist, because either she or her staff failed to communicate the correct dosage of my TRH to my pharmacy, and I wound up borderline-suicidal in a church parking lot, while my poor husband contemplating having my @$$ locked in the funny farm. It was a disaster. I transferred care to the Center for Advanced Medicine at Barnes (since all of my other doctors are at Siteman/CAM), and had my first appointment with the new doc this week. We’ll see how it goes; he seemed nice enough, but basically said I'm condemned to utter fatness for the next 6 months, and to stop beating myself up over it. I say "whatevs" to the skinny man...blah.

Anyways, back to December: I had to go off of the meds for almost 3 weeks. I had no idea what I was in for. The hormones your thyroid produces (and that the synthetic TRH tries to duplicate) affect Every. Single. Cell. of your body (http://www.bastyr.edu/news/health-tips/2012/04/what-your-thyroid-and-what-does-it-do).  Every one of them. When you have your thyroid unceremoniously removed (without notice or true explanation), or when you stop your TRH, your cells FREAK THE HECK OUT and you go into a horrific tailspin of exhaustion/psychosis/stupidity that is truly unprecedented. No one can prepare you or your family for the trainwreck you will become; you get super-emotional, you start gaining weight like a manatee (#15 in 2 weeks!!!), you can’t stay warm, and you don’t have enough sense to adequately explain what is happening to you, so your family just thinks you’re being a giant douchebag.You forget things, you have (-) energy, and your brain function declines into something resembling Silly Putty.

It sucks.

That was my Christmas.

And then the floods came. 

JD and I were staying at my parents’ house, which was supposed to be a time of rest for me. However, their basement flooded, and they had to unpleasant task of keeping the water at bay. JD had to be corralled into the largest room of their house, and I had to chase him more than I physically could…and THEN the highways closed, so David couldn’t come get us until New Year’s Eve. We were all exhausted, JD was out of his routine (and acting out), and my “break” wound up being incredibly stressful for ALL of us. Honestly, it was just a total comedy of errors that was further complicated by nature…I’m grateful to my family for letting us stay with them, and for as much help as they were able to give with JD when I wasn’t able to manage him at times during the day…but it was definitely difficult.  By the time we were finally back home, my bed never felt so good (and I really didn’t want to crawl out).  I still had to go back to work for 1 week without my thyroid meds; by the time the week ended, I was only able to work a half-day before coming home and sleeping it off for a few hours. BRUTAL.

On Friday, 1/8, David and I headed to Barnes for my baseline scan (I’d had a radioactive tracer two days before). The scan took about 90 minutes, and afterwards, we headed to Siteman to get the interpretation. I already had my lab results, so I knew my tumor markers were up, and that my cancer was back. I was totally prepared to deal with that—you take a dose of radiation, you start your thyroid meds back up the next day, and all is well for 6 months. Except….

That didn’t happen.

My scan was negative.

According to the Radiation Oncologist, because my labs show that I have cancer, but my scan can’t find it. They believe the cancer cells are now “smart” cells, and no longer uptake the tracer radiation/treating radiation, so the next move is to have a PET scan at the end of this month. I really don’t like that idea; to me, PET scans tell you a lot of stuff that you don’t necessarily WANT to know…I realize that I’m being ridiculous about it, but in my gut, that’s one test that I’ve never been a fan of. It’s the equivalent of someone asking you, “How are you?” and instead of you answering with “Fine, and you?” you instead word-vomit on them with everything they ever wanted to know about you, your day, your ancestry, and your Instagram of what you had for breakfast. It’s too much information, and more about myself than I really want to know.

I told you I was being ridiculous about it.  It really is the best kind of scan for what I’m dealing with (which is NOTHING. Slow-moving, non-aggressive cancer that really should be called something else.). It’s just super-invasive to me, and something I’m not looking forward to.

I’m disappointed, kind of scared, frustrated at the lack of time/money, time off of work. Driving to-and-from Barnes is an exercise in anxiety-management for me, dragging my family into this for care of myself and/or my son is a pain, blah, blah, blah, blah…It’s stupid. I’m totally not cool with what’s going on right now. I’m resigned to it, but I’m not cool with it. My biggest frustration is the nagging question of “why” that I’m struggling NOT to ask God, but I find myself asking in the wee hours…Like, why are we dealing with this (after all we’ve been through, do we not have enough “credit” to get a “pass” of some sort?!?”)? Why can’t we just hit our “Easy” button? Do we get an “Easy” button? Did we piss God off some way, that He’s hitting that “smite” button? Are we cursed? People must think we’re cursed at this point…or just, like, really, really bad sinners, that we’re dealing with this kind of judgement on our lives…

I am ridiculous.

As soon as these questions flash through my brain, I smack them down. They’re gnats from the enemy, annoyances that attempt to embed in my heart and my brain, to take down my spiritual life. I see them for what they are, and I try not to give those thoughts the time of day. They only lead to pain in my heart, and they’re ultimately pointless. I want His will, and I want to lean on Him. I want my husband and family to lean on Him. I trust Him, even when I’m not seeing Him clearly, which I’m not right now.

He knows what He’s doing, even when I feel ultimately perplexed. This is a season, and it will all be clear at some point. He lets me know through random things that He’s here, and He’s listening; that He has a point, and that He loves me ferociously. That’s what I can focus on. A lot of people are going through a LOT worse, a lot harder, and I really have nothing to whine about. It’s the aggravation more than the physical issues that I’m struggling with; I know SO many people that are dealing with BOTH, and my heart goes out to them. They are far more deserving of prayers, meals, hugs, etc., than David & I are, because we are not dealing with a severe issue here.  My TRH is regulated, and as long as I stay on it, I’m good. I’m back on it now, so my life is fine, even with the PET scan looming at the end of this month.

We’re good. We’re fine; JD is getting back into the swing of things, and after a week of being a Tiny Tyrant, he looks like he grew 3” and has finally calmed down. We are well, we will continue to be well, and we are thankful for the health care providers that are in communication and are managing my issues.

That’s my update…Now, if only I could nap….a lot…