Joy Is Found In Suffering

I had this originally titled “The Joy is In the Suffering” and turned up an eyebrow. I do not believe any human alive now or ever before has been elated during intense and genuine suffering. The kind that kicks you in the gut and doesn’t wait to throw the next punch. “Suffering” by definition, means that you are in a state of great trouble, a conscious enduring of pain or distress. In itself this is obviously the opposing view of joy.

Let’s talk about this “Joy”. It is there as a chronic, not acute diagnosis of sorts. Through every phone call to insurance companies, doctors’ office, state workers and so on there is not tangible evidence to see it with weary eyes, much less abide in it. But after the monopoly of all it takes to get through a day with your loved one who is atypical, when you look upon their face and into their eyes, it lingers there for you to find. I believe what swells inside you after every other feeling is gone, is joy. Even for the most unwilling heart. For the most put out from all the worlds sharp arrows. It is found in the suffering.

For me, through each intensive care stay or medical trial and procedure, God validates my suffering with reminders of each subtle moment we have made it through. Each success my child had, as well as the losses. His life exudes joy in spite of the suffering. Tribulations don’t get to win. How refreshing that joy is not fleeting. It is instead, pure, beautiful, true and alive. Able to sustain. Able to remain.

Joy lives within my spirit now. It comforts me, reminding me things that are temporal hold no light or weight to the everlasting. Come to think of it, the story of life changes with the assignment we give it. I hope to, in all ways, acknowledge and allow joy to be a leading role.

Calling All Politicians...

So many special needs families have to don themselves with boxing gloves and a PHD to go up against the denials of insurance. My family is no different. It has always baffled me as to who exactly makes these decisions with “real” discretion. Should I give this child more colostomy bags, no! Denied. Would an extra feeding pump bag be too much, why yes it would! Denied. Like, are we going to the black market with these things? What do they think? Children are getting the bare minimum with medical supplies and families are still having to pay out of pocket for many required items. It seems ridiculous in a country where you can get Viagra at the drop of a hat, that a child with multiple medical fragilities would have to plead to get anything!

Whose ear do we need to tickle? Whose yard needs to be picketed? Oh, that’s right, we can’t do that because we have to care for our children who require a bit more. Can’t just pack ‘em up in the car to go be a hungry advocate. And even if we could, there’s still the issue of being immuno-compromised. I suppose my blog is the sword for us and others right now.

So Andy Brashear, Andy Barr, Mitch, Cherlyn and so on… this is for you!

Take on the good fight guys. We need you.

Call me.

Life and it's lessons

I read something today that really hit on a different level. It was an article written addressed to someone watching another in their midst of suffering. Specific people were referenced from various places and times historically, regarding the extreme circumstances or challenges they faced. There were several points made in this article, but my takeaway to share with you today was this. What if those said persons had never had to go through that valley of suffering? Who knows the greatness that could have been lost but instead was added to their character. Would it have developed like it did?

I loved all of it, even though it was quite a pill.

This week I had to comfort my adult child as she cried about the unfairness of bills, work and school. Life’s balancing act that comes with no manual. I wanted nothing more than to pull her on out of that place of frustration. Pay for it all and make it not so heavy. I won’t though. See, this is where life leans in to see what you are made of. This is where you discover all about life in its professor hat and teaching notebook. This is just all part of it. If I rescue her from it now, she will not learn the lesson laid before her that would lead to personal growth during future trials. It seems all sorts of simple but think about it. You have someone you love. If you see them fail or get in a bind the first thing (at least for me) is to want to do whatever I can to remedy the problem. But here’s the thing, we aren’t really supposed to always be a lifeline. Hear me. There are circumstances and events that require a different way of thinking here. I am talking about the spirit we have of needing to be the hero of the day. The act that can often really be prideful and not useful for any learning.

