Thinking

One of my favorite bloggers wrote a post today:

http://www.mommasgonecity.com/2014/09/portrait-of-a-newborn/

This line specifically caught my eye:

"I find so much solace and relief in the depth of her dark grey eyes, as though I’ve been waiting my whole life to meet her and now that she is here I can finally rest."

The waiting her whole life to meet her and now she's here, she can finally rest part. Yeah. I felt so completely opposite holding Ruby. Those first weeks I would hold her and just think, "I have been waiting my whole life to meet you and now that you are finally here, real life can begin."

Life feels like it really began when Ruby arrived. My life before was like waiting around and causing mischief in a lobby, knowing something important was going to happen on the other side of that office door but not knowing what. I was bored, nervous, and waiting impatiently. As time approached, I knew to prepare myself for it (more on this another time). I knew it was going to be big. I just had no idea how big.

Since Ruby, everything in my world has become crystal-clear and sharp. The first time I held her, I knew how I felt about almost everything because I suddenly realized with startling clarity the impact it would have on her. The things I was hesitant about would have to be researched to death for me to find the appropriate opinion and emotion. I have a purpose.

Now, I have plans and a direction for my life. Our lives together. I may not always know the correct path to take but my heart pulls me forward and I am confident - for the first time my whole life - that I am here for something bigger and greater than I have ever imagined. Now that Ruby is here, I can finally get down to business doing the work God has asked me to do. I am most honored, humbled, and grateful for it.

Blessed

But listen to me. For one moment
quit being sad. Hear blessings
dropping their blossoms
around you.
-Rumi

and


When you feel a peaceful joy, that's when you are near the truth.
-Rumi


I sometimes think that had I not known such struggles and, truthfully, such deep despair in my early adulthood, I would not feel such intense joy and contentedness now. It's often fleeting moments of those wonderful feelings, but I have them. I have them and I am SO grateful.


 

20 years

It's coming up on the 20 year anniversary of the death of my best friend, Adeline. This time of year is always difficult for me, as the seasons change and winter comes one day closer. But not only that. It's hard because the day Adeline died was such a beautiful Minnesota autumn day. The sights and smells of autumn always make me think of her.

For the second time in the last couple of months, I woke in the night thinking of her. Thinking of the person she was, the friend she was to me. I think about the day she left us. I think about the loss I feel in my life, even 20 years later, because she is gone. I guess I had expected that after 20 years the void wouldn't feel so huge, that the hurt and grief wouldn't still be so strong. But it is. It took me many, many years to come to a place where the void didn't feel insurmountable every single day. Now, it is only occasionally... but even that surprises me. If this is what life has been like for me, what has it been like for her family? I hope they have been able to find peace with things better than I have.

I have been alive over twice as long as I knew Adeline. Almost 3 times as long. We were 12 when she died. Always, when I think about Adeline, I think about the girl I was then. I think about how every single facet of my life changed on the day she died. I think about how the grief of losing her has impacted every single decision I've made since. I think about how the sadness and fear crept into my life at that time and took root. How it has been so hard to let that all go...

I think about how lucky I was to get to be her friend.

Two (and a half)

My dearest Muffinmix,

I have been meaning to write you for so long now, but it has really been tough to find the words to encompass who you are at two and a half and what it is like to be your mommy. Every day your personality blooms and I find myself pausing, waiting to hear what you say next. You are clever and bright and say the most delightful, thoughtful things. You are concerned about everyone; you never want to leave anyone out or behind and your love for others is apparent in all you do. Sometimes, I have to restrain myself from worrying about you because you have an extremely tender heart and you worry and get lonesome rather easily. One evening a few weeks ago, I was putting you to bed and you snuggled up and whispered, “Mommy, I’m sad.” I asked why. “I miss Gamma Papa.” And your eyes filled with tears and your bottom lip stuck out. I reassured you that they miss you too and that we would call them the next day and we would see them soon. You were comforted by this but the very next morning you made the same comment on the way to daycare as you solemnly gazed out the window. Your love is abundant and overwhelming, I think. Even with your babies and stuffed animals, you love and comfort them. Tuck them in at night and kiss and hug them after a long day. You never want to leave one out, as you think they all have feelings. I remember doing the same as a child, and so I will never discourage you. Some people believe sensitivity is a bad, or even weak, characteristic. It isn’t, Ruby. Being sensitive is, at times, really hard but don’t ever regret it because it means you have a loving, empathetic heart. It means you feel emotions deeply and love strongly and dare greatly.

