So I've been going about the business of trying to live peaceably with grief in my life. I've noticed that the problem I've been running into is that when I'm grieving, I feel depressed. Anybody who's felt depressed could tell you that it's difficult to function normally under those conditions. So it's a bad circle because if you can't function normally it's tough to live your life peaceably.
But I've been trying. I've been going through days. In this process of trying to manage under the circumstances and trying to continue on while trying to find a new acceptable normal, I've uncovered a couple of problem areas. Now they've become nagging thoughts that plauge me and give me guilt.
One is that I feel bad for my husband. Not only am I grouchy (third trimester normalcy), but I feel like I'm a pretty big downer to be around and to live with. I mean, what a deal for him. Meet a nice, joking, fun, girl; date; get engaged; get married; only to find yourself with somebody completely different a few years down the road than who you started out with. I know that I miss the old me, imagine how he feels.
The other one is that I feel bad for my children. See above: grouchy. Only add a whole slew of other things like impatient, mean, ornery, ininterested, disconnected, sluggish.. And they never had the benefit of meeting me when I felt like a nice, loving person.
The thing that eats at me probably the most about that, though, is something I read in a Catholic Mothers Online post awhile back. One thing in particular stood out to me and stuck in my memory. The author bolded the suggestion to smile at your children because the most beautiful thing to a child is his mother's smile. (Funny to have to remind a mother to do this, eh?--well it stuck with me and I've reminded myself of it many times. It's true, they do like it. They smile back.)
Well when you're going through a difficult time; situational depression, my midwife tells me; it's tough to smile at all. Even out in public with strangers and especially at home with family where you're most honest, most yourself. But I suppose my family deserves the benefit of a little effort, huh? (I try. I do try. It's just not easy and it's not what I feel like doing. I wouldn't get out of bed in the morning if I did exactly what I felt like!)
And you know those people who, when you were in school, if you were having a crummy day they'd come up to you and look at you and say, "what's wrong?" all sympathetic and caring, and they were more than an acquaintence than a friend so it was hard to appreciate their caring or sincerity? And then you'd have to say something to them to satisfy their inquiry? That always annoyed me. [BUT, at the same time I've never been one to be able to (or try really hard to) mask what I'm feeling and/or censor how it comes across on my face or in my body language. So maybe it's my own fault.]
Well now I have a certain two-year-old boy that I live with who will, at regular intervals, come up to me, place himself in my direct line of sight, then either get really close or grab my face or both, and then he smiles as big as he possibly can and do it repeatedly until I reciprocate. Talk about a subtle reality check. Ugh. Not something I feel good about. A definite sign I'm failing at smiling at my children.
So not only are there repercussions for my husband and children, the new baby and I are showing some physical signs as well. Namely, gaining way too much weight this pregnancy due to overeating and inactivity, because when I feel crummy I eat crummy and when I feel crummy I rarely take the initiative to get up and get active. Bum deal. I know that I would probably feel much better if I would suck it up, get proactive, and do the right things (eat better/normally and exercise). I do sometimes, but it's in spurts: when I feel strong vs. when I feel weak, good days vs. bad days. So, all I can do is keep trying.
I suppose that's all that can be said, huh? There will be good days and bad days, days when I feel strong and days when I feel weak, but all that I can do is keep trying. Keep going through the days, one at a time, until eventually, maybe the good days will outnumber the bad days once again.
Showing posts with label faith life. Show all posts
Showing posts with label faith life. Show all posts
Saturday, July 23, 2011
Friday, July 22, 2011
But In The Mean Time
In the mean time, though, this is where God has me. He has his reasons and I just have to live with it. (Probably because I have a lot more suffering to do before I could even come close to be fit to meet Him.)
Anyway, I know that the Lord isn't oblivious to or uncaring about how we feel or losses that we suffer. And although I do know that, yes, this is life, there are things that cause us pain and that we have to endure/suffer/learn to live with/offer up/etc., and I think it's okay (if not necessary) to acknowledge them in order to learn how to cope, to find a way to carry on, and to possibly find a little healing.
First, I'll tell you why this grief business has become such a big deal for me. Mainly because I've lost my two pillars. The two people who raised me. The two people who you have in your life that love you unconditionally, who you know will be there to support you, who want to listen to you and hear the things you have to say. The two people who know you the best and understand you not only because they've known you your whole life, but also because they are the reason you are the way you are. These are the people that you love and trust and look up to and know that you can depend on for absolutely anything.
My Mom and my Gramma.
That might seem like a weird combination, but my parents got divorced when I was somewhere between two and four years old and my brother was just a baby. After that, as a single mother, my mom relied heavily on her parents. Hence, the close relationship to my grandparents. My gramma quickly became, next to my mom, the person I was closest to. We had such a special relationship; I depended on her for a lot, even after my mom got remarried (often, especially then) and well into my own adulthood and motherhood. She was my role model. And, I see now, my mom's right-hand man in raising my siblings and me.
Some mothers and daughters don't seem to have very good or close relationships, but for my mother and me that was not the case. I was the oldest child, the only girl (until my half-sister was born twelve years later), and my mom's helper. From a young age, for better or for worse, I was often my mother's confidante. She always said I "had to grow up fast." No wonder, right? I'm not upset about any of that, it just illustrates the history and the nature of our relationship. Close.
So those were my two people and now I don't have either of them any more. I lost my mother to breast cancer two weeks before my second son was born (4 1/2 years ago). She was 48. I lost my gramma to multiple myeloma less than five years later. She was 81 and I was 28 weeks pregnant.
Losing one of your pillars is bad, but when they are both gone the emptiness that you feel in the core of your being is terrifically difficult to withstand. (It's also aggrivated by the feeling that as a young mother of a growing family I could really benefit from them telling me what to do!)
So that is why I'm feeling that these losses are personally significant and why I feel like I'm being forced to turn so much of my attention to learning how to deal with grief (and how this relates to my faith life and my relationship with God).
Anyway, I know that the Lord isn't oblivious to or uncaring about how we feel or losses that we suffer. And although I do know that, yes, this is life, there are things that cause us pain and that we have to endure/suffer/learn to live with/offer up/etc., and I think it's okay (if not necessary) to acknowledge them in order to learn how to cope, to find a way to carry on, and to possibly find a little healing.
First, I'll tell you why this grief business has become such a big deal for me. Mainly because I've lost my two pillars. The two people who raised me. The two people who you have in your life that love you unconditionally, who you know will be there to support you, who want to listen to you and hear the things you have to say. The two people who know you the best and understand you not only because they've known you your whole life, but also because they are the reason you are the way you are. These are the people that you love and trust and look up to and know that you can depend on for absolutely anything.
My Mom and my Gramma.
That might seem like a weird combination, but my parents got divorced when I was somewhere between two and four years old and my brother was just a baby. After that, as a single mother, my mom relied heavily on her parents. Hence, the close relationship to my grandparents. My gramma quickly became, next to my mom, the person I was closest to. We had such a special relationship; I depended on her for a lot, even after my mom got remarried (often, especially then) and well into my own adulthood and motherhood. She was my role model. And, I see now, my mom's right-hand man in raising my siblings and me.
Some mothers and daughters don't seem to have very good or close relationships, but for my mother and me that was not the case. I was the oldest child, the only girl (until my half-sister was born twelve years later), and my mom's helper. From a young age, for better or for worse, I was often my mother's confidante. She always said I "had to grow up fast." No wonder, right? I'm not upset about any of that, it just illustrates the history and the nature of our relationship. Close.
So those were my two people and now I don't have either of them any more. I lost my mother to breast cancer two weeks before my second son was born (4 1/2 years ago). She was 48. I lost my gramma to multiple myeloma less than five years later. She was 81 and I was 28 weeks pregnant.
Losing one of your pillars is bad, but when they are both gone the emptiness that you feel in the core of your being is terrifically difficult to withstand. (It's also aggrivated by the feeling that as a young mother of a growing family I could really benefit from them telling me what to do!)
So that is why I'm feeling that these losses are personally significant and why I feel like I'm being forced to turn so much of my attention to learning how to deal with grief (and how this relates to my faith life and my relationship with God).
Thursday, July 21, 2011
c'est la vie
Yes, that's life.
Since talking with a good friend last week I've been pondering the truth of that statement. The suffering and loss we experience in this life should be expected and, I suppose, taken with a few grains of salt. This is because, as Christians, we realize that that is just the nature of this life. And also, that ultimately we don't belong here. This is not our home, we only cause ourselves problems by being mislead into forgetting this.