We have to capture our thoughts each day and decide where to put them and what to do with them. We have to listen to the soft voice that whispers to us to let us know if this is not to be your battle, friend. Some battles require a casserole and a hug. Some battles require hard core prayer. Some battles require your literal presence. But not all of them require you being an interventionalist. We should absolutely be a shoulder, We should offer love and prayer. We should be a sincere source of friendship. But it is not always a battle you were meant to suit up for. Life’s intriguing way of placing the warrior where it wants it, is purposeful. Growth comes through learning. Learning comes from experience. We need to be able to be still and encourage sometimes from the sidelines. And man, that is really tricky. I know of folks that if they had just been pushed to face their own storm for a minute, would be able to fair all the other weather much easier. Instead, someone came in and plucked them out of it and their life has been underdeveloped emotionally, spiritually and relationally ever since.

Having a child out of the house is another level of stressful because like I said, you have to find that balance of “sink or swim”. I hope that I can always be able to decipher when I need to throw out the life coat or just remind that loved one that they know how to swim. Maybe you can have a different perspective on being a rescue boat from reading this. I bet there are lots of time in your own walk you can recall specific moments that helped mold you. Someone was likely in the background on their knees praying, but it’s a good thing they didn’t interrupt those divine lessons.

The -TSD's

We are all so immensely thankful to be home and resume some form of normalcy. To make plans and get outside of the house. The ability to take a big breath in, hold it with my eyes closed, and end by exhaling gratitude as all the heavy leaves my body. It is intentional that I think upon these things. I do not want to become one who neglects the blessings. There is a tug of war that awaits with other thoughts to dominate ones heart. I know too well the other end of that spectrum.

The monster.

A battle between grief and fear that encapsulates you. It sneakily enters with flash backs. Haunts you with the worst of memories. Next it sets itself up to hit replay and traps you in a time warp, which moves right into an emotional loop. It cages you there. And the worst part is, you never know when it is coming. I am talking about PTSD, and in my arena, I am specifically referring to the medical side. There is another form of this which is more relevant to us specifically, you may or may not have heard of. We call it CTSD, a relative to the latter, only referring to chronic traumatic stress disorder. When it is ongoing, we say “chronic”. There are post/past traumas we relive as well but knowing that the ball could drop again at any moment can seize you in custody of this trauma monster. It is unforgiving and relentless. Cruel. You can’t pill this thing away. You simply have to go through the fog until the fog clears. And boy is that an overly simplistic way of putting it.

Sadly, there aren’t many specialists trained in this area. (I have been harping at every politician that will endure me about making this more accessible.)

In reference to my own sanity, to protect my heart, I try my best to prevent its entering by flooding my thoughts with thanksgiving. Because I am thankful, so humbly thankful. Beyond thankful. I do not want to be robbed of that. Sadly, that is the nature of the beast. If you know someone who you think may be experiencing their time in the fog, I say love on them. Remind them that fear is a liar. Make them take that big breath and blow all that ugly on out with them. Hug them tight. Fill their minds with reassurance. That could perhaps disconnect them from the hamster wheel. Be present, because they aren’t, and that can be scary place to have run out of gas.

Please do not hear my saying I know all about escaping this thing. Like I have said before, somedays the smallest smell can act as a trigger. But there are other days one might be able to unclench their fists and jaw. I have. My hope is, if you are struggling today, that you feel validated in your frustration. If you need something to take your mind out of the hole of lost thoughts, that you could try to be intentional in gratitude for life, or life of your loved one/ones. Say it out loud if you want. Hell, scream it. And I am here if you need someone. We all need someone. And we all need these reminders. Trauma takes hostages. If you aren’t fighting the monster, then be the bullhorn, friend.

The gift

Most of you know that our family has been through a valley as of late. There have been moments of anger, solitude and grief. But there have also been moments of joy, peace and encouragement. They don’t necessarily cancel each other out, but rather, foster a balance that is delicately needed for sanity’s sake.