The last month or two, your knowledge and intellect have exploded. You can count to 40, know all of your ABCs, your shapes, all the days of the week, most of your colors, both bedtime and meal-time prayers… You can “read” (completely recite) several of your favorite books. You know more songs by heart than I do. In fact, you have had to teach me a few songs you have learned at daycare so that I can sing along. You are learning to color inside the lines and to draw. Last week, you drew me a puppy with a round head and when I asked where his eyes were, you drew two little circles at the top of the circle and two little loops outside the circle for the ears and a line for the mouth. I was in absolute shock! It was incredible and you were so proud of yourself. When I asked about the puppy’s legs, you looked down at yourself and examined your arms and legs but you were a bit confused as to how to add them to your picture. It was wonderfully hilarious and I will keep the puppy picture forever. At daycare yesterday, you and your classmates painted pictures. All the other kids drew their mommies or siblings or houses (even though all the pictures looked like multi-colored blobs). What did you draw? An octopus! (I wasn’t even hurt that you chose to not draw me! I was delighted that you thought “outside the box”!) Your imagination is exploding and I am so excited to see what each day brings to you.

The questions you come up with lately have been startling and pretty amazing. The select few here are some of the doozie questions you have asked me the last couple of weeks:

1. Where do dinosaurs live? (When I told you that they are extinct and asked if you knew what extinct meant, you said, “Dinosaurs are gone. But where?” !!!)
2. Where does the moon live?
3. What do elephants eat?
4. What color is my butt? (When you bent over and mooned me one Saturday morning – you were so mischievous and full of giggles!)
5. Mommy, why do you love me so much?

The last question nearly made my heart stop. I listed some of your wonderful qualities, but you became bored with it and wandered off to feed your babies. I was haunted all evening by your question, and even worse, by my answer. Would you think that if you weren’t those wonderful qualities that I wouldn’t love you? Do you think you have to be perfect for my love? I hope not. Long after you went to bed, I considered over and over a more appropriate answer. The next morning, I asked if you remembered your question from the evening before. You did. I gave you the only true answer in my heart. “Because God gave me you. God wanted me to have the most wonderful gift, so He gave me you. You are all I have ever wanted. I love you when you are good and I love you when you are naughty. I love you when you are happy and when you are crabby. I will always love you so much.” That answer gave me the biggest grin and a choking squeeze around the neck.

At 2 and ½ years old, you are game for about anything. Any suggestion I make, even the really horrible ones (help me take out garbage!) you answer with “Yeah, sure!” and eagerly lend a hand. You are always willing to help, to find, to reassure. A couple weeks ago, when we found out that Grandma Lorina was in the hospital you told me “Don’t worry, Mommy. Grandma Lorina be ok. Doctors give her medicine and she feel much better.” You reassured me several times that Grandma is going to be ok, and you were right. You have talked about Grandma Lorina every day since and ask to see photos and video of her. This makes me so happy, as I have been hoping and praying that you will have wonderful memories of her when you are grown.

You are such a well-behaved two year old, that when I write that I feel I have to knock on wood because the tables could turn at any moment. The only time you are ever uncooperative or sassy is when you haven’t had enough sleep or are hungry. A few weeks ago, we had gone to the Potato Bowl Parade and arrived home an hour after your normal lunch and naptime. You had a complete and utter meltdown once we got home. There was nothing I could do to console you. Once you had cried it out, you came to me with arms lifted for me to pick you up. I picked you up and you seamlessly curled your body around me and grabbed a piece of my hair to run through your mouth. Your tears soaked the shoulder of my shirt and your snot smeared on my neck. I snuggled you close and after we ate lunch, we had a nap in my bed, with your sturdy, tiny body curved tightly to my side. The profound sense of mommyhood hit me after you had fallen asleep. That during your meltdown, you were struggling to pull it together all by yourself. But you knew. You knew the safe place to be when you had had enough was my arms. That will always be true, Ruby. I hope you always know that I will be your safe place.