I suppose it's a combination of knowing this internally and the suffering involved in living life on earth that has given me a very differnt take on death than I'm sure a lot of people have. Most of the time I'm ready to go. I'd rather be in heaven than living my life on earth. Any day. I'm ready.
That's how I feel. I think it's a good thing. But, I've been suprised at some of the looks on people's faces that I've expressed this to. Even people who go to church. Their expression and demeanor changes and suddenly looks as though I'm talking crazy talk, like I'm a real wacko, or like I'm telling them the equivalent of, "I'd like to kill myself." (Which of course I would never do for the sake of my family and for the sake of my soul. It would not make sense at all since the goal is to get to heaven.)
I think living with the feeling that you'd much rather be in heaven is the way we're all supposed to be living.
The only problem is that this causes a certain tension. Living, being stuck here, and knowing it's not where you ultimately belong, where you really want to be. That, I don't know what to do with. Accept it? Ignore it? Use it as motivation to live out your {faith and works} to the best of your ability and never be a slacker? (probably.)
Oh, God, save us. For it is certainly true that our souls will be restless until they rest in You.
Since talking with a good friend last week I've been pondering the truth of that statement. The suffering and loss we experience in this life should be expected and, I suppose, taken with a few grains of salt. This is because, as Christians, we realize that that is just the nature of this life. And also, that ultimately we don't belong here. This is not our home, we only cause ourselves problems by being mislead into forgetting this.
I suppose it's a combination of knowing this internally and the suffering involved in living life on earth that has given me a very differnt take on death than I'm sure a lot of people have. Most of the time I'm ready to go. I'd rather be in heaven than living my life on earth. Any day. I'm ready.
That's how I feel. I think it's a good thing. But, I've been suprised at some of the looks on people's faces that I've expressed this to. Even people who go to church. Their expression and demeanor changes and suddenly looks as though I'm talking crazy talk, like I'm a real wacko, or like I'm telling them the equivalent of, "I'd like to kill myself." (Which of course I would never do for the sake of my family and for the sake of my soul. It would not make sense at all since the goal is to get to heaven.)
I think living with the feeling that you'd much rather be in heaven is the way we're all supposed to be living.
The only problem is that this causes a certain tension. Living, being stuck here, and knowing it's not where you ultimately belong, where you really want to be. That, I don't know what to do with. Accept it? Ignore it? Use it as motivation to live out your {faith and works} to the best of your ability and never be a slacker? (probably.)
Oh, God, save us. For it is certainly true that our souls will be restless until they rest in You.
Thursday, July 14, 2011
Honesty Is The Best Policy
There have been some highlights, yes, and some good and positive times, too. But the sum total of my mood and outlook and affect these past months and days has been depression. Heavy, lethargic, uninterested depression. It makes mothering three energetic little boys really challenging. Yeah, and being 32 weeks pregnant (in 90-some degree weather) doesn't really do much for the energy, sunshine, and smiles department either.
So I'm quite aware of all of this, painfully, in fact. Which makes it even worse because then I feel guilty for being the biggest drag and the worst mother ever on top of feeling like that in the first place.
Rotten.
But, I've decided that it could be constructive to explore my grief here. I've done it before, so I guess there's no reason to stop now. (Other than it's a terrible topic that probably nobody would choose to or enjoy reading about...)
I've been wondering some things about grief lately. Does it ever go away? Do people who experience great loss carry the emptiness and pain with them until they themselves die? Is it possible for people who feel such pain to recover the ability to feel like their old, carefree, whole selves again?
Are these experiences of grief tools God uses: To get people to fill the void with Him? To long to leave this insufferable earth and live in peace and completeness in Heaven with Him (and the lost loved ones)? As a cross for us to carry and a means for us to participate in suffering? As an opportunity through all these things to grow in holiness? I suspect the answer to all of the above in this group is yes, but at this point, I'm not so sure how I feel about being happy for this "opportunity." Honestly, I feel pretty crappy about having this particular opportunity for suffering and growth in holiness. Right now I'm ornery about it.
So I'm quite aware of all of this, painfully, in fact. Which makes it even worse because then I feel guilty for being the biggest drag and the worst mother ever on top of feeling like that in the first place.
Rotten.
But, I've decided that it could be constructive to explore my grief here. I've done it before, so I guess there's no reason to stop now. (Other than it's a terrible topic that probably nobody would choose to or enjoy reading about...)
I've been wondering some things about grief lately. Does it ever go away? Do people who experience great loss carry the emptiness and pain with them until they themselves die? Is it possible for people who feel such pain to recover the ability to feel like their old, carefree, whole selves again?
Are these experiences of grief tools God uses: To get people to fill the void with Him? To long to leave this insufferable earth and live in peace and completeness in Heaven with Him (and the lost loved ones)? As a cross for us to carry and a means for us to participate in suffering? As an opportunity through all these things to grow in holiness? I suspect the answer to all of the above in this group is yes, but at this point, I'm not so sure how I feel about being happy for this "opportunity." Honestly, I feel pretty crappy about having this particular opportunity for suffering and growth in holiness. Right now I'm ornery about it.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
At A Loss
It was two weeks ago on Sunday that my Gramma passed away while I was sitting at her side praying for her. It was what the Church would call a "happy death." So that's good. The only problem is that now that she's gone I'm not happy about it.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
An Advent Miracle
Before Christmas I vented about feeling nuts and pressured in regards to everyone's idea of and expecation for being READY for Christmas. At the time, I was anticipating going to Confession. Due to sick children and a snowstorm, however, I missed the opportunity. I was pretty worried that I'd missed out altogether, but thankfully I was able to find another parish in the area that was offering the Sacrament several evenings the week before Christmas.
So the next day, I still had 90% of my shopping left to do and everything else was still the same, too, but I set out that evening. I left the children at home with their father and went straight to the church to be sure I wouldn't miss out again.
I was so ready and so thankful for the opportunity, and praise to God and his mercy, I was able to have a wonderful Confession and a nice time of reflection and prayer afterward. Then when I went to leave, I walked out the door and down the steps to my car to begin the shopping. All of a sudden, right in that moment, I was struck. It hit me, "Now I'm ready. Now I am ready for Christmas."
So the next day, I still had 90% of my shopping left to do and everything else was still the same, too, but I set out that evening. I left the children at home with their father and went straight to the church to be sure I wouldn't miss out again.
I was so ready and so thankful for the opportunity, and praise to God and his mercy, I was able to have a wonderful Confession and a nice time of reflection and prayer afterward. Then when I went to leave, I walked out the door and down the steps to my car to begin the shopping. All of a sudden, right in that moment, I was struck. It hit me, "Now I'm ready. Now I am ready for Christmas."
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Reminder to Myself
A couple of years ago we were expecting our parish priest over for supper and for a blessing of our house. After spending the majority of the afternoon preparing the meal I ran short on time to clean up after the children's playtime activities before he arrived. So when I went to answer the door I was hugely embarrassed about the state of our living room. Once he crossed the entryway I made a quick apology for the mess and stated that it's obvious from the state of things that this is a children's home. To which he replied, "Is there any better kind?"
Friday, October 9, 2009
The Cancer Theme Park
It's not an enjoyable place to visit. The rides stink.
And I can't help that I have this feeling like somebody's forcing us to stand in line for another go-around.
The reason is because five years ago, when I was pregnant with Little Wideawake and still living away from family, my (maternal) grandmother was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.
Really, she's been living with it for an exceptionally long time, as far as Multiple Myeloma goes. But, during this time, much like my mother, there have been ups and downs and different cycles of treatment/chemo drugs.
Recently her jaw unexpectedly broke. After a biopsy it was determined that her jaw bone was, in fact, infected with the growth, so a new round of radiation has begun.
I'm just scared that once it's over they'll say that they've run out of drugs and then it'll be another person in my life to watch go down that long, terrible, slippery slide of gradual deterioration.
I'll admit that I probably wouldn't be quite as uptight and nervous about her situation if she and I weren't as close as what we are. In fact, it's because of the relationship that we share that I've been saying for 20 years that the day she/my grandparents die is going to be a very very bad day for me.
I know I just need to loosen up and let go and let God and try trusting Him a little more, but I know it's going to happen at some point that she'll pass away and I'm just being honest about how I feel about that. I'm also terrified of reliving what we went through with my mom with my gramma. I really don't know if I could handle that and I really don't know if my grampa could either.
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One day at a time, Sweet Jesus, that's all I'm asking of you. Just give me the strength to do every day what I have to do. Yesterday's gone, Sweet Jesus, and tomorrow may never be mine. Lord, help me today, show me the way, one day at a time.