Since G got discharged from the hospital, I have felt compelled more than ever to make each day count. I want to do something, even in the quiet of our home to escape the constant rush of life and headaches that come from turning on the TV (or any social media outlet for that matter). You have probably seen my posts. Some might think I have gone too extreme with making a big deal out of each day. That’s ok. I do not share to influence one way or the other. I share because it is cathartic. I share because we are all in this thing called life together. And life, is a gift. It is inspiring to watch. It is amazing to grasp. I pray you come to understand the magnitude of this fully. I hope that I do not take life for granted anymore. I want my children to look at each day with humility and gratitude as I vow to. May God be in our healing. Healing from our business and distractions. Wouldn’t it be something if we all could become so full of reassurance and hope for tomorrow that it would just spill out all over the place?!

What a difference just a week can make.

From the depths of absolute desperation to rejoicing.

ICU Musings

Finding words to write how I am feeling currently would prove to be inadequate. There are so many variables of anger, helplessness and even hopelessness. Anger that the virus invaded our lives again this time with a category 6 storm wave. Helpless as I watch my innocent child work to breathe with machines running full throttle and dread amongst all those in the room. And lastly the hopelessness one feels when they think God has abandoned their cries.

Hard.

Then there’s all the other medical PTSD that follows from past hospitalizations. The smells that trigger deep anxieties. The machine sounds that remind you of babies who passed away in the bay next to your child. The coffee that is warming yet chilling as it hits you in the gut with replays of surgeons and nurses rushing to your child bedside, pulling a curtain and pushing you out. The returning uncertainty is absolutely paralyzing. I am a ball of numb. Yesterday, as I gazed into the eyes of my son, I prayed with every fiber of my being that the love I had inside me somehow was flowing through that look right into his fears and melting them away. As I am trying to remove the pains for him, I am desperately crying/screaming on the inside for someone to hear my own.

Tonight, I write as a means to free some of my insanity through the keyboard. My heart is fat as a tick fixing to burst with all of this mounting second by second. My eyes are swollen and sunken. This hair is unwashed, and for more days that I would like to share. I refuse to leave the room for a simple shower, even though it is long overdue. My faith is in a crisis one minute and the next repentant in fear of upsetting the Lord more. This is the playground I am on this week. Or rollercoaster. Or battlefield?

Like I said, hard.

Autumn

Fall in the bluegrass is a whole lot of wow. The depth of color, variety and dimensions of the wild plants and tall trees has an indescribable beauty. Majesty. I admire the creator’s work even more so when I take in all that fall brings. The cool air that smells like a big hug, the sunsets that blast the sky with unrivaled artwork.

Some see that in this season all things are dying, which technically is accurate.

But I would like to look at it all a bit differently, of course.

My marigolds are so tall and full of vibrance even after the first frost. Lovely on many levels. Though some of the petals are turning a slight brown, there is no denying the impact every little flowering head has made. Defying the winds. It accepts what is, but in a more welcoming way than defiant. I wish my outlook on life’s hard things could be just as graceful. Often times I am quick to die off emotionally at the first wink of anxiety. I isolate in times of criticism or fear.

How I admire the stance of my flower. So proud, righteously so.

Ever giving those big ole bees pollen and filling my garden with all types of buggy life.

This platitude prompts me to new perspective. One that understands winter lies ahead (for the plants) in the same way hardships are always around the bend in our evolving and enter twining lives. We already know what to anticipate and even harvest with our outdoor friends, but do we prime our hearts and minds readily for life’s next storm? Everything is working together. Blooming. Giving abundantly. Growing, changing and then dying. Each season has its own “amazing” and its own “yuck”. Just like our lives mirror different seasons we go through as well. May we be patient, bold and enduring just like my sweet ole marigolds. I wonder if I am the only one that looks at it this way?

When is it too much and when is it not enough?