I love you… so much.

Mommy

Heaven

Early this morning, around 4:30 a.m. Ruby woke and was feeling yucky. A touch of a cold along with 2 molars breaking through had her sleeping poorly and at 4:30 she had had enough. I brought her to the kitchen so I could give her a dose of medicine and some oils to help her cough. She was still in a hazy state of sleep and semi-consciousness. Through the kitchen window I could see the slight lightening of the coming day. After I had fixed Ruby up, I picked her up off of the countertop and her body folded against my body in complete release. An arm hung heavily over each of my shoulders and her head fit perfectly against my shoulder under my cheek. She smelled clean, oily, and slightly sweet. The smell of sleep still hung on her breath and her body was warm and heavy. She was like a human blanket draped over my chest and in that moment, despite a fitful night's sleep and baby girl not feeling well, I felt complete peace.

Sometimes I wonder if that is a bit what heaven feels like. Not a laughing, silly happiness; not jumping and yelling with elation. But maybe a deeply satisfied, grateful peace. Quiet, heartfelt joy so deep you can feel it's vibrations in the tips of your fingers and toes. Peace and joy that sit in wells full of tears brimming in your eyes, just marveling at it all.

Prompt #1

Writing prompt: Write a letter to yourself 10 years ago. What do you know now, that you wished you’d known then?

________________________________

August 6, 2014

Dear 22-year-old me,

Yes, I know you are 22 years old and haven’t felt the term “girl” has applied to you in many years, but you are a girl. You have always felt old and out of place but remember that you are young and learning. Life is really tough, as you already know. There are so many hurts and trials and struggles. Sometimes, I know you feel like life isn’t worth it. But it gets better. It really, really does. It’s not a prison sentence, this life you have, although I know you sometimes feel like it is. And even though things will get better, they get hard again too. But, that is how life is. Remember to take those moments of happiness, peace, or even (God bless you) JOY and cling to them because they will get you through the next rough patch. Remember there are no constants in life—that days are fluid and can change with the inhalation of a breath, with a 2 minute phone call, with a glance. So remember this when times are hard – that it all could be over in a moment. Hold hope. Remember it, too, when times are good because that will teach you gratitude.

Heidi, you are beautiful. I know you don’t feel it, but you really are. You have a lovely, warm face and a body that will serve you well, if you serve it well. Remember to smile. Take really good care of yourself because when you feel good, you can do good. With that being said, please do not worry that the size of your jeans is in the double digits. It doesn’t matter. It truly, truly doesn’t. If you must worry at all, worry that you are cherishing your body and fueling it. Don’t abuse it. Even when you take care of your body, take care of your mind, heart, and soul too. When your insides are nourished and healthy, the outsides will shine too. Read your Bible every day. Pray, meditate, practice yoga, go for a run, eat whole foods, read a great book, laugh with your friends, spend some time outside every day. You will find these things fill up your heart and release stress. Fuel yourself with things that “fill you up” and make you grow in powerful and positive ways and drop anything and everything that drains you. You have this one short and beautiful life and you need to honor it. Hold tight to the knowledge that you are wonderful as you are, exactly in this moment. And if there’s a calling in your heart to do, be, or create better, then push for it. Because you can and will do it if you believe in yourself.

I know you get scared that maybe you are not strong enough for this life. I understand. I will tell you this: you are strong enough. You are brave enough and smart enough and good enough. Don’t let the winters of doubt cloud your mind into thinking anything differently. For some people, the struggle is all in their mind; they are their own worst enemy. You will find this out about yourself, but you can overcome it and you will. Don’t be afraid to work hard – at work, at home, in your relationships, in life. Very little that is good comes easy.

Don’t be so hard on yourself, Heidi. You are learning. Every moment is a chance to learn and do better than the moment before. Learning opportunities rarely come without the opportunities to make mistakes, so don’t be afraid. Also don't be afraid to own your mistakes. When you wrong someone, apologize and do what it takes to make it right. Apologize and make it right– even with yourself– and then move on. Holding on to hurt and shame will only serve to drown you.

Perhaps the most important thing I could tell you is to always have hope and gratitude. Keep hope in your heart always as that will serve as your life raft through hard times. Always, always remember to be grateful for your blessings, because in that gratitude you will find the key to happiness.

You are wonderful and worthy. You are intelligent and clever. You are courageous and strong. You are beautiful and unique. I believe in you so much. Go forward with the knowledge that God is with you and you can (and will) move mountains.

I love you.

Heidi, age 32

Home

Ruby came home tonight after 3 days away. Often when she comes home I feel her disconnection and distraction and even anger towards me. Tonight, I wanted to nip that negativity immediately... but it's so hard to know how. So tonight I decided to keep constant touch/interaction with her. I held her the whole time we were up and about. I talked to her and asked her to look me in the eyes. It took some prompting, but she did. Phew. One hurdle down. Putting her clothes and overnight bag away, with her propped on my hip, I told her about my weekend of cleaning the car and visiting with friends. I asked her about hers. She didn't have much to say except that she ate cereal. She wasn't too stinky, so we left the bath for tonight and I put her in her jammies and let her help with her oils. I let her pick out a few books and we spent 45 minutes snuggled in her bed, with her head resting on my shoulder and my arm around her. I could feel her melt into me. When I told her it was time for lights out, I could feel her anxiety and twitchiness begin. She needed a drink. To potty. A snack. Finally, she asked to "wock" (rock). I didn't hesitate. I picked up her and her blanket and went to the rocking chair. With all the blinds closed and no noise but the white hum of the fan, we rocked. She laid against my chest with her head resting on my shoulder and I told her how happy I am that she is home. How much I missed her. How much I love her. I asked her if she was happy to be home. She nodded her head against my shoulder and whispered "Yes." I could feel her melt back into my arms. I could feel the tension leave her body and in my mind I did everything I could to absorb any and all of the yuck in head, heart, and soul. Her arms were wrapped around my neck and her hands were twisted in a cluster of my hair at the nape of my neck. When her breathing became heavy and her fingers stopped twitching, I knew she fell into a deep enough sleep to move her. I untangled her fingers from my hair and laid her back to rest in the crook of my arm. I stared at her face for what felt like infinity. I prayed.

Sometimes it feels to me that motherhood is more emotionally... I don't want to say draining (because it's not that negative; it can be at times, but it isn't always), but maybe expensive (?), than anything. As mothers, we give our time, our attention, our efforts, our skills, our money... but none of that even comes close to what I give my daughter of my heart. While Ruby was away, I spent my weekend cleaning, cooking, doing laundry, shopping, preparing, preparing, preparing. Prepping for the week ahead. Healthy food to help her grow big and strong. Nice, clean clothes for her to wear. Clean and fresh house to make her feel comfortable at home. Organizing her toys, books, bedroom. Anything. Everything. To make her safe and secure. But all of that pales to the time and energy I took in thinking about her. Praying for her. Hoping, thinking, planning. Every thought I had about Ruby the voice in the back of my head whispered, "God, please let her have a good day." "Please let her sleep well." "Please take care of her." Please, please, please...

There is a quote floating around that says something like "Perhaps my mother wasn't so tired all the time because of the physical. Maybe she was exhausted from so much feeling." It's true. It's so true. I give Ruby everything of me. Most of the time it doesn't feel like enough.

Tonight, it felt like enough.

It feels, at this point in our journey, that the only thing that has mattered, that does matter, that may ever matter, is that I love my daughter well.