I'm not sure how to start this post. I know that it's going to be raw, it's going to be intimate, it's going to be difficult to read at times. But I also hope that it's going to be helpful. I hope that it's going to be encouraging. I hope that it's going to be the right amount of honesty and transparency, so that it becomes relatable and impactful.
I'd like to say I could jump right into the purpose of this post (and its sister post, yet to come) without any background, but I can't. As much as this is about the present and the future, it is very much about the past. Our history. My husband and I started dating when we were 17. The weekend after high school graduation, we moved in together. Within the next year, we bought a house together. Shortly thereafter, we were engaged to be married and my husband joined the Navy. Within months we were married and he was gone--off to become a sailor. A few short months later, we were back together and within days we were expecting our first son. Over the course of the next few years, we moved several times, faced three deployments, suffered a miscarriage, and had another son. We piled so much triumph and so much heartbreak into a very short span of time. It would have been impossible to go through all that without it having some effect on our relationship. Over time, the strain of normal marital conflicts became heightened by the somewhat abnormal situation we were in. For years at a time, he was either gone or we were preparing for him to leave. Neither one of us really had time to adjust to being parents, that is, not as a team. We were young, we were naive, we were struggling to keep our heads above water. He'd leave for awhile and when he came back there would be a period of confusion as we settled in. On some level it was like reliving the honeymoon phase over and over. On another level, it was like having an intruder come into your life and rearrange it, just when you thought you had it under control. Just as things began to even out, he'd be gone again and the process would start over. Issues arose between us--I want to say they were your typical issues that you deal with in becoming adults, parents, and learning to live in a life-long partnership. But those issues were never addressed. It seemed wrong to spend any time fighting when he was home, yet without addressing the issues, the distance between us grew and grew until even when he was home, we were miles apart.
In late 2013, he returned from his third and longest deployment. It was a whirlwind for us--we changed duty stations shortly thereafter. We were under a great deal of stress but we were trying to find our new normal. We were both trying to adjust--him to being back to the daily grind, to having two little boys constantly needing him and watching his every move, to being face-to-face with a wife that was overwhelmed and anxious--me to being hundreds of miles away from the family and friends I had at our last duty station, to trying to enjoy having my husband back but feeling terribly alone at the same time.
2014 was by far the most difficult year in our marriage. It seemed like everything that had been building up finally came to a head. He was angry. I was hurt. We were both confused. How had everything gotten so tangled up?
We had made up our minds--the other person was the enemy. We fought daily--big blow up fights. Screaming, someone was always storming out and driving off. I look back and I think about our sweet boys, what we put them through in those moments and I feel a knot in my stomach. We welcomed their daddy home and ushered them into a world of constant chaos. We both had our minds set on retribution. We knew that we weren't innocent, but the other person was definitely more responsible for the pain and discord in our marriage. We waited for each other to "come around" and while we waited, we drifted further and further apart.
I remember one day, I walked into the bathroom to put away a stack of towels and instead of placing them on the shelf, I stuck my face in them and sobbed. I felt, in that moment, that it was no longer a matter of "if", it was a matter of "when". I truly believed my marriage was over.
We'd talked it out a hundred times. I'd prayed. I'd called my mom crying at all hours of the day. I'd sought advice from friends. We even went to marriage counseling. What else could we do? It seemed damaged beyond repair.
One weekend in early November, my mom had taken the boys to give us some time to spend alone. Our date night ended with a huge argument, he left the house and I went to bed crying. The next day we didn't say a word to each other until late in the afternoon. I approached him and said we needed to talk. After talking a short period of time, we both came to the same conclusion: It was time to call it quits. We sat down and began to discuss a plan for the boys and for our finances. Most of that conversation is a blur to me, but I know at one point he said "Well, this is what we both want."
God, those words sounded so foreign. They felt numb and empty and at the same time they cut like a knife. I looked at my husband and said "Is this what you want? Not having you, not being together as a family..that's the last thing I want."
I don't know what it was about that moment but our relationship that had been so murky and muddy for months suddenly seemed crystal clear. We sat and cried together, we hugged, we put on our song and danced and cried some more.
Somewhere along the way we had forgotten that we were working toward the same goal. Somewhere we had forgotten that we were not competitors, but teammates. We were both so concerned with our own hurt feelings that our focus became on fixing the past rather than securing the future. We vowed in that moment that we weren't going to be those people anymore--we were going to hold on to what we had, we were going to fight like hell, and we were going to love more fiercely than we hurt.
We continued counseling and truly put all our efforts into it. We realized that until we were real with ourselves, we could never be real with each other. I'm not going to say it was easy but it was such worthy work. Within a matter of weeks, things were different. Now, some 9 months later, things are worlds apart from what they were last year. Our relationship is stronger and yet more tender than it has ever been. Our love for one another is easier and yet more intentional than it has been in years. I could not be happier and I'm actually thankful for the difficult times we faced. After being in a valley, the mountaintop seems that much more rewarding. I believe I know my husband better than I did before our hard times. I see more of him..I understand him better..I love him to the deepest depths of my heart.
I want to share with you all a bit of insight into how we turned our marriage around--some things I wish I would have known all along but am so very thankful to understand now. But, as you know, I can be long-winded and this is probably enough for one post. Lol.