I have struggled with this for years as many others I know have as well. We either throw our hands up in despair unsure how to engage or come in helicopter style to intervene for whatever is ailing our children. This doesn’t stop just because your child hits a certain milestone or age. I can attest to this with having 2 out of the house now. Mom still needs to be able to know and do everything while at the same time allow them to make their own way through life. It is honestly an impossible situation. You make yourself crazy thinking “am I doing enough”, versus “am I enabling”.

If only we didn’t pick ourselves apart when it came to our parenting.

If only we gave ourselves the grace, we offer to them and others.

There will never be an exact or even poetical answer. You can only do your best. And that is what you teach those kids to do as well. Life is the best teacher regardless of all our preaching. Tonight, I will make myself believe this sentiment as I worry about the constant evolving issues that surround all 3 of my kids (in completely different hemispheres). There really is no rest for the weary ya’ll.

What issues do you wrestle with?

Becoming more aware

The truth that we all as special needs parents continue to preach is awareness. In case you were not sure why, let me shine some light all over that for ya. Awareness (for any issue) brings about change, which is of utmost importance. In return, this promotes talking and education, encourages questions, pushes providers to watch and learn new ways to help, increases research and empathy, and the key piece is when actual tangible tools are implemented in equipment design change and accessibility to activities that typical functioning folk completely take for granted. Let me elaborate more.

There are those out there who have for many years screamed from the rooftop about handicap accessibility and the lack thereof. For those of us who do not deal with this on an in and out basis every day, we just smile and pretend to understand. But enough. There isn’t the magnitude of care flowing behind that “bless your heart” attitude.

I am sure for the most of you, at some point in time you have visited a beach. It is meant to be relaxing. It is a place of reflection, a time to take in the awesomeness our creator made and a place to breathe deeply without allowing worries to enter our mind. It is peaceful and sunny. You wait in anticipation for the date to come. Well, imagine not being able to go out onto the beach because of the sand. You can’t roll wheelchairs onto most. Did you know that? Have you ever thought about toting oxygen onto a hot beach so you can actually breathe? Not as easy as you think. And trust me from doctors to friends alike, it seems like the consensus is, well it can be done. Um yeah it can, but not without extreme difficulty. HOW RELAXING IS THAT?

Let’s stop being dismissive. Let’s think about ways to help or advocate for changes to be made. Put yourself in the shoes (or chair) of a child. Close your eyes, can you breathe deeply? Imagine not being able to without attachments to your face and heavy equipment. How far would you go to get an ear to hear? What would you do? How loud would you scream for an audience?

Let’s face it, you have to be an athlete of a parent to be able to do this without Advil. And tears. Where can we get an Amen? Let’s step it up friends. Everyone can be more aware. We need CHANGE.

Dismiss

It’s so easy to dismiss. That’s why we are all guilty. Whether it’s something your kid has said for the hundredth time, a conversation with someone who only seems to play repeat on the same ole issue, or just complacency you’ve developed towards life and all its drama in general.

Today I want to discuss acknowledgment. In the event your child recognizes this behavior then you have hurt their feelings. If you can’t set boundaries, help your friend/family by being empathetic or just listening with intent, then you are becoming callous. And if you have succumbed to the fact that “dismissal” destination regards all things life, then your heart needs some jumpstarting. The typical every day exhaustions are the dismissals we should work on. What we allow dismissal to engage will then begin to spill over.

I do not ever want someone to think that I do not hear them. Really see them. Believe their hurts and worries. Praise alongside when they are joyful. Because my darlin, I need that. I long to be heard. Seen. Validated in ways. Not kicked down when I am at a peaceful place.

Our words matter, as do our actions. Realize that in order to be on the positive receiving end we must be willing to give genuinely in return. Give your love, not your dismissal. Give your time, not just your posture. The most amazing thing will happen. Your bitter heart will change. Then you can spill that out onto others in the most beautiful of ways.

Let’s let dismissal have its place. School recess and end of day bellringing. Not in our daily walk, spoken or not, exposing our voice to the world.