And I can't help that I have this feeling like somebody's forcing us to stand in line for another go-around.
The reason is because five years ago, when I was pregnant with Little Wideawake and still living away from family, my (maternal) grandmother was diagnosed with Multiple Myeloma.
Really, she's been living with it for an exceptionally long time, as far as Multiple Myeloma goes. But, during this time, much like my mother, there have been ups and downs and different cycles of treatment/chemo drugs.
Recently her jaw unexpectedly broke. After a biopsy it was determined that her jaw bone was, in fact, infected with the growth, so a new round of radiation has begun.
I'm just scared that once it's over they'll say that they've run out of drugs and then it'll be another person in my life to watch go down that long, terrible, slippery slide of gradual deterioration.
I'll admit that I probably wouldn't be quite as uptight and nervous about her situation if she and I weren't as close as what we are. In fact, it's because of the relationship that we share that I've been saying for 20 years that the day she/my grandparents die is going to be a very very bad day for me.
I know I just need to loosen up and let go and let God and try trusting Him a little more, but I know it's going to happen at some point that she'll pass away and I'm just being honest about how I feel about that. I'm also terrified of reliving what we went through with my mom with my gramma. I really don't know if I could handle that and I really don't know if my grampa could either.
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One day at a time, Sweet Jesus, that's all I'm asking of you. Just give me the strength to do every day what I have to do. Yesterday's gone, Sweet Jesus, and tomorrow may never be mine. Lord, help me today, show me the way, one day at a time.
Tuesday, October 6, 2009
When the Body Fails,
the spirit prevails.
It's just those of us who are left behind that are in a world of hurt. (Literally. Both meanings.)
We're nearing the three-year anniversary since my mother's death on Thanksgiving Day, November 23, 2006, and I feel as though I've just begun coming out of the paralysis of grief and despair.
The day my mother's body and spirit separated and went two separate directions was three years ago. My mother was 48 years old. The day that she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, at the age of 42, was six years prior. At the time of her diagnosis in November 2000 I was a sophomore in college living 2 1/2 hours away from home. My mother maintained that I needed to stay where I was, doing what I was doing, so I did. But the frequent trips home to be with her began and one of the first was for her mastectomy surgery. They removed one of her breasts and many lymph nodes that had also been affected. Because of the extent to which they found cancer in the area, she endured an aggressive round of chemotherapy followed by an equally ambitious cycle of radiation. She lost all of her hair and suffered all of the pain and sickness that cancer patients suffer.
Thankfully, when all of the treatment had been given and the allotted time had passed, her scans and tests all indicated that the cancer had gone into remission. Everyone was relieved, thankful, and optimistic about the future.
As time passed, Mom seemed to relax and gradually trust in her healthiness again. She continued regular checkups that continued to indicate all was well. During this time I continued my studies, got engaged, graduated from college, and got married the following week. My mom was there, she was happy, and she even had a pretty, short-ish hairstyle.
More wonderful time passed. My husband and I were still living 2 1/2 hours away, but we made frequent weekend trips home and we'd occasionally have mom (and my family) visit us as well. I conceived our first child and suffered a miscarriage. This upset my mom terribly, but she was ecstatic when we conceived again a few months later. Being that this was my mom's first grandchild to be born and because we had always been especially close, I had a great time sharing the pregnancy with her. She drove the whole way to join me in the hospital while I labored with my son; what a comfort it was to have her there.
It was early morning when my son was born into the world, so she was still at our apartment getting ready to come back. She was disappointed to have missed his birth, but she was the first visitor we had and the first to get to meet him! She stayed another day and then had to go home until a few days later when she came to stay with my husband, the baby, and me for a couple of days. It was wonderful to have her there to help me through those first days home with my new baby (and I know she loved it, too.).
At this time and in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, my mom started having a nagging, persistent, dry cough. It was noticed, treated suspiciously and with mild caution. We all encouraged her to just go in to get it checked, which she did. One week after our baby was born we learned that Mom's cancer had relapsed and that it was now in her lungs. November 2004.
God just so had it that the month before my husband was hired for a job in our home area. So the next month, December 2004, we moved home to be near family and be with my mom. (That was a grace and a blessing.)
In my mind, this is where the roller coaster begins. From then on out, for the next two years, it somewhat blurs into one big up-down, hope-destroying, faith-breaking disaster.
She opted for treatment. Chemo and radiation again (for the second time). All the sickness, baldness, tiredness, you name it. Again, months of this pass, and at the end of it things looked clear again and that it seemed to have responded to the treatment.
This time it lasted for only a few months. Cancer was again discovered the fall of 2005. This time it was in her lungs, bones, and brain. Her oncologist told her that if she opted for treatment that it might be able to buy her only a couple of months. Dissatisfied with this prognosis, she and my step-father sought out treatment at another facility. They planned a rigorous treatment schedule of yet another, different chemo drug (you can't use the same one twice) and radiation.
Again, initially, the treatments seemed to have worked to shrink the cancer and the end result showed only very minimal traces that would be watched closely since cancer treatments can continue to shrink growths after treatment has ended. We were all very hopeful and cautiously optimistic for about the next month or so.
Then, after a final check on the progress the treatment had, we received devastating news. The morning of Good Friday (2006) (How appropriate, and after being in agony all the night before, Holy Thursday, waiting to hear the news.), sitting outside on my cement driveway, I wailed in pain when the news was delivered that the cancer had grown back again in all the same places (lung, bones, and brain) and that treatment options had all but run out. They'd already used up all the different chemo drugs available and there's only so much radiation you can get on your brain, on which she'd met her limit. They had one, experimental pill that they could give her as an attempt at buying a little extra time. She chose to take it. This was only a couple of weeks after learning that I was pregnant.
Miraculously, the test showed that the experimental drug seemed to be suppressing the cancer's growth. I was optimistic again, but also very cynical at the same time. Having our hopes dashed each and every time was starting to get very old and very predictable. At this point I was very happy for the good news, but had this sick feeling that I knew it would only be a matter of time before we were all getting kicked in the guts again. I can't stand saying this, and I couldn't stand thinking it at the time, either, but I started thinking it would be a relief when this sick game would be over.
Then, not long after, Mom became allergic to the drug she was on that had been working to slow the cancer's growth rate. She was forced to stop taking it and was told to expect the cancer to win in two weeks to two month's time. This was early summer 2006.
At our 18 week ultrasound we asked the technician to secretly determine the sex of the baby and seal it in an envelope. I gave it to my mom and she put it away saying that she would only open it if she was on her deathbed and I hadn't had the baby yet.
We had the rest of the summer with her and the fall, too. She fought harder and lived longer than most had expected. We were all very grateful for the time that we were given to spend with her. But even while that is true, it was also the hardest, most excruciating time of my life watching my mother die. Literally. Literally watching her body break down and fail and stop working. Day after day. First she started falling, then she needed a cane, then a walker, then she needed a wheelchair. Then she needed a hoist to move her from the chair to her bed and for her toileting. Then came hospice and in-home therapists and her wondering and wishing if she'd ever walk again. Then came the oxygen, then she couldn't swallow, then came the drugs that the hospice worker told me were to "keep her quiet."
My mother knew the sex of my baby before I did because then came the funeral with my two-year old son and my nine-month pregnant belly. My second son was born less than three weeks later.
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There just aren't words for how I felt during that time in my life. After awhile I started wondering if I'd ever feel normal again, like myself again. Literally, it has taken me this long and another pregnancy and another son born to me to be able to begin to feel as though I'm an active participant in life again, not just going through motions to get by; that there's some feeling behind it when I smile and that it isn't just hollow, empty, half-hearted, meaningless, and difficult.
Thank God for healing and for progress. Admittedly, my relationship with Him got pretty banged up over the last several years and my feelings for him have wavered through it all. I am still trying to patch things up ;) and work my way back to life in Him. This blog is me going back to the drawing board--processing my life, vocation, faith life--and trying to get back on track. And, in the absence of my mother to share things with, as questions of, get advice and reassurance from, I've found that you lovely women/faithful mommies are a wonderful source of reprieve, sanity, and much-needed assistance in living out my vocation as wife and mother.
It's just those of us who are left behind that are in a world of hurt. (Literally. Both meanings.)
We're nearing the three-year anniversary since my mother's death on Thanksgiving Day, November 23, 2006, and I feel as though I've just begun coming out of the paralysis of grief and despair.
The day my mother's body and spirit separated and went two separate directions was three years ago. My mother was 48 years old. The day that she was first diagnosed with breast cancer, at the age of 42, was six years prior. At the time of her diagnosis in November 2000 I was a sophomore in college living 2 1/2 hours away from home. My mother maintained that I needed to stay where I was, doing what I was doing, so I did. But the frequent trips home to be with her began and one of the first was for her mastectomy surgery. They removed one of her breasts and many lymph nodes that had also been affected. Because of the extent to which they found cancer in the area, she endured an aggressive round of chemotherapy followed by an equally ambitious cycle of radiation. She lost all of her hair and suffered all of the pain and sickness that cancer patients suffer.
Thankfully, when all of the treatment had been given and the allotted time had passed, her scans and tests all indicated that the cancer had gone into remission. Everyone was relieved, thankful, and optimistic about the future.
As time passed, Mom seemed to relax and gradually trust in her healthiness again. She continued regular checkups that continued to indicate all was well. During this time I continued my studies, got engaged, graduated from college, and got married the following week. My mom was there, she was happy, and she even had a pretty, short-ish hairstyle.
More wonderful time passed. My husband and I were still living 2 1/2 hours away, but we made frequent weekend trips home and we'd occasionally have mom (and my family) visit us as well. I conceived our first child and suffered a miscarriage. This upset my mom terribly, but she was ecstatic when we conceived again a few months later. Being that this was my mom's first grandchild to be born and because we had always been especially close, I had a great time sharing the pregnancy with her. She drove the whole way to join me in the hospital while I labored with my son; what a comfort it was to have her there.
It was early morning when my son was born into the world, so she was still at our apartment getting ready to come back. She was disappointed to have missed his birth, but she was the first visitor we had and the first to get to meet him! She stayed another day and then had to go home until a few days later when she came to stay with my husband, the baby, and me for a couple of days. It was wonderful to have her there to help me through those first days home with my new baby (and I know she loved it, too.).
At this time and in the last few weeks of my pregnancy, my mom started having a nagging, persistent, dry cough. It was noticed, treated suspiciously and with mild caution. We all encouraged her to just go in to get it checked, which she did. One week after our baby was born we learned that Mom's cancer had relapsed and that it was now in her lungs. November 2004.
God just so had it that the month before my husband was hired for a job in our home area. So the next month, December 2004, we moved home to be near family and be with my mom. (That was a grace and a blessing.)
In my mind, this is where the roller coaster begins. From then on out, for the next two years, it somewhat blurs into one big up-down, hope-destroying, faith-breaking disaster.
She opted for treatment. Chemo and radiation again (for the second time). All the sickness, baldness, tiredness, you name it. Again, months of this pass, and at the end of it things looked clear again and that it seemed to have responded to the treatment.
This time it lasted for only a few months. Cancer was again discovered the fall of 2005. This time it was in her lungs, bones, and brain. Her oncologist told her that if she opted for treatment that it might be able to buy her only a couple of months. Dissatisfied with this prognosis, she and my step-father sought out treatment at another facility. They planned a rigorous treatment schedule of yet another, different chemo drug (you can't use the same one twice) and radiation.
Again, initially, the treatments seemed to have worked to shrink the cancer and the end result showed only very minimal traces that would be watched closely since cancer treatments can continue to shrink growths after treatment has ended. We were all very hopeful and cautiously optimistic for about the next month or so.
Then, after a final check on the progress the treatment had, we received devastating news. The morning of Good Friday (2006) (How appropriate, and after being in agony all the night before, Holy Thursday, waiting to hear the news.), sitting outside on my cement driveway, I wailed in pain when the news was delivered that the cancer had grown back again in all the same places (lung, bones, and brain) and that treatment options had all but run out. They'd already used up all the different chemo drugs available and there's only so much radiation you can get on your brain, on which she'd met her limit. They had one, experimental pill that they could give her as an attempt at buying a little extra time. She chose to take it. This was only a couple of weeks after learning that I was pregnant.
Miraculously, the test showed that the experimental drug seemed to be suppressing the cancer's growth. I was optimistic again, but also very cynical at the same time. Having our hopes dashed each and every time was starting to get very old and very predictable. At this point I was very happy for the good news, but had this sick feeling that I knew it would only be a matter of time before we were all getting kicked in the guts again. I can't stand saying this, and I couldn't stand thinking it at the time, either, but I started thinking it would be a relief when this sick game would be over.
Then, not long after, Mom became allergic to the drug she was on that had been working to slow the cancer's growth rate. She was forced to stop taking it and was told to expect the cancer to win in two weeks to two month's time. This was early summer 2006.
At our 18 week ultrasound we asked the technician to secretly determine the sex of the baby and seal it in an envelope. I gave it to my mom and she put it away saying that she would only open it if she was on her deathbed and I hadn't had the baby yet.
We had the rest of the summer with her and the fall, too. She fought harder and lived longer than most had expected. We were all very grateful for the time that we were given to spend with her. But even while that is true, it was also the hardest, most excruciating time of my life watching my mother die. Literally. Literally watching her body break down and fail and stop working. Day after day. First she started falling, then she needed a cane, then a walker, then she needed a wheelchair. Then she needed a hoist to move her from the chair to her bed and for her toileting. Then came hospice and in-home therapists and her wondering and wishing if she'd ever walk again. Then came the oxygen, then she couldn't swallow, then came the drugs that the hospice worker told me were to "keep her quiet."
My mother knew the sex of my baby before I did because then came the funeral with my two-year old son and my nine-month pregnant belly. My second son was born less than three weeks later.
-----
There just aren't words for how I felt during that time in my life. After awhile I started wondering if I'd ever feel normal again, like myself again. Literally, it has taken me this long and another pregnancy and another son born to me to be able to begin to feel as though I'm an active participant in life again, not just going through motions to get by; that there's some feeling behind it when I smile and that it isn't just hollow, empty, half-hearted, meaningless, and difficult.
Thank God for healing and for progress. Admittedly, my relationship with Him got pretty banged up over the last several years and my feelings for him have wavered through it all. I am still trying to patch things up ;) and work my way back to life in Him. This blog is me going back to the drawing board--processing my life, vocation, faith life--and trying to get back on track. And, in the absence of my mother to share things with, as questions of, get advice and reassurance from, I've found that you lovely women/faithful mommies are a wonderful source of reprieve, sanity, and much-needed assistance in living out my vocation as wife and mother.
Thursday, October 1, 2009
Here's Your Sign
This is our sign to the world that we believe in the sanctity of human life and that we are praying for an end to what some people dare to term healthCARE. Would you care to join us? Even if your parish isn't organizing an official campaign you can still get on board with 40 Days for Life. It runs from Sept. 23- Nov. 1 and has the potential to change hearts and save lives.
....
The Sunday that we brought this sign home from Mass and, as a family, erected it in our front yard, I was moved to tears at how significant and what an enormous impact something so simple could have on our children.
While driving home I was trying to devise a plan that would allow us to explain the sign and answer their questions without actually adding the word "abortion" to their four and two-year-old vocabularies and then having to explain that most violent and inexplicable of concepts to them. (Are you this uptight about censoring and determining age-appropriateness of weighty subjects? Am I overboard and crazy for doing this like I sometimes feel like?) I didn't come up with anything.
But once home when they asked why we were putting up the sign and what it said we answered them by reading the baby side aloud and then stating that we are telling everyone that we love little babies even before they are born and even when they are still in their mommies' tummies and that they need to be protected and taken care of and that we are praying that everybody else will, too. And it was as simple as that. They instantly thought it was a great idea and acted like the idea the sign represented was just as natural as life itself.
Saturday, September 5, 2009
Paradox of the Century
Lately I have been mentally on my own case that I should really be attending and taking the children to daily Mass whenever possible. Or at least a little more than -not at all-. So this past Friday when everyone was up and had eaten by 7:00 and then the baby even woke up early, I thought it would be a good day to give it a try. (W & F the church 1/2 mile from our house has an 8 am)
However, unfortunately (and uncharacteristically) I encountered resistance from the children when I announced that it was time to get ready to leave to make it to Mass on time. I overcame that hurdle and made it just in time for the bell signaling the beginning of Mass. I was planning to just slip into one of the back pews since this was a first attempt, but the boys were asking to go up front like usual. How can you refuse that? So I reluctantly took them about 3/4 the way to the front and chose a pew. (With everyone in the whole place watching. Seemingly. It's a small church with sparse attendance.) Plus, I had stupidly forgotten to bring the maya wrap in all the trouble to get there, so I was carrying the baby in the big, clunky carseat. ugh. So as I was bending down to pick up the baby the boys forced the kneeler down (it was against my leg), with a loud clunk. I soon discovered that it was on my sandal. And they were both standing on it, making it impossible to free myself. While holding the baby. At this time they were both crowding the end of the thing to be able to stand by me and when I tried moving them inward so we could get situated, Honeybun stumbled and hit his forehead on the pew. Crying ensued. Stares, glares, and humiliation. Oh, I was so embarrassed. After trying to hold out and get him to stop crying for a few minutes, without success, and after many irritated glances, I decided to take him (and the baby in my arms) to the back of the church. I assumed Little Wideawake would just tag along, but, instead, HE started crying in the pew thinking he'd been abandoned and left all alone. So I turned around, grabbed his hand, grabbed the carseat, and fled to the cryroom. I heard shush!es on the way. There are hardly words to describe the embarrassment that I felt. Add on top of that severe frustration, anger, and a weird mix of confusion and heartbrokenness and you might have an idea of how I felt. It was good that we made it to the cryroom because, once there, I shed a few tears of my own.
This is not, however, the mediocre end of the story of a Mass trip that could be salvaged. No. Because after a few minutes of collecting myself and trying to regain any semblance of composure, I realized that since it was only a daily Mass the speaker system was not working so that with the door shut it was literally impossible to recognize anything that was being said. And because of this, the boys were just wandering around in there like nothing was going on. So I evaluated the situation, took stock of my emotional state, observed the children, weighed my options, and decided to leave.
Deciding to leave felt awful, but, at the time I felt it was the best option. I can't tell you what it did to me, though. Uhg. I wanted us to be there. I wanted to take my children to Mass. I wanted to be there for my own good and I wanted God to be happy that we were there. But then after everything that happened and while resrapping the children in their seats to leave, I was feeling overwhelmingly that taking my children to daily Mass is worse for my soul than just staying home and taking care of them there.
That was a hard thing to digest on the drive to the grocery store (our next planned destination), during which I forbade my children to speak. We sat parked there for a while until I came to the conclusion that I could not possibly get through that task in any smooth manner. I was still trying to sort through everything, calm down, and determine the lesson God would have me learn from the ordeal on the drive to our parish's adoration chapel (where all I could do was sit parked in the van) and then on the drive to my mother's grave and then on to my grandparents' house. It was only here that I was able to get the boys out of their seats and begin interacting with them again, about an hour and a half after leaving the church.
I still don't really understand the message to me in all of this and I am still really frustrated by the whole thing when I think about it. Any wise and holy insights from you wonderful, faithful mothers would truly be light for my eyes. The only real conclusion I've come to is, "It's going to be awhile before I try that again." And I really don't ever want to go to a Mass with those same people again--they'd probably walk out the minute they see me walk in.
However, unfortunately (and uncharacteristically) I encountered resistance from the children when I announced that it was time to get ready to leave to make it to Mass on time. I overcame that hurdle and made it just in time for the bell signaling the beginning of Mass. I was planning to just slip into one of the back pews since this was a first attempt, but the boys were asking to go up front like usual. How can you refuse that? So I reluctantly took them about 3/4 the way to the front and chose a pew. (With everyone in the whole place watching. Seemingly. It's a small church with sparse attendance.) Plus, I had stupidly forgotten to bring the maya wrap in all the trouble to get there, so I was carrying the baby in the big, clunky carseat. ugh. So as I was bending down to pick up the baby the boys forced the kneeler down (it was against my leg), with a loud clunk. I soon discovered that it was on my sandal. And they were both standing on it, making it impossible to free myself. While holding the baby. At this time they were both crowding the end of the thing to be able to stand by me and when I tried moving them inward so we could get situated, Honeybun stumbled and hit his forehead on the pew. Crying ensued. Stares, glares, and humiliation. Oh, I was so embarrassed. After trying to hold out and get him to stop crying for a few minutes, without success, and after many irritated glances, I decided to take him (and the baby in my arms) to the back of the church. I assumed Little Wideawake would just tag along, but, instead, HE started crying in the pew thinking he'd been abandoned and left all alone. So I turned around, grabbed his hand, grabbed the carseat, and fled to the cryroom. I heard shush!es on the way. There are hardly words to describe the embarrassment that I felt. Add on top of that severe frustration, anger, and a weird mix of confusion and heartbrokenness and you might have an idea of how I felt. It was good that we made it to the cryroom because, once there, I shed a few tears of my own.
This is not, however, the mediocre end of the story of a Mass trip that could be salvaged. No. Because after a few minutes of collecting myself and trying to regain any semblance of composure, I realized that since it was only a daily Mass the speaker system was not working so that with the door shut it was literally impossible to recognize anything that was being said. And because of this, the boys were just wandering around in there like nothing was going on. So I evaluated the situation, took stock of my emotional state, observed the children, weighed my options, and decided to leave.
Deciding to leave felt awful, but, at the time I felt it was the best option. I can't tell you what it did to me, though. Uhg. I wanted us to be there. I wanted to take my children to Mass. I wanted to be there for my own good and I wanted God to be happy that we were there. But then after everything that happened and while resrapping the children in their seats to leave, I was feeling overwhelmingly that taking my children to daily Mass is worse for my soul than just staying home and taking care of them there.
That was a hard thing to digest on the drive to the grocery store (our next planned destination), during which I forbade my children to speak. We sat parked there for a while until I came to the conclusion that I could not possibly get through that task in any smooth manner. I was still trying to sort through everything, calm down, and determine the lesson God would have me learn from the ordeal on the drive to our parish's adoration chapel (where all I could do was sit parked in the van) and then on the drive to my mother's grave and then on to my grandparents' house. It was only here that I was able to get the boys out of their seats and begin interacting with them again, about an hour and a half after leaving the church.
I still don't really understand the message to me in all of this and I am still really frustrated by the whole thing when I think about it. Any wise and holy insights from you wonderful, faithful mothers would truly be light for my eyes. The only real conclusion I've come to is, "It's going to be awhile before I try that again." And I really don't ever want to go to a Mass with those same people again--they'd probably walk out the minute they see me walk in.
Tuesday, August 4, 2009
Pictures Galore
These are some pictures from the Shrine of Our Lady of Guadalupe. We had a great pilgrimmage!
This statue was dedicated this past weekend as part of the memorial to the unborn area at the shrine. It's beautiful. Our Lady is holding three tiny babies in her arms, each at various stages of development.
I just like this one. It was taken from the back of the van by our fouryearold photographer. The blue on green scenery is always a favorite of mine, too. It's interesting to see it from his perspective.
This statue was dedicated this past weekend as part of the memorial to the unborn area at the shrine. It's beautiful. Our Lady is holding three tiny babies in her arms, each at various stages of development.
I just like this one. It was taken from the back of the van by our fouryearold photographer. The blue on green scenery is always a favorite of mine, too. It's interesting to see it from his perspective.Monday, May 4, 2009
Semper Reformanda
Always in need of reform.
This really stuck out to me when I came across it a couple of days ago in our daily Easter season prayer book from church. Obviously, it applies to me, so I'm really glad that I read it and that it seems to be one of those things that's lingering in my brain for further contemplation and future recall.
Although, this has always been something that I've had in the back of my mind and like to try to do my best with: continual self improvement. I think this is an opportunity to bring it to the forefront and re-evaluate. In fact, I have a saved list of goals that I remember writing during the summer before leaving for college (11 years ago). For some reason, this semper reformanda train of thought prompted me to get it out and review. Here they are, quoted and in order: (this should be fun)
*get and stay fit and active
*stay healthy (every way)
*keep and embellish my relationship with God
*keep God in control (in everything)
*be a witness (now and in my career!)
*work hard (at everything)
*nurture all of my relationships
*adjust well to everything
*be busy and productive
*have fun - do what I enjoy
*don't get sunburned
This really stuck out to me when I came across it a couple of days ago in our daily Easter season prayer book from church. Obviously, it applies to me, so I'm really glad that I read it and that it seems to be one of those things that's lingering in my brain for further contemplation and future recall.
Although, this has always been something that I've had in the back of my mind and like to try to do my best with: continual self improvement. I think this is an opportunity to bring it to the forefront and re-evaluate. In fact, I have a saved list of goals that I remember writing during the summer before leaving for college (11 years ago). For some reason, this semper reformanda train of thought prompted me to get it out and review. Here they are, quoted and in order: (this should be fun)
*get and stay fit and active
*stay healthy (every way)
*keep and embellish my relationship with God
*keep God in control (in everything)
*be a witness (now and in my career!)