Here you've seen the history and in my next post you will see the future. To be continued, my friends... :)
Thursday, August 20, 2015
Thursday, May 21, 2015
The Ever-Changing Depth of Heartbreak
My husband and I were driving home last weekend from taking our boys to visit my mom. I honestly cannot remember what specific topic we were discussing at first, but I know it led to me then saying "You know, I'm always floored by how much different heartbreak becomes as you age. I feel like I was so naive as a teenager." To which he replied, "There are so many things I am still incredibly naive about."
It got me thinking. I recalled being a young girl--a little quirky, happy, friendly, kind of chubby. Awkward would be a good word to describe me. As most tween girls do, I had a crush (a few over the years) and I remember that beautiful, awful, heartsick feeling of knowing that a crush was all it would ever be.
Those feelings were real. I felt them often and I felt them deeply. I remember confiding in my best friend about this boy I liked well through high school. "He'd never go for me. I'm sure he'd pick any other girl in our class over me.", I'd say. I remember pouring out tears over my journal pages as I wrote about feelings that would probably stay between me, my best friend, and that little book. Trust me, I remember.
But looking back, I smile on those times a bit. I giggle at myself. I say to myself "If I had the confidence, I could have just told him I liked him and saved myself the years of trouble." I wonder if then, my heartbreak would have been over and I could have focused on more important things than boys.
The fact is, though, as an adult I've realized that heartbreak doesn't ever go away. It just changes.
I got married at 20 years old and I am now 27. Within weeks of being married, my husband left for boot camp. A little over a year after being married, we had our first son. Shortly after that, we faced our first deployment, then a second, a second baby, a third deployment.
I felt the heartbreak of being separated from my partner. I felt the pressure of being a "geographically single" mother. Heavy tears ran down my cheeks as I watched my toddler kiss pictures of my husband and ask for "more daddy".
Between our two sons, we lost a baby. I felt the emptiness of my heart overshadow the emptiness of my womb. I grieved the loss of a child that I knew nothing about. I packed away hopes and dreams and assumptions about that child's future.
I watched my husband come in and out of our lives, often feeling like a stranger for weeks after returning. By the time we got reacquainted, he'd be gone again. I'd ask myself "Is this normal? Will this ever end?" I felt completely lost.
During this seven years of official adulthood, I've seen people marry and divorce. I've watched as my friends experience years of infertility, countless miscarriages, and sending their babies off to Heaven after only hours on this Earth. I've seen friends fall upon hard financial circumstances and struggle to feed themselves and their children. I've seen my loved ones pass away. I've watched as my close family and friends struggle with health issues that leave them frail and discouraged. I've watched my friends put in countless hours searching for jobs, only to be told there are no openings. I've seen them struggle through school, only to be rewarded with thousands of dollars in debt. I've seen hopelessness. I've seen defeat.
I've seen heartbreak.
I once thought that heartbreak would end when I found someone to love me for life, when I had children, when I got degrees and jobs and felt accomplished. I thought adulthood equated serenity. Unfortunately, that isn't true.
I think back on the issues I faced as a teenage girl and think "If only that was it." It's not to say that those days weren't difficult, and I know that some young people face much more difficulty in their lives than I ever have and probably ever will. The children who are bullied, the children who don't feel at home in their own bodies, the children who live in poverty, the children who live through abuse...I am not belittling their heart ache. I am not going to even assume that I could understand it or identify with it. Heartache is something they have seen all too much of, and unfortunately, adulthood will not bring a complete eradication of heartbreak.
So what, then? If heartbreak doesn't change, then what?
We change.
We realize that life is not easy, relationships take work, things go wrong and opportunities don't always knock down our doors. But we also realize that it's been years since we felt that first pang of heartache and we are still here. We are still going strong. We can still find beauty in life. We still smile. We still laugh. We're still happy people that only sometimes feel unhappy.
When I was 13 and experiencing unrequited love, it was the worst thing I could have felt at that time. And I got through it. I found my husband, we fell in love. We got married, had children, built a life together. We fell on hard times and we came out stronger. We spent months separated from each other and we remained faithful and committed. I experienced the loss of a baby and it was incredibly painful, but I ended up being blessed with my rainbow son and he brings me laughter every day. I watched my mother lose the man she loved, unexpectedly but she went on to find love again and become a wife again after being separated from my father for over 20 years. I watched my aunt be diagnosed with cancer, fight through chemo, and come out on the other side cancer free and empowered. I watched my brother battle a decade-long drug addiction, overcome it on his own and go on to meet his wife and be blessed with her two boys.
Look, heartbreak doesn't go away. It's always here with us. The depth of it changes over the years. We learn that things happen in adulthood that we didn't dream of happening when we were young and thought that we'd "have it all together" by the ages we are now.
But we also come to know that humans are resilient. We are much, much stronger than we ever give ourselves credit for. We grow and we choose to love each other. We choose to support each other because we know we need support. We face challenges with confidence because we are experienced victors. We can look fear, pain, and loss right in the eyes and say "You may knock me down, but you will not keep me down."
We begin to realize that these are the best of times; these are the worst of times and we make peace with that. Heartbreak is devastating. But there is nothing more powerful than overcoming it and realizing that there is nothing, nothing that you cannot make it through.
So no matter where you are in your life, I want you to understand two things:
1) Heartbreak is everlasting, ever-changing.
2) So are you.