Storms

Well, if this hasn’t just been the week of fails for me. I have shrunk clothes, made huge messes, and had absolutely bad behavior with my tone, actions and mouth. I have overspent, and very sourly flopped in my attempt at making something new. Then there was the afternoon I ripped my child’s shorts plum down the butt crack after helping him pee in a bottle following the bank drive through (don’t judge me). And honey, that is just to name a few of the outtakes. The duster thingy flew off the handle like a hundred times while I was finally attempting to remove the dust from our living room, making a fun chore even more exciting. Was the ladder level when I attempted to stand on it, you can only guess. Did I almost run out of gas, well of course. Did I punch myself in the face while pulling at something too hard, um yeah. And to top it off, I am left wondering tonight why the dishwasher sounds the way it does and why my stupid washing machine is begging for a self-clean after just 2 loads of my college kids clothing. Crying you ask, yes indeed.

I know I have had worse days, like all those years ago when we lived in the hospital. When we were barely able to feed our kids while choosing what bill got paid and what didn’t. So quite frankly, it bugs me when the small things get to me so much. Maybe, freedom begins in understanding that there is no difference when you have unhealed trauma. I was told years ago that if you aren’t going through a storm right now, then you are either just getting out of one, or headed into one. Storms, or those metaphors that encompass our emotions, can’t and don’t last forever, so at least there’s that. And I have not seen nor heard, one lightening bolt or thunder clap that I contemplated so deeply about the “why” of its depth or lack thereof. Comparing trials and storms is not what you do. You just need to remember to carry an umbrella over your head or over your heart. Does that make sense?

I wish that there was a happy, tidy little ending here. Sometimes, there just ain’t. That’s it. Life just keeps on rolling along whether you learn the lesson or not. Whether you absorb the good or the bad from what just happened. Whether you get soaked in the rain or fall flat on your butt, it would be wise to know and accept that it is part of the process. One must not condemn themselves to stay on the floor or hide from the hard.

Hi

I have been in quiet mode for a time now. I would like to say that during my absence I figured it all out and got it together. But this isn’t a comedy blog. So much heavy has happened. When I put the pen down, it was during a time of something similar to peace, when you just need to allow yourself to breathe and heal. A season or so later, the hard stuff came in like a flood and my pen seemed too heavy then. But today, it feels cathartic to just type. It is 3:23 a.m., so of course.

I could tell you all about my older kids and all those lovely new challenges they have thrown at us. I could tell you about the friendships that have faded, or the new ones gained. I could tell you we bought a house or about switching our son’s specialists which has brought more procedures and new medications. I could tell you lots of stories from this past year, but I think all this is about tonight, or I should say this morning, is just to say hello again.

So hey guys. I’m back.

How do I know where the line is?

I discussed this issue in depth with another mother around 5 years ago. Her daughter lives on a vent 24/7. Some would say “what quality of life is that?” So, where do you think the line should be drawn, friend? That is some big heavy. That is some thick, real, hard talk. People who say such things, don’t understand.

The sad part is that we are the creators of said “imaginary line”.

The hard part comes when you begin blaming yourself or shaming yourself for the what if’s and what not’s. Did I do enough? Did I do too much? Why did I push too hard? Why wasn’t I pushing harder? I did this all afternoon today. It is relentless torture, trying to define this line.

Regardless of other folks opinions on quality of life, love is why we drive ourselves crazy looking for the best means of care. Love is the driver. Love is the cause. Love is in the tears and the hugs, even when you can’t give another ounce of effort. The harder days. The moments when we are so emotionally frail. The fact that we are trying, doing our best, pushing every limit, that is love. Lines, my friend, are simply irrelevant.

We love our kids. Some can’t hear. Some need assisted breathing. Some need wheelchairs and feeding tubes. Some need an extra pill, or extra time and attention. And that’s ok.

Nobody has the same “line”.