*work hard (at everything)
*nurture all of my relationships
*adjust well to everything
*be busy and productive
*have fun - do what I enjoy
*don't get sunburned
While copying this list over in here, I was thinking that this, for me, is still a pretty comprehensive list of the goals that I try to continually work on. It's actually kind of suprising that it can be so old yet still suit me so well. (and the fact that I was 18 when I wrote it!)
I think, though, that there are probably times where some of these things are easier and some of them are harder and they somewhat go in cycles. Like right now, I would say that the ones dealing with God pose the biggest challenge, followed by the ones relating to being fit and having a healthy, active lifestyle (that one definitely goes in cycles).
Yes, most definitely, Semper Reformanda.
Friday, April 24, 2009
7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 5)
...1...My 4 year old is now asking for me to make him two bishop hats to go along with their priest vestments.
...2...
I am really looking forward to meeting a good friend tomorrow for coffee and lunch. I'll have to drive about an hour (?) and she'll be driving about 1/2 hour so that we can meet. For us, there really isn't a decent town that is halfway, so it's always slightly lopsided, but it's my turn to go the extra distance. However, I'm just having to remind myself that it might be subject to change because her mother suffered a heart attack this week! (She's only 55.) But hopefully, everything will stay stable for her and then we'll still be able to carry through on the lunch date.
...3...
My brother's girlfriend called me this morning to alert me to the fact that a discussion he and I had last weekend has resulted in him refusing to talk to me. I was only slightly suspiscious that that was the case; I was hoping that it was more that he was just really busy this week with school and work, etc. So now I have plans today to call him and smooth things over. Which is funny because, as always, he was the party in the conversation to get way too worked up and upset when arguments were presented that are counter to his secular worldview (example: The Pope is right; condoms won't solve the AIDS crisis in Africa.).
...4...
Today is my 35 week ob checkup, so after today we're down to the weekly apts. This idea stirs both relief and (a little bit of) panic! :) But, in other pregnancy news, yesterday I awoke to the baby resting much lower in my abdomen. Aside from being another (eventual) sign that the end is in sight, it has been quite a physical relief as well! whew.
...5...
Today is supposed to be in the 80's! I am planning to be out soaking just as much of it as we can since tomorrow is forecasted to be back in the 50's and then staying in the 50's and 60's for the next week.
...6...
I was very thankful to be able to attend my Faith Alive monthly meeting this week. It was on Wednesday night, right in the midst of my wallowy-depressed week. Wouldn't you know that the first reading was from St. Paul when he writes that 'suffering leads to endurance, endurance leads to character, character leads to hope, and hope leads to a life lived in and for and with Christ.' That hit me with a swift blow! It was very good to have had that opportunity to set my thinking back on the right track.
...7...
It's time to go outside and start enjoying the beautiful day! My boys are getting on their shoes at this very minute! :) Good incentive!
See Jen for more Quick Takes!
Thursday, April 9, 2009
Lent and Holy Week
It's true that I have always dreaded the onset and forty days of Lent. I will admit it. It's also true that I have know people who simply love Lent (for the opportunity it provides to grow in holiness!) and I have wished that I was someone who naturally shared those sentiments.
I always thought that there two simple factors that culminated over the years to bring me to that avoid-dread-postpone! Lent attitude. 1-My body and I are horrible at fasting. (I've always been in the small snack/meals every two hours camp.) and 2-I don't particularly LIKE suffering and deprivation.
But I now know that there was something else, something much bigger that was sabotaging my Lents. Because something has changed between Lent and me the last couple of years. I feel like it has been a very positive change which has allowed me to actually enjoy Lent a little more and also the fact that it has become a lot more efficacious for me as a result.
I totally changed my approach to Lent.
Previously, when Lent would be approaching, I would be brainstorming about each and every little thing that I thought needed some tweaking and I would come up with a sizeable list and attempt (not so successfully) to eradicate them all. This would usually lead to a not-so-satisfying Lenten outcome because I hadn't accomplished all of the goals I'd set for myself and that felt as though I'd fallen short and didn't really gain any ground in the holiness dept. Once I got disgusted with this pattern, I tried adding a bunch things to my spiritual life instead in the hopes that that would work better. It didn't.
But one year, I decided that I had had enough of Lent as I knew it. Instead of wasting another Lent trying to do too much and become entirely perfect by the end of it (and failing), I decided to choose one goal for each of the three themes of Lent: prayer, fasting, almsgiving. I'll admit, the first year I did this I felt like I was being a big slacker. You might think so, too (I still do--a little), but I'm sticking with it because it has made all the difference for me.
This year, at the end of Lent and in the midst of Holy Week (and Triduum), I have a very positive feeling and I am able to feel good about the Lent I've had and how it turned out. Not only that, I also feel like this somehow increases the anticipation that I have for celebrating our Lord's Resurrection. It's a great feeling.
I always thought that there two simple factors that culminated over the years to bring me to that avoid-dread-postpone! Lent attitude. 1-My body and I are horrible at fasting. (I've always been in the small snack/meals every two hours camp.) and 2-I don't particularly LIKE suffering and deprivation.
But I now know that there was something else, something much bigger that was sabotaging my Lents. Because something has changed between Lent and me the last couple of years. I feel like it has been a very positive change which has allowed me to actually enjoy Lent a little more and also the fact that it has become a lot more efficacious for me as a result.
I totally changed my approach to Lent.
Previously, when Lent would be approaching, I would be brainstorming about each and every little thing that I thought needed some tweaking and I would come up with a sizeable list and attempt (not so successfully) to eradicate them all. This would usually lead to a not-so-satisfying Lenten outcome because I hadn't accomplished all of the goals I'd set for myself and that felt as though I'd fallen short and didn't really gain any ground in the holiness dept. Once I got disgusted with this pattern, I tried adding a bunch things to my spiritual life instead in the hopes that that would work better. It didn't.
But one year, I decided that I had had enough of Lent as I knew it. Instead of wasting another Lent trying to do too much and become entirely perfect by the end of it (and failing), I decided to choose one goal for each of the three themes of Lent: prayer, fasting, almsgiving. I'll admit, the first year I did this I felt like I was being a big slacker. You might think so, too (I still do--a little), but I'm sticking with it because it has made all the difference for me.
This year, at the end of Lent and in the midst of Holy Week (and Triduum), I have a very positive feeling and I am able to feel good about the Lent I've had and how it turned out. Not only that, I also feel like this somehow increases the anticipation that I have for celebrating our Lord's Resurrection. It's a great feeling.
Friday, April 3, 2009
7 Quick Takes Friday (Vol. 3)
...1...One good thing that I noticed today is that I have actually been catching myself talking to God (praying!) again. It was really nice when I caught myself doing it because it feels like it's been awhile.
...2...
We have about six inches of snow forecasted for over the next two days. On Palm Sunday! Oh, Spring, will you keep leaving me like this? Nevertheless, I started using my new spring bag today that I bought last night at 50% off. It was a nice antidote to knowing what's in the near future weatherwise.
...3...
I am really missing my wedding and engagement bands! They're gone for another few days to the Goodman's repairman. So I'm really looking forward to getting them back, but I'm also a little nervous that when I do I won't be able to get them back on comfortably. :( I have a slight issue with that because with my 1st baby I gained so much weight that I had to give up wearing it and buy a cheapie for the last couple months. But with our second, I never had to take them off; they never even became uncomfortable. This time, I've gained somewhere in between the other two amounts (so far) and when I took them off to turn in to get fixed they were starting to get a little bit tight. So we'll see. But for now, I'm still without.
...4...
For anyone with multiple children that uses any natural birthing method that might require you to brush up on your techniques before giving birth again: Do you find that you (and/or your spouse) slack off on practicing a little more with each pregnancy? We use and love the Bradley Birth system, but I'm starting to get a little anxious for our lack of training so far! We need to get down to business!
...5...
I love this song. I heard it by suprise yesterday and it just made me happy. I hope you other mommas like it, too. :)
Here's the link in case this doesn't work; it's my first time trying this!
...6...
I'm wondering how couples go about comfortably and routinely pray together. We go through times when we're better at it, but for the most part, outside of attending church together and at mealtimes, we don't. It is something that we have both expressed a desire that we do together, but, for some reason, we just don't. I feel that this is mostly due to two things: One, that we have different ideas for the format our prayer should take (him formal, me off-the-heart--we learned this earlier in our marriage when we gave it a go); and Two, that I feel like I don't take the initiative to get us on this track because I feel like (and have learned that) it is supposed to be something he's in charge of as the spiritual leader of our family, but for whatever reason(s) he doesn't. Should I just do it anyway? I guess he and I should probably just have a talk about that part, but I'd love to learn your tips/experience!
...7...
Having the chance to spend the afternoon at my grandparents' house feels so nice. I just love being there with them, spending time together, it's like my quota for love and comfort gets met for the day. I'm so blessed to have them.
Wow, I'm just barely making it before the 12:00 deadline!
See Jen for more Quick Takes!
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
All the Gritty Details
I have been having a couple of issues swirling around in my head and I'm just not 100% sure of the right thing to do. The first issue is with the Easter celebration plans and the second is with my (half)sister. Ironically, I think both of these things can boil down to one big question: Is it ever okay for a Christian person to decide to not continue contact with family members? (What about selectively?)
With Easter (or any religious holiday, for that matter), it has been extremely dicey for my husband and me. It seems like each time one comes up, we have at least some (sometimes a big) conflict because the ideals that we have discussed regarding those holidays and how we are going to celebrate them with our children do not match up at all with the way that his non-church-going family celebrates them. (TV on, pottymouths/real swearing, disrespectfulness towards parents, bad behavior examples, santa clause, easter bunny, etc.) And in addition to this, since they do not attend any REAL Easter celebrations (at church), many times their events are held at the time of the Easter Vigil or Divine Mercy Sunday, you name it.
And now, increasingly, this applies to my family, too. (Which I've already expressed dissatisfaction about.) There is another complication here, though. Namely that, if there is to be a family gathering for those events, in very recent times, I've been the one to do it for my family (all younger siblings) because my mother isn't around to do it, my step-father doesn't have us over for things, and my grandparents are too aged and physically strained to host larger family events anymore.
So now, I'm just really not sure what to do. At this point, my husband has told his family that we won't be joining them on Easter Sunday afternoon for their shebang so that we can have our own family Easter dinner/party. I can definitely see this decision as being quite a relief because it will totally eliminate the majority of the problems, stress, arguments, etc., that we normally struggle with. BUT, a small part of me questions the wisdom/rightness of us (the only Christians in the bunch) just not going at all. Another part of me wishes that my husband would fully explain our rationale to his parents, but I'm not sure that would be helpful, either (example: "too-good church people").
[A little additional background: Besides being baptized as an infant, my husband was not raised with any faith/church life whatsoever. Gradually, after we met, he found his way into the church and joined through RCIA at the Easter Vigil before we were married. Since then his family has nicknamed him 'churchboy' and has all but targeted me as the person responsible for the changes in his behavior/character/and not fitting into his own family so well anymore. (Which, I see as a good thing, but I guess they don't.)] So I'm a little paranoid that our not going to their thing will also be blamed on me and just add a little extra animosity--but that's pretty minor.
On to the next example. To give you just a summary, my 17 year old (half--we had the same mom, her dad is my stepdad) sister is and has consistently been making all the wrong choices for herself. It's been a long trip down a bad road I'd say since about the time mom was first diagnosed. But just within the last couple of months she's been in and out of the house with her dad, living intermittently with (drug-doing) friends of hers in a really inadequate (not safe) apartment. Within the last two weeks she has gotten both an underage drinking ticket and a truancy ticket.
Because of the 12-year age difference between us, we have never been as close as sisters as I had always dreamed and longed for. In addition to the age difference, though, a lot of her life choices also get in the way of it, too, because she chooses to have little to no contact with me when she is doing things that she knows that I do not approve of (because I love her) and will challenge her about. This has been our pattern for the last several years, on-again-off-again based on if she's trying to dig herself out or if she's back in with the wrong crowd. And even in the on times, it tends to be relatively superficial. :(
I am, of course, upset and disappointed and angry and hurt about all of this for many many reasons. But, lately, I have been feeling very tired of all of it. I am constantly suspicious of all of her motives and actions, I've come to believe little to nothing that she says, and I really don't care to be around her so much anymore. I've come to feel like I've finally given up on her and just come to terms that she's going to have to find out where her bottom is before she's worth even attempting to help.
This is where my problem is here, because I'm worried that this is not the Christian attitude to take. But I'm tired of being used and treated poorly by her, I'm tired of watching her treat the people that I love in my family this way, and I've come to see that any attempts that I make to help her or tell her things just get blatantly ignored; because it certainly hasn't made any difference. Yeah, she sees me as unrelatable and calls me saint diane, just because I've never done the things she's done.
So what can I do? And am I supposed to feel obligated to invite her and my other two siblings (who may or may not bother to go to church for Easter) over to celebrate with our family? At this point, I would have to try getting my husband to go along with that idea, and, frankly, I'm really not sure that I even care to. Lord, help me.
With Easter (or any religious holiday, for that matter), it has been extremely dicey for my husband and me. It seems like each time one comes up, we have at least some (sometimes a big) conflict because the ideals that we have discussed regarding those holidays and how we are going to celebrate them with our children do not match up at all with the way that his non-church-going family celebrates them. (TV on, pottymouths/real swearing, disrespectfulness towards parents, bad behavior examples, santa clause, easter bunny, etc.) And in addition to this, since they do not attend any REAL Easter celebrations (at church), many times their events are held at the time of the Easter Vigil or Divine Mercy Sunday, you name it.
And now, increasingly, this applies to my family, too. (Which I've already expressed dissatisfaction about.) There is another complication here, though. Namely that, if there is to be a family gathering for those events, in very recent times, I've been the one to do it for my family (all younger siblings) because my mother isn't around to do it, my step-father doesn't have us over for things, and my grandparents are too aged and physically strained to host larger family events anymore.
So now, I'm just really not sure what to do. At this point, my husband has told his family that we won't be joining them on Easter Sunday afternoon for their shebang so that we can have our own family Easter dinner/party. I can definitely see this decision as being quite a relief because it will totally eliminate the majority of the problems, stress, arguments, etc., that we normally struggle with. BUT, a small part of me questions the wisdom/rightness of us (the only Christians in the bunch) just not going at all. Another part of me wishes that my husband would fully explain our rationale to his parents, but I'm not sure that would be helpful, either (example: "too-good church people").
[A little additional background: Besides being baptized as an infant, my husband was not raised with any faith/church life whatsoever. Gradually, after we met, he found his way into the church and joined through RCIA at the Easter Vigil before we were married. Since then his family has nicknamed him 'churchboy' and has all but targeted me as the person responsible for the changes in his behavior/character/and not fitting into his own family so well anymore. (Which, I see as a good thing, but I guess they don't.)] So I'm a little paranoid that our not going to their thing will also be blamed on me and just add a little extra animosity--but that's pretty minor.
On to the next example. To give you just a summary, my 17 year old (half--we had the same mom, her dad is my stepdad) sister is and has consistently been making all the wrong choices for herself. It's been a long trip down a bad road I'd say since about the time mom was first diagnosed. But just within the last couple of months she's been in and out of the house with her dad, living intermittently with (drug-doing) friends of hers in a really inadequate (not safe) apartment. Within the last two weeks she has gotten both an underage drinking ticket and a truancy ticket.
Because of the 12-year age difference between us, we have never been as close as sisters as I had always dreamed and longed for. In addition to the age difference, though, a lot of her life choices also get in the way of it, too, because she chooses to have little to no contact with me when she is doing things that she knows that I do not approve of (because I love her) and will challenge her about. This has been our pattern for the last several years, on-again-off-again based on if she's trying to dig herself out or if she's back in with the wrong crowd. And even in the on times, it tends to be relatively superficial. :(
I am, of course, upset and disappointed and angry and hurt about all of this for many many reasons. But, lately, I have been feeling very tired of all of it. I am constantly suspicious of all of her motives and actions, I've come to believe little to nothing that she says, and I really don't care to be around her so much anymore. I've come to feel like I've finally given up on her and just come to terms that she's going to have to find out where her bottom is before she's worth even attempting to help.
This is where my problem is here, because I'm worried that this is not the Christian attitude to take. But I'm tired of being used and treated poorly by her, I'm tired of watching her treat the people that I love in my family this way, and I've come to see that any attempts that I make to help her or tell her things just get blatantly ignored; because it certainly hasn't made any difference. Yeah, she sees me as unrelatable and calls me saint diane, just because I've never done the things she's done.
So what can I do? And am I supposed to feel obligated to invite her and my other two siblings (who may or may not bother to go to church for Easter) over to celebrate with our family? At this point, I would have to try getting my husband to go along with that idea, and, frankly, I'm really not sure that I even care to. Lord, help me.
Tuesday, March 31, 2009
God, Save the People!
We have been listening to the Godspell musical cd (go listen to the samples!) basically non-stop today. I love it! I just recently ordered it used from Amazon and it came last night in the mail. I knew that the boys would really like it, too, and it's all based on the Gospel of Matthew, so there's no worry about inappropriate lyrics. After a couple of rotations through they were both already singing along!Although it's a relatively old musical (and even older Gospel), while listening to it today, I was feeling that the message is so poignant. It is so applicable to the current time (contrary to what 'higher education,' liberal arts, the intellects of the day and society might have us believe).
Last night, Lance (dh) and I finished watching The Ten Commandments movie (newer version with Dougray Scott as Moses). When it was over, he flipped over to the 'making the movie' bonus feature. In it, some of the actors were interviewed and one of them remarked on that very thing: that even though this is an ancient story, it is just as relevant to the time that we are living in. That really struck me as being true; especially in light of the fact that the movie details the relationship that God had with his people and, in particular, the relationship between God and Moses.
Personally, I also really liked that the movie showed so intimately the relationship that Moses had with God. Besides the relevance reminder, it was my favorite thing about it. It was interesting and refreshing how absolutely honest Moses was with God. He would get really frustrated with God and he wasn't shy about saying so. I really liked the parts where we were involved in their dialogues, in Moses' prayer with God. I'm starting to see that that was another good reminder that the movie gave me: what prayer is all about.
Friday, March 27, 2009
A Disclaimer
After not posting for a couple of days, I believe I've come to a few decisions.
Mainly, that I've decided that I'd like this blog to be a place for me to process, empty into, and accompany me through a specific spiritual journey I know that I need to go on (in addition to the normal, daily, catholic mother journey that I am on and began this blog with the same intention for).
My relationship with the Lord needs healing; and I'm the one at fault. But it isn't something that one trip to the confessional is going to remedy. This has been an on-going ordeal for me for the last two years and four months, since my mother died of breast cancer at the age of 48 (six years after her initial-but not final-diagnosis).
There are many things, I'm sure, that I'll ennumerate about those six years and the last two since her passing, but this post is just to explain the fact that I'll be doing it. And why.
It's just that once I came to those conclusions, I had no idea how to go about it (it certainly wouldn't fit into one post or the Quick Takes of the day), if I should really do it, if I would turn people off and have a huge reputation as a Debbie Downer, so on and so on.
So this is my attempt to introduce the subject matter gracefully into my established genre. Here's hoping that this addition will only allow for a more complete, comprehensive, honest depiction of my daily journey and, ideally, help get me back on the road to holiness.
Mainly, that I've decided that I'd like this blog to be a place for me to process, empty into, and accompany me through a specific spiritual journey I know that I need to go on (in addition to the normal, daily, catholic mother journey that I am on and began this blog with the same intention for).
My relationship with the Lord needs healing; and I'm the one at fault. But it isn't something that one trip to the confessional is going to remedy. This has been an on-going ordeal for me for the last two years and four months, since my mother died of breast cancer at the age of 48 (six years after her initial-but not final-diagnosis).
There are many things, I'm sure, that I'll ennumerate about those six years and the last two since her passing, but this post is just to explain the fact that I'll be doing it. And why.
It's just that once I came to those conclusions, I had no idea how to go about it (it certainly wouldn't fit into one post or the Quick Takes of the day), if I should really do it, if I would turn people off and have a huge reputation as a Debbie Downer, so on and so on.
So this is my attempt to introduce the subject matter gracefully into my established genre. Here's hoping that this addition will only allow for a more complete, comprehensive, honest depiction of my daily journey and, ideally, help get me back on the road to holiness.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Mixed Bag
The last few days I have been feeling so greatful. Largely, I suspect, due to the beautiful change in weather and being able to spend an enjoyable weekend with my husband and boys. I really couldn't believe the change in how I was feeling; it makes such a huge difference to actually be out in the sunshine!
Also, the last few days little baby's movements have been changing into more pronounced jabs and sharp, nearly-detectable body parts. Although it can cause a little "ouch!," I really like it when you get to that point in the pregnancy and can tell what's poking you. It really helps me to be able to think about the baby more concretely and look forward to seeing all those parts in a matter of weeks. I'm starting to get excited to meet this little person! (Also something I'm thankful for!)
Now there's something that I'm not very greatful for. I'm reluctant to spoil the nice tone of this post. :( But it's something that happened today and so I need to express it, process it, and beg your wise counsel if you're willing and able!
One of my brothers visited us during the day today since he's on spring break this week. It was fun to see him and the boys really enjoyed his company. But during naptime we got to talking about his relationship with his girlfriend who he was about to go spend time with. (It's a 3.5 hr drive, so it involves an evening, an overnight, and then a portion of tomorrow.) There are a couple main things about our conversation that got to me. One, he said that he'd be willing to get engaged soon (they've been dating for about 3-4 years), but that (due to the calibur of the ring this woman has selected) he wouldn't be able to afford it. And two, that he now plans to, after graduation, move in to her apt. with her and get a job in that location.
How upsetting. That whole thing, by itself, is very bothersome to me, but there is something about it overall that is even worse.
My mother died of breast cancer at the age of 48, two years ago. (Less than three weeks before my second son was born.) I am the oldest of her four children and today after my brother left I kept wondering (and yelling to myself in my head) why I am the only one who gives a rip about her wishes, how she raised us, and what she would think of our lives right now?
In addition to this aforementioned brother, another brother of mine quit attending Mass very shortly after having his daughter baptized and my sister is throwing her high school career and future away with drug-using friends, skipping school regularly, rarely residing at home, etc.
It's so frustrating for me, and also very stressful. And it also disappoints me that my family couldn't be doing a better job of being a good, positive extended family for my children. We don't have that luxury on my husband's side, either, since he is the only one of them who attends Mass and tries to live a virtuous life. (He began attending Mass after we began dating and then he came into the Church the Easter before we were married. So that whole thing is rather contentious with his family....) YUCK. All of this is so disgusting and disappointing. And it also leaves me feeling very isolated in terms of *fitting in to a loving, cohesive Catholic family and *having the support and luxury of the 'village' we're supposed to have to help us raise our God-loving children. Why can't these people see that a life lived with God is the only way to true fulfilment and happiness?
What can I honestly do?
Also, the last few days little baby's movements have been changing into more pronounced jabs and sharp, nearly-detectable body parts. Although it can cause a little "ouch!," I really like it when you get to that point in the pregnancy and can tell what's poking you. It really helps me to be able to think about the baby more concretely and look forward to seeing all those parts in a matter of weeks. I'm starting to get excited to meet this little person! (Also something I'm thankful for!)Now there's something that I'm not very greatful for. I'm reluctant to spoil the nice tone of this post. :( But it's something that happened today and so I need to express it, process it, and beg your wise counsel if you're willing and able!
One of my brothers visited us during the day today since he's on spring break this week. It was fun to see him and the boys really enjoyed his company. But during naptime we got to talking about his relationship with his girlfriend who he was about to go spend time with. (It's a 3.5 hr drive, so it involves an evening, an overnight, and then a portion of tomorrow.) There are a couple main things about our conversation that got to me. One, he said that he'd be willing to get engaged soon (they've been dating for about 3-4 years), but that (due to the calibur of the ring this woman has selected) he wouldn't be able to afford it. And two, that he now plans to, after graduation, move in to her apt. with her and get a job in that location.
How upsetting. That whole thing, by itself, is very bothersome to me, but there is something about it overall that is even worse.
My mother died of breast cancer at the age of 48, two years ago. (Less than three weeks before my second son was born.) I am the oldest of her four children and today after my brother left I kept wondering (and yelling to myself in my head) why I am the only one who gives a rip about her wishes, how she raised us, and what she would think of our lives right now?
In addition to this aforementioned brother, another brother of mine quit attending Mass very shortly after having his daughter baptized and my sister is throwing her high school career and future away with drug-using friends, skipping school regularly, rarely residing at home, etc.
It's so frustrating for me, and also very stressful. And it also disappoints me that my family couldn't be doing a better job of being a good, positive extended family for my children. We don't have that luxury on my husband's side, either, since he is the only one of them who attends Mass and tries to live a virtuous life. (He began attending Mass after we began dating and then he came into the Church the Easter before we were married. So that whole thing is rather contentious with his family....) YUCK. All of this is so disgusting and disappointing. And it also leaves me feeling very isolated in terms of *fitting in to a loving, cohesive Catholic family and *having the support and luxury of the 'village' we're supposed to have to help us raise our God-loving children. Why can't these people see that a life lived with God is the only way to true fulfilment and happiness?
What can I honestly do?
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