It got me thinking. I recalled being a young girl--a little quirky, happy, friendly, kind of chubby. Awkward would be a good word to describe me. As most tween girls do, I had a crush (a few over the years) and I remember that beautiful, awful, heartsick feeling of knowing that a crush was all it would ever be.
Those feelings were real. I felt them often and I felt them deeply. I remember confiding in my best friend about this boy I liked well through high school. "He'd never go for me. I'm sure he'd pick any other girl in our class over me.", I'd say. I remember pouring out tears over my journal pages as I wrote about feelings that would probably stay between me, my best friend, and that little book. Trust me, I remember.
But looking back, I smile on those times a bit. I giggle at myself. I say to myself "If I had the confidence, I could have just told him I liked him and saved myself the years of trouble." I wonder if then, my heartbreak would have been over and I could have focused on more important things than boys.
The fact is, though, as an adult I've realized that heartbreak doesn't ever go away. It just changes.
I got married at 20 years old and I am now 27. Within weeks of being married, my husband left for boot camp. A little over a year after being married, we had our first son. Shortly after that, we faced our first deployment, then a second, a second baby, a third deployment.
I felt the heartbreak of being separated from my partner. I felt the pressure of being a "geographically single" mother. Heavy tears ran down my cheeks as I watched my toddler kiss pictures of my husband and ask for "more daddy".
Between our two sons, we lost a baby. I felt the emptiness of my heart overshadow the emptiness of my womb. I grieved the loss of a child that I knew nothing about. I packed away hopes and dreams and assumptions about that child's future.
I watched my husband come in and out of our lives, often feeling like a stranger for weeks after returning. By the time we got reacquainted, he'd be gone again. I'd ask myself "Is this normal? Will this ever end?" I felt completely lost.
During this seven years of official adulthood, I've seen people marry and divorce. I've watched as my friends experience years of infertility, countless miscarriages, and sending their babies off to Heaven after only hours on this Earth. I've seen friends fall upon hard financial circumstances and struggle to feed themselves and their children. I've seen my loved ones pass away. I've watched as my close family and friends struggle with health issues that leave them frail and discouraged. I've watched my friends put in countless hours searching for jobs, only to be told there are no openings. I've seen them struggle through school, only to be rewarded with thousands of dollars in debt. I've seen hopelessness. I've seen defeat.
I've seen heartbreak.
I once thought that heartbreak would end when I found someone to love me for life, when I had children, when I got degrees and jobs and felt accomplished. I thought adulthood equated serenity. Unfortunately, that isn't true.
I think back on the issues I faced as a teenage girl and think "If only that was it." It's not to say that those days weren't difficult, and I know that some young people face much more difficulty in their lives than I ever have and probably ever will. The children who are bullied, the children who don't feel at home in their own bodies, the children who live in poverty, the children who live through abuse...I am not belittling their heart ache. I am not going to even assume that I could understand it or identify with it. Heartache is something they have seen all too much of, and unfortunately, adulthood will not bring a complete eradication of heartbreak.
So what, then? If heartbreak doesn't change, then what?
We change.
We realize that life is not easy, relationships take work, things go wrong and opportunities don't always knock down our doors. But we also realize that it's been years since we felt that first pang of heartache and we are still here. We are still going strong. We can still find beauty in life. We still smile. We still laugh. We're still happy people that only sometimes feel unhappy.
When I was 13 and experiencing unrequited love, it was the worst thing I could have felt at that time. And I got through it. I found my husband, we fell in love. We got married, had children, built a life together. We fell on hard times and we came out stronger. We spent months separated from each other and we remained faithful and committed. I experienced the loss of a baby and it was incredibly painful, but I ended up being blessed with my rainbow son and he brings me laughter every day. I watched my mother lose the man she loved, unexpectedly but she went on to find love again and become a wife again after being separated from my father for over 20 years. I watched my aunt be diagnosed with cancer, fight through chemo, and come out on the other side cancer free and empowered. I watched my brother battle a decade-long drug addiction, overcome it on his own and go on to meet his wife and be blessed with her two boys.
Look, heartbreak doesn't go away. It's always here with us. The depth of it changes over the years. We learn that things happen in adulthood that we didn't dream of happening when we were young and thought that we'd "have it all together" by the ages we are now.
But we also come to know that humans are resilient. We are much, much stronger than we ever give ourselves credit for. We grow and we choose to love each other. We choose to support each other because we know we need support. We face challenges with confidence because we are experienced victors. We can look fear, pain, and loss right in the eyes and say "You may knock me down, but you will not keep me down."
We begin to realize that these are the best of times; these are the worst of times and we make peace with that. Heartbreak is devastating. But there is nothing more powerful than overcoming it and realizing that there is nothing, nothing that you cannot make it through.
So no matter where you are in your life, I want you to understand two things:
1) Heartbreak is everlasting, ever-changing.
2) So are you.
Friday, April 3, 2015
Right Here
It's been a busy couple of weeks. My mom, the boys, and I were able to travel to Virginia to see my brother and visit with some friends. It was a long, draining trip but it was lovely being able to visit the place we called home for five years and to see my brother after the longest separation my mom and I have ever had from him.