After harshly beating myself up mentally today, when I looked into the eyes of my child, there was a deep, rich, indescribable “thank you” that echoed back from his. In that moment, I was content with all my efforts. His life is worth far more than anything could practically define with words.

Creating lines that are imaginary just takes more work. I know you and I certainly could use less, not more of that.

Valentine

For those one who enter our homes to allow respite, despite needing their own - Happy Valentine’s Day

To the siblings sitting quietly waiting their turn - Happy Valentine’s Day

To the couple stretched thin. Husband seeking a hand to hold and wife waiting for a nod of appreciation - Happy Valentine’s Day

To the ones we care for every day that sincerely make us better people - Happy Valentine’s Day

To the ones missing loved ones, still isolating, mourning or sick - Happy Valentine’s Day

We all deserve a day to receive love. A day to just sit in it, Absorb it. Allow it to simmer and swell up inside our hearts. And after that, pour out onto and into others.

Happy Valentine’s Day.

Enoughs, Botox and Boxing

We are three months out. Just three months and the botox has stopped working.

You may have experienced this to some degree. The highs and the lows. The “fix” you have been waiting for. Subconsciously knowing the ball would drop at some point. I was so positive and absolute about this just being the cure, even though logically everybody knows botox is never a permanent fixture.

G’s belly has been riding the struggle bus for over three years now. It levels me to see him begin to hurt again. I want to scream, cry, and just withdraw within myself. This is out of my pay grade and it makes me mad! The only fix to his issue is surgical intervention. Again. Even if we went the botox route like before. “Even if” has been rigorously explored as well, trust me.

Where’s the easy button?

There is never an easy anything in the life of a special needs parent. We fight constantly for services, therapists, supplies, and so on. We fight knowing that tomorrow, the gloves go right back on. Most days, we annihilate whatever comes in our direction, simultaneously making dinner and doing laundry. Then there are the days that the gloves just aren’t enough. Our arms grow heavy. The hits that are lined up really do real damage, and they seem to have an unhealthy endurance. The battle is emotional, not just external.

Some battles extend beyond our reach, and those are the ones that are most difficult to manage. The concept of acceptance and understanding of an unfair diagnosis. Not easy. The reality that mortality is always whispering “when & what if” in our ears. Not easy. Those days I feel the defeating blows. Those days are frankly, just hard. Not easy.

When your love outweighs all the rest, it seems like that should be enough.

When your efforts outshine every other thing in your life, that should be enough.

I write this in knowing I am not alone. Many have described far harder journeys. We hold each other up by means of prayers and encouraging posts or thoughts. We know that the ring will present with a new contender after the current battle is won. Some rounds seem longer than others. Different impacts, different directions.

However, the aches that our hearts feel are minuscule compared to the triumphs and joys we are privy to witness in the lives of our children. So we always get back up. The “Rocky’s” of special needs parenting. Accepting no defeat, even if growing weary, beat down or blurry eyed from tears.

Botox won’t be the cure today.

He needs me, despite myself.

So, gloves up…

Resolute

Someone asked me what my new year resolutions were.

I do not make any.

I am simply going to be determined to set goals and hit them them. Repeat. I used to be a runner (well jogger because I am barely above turtle pace, but don’t judge me). I would like to get my COVID body off the couch and back on the sidewalk. I would like to change up some things on my website maybe, and figure out new ways to help others. See, these things aren’t resolutions.

What about you?

Sometimes when resolutions are set and they are hard to attain, we kick ourselves and think that no level of whatever it is we were trying for is reachable. This is a lie. We should of course set standards, but you know your breaking point. Prove to yourself you can hit the first mark and then keep going. Whatever pace you like (like my running, turtle speed is still moving forward…).

What I am really trying to push is to value yourself more this year. The things close to your heart that you have neglected or given up on. Broadly pushing “self care”. I have preached this for years and am just as guilty as the next person for rolling my eyes and laughing at the concept. But like my intentions with the above, maybe starting small and simple can help reboot this area of life currently lined with cobwebs.

Step one: be kind to YOU.

It is easy to scream from the mountains about being kind to others. You can only show love if you have some inside yourself though. If your cup is empty in any way then it can’t be poured from. So I say, be resolute to sleep and not feel guilty. Eat a cupcake without getting on a scale. Binge a TV show without feeling like a couch potato. Just don’t stay there. Everything in life should be set in moderation. We get that wrong too and people turn into fitness nuts full of judgement or the other end becoming super unhealthy or shameful. Alcohol, drugs, on and on. Could it be because we are trying to cure ourselves of something rather than give ourselves grace? Could it be because we just have had our perspective skewed? Most people are full of unhealed hurts and their own bodies become the punching bag. They never did and still haven’t really loved themselves. I say this is the year to try. I say this is the year to heal. Find peace.

Resolute means admirable purposeful, determined and unwavering..

Resolution means a firm decision or the “quality” of being resolute.

So make your resolute evolve in to a resolution. And make it personal. That may be painful, and you may need to intentionally seek help. Do it.

You can not glow from the inside out if your wick ain’t lit. - me

Last blog for 2020

I wanted to write a blow out blog to end 2020 with. As it stands, even getting a blog out there is a goal accomplished these days, so that notion is null.

It seems inconsiderate to suggest anyone work on anything or create resolutions and such based on the current standings in our world. How, since we have all been in survival mode, can this be my promo? Just getting by has been the name of the game and it is an ongoing idea that will and should spill over to the next year.

How then do we provoke each other to get ready for the next chapter? To not sink upon the thought but relish in the possibility? Until the “survival” button has been turned off and we can again get up from our seats, what is the best answer?

In rehashing the ugly from 2020, I do believe our generation is set to be able to offer much to the one to come. We have all been privy if not a part of, isolation, sickness, political malintent, job loss and anger. Being that we are still riding in the boat of ‘Rona, it may seem unthoughtful to tell everyone to learn from it and offer profound insights. One day we will though, friends.

So to you for 2021, I simply wish new and better days to come. I wish hope and grace fill your home. I wish for our hearts to become grateful for the good and even better having learned from the bad.

Simple.

Simple may come as a term some would think of as “not special or interesting”. For my thoughts today I would like to view simple in another adjective term as, “plain, and uncomplicated”. This word finds it’s place in my mind tonight as I ponder the upcoming holiday.

We never consider simple as good anymore. Everything must be magnificent and grand. Even Christmas. Though lots of factors had to come to play perfectly for our first Christmas to occur, all in all, while Mary held her son, it was a simple moment. She wasn’t surrounded by a grand parade or doctors or even family members in another room with balloons. No. It was her, Joseph, some animals and a bunch of strangers, probably smelly. Let’s not forget where she was. In hay and dirt. I wonder what the weather was like that night as the angels sang. I wonder what the surrounding houses heard. Regardless, that night was filled with one basic and simple tone, and that was “joy”.

I look at our tree and our gifts and am so excited to get to see my children’s smiles come Christmas morning. I am bursting inside with gratitude for the return of our health. With each heart beat of happiness, I am reminded of the reason we are all in tune with one another to celebrate such a day this coming week. It is because it bonds us all in joy.

Whether you know the child born in the manger that night or not, you are still touched by this time of year. The kindness glows in people. The generosity. Just go watch some of the crazy light shows folks have done their houses in and try not to smile. Joy is beyond a Webster’s definition. It is simple. It is transcending, unfathomable. From above…

It certainly will not be a normal event this week. Zoom time for lots. Others in quarantine and isolation. Let us cherish it on an even deeper level with that realization. Our love goes out to those who are not feeling that touch of light from years passed, or have suffered much and do not delight right now. Know that you are special and thought of in many folks hearts, even if it doesn’t feel so. I hope you remember your strength and are reminded that this time of hard won’t last forever.

Just as the star shone on that dark night to announce to the world a beautiful message, may you find the simplicity of the wonder this holiday.

From the Amos home to you,

Merry Christmas. Merry, Merry Christmas friends. May it be simple and full of joy.

'Rona Recovery

Such a long recovery.

I am thankful to be one who did. Recover, that is. Thankful my loved ones were able to do so as well. Hurting for those who lost the fight, as well as their families during this holiday season.

I had typed up this little bit all about online shopping during our days quarantined. After deliberation, resolved that it could appear disingenuous considering those mentioned above, and those who have lost jobs or watched businesses close without another way to make money lined up. I am so grateful that our positions were not threatened, and would never want to rub that in to hurt someone unintentionally. So who cares what silly stuff I found online. The rest of the world is doing the same thing.

Briefing you genuinely about our little nuthouse goes as such:

G is still taking longer to get back to normal, but his spirits are high. Early on, all he could do was hold an IPAD and cry with body aches and fever. I know if he won’t get off the couch, he must feel bad. That kid does not like to be down. His strength has always been evident throughout all his many viruses and procedures, surgeries and so on. I love his spirit and wish it would infect not just me, but everyone. A good infection! Anyway, eventually he was able to stand and walk around a little. We saw “Home Alone”, repeating certain spots over and over, more times than I can count. Basically our downstairs living room became our refuge for all things COVID. It served as all rooms except a bathroom. At night G got diapers so, well, maybe all rooms then. His lungs took a pretty heavy hit and he remains back on oxygen full time (for now). Super thankful for his Pulmonologist of 11 years that aided in medicine and advice over the phone for our boy. He also stood up for us in the ER which is a whole other story. Kudos to Dr. A.

The old man has a nagging cough and I think it is still nagging because he enjoys having man flu. His chest x-ray was clear. I will never understand a man with a cold. Our taste buds are still non-existent as well as our sense of smell. Despite having various different symptoms (but all with fever) we did not infect my college aged daughter who lives here amongst the germ pit. Grateful there. Maybe since she has been in college she has extra germy cells taking up all the space so they were not interested in more joining the party…who really can say? Personally, my battle was with the heavy end of fatigue. It seemed to never want to let up. Fever (and sensory loss) was how it got me down. Can I mention that I do not get down. There is some unwritten rule out there that Mom’s are not allowed to get sick. I have abided for years under this law. Stupid ‘rona just wanted to see if it could, and buddy, it did. Luckily, I have a dispensary of herbs at my fingertips, to which I am certain provided much aid and goodness to our bodies, especially during the days that food could not. Great family and friends were an even better help.

I hate that this has become the silent monster infecting wherever it pleases however it pleases. The monster that does not have a tail to cut off nor an end in sight for that matter. I rebel against it and say, COVID, you can not quench the human spirit. Like Gandolf in Lord of the Rings rebuking the darkness, “You shall not pass”. We are told by the highest power and authority that though our bodies become weary, inwardly we can be renewed.

Charging on we go. One day at a time.

It happened

I spray everything in Lysol.

I sanitize my hands to sanitize.

I have not visited a store outside of the house since March.

It still happened.

We got sick.

We are sick.

I can’t wrap my mind around it.

Why us?

Why anybody?

Since we must make due during another time of unknown, anxieties surround us. The most wonderful time of the year will forever go down in the books as the scariest.

I wish I could offer advice to you out there. The ones obsessively isolating. The ones who are adamant against any mask. To every group, I offer a simple commentary. Take it how you want.

I would say that when confronted with this topic, personally or whatever, that you should exercise your empathy button. Put the judgement one away. That is step one. Step two, if you do not think there is a higher power, reconsider. I am resting in that promise, no matter the outcome.

Stop screaming at one another.

Love.

Breathe deep.

These are options, many wish they still had and some are begging to continue to.