That has nothing to do with this blog, honestly. But I said all that to say: The day before we left for VA I had taken my youngest son to day care while I took my oldest to an appointment. When I was picking him up, I saw a mother walking with her young son (he was probably 18 months). As they went through the entry way, she stopped to hold the door for another mother walking in. Her little one stopped and looked to his side, expecting to see her there, and when he didn't his lip began to quiver. She was a mere 2-3 feet behind him and with these simple words she calmed his fears: "I'm right here."
It hit me in that moment that those may be the three most underrated words in all of creation. How highly we hold that three-word phrase we all hold so dear: I love you. But I believe that "I'm right here" is right up there with its more popular three-word counterpart. Love is a tremendous thing, but love without presence lacks meaning.
I immediately thought about wanting to blog about what that mother said and why it was such an extraordinary thing. And I'm just now having the time to sit down and do just that.
How often have we said those words, or something similar, in our lives? How often have we heard them? When we have heard them, how often has it been exactly what we needed to hear?
I've always fancied myself someone with a good memory. I can remember things from when I was only a toddler. I started thinking back on times with my mother as a child. None stood out to me when she used that phrase with me as a little girl, but one thing that did stand out was how often she showed me that she was right by my side. Her presence, and the presence of others in my family, shines through to me more than anything else in my early years.
I started thinking about a time when I was a little older--my preteen days. I had my first crush, but of course I thought it was much more. I happened to be head-over-heels for one of my brother's friends, and after he had spent a weekend at our house, my tween girl feelings were just that much more amplified. However, I was wise beyond my years in the sense that I knew, deep down, that we'd never be together. And although it seems silly now, it killed me. I went to my best friend's house to spend the night (it was summer time) and she, too, had spent the weekend with someone she cared very deeply for. She is five years my senior, so her feelings and experiences were far more complex than that of an 11 or 12 year old girl, but the feeling of desperation of wanting something you can't have was the same. I remember walking into her room, without saying a word to her about how I was feeling or having any indication of how she was feeling. Before we started our normal routine of playing Nintendo and listening to No Doubt, we both just looked at each other and began to cry. Neither of us knew exactly why the other was crying, just yet, but we did know that we needed each other in that moment. We hugged and cried together. Finally, she broke the silence. "I'm here. I'm so sorry." We continued to cry for a few minutes, then dried it up and explained why we were both feeling so down. After getting it off our chests, we went on with our night of playing around, listening to music, and eating entirely too much ice cream. We had a good time. But I believe without each others' presence, we would have lingered in our sadness.
A few years later...a similar situation. I had broken up with my first real boyfriend after being together for over two years. I quickly started dating someone else, and because I was pretty new at the whole thing, I fell hard. He wasn't right for me. Everyone saw it as a fling. My two best guy friends strongly advised me against dating him. But, I thought it was love. He was 16 (a year younger than I was) and had a child. We worked together, and after only being "an item" for a couple of weeks, he met me in the parking lot at work and told me he was breaking up with me to try to make it work with his baby's mother. Good for him, really. But, at the time it hurt. I think it hurt worse than it should have because, like I said, I had fallen hard. I missed the security and companionship I had with my ex and I wanted to have that again. I felt really lonely. I remember leaving work early that night, much to my manager's chagrin, and calling my friend Kyle on the way home. "Meet me at my house, can you?" He could tell I was upset. He showed up at my doorstep with our other bestie, Daniel. I remember just looking at them and saying "Please don't say 'I told you so'" and bursting into tears. They immediately understood. Neither of them said they saw it coming, even though they both did. They just sat with me and said "Who needs him? We're here."
As I walked with my two sons to the van and my mind pushed that last memory aside, a new one came into view. I was in my car, at the top of the hill close to my home, off the side of the road. I realized I had just wrecked my car but was disoriented. I pulled out my cell phone and made a call to my mom. As soon as she answered, I said through my tears, "Mom, I need you." "Where are you?", she asked. I told her. "I'll be right there." And within 2 minutes, she was pulling up next to me. "I'm right here. It's okay, I'm here."
Another memory flashed in my mind. I was 21 years old, and after a long, hard labor I welcomed my first child into the world. I remember feeling like the weight of all the love in the world was placed in my arms when I first held him. I said "Hi, baby. You're here. You're finally here." Everything I had dreamed of was presented to me in that moment. He was right there and that was more than enough for me.
Driving home from day care, a few other memories popped into my mind. The times my husband was deployed--those first phone calls or video chats. The connections were always awful and he'd cut in and out. But I'd hear his voice on the line. "I'm here", he'd say and even if he was only there with me for a minute, it was enough to get me through the next few weeks we'd go without hearing each other's voices.
When I found out we had lost a baby between my two sons, and my husband was underway. A friend sat with me in the ER. "I'm so glad you're here.", I said.
When my second son was born, he came out without a heartbeat. He wasn't breathing. He lied purple and lifeless on the bed for what seemed like forever before they whisked him away to cut his cord and suction his lungs. When we finally heard his cry, I remember crying tears of joy myself and thinking "There it is! The cry I've been waiting for. He's here and he's okay."
When my brother was living with us and my husband was gone for deployments, workups, or duty days, I'd often wait up for my brother to get home and confess that I hated a house without a male presence. "Eh, I'm here.", he'd say, "No need to worry."
When my oldest would have a nightmare or my youngest would wake up hungry, I'd rush to their bedside and rub their backs. "Mommy's right here. I'm right here," I'd say as I picked them up and comforted them.
When my husband finally returned home from his last deployment after four extensions and I heard my boys yelling "Daddy's here! He's really here!!".
The words "I'm right here" may not seem like much when we first think about them. I'm sure we all hear them and say them daily. But when you think about the gravity of those words and the meaning behind them, a lot of things in life come into perspective. Isn't presence the most important thing we can give someone in this life? Love without presence is empty. Friendship without presence falls short. Relationships of any kind, without presence, cannot be influential or empowering.
Be there for the ones you love. Be present with God, with your children, your spouse, your parents, your family, and your friends. Revel in the times that someone has said those words to you, and proven to you that they mean it from the deepest parts of their soul. I never thought overhearing three little words in a scenario that I hear and experience quite often would take me for the ride it did, but I am so glad that it happened that way. Seeing that child go from scared to comforted in an instance was so poignant to me. Be that comfort for someone in your life and allow someone to comfort you in the same way. It's the every day things that often go unnoticed that tend to be the life-altering moments in our lives. <3 nbsp="" p="">
That has nothing to do with this blog, honestly. But I said all that to say: The day before we left for VA I had taken my youngest son to day care while I took my oldest to an appointment. When I was picking him up, I saw a mother walking with her young son (he was probably 18 months). As they went through the entry way, she stopped to hold the door for another mother walking in. Her little one stopped and looked to his side, expecting to see her there, and when he didn't his lip began to quiver. She was a mere 2-3 feet behind him and with these simple words she calmed his fears: "I'm right here."
It hit me in that moment that those may be the three most underrated words in all of creation. How highly we hold that three-word phrase we all hold so dear: I love you. But I believe that "I'm right here" is right up there with its more popular three-word counterpart. Love is a tremendous thing, but love without presence lacks meaning.
I immediately thought about wanting to blog about what that mother said and why it was such an extraordinary thing. And I'm just now having the time to sit down and do just that.
How often have we said those words, or something similar, in our lives? How often have we heard them? When we have heard them, how often has it been exactly what we needed to hear?
I've always fancied myself someone with a good memory. I can remember things from when I was only a toddler. I started thinking back on times with my mother as a child. None stood out to me when she used that phrase with me as a little girl, but one thing that did stand out was how often she showed me that she was right by my side. Her presence, and the presence of others in my family, shines through to me more than anything else in my early years.
I started thinking about a time when I was a little older--my preteen days. I had my first crush, but of course I thought it was much more. I happened to be head-over-heels for one of my brother's friends, and after he had spent a weekend at our house, my tween girl feelings were just that much more amplified. However, I was wise beyond my years in the sense that I knew, deep down, that we'd never be together. And although it seems silly now, it killed me. I went to my best friend's house to spend the night (it was summer time) and she, too, had spent the weekend with someone she cared very deeply for. She is five years my senior, so her feelings and experiences were far more complex than that of an 11 or 12 year old girl, but the feeling of desperation of wanting something you can't have was the same. I remember walking into her room, without saying a word to her about how I was feeling or having any indication of how she was feeling. Before we started our normal routine of playing Nintendo and listening to No Doubt, we both just looked at each other and began to cry. Neither of us knew exactly why the other was crying, just yet, but we did know that we needed each other in that moment. We hugged and cried together. Finally, she broke the silence. "I'm here. I'm so sorry." We continued to cry for a few minutes, then dried it up and explained why we were both feeling so down. After getting it off our chests, we went on with our night of playing around, listening to music, and eating entirely too much ice cream. We had a good time. But I believe without each others' presence, we would have lingered in our sadness.
A few years later...a similar situation. I had broken up with my first real boyfriend after being together for over two years. I quickly started dating someone else, and because I was pretty new at the whole thing, I fell hard. He wasn't right for me. Everyone saw it as a fling. My two best guy friends strongly advised me against dating him. But, I thought it was love. He was 16 (a year younger than I was) and had a child. We worked together, and after only being "an item" for a couple of weeks, he met me in the parking lot at work and told me he was breaking up with me to try to make it work with his baby's mother. Good for him, really. But, at the time it hurt. I think it hurt worse than it should have because, like I said, I had fallen hard. I missed the security and companionship I had with my ex and I wanted to have that again. I felt really lonely. I remember leaving work early that night, much to my manager's chagrin, and calling my friend Kyle on the way home. "Meet me at my house, can you?" He could tell I was upset. He showed up at my doorstep with our other bestie, Daniel. I remember just looking at them and saying "Please don't say 'I told you so'" and bursting into tears. They immediately understood. Neither of them said they saw it coming, even though they both did. They just sat with me and said "Who needs him? We're here."
As I walked with my two sons to the van and my mind pushed that last memory aside, a new one came into view. I was in my car, at the top of the hill close to my home, off the side of the road. I realized I had just wrecked my car but was disoriented. I pulled out my cell phone and made a call to my mom. As soon as she answered, I said through my tears, "Mom, I need you." "Where are you?", she asked. I told her. "I'll be right there." And within 2 minutes, she was pulling up next to me. "I'm right here. It's okay, I'm here."
Another memory flashed in my mind. I was 21 years old, and after a long, hard labor I welcomed my first child into the world. I remember feeling like the weight of all the love in the world was placed in my arms when I first held him. I said "Hi, baby. You're here. You're finally here." Everything I had dreamed of was presented to me in that moment. He was right there and that was more than enough for me.
Driving home from day care, a few other memories popped into my mind. The times my husband was deployed--those first phone calls or video chats. The connections were always awful and he'd cut in and out. But I'd hear his voice on the line. "I'm here", he'd say and even if he was only there with me for a minute, it was enough to get me through the next few weeks we'd go without hearing each other's voices.
When I found out we had lost a baby between my two sons, and my husband was underway. A friend sat with me in the ER. "I'm so glad you're here.", I said.
When my second son was born, he came out without a heartbeat. He wasn't breathing. He lied purple and lifeless on the bed for what seemed like forever before they whisked him away to cut his cord and suction his lungs. When we finally heard his cry, I remember crying tears of joy myself and thinking "There it is! The cry I've been waiting for. He's here and he's okay."
When my brother was living with us and my husband was gone for deployments, workups, or duty days, I'd often wait up for my brother to get home and confess that I hated a house without a male presence. "Eh, I'm here.", he'd say, "No need to worry."
When my oldest would have a nightmare or my youngest would wake up hungry, I'd rush to their bedside and rub their backs. "Mommy's right here. I'm right here," I'd say as I picked them up and comforted them.
When my husband finally returned home from his last deployment after four extensions and I heard my boys yelling "Daddy's here! He's really here!!".
The words "I'm right here" may not seem like much when we first think about them. I'm sure we all hear them and say them daily. But when you think about the gravity of those words and the meaning behind them, a lot of things in life come into perspective. Isn't presence the most important thing we can give someone in this life? Love without presence is empty. Friendship without presence falls short. Relationships of any kind, without presence, cannot be influential or empowering.
Be there for the ones you love. Be present with God, with your children, your spouse, your parents, your family, and your friends. Revel in the times that someone has said those words to you, and proven to you that they mean it from the deepest parts of their soul. I never thought overhearing three little words in a scenario that I hear and experience quite often would take me for the ride it did, but I am so glad that it happened that way. Seeing that child go from scared to comforted in an instance was so poignant to me. Be that comfort for someone in your life and allow someone to comfort you in the same way. It's the every day things that often go unnoticed that tend to be the life-altering moments in our lives. <3 nbsp="" p="">
Wednesday, January 21, 2015
To You, Baby
Dear Baby,
I need you to know that I love you. I need you to know that I want you; I have always wanted you.
To me, you are not just some ideal number. You are not wishful thinking. You are more than a hope and bigger than a dream. You are abstract, but you are concrete. You are not living and breathing, yet. But I believe you are real--you exist somewhere out there in the universe. And you are mine.
I think about you often, Baby. I imagine my first knowledge of your presence and the joy that it would bring. I can nearly feel your tiny flutters inside my belly, the weight and the warmth of your body lying on my chest. I can see the smile on your Daddy's face when you enter the world, ready to prove to him that you were well worth any struggles that a bigger family may face. I can see that you are the apple of your big brothers' eyes. I can almost hear your tiny laughter and your big, hungry cry.
Baby, you are something that I have waited for all my life. When I dreamed of your brothers, I dreamed of you, too.
I want you for all your experiences. I want you for your newborn smell, your toddles, your first day of school, your first date, your teenage drama, your wedding day, and the grandchildren you will one day bless me with.
Baby, I long for it all.
I may not hold you in my arms, Baby, but I am holding you in my heart. Wherever you may be, a piece of me is there with you. One day, I hope that you will arrive with that piece, and I will feel the wholeness of knowing you are here.
Until then, Baby, I will be here. Searching, hoping, loving, wanting, and waiting.
Forever Yours,
Mama
I need you to know that I love you. I need you to know that I want you; I have always wanted you.
To me, you are not just some ideal number. You are not wishful thinking. You are more than a hope and bigger than a dream. You are abstract, but you are concrete. You are not living and breathing, yet. But I believe you are real--you exist somewhere out there in the universe. And you are mine.
I think about you often, Baby. I imagine my first knowledge of your presence and the joy that it would bring. I can nearly feel your tiny flutters inside my belly, the weight and the warmth of your body lying on my chest. I can see the smile on your Daddy's face when you enter the world, ready to prove to him that you were well worth any struggles that a bigger family may face. I can see that you are the apple of your big brothers' eyes. I can almost hear your tiny laughter and your big, hungry cry.
Baby, you are something that I have waited for all my life. When I dreamed of your brothers, I dreamed of you, too.
I want you for all your experiences. I want you for your newborn smell, your toddles, your first day of school, your first date, your teenage drama, your wedding day, and the grandchildren you will one day bless me with.
Baby, I long for it all.
I may not hold you in my arms, Baby, but I am holding you in my heart. Wherever you may be, a piece of me is there with you. One day, I hope that you will arrive with that piece, and I will feel the wholeness of knowing you are here.
Until then, Baby, I will be here. Searching, hoping, loving, wanting, and waiting.
Forever Yours,
Mama
Monday, January 12, 2015
Unwavering
This morning, as my oldest and I waited outside for the bus, I turned to him and said "Let me get your picture, Goob. You look so big and handsome today." And he did. And he does every day. But some days it takes me off guard.
.jpg)
I snapped the picture but behind his little smile I saw something deeper. "You okay, bub?", I asked. He began to tear up. He told me he didn't want to go to school. He said that school is "too long" and he just wanted to be here with me. Of course, as much as I wanted to say "Okay, lets just go back inside and snuggle", I needed to send him off to school. I gave him a big hug and looked at him face to face. "I will miss you too, sweetie. But you will have fun at school. And when you get home, I'll be here waiting." He hugged me tight as his bus rounded the corner and when it stopped and the doors opened, he turned to me with a smile and a wave. "I love you!" he yelled back, and off he went.
As I opened the door to come back inside, a small whimper met my ears. My little guy..standing with two stuffed animals wrapped in his arms and a tear in his eye. "I was missing you, mama."
He had woken up in the few minutes that I was out front with his brother and he'd felt scared and alone. I wrapped him in a hug and told him I was only putting Xander on the bus. "Mommy will never leave you alone. If I'm not inside, I'm right outside sending Goob off to school. Are you okay?"
"Now I'm okay," he answered. "I love you, mama."
Some days the gravity of how much they love me hits me and I can't explain the way it makes me feel. I know they won't be this little forever. Along the way, I'll make some mistakes. I'll upset them or let them down. New loves will develop in their lives. As they mature, their love for me and all things will mature and change.
But here--in the quiet of this still, gray morning--their love is the most indestructible, unwavering, devoted, and adoring that it will ever be.
They still say things like "I wish I could be stuck to you all day so I could just kiss you and hug you when I wanted to." and "I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much" and "I don't know how to say it but I just love you, love you, love you."
And I am so honored. I can't describe how lucky I feel to be the mother of these two amazing boys and how completely enamored I am with them.
I want them to know that the way they love me now--fully, wholeheartedly, with all their energy and commitment--that is the way I have always and will always love them.
From the moments I knew they were forming inside of my body--I was thankful for them.
The first seconds they were placed on my chest, I felt the weight of a love heavier than any I had ever known.
I spent my nights holding them close. I smelled their little heads, kissed their little faces.
I held my breath with their first steps and their first times on their bikes.
I feel pride swell within with every milestone they achieve. My heart melts every time I see their personalities blossom and with each time I experience or witness the fullness of their kind hearts and giving souls. I sneak into their room each night and watch them sleeping, in awe at the beauty that my husband and I created. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and take it all in each time they snuggle close to me or sit in my lap and nuzzle their heads into my neck.
Right now, in this day and this year and this phase of our lives, I am privileged enough to have these two boys look at me like I have hung the moon.
I don't know how long that will last. But I do know that for me, they will always be my sun--the center of it all, the light of my life.
They will always be my everything and I will always feel like the luckiest woman in the world to belong to them, and to have been loved by them in such a precious and pure way.
I snapped the picture but behind his little smile I saw something deeper. "You okay, bub?", I asked. He began to tear up. He told me he didn't want to go to school. He said that school is "too long" and he just wanted to be here with me. Of course, as much as I wanted to say "Okay, lets just go back inside and snuggle", I needed to send him off to school. I gave him a big hug and looked at him face to face. "I will miss you too, sweetie. But you will have fun at school. And when you get home, I'll be here waiting." He hugged me tight as his bus rounded the corner and when it stopped and the doors opened, he turned to me with a smile and a wave. "I love you!" he yelled back, and off he went.
As I opened the door to come back inside, a small whimper met my ears. My little guy..standing with two stuffed animals wrapped in his arms and a tear in his eye. "I was missing you, mama."
He had woken up in the few minutes that I was out front with his brother and he'd felt scared and alone. I wrapped him in a hug and told him I was only putting Xander on the bus. "Mommy will never leave you alone. If I'm not inside, I'm right outside sending Goob off to school. Are you okay?"
"Now I'm okay," he answered. "I love you, mama."
Some days the gravity of how much they love me hits me and I can't explain the way it makes me feel. I know they won't be this little forever. Along the way, I'll make some mistakes. I'll upset them or let them down. New loves will develop in their lives. As they mature, their love for me and all things will mature and change.
But here--in the quiet of this still, gray morning--their love is the most indestructible, unwavering, devoted, and adoring that it will ever be.
They still say things like "I wish I could be stuck to you all day so I could just kiss you and hug you when I wanted to." and "I love you thiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiis much" and "I don't know how to say it but I just love you, love you, love you."
And I am so honored. I can't describe how lucky I feel to be the mother of these two amazing boys and how completely enamored I am with them.
I want them to know that the way they love me now--fully, wholeheartedly, with all their energy and commitment--that is the way I have always and will always love them.
From the moments I knew they were forming inside of my body--I was thankful for them.
The first seconds they were placed on my chest, I felt the weight of a love heavier than any I had ever known.
I spent my nights holding them close. I smelled their little heads, kissed their little faces.
I held my breath with their first steps and their first times on their bikes.
I feel pride swell within with every milestone they achieve. My heart melts every time I see their personalities blossom and with each time I experience or witness the fullness of their kind hearts and giving souls. I sneak into their room each night and watch them sleeping, in awe at the beauty that my husband and I created. I take a deep breath, close my eyes and take it all in each time they snuggle close to me or sit in my lap and nuzzle their heads into my neck.
Right now, in this day and this year and this phase of our lives, I am privileged enough to have these two boys look at me like I have hung the moon.
I don't know how long that will last. But I do know that for me, they will always be my sun--the center of it all, the light of my life.
They will always be my everything and I will always feel like the luckiest woman in the world to belong to them, and to have been loved by them in such a precious and pure way.
Monday, January 5, 2015
And the word of the year is....
Content.
The new year is upon us. 2015--it's hard to believe. I've decided that this year, instead of making resolutions that I'm unlikely to follow through with, I'm going to give the year a theme and build on it. My theme for 2015 is to be content.
2014 was a very trying, exhausting, saddening year for me. I won't go into details but I will say I fought my own demons, faced trials in my marriage and family, and was met with some very big changes. I found myself feeling more hopeless and worthless than I had in a very long time. My anxiety and depression reached an all-time high and it seemed that trouble awaited around every corner. 2014 was just a culmination of so many years of things working their way into my life and my heart--negativity, frustration, disappointment.
I looked back on my life, namely on my adulthood, and realized that two emotions were prevalent: fear and guilt.
I have allowed these two emotions to control so much of my life and it's time that I regain control.
Despite the trials we faced this year, my little family came out of it with our heads above water and we're working to make ourselves even stronger than before.
I want this next year to be filled with love, laughter, and progress. I want this year to be filled with contentment.
Some people confuse contentment with complacency. That's not the case. You can be content with the goals you have set for yourself but achieving them still takes work. It's not always going to be a "sit back, relax, and take it all in" type of feeling. But, one thing that I know for sure--I want it to be a happy feeling.
I have so many things in my life to be happy about. So many. And yet, I've realized that I've not been experiencing all the happiness I can. I haven't allowed myself to. Some of that has been due to my anxiety and depression--which I'm working on--but some of it comes from insecurity and those two pesky emotions I talked about before: fear and guilt.
Fear of being rejected.
Fear of being abandoned.
Fear of not being worthy.
Fear of others' perceptions of me.
Guilt about not "adding up".
Guilt surrounding not being the best wife, the best mother, the best daughter, the best friend.
Guilt about wanting something for myself that others may not approve of.
Guilt about doing things differently; being myself.
I've spent many years of my life so worried about what other people think, what society says I should be doing, and what I might be messing up, that I've not allowed myself to truly enjoy the blessings I have in my life. And for that, I'm sorry. Because those of you who have been a blessing in my life deserve to be truly, fully appreciated.
How often do we let others dictate how we feel, what we do? How often do we follow through with something, knowing it will bring us no joy, simply because we feel constrained, obligated, or forced?
I'm not saying we should be totally selfish. We shouldn't ignore the needs of others. We shouldn't be so self-absorbed that we don't notice when someone could benefit from our time, our words, and our presence. But, we shouldn't be forced to tolerate negativity because we feel it's "just the way life goes."
I'm talking about allowing others opinions to influence your choice of career, how many kids you have, when you make big life decisions, who you marry, or what religion you practice. I'm talking about "going through the motions" every day because you feel you owe it to your family or your peers. I'm talking about beating yourself up with each mistake. I'm talking about setting unrealistic expectations for yourself and others and being torn apart when they aren't met. I'm talking about the constant feeling of competition--someone is always prettier, always a better mom, always smarter, always more advanced in their field, always richer. I'm talking about drudging through life doing everything you feel you have to do without stopping to think about what you want to do.
In 2015, I want to rid myself of all of that. If nothing more, I want to begin to make a more positive impact in my own life.
I just recently graduated college and you know the first thing I thought? "Well, now I have to go get a job in my field, I guess."
No true, genuine excitement. Now that it's here, and it's real, I wonder if this is even what I want to do with my life. I've always been smart. I had big dreams of double majors in psychology and poli sci. I wanted to run for Congress some day. I went straight into college, because that's what you do. But then, I got married and I had kids. And I realized life is much more than checking boxes off of some giant "must-do" list. My loved ones are my passion. Singing makes me happy. Writing fulfills me. And I honestly don't even really care for politics anymore. I realized that shortly into my college career, so I went with Psychology and then back to school for Substance Abuse Counseling. Substance abuse hits close to home for me and I love helping people so I could see this being something I enjoyed doing. But is it my passion? No. And now here I am...several years later. I've put what truly makes me happy on the back-burner to do something more tangible, something that will make me some money, a "real" career. I've got two college degrees, a whole lot of debt, and a commitment to something I'm not sure will ever make me feel fulfilled.
Why have I not tried to make anything of my writing? Fear. There it is again. Fear that I'd fail. Fear that I'd waste my time and then when I realized I couldn't make it, I'd have to scramble to find a "real career". Fear that people would look down on me. "Oh you're just a mom and an aspiring author?" I can just hear the contempt.
2015 is about being content. Content in my choices. Content in my abilities. Content in my discernment. Content in my love, in my relationships, in my own worth.
2015 is about not letting anything get in the way of my self-confidence. It's about being an awesome wife and an awesome mom and an awesome family member and friend---not based on certain accomplishments or comparisons but just because I am awesome. At least, my husband and kids and family and friends think so. And I'm going to stop trying to convince them otherwise.
2015 is not about fear, it's not about guilt, and it's not about proving something to everyone. There aren't resolutions to lose X pounds, to get a job paying X salary, to do X amount of new things. Sure, all those things would be wonderful. All those things can be goals. But if I set them, I want to be the dictator of what those mean for me. I'm freeing myself from doing things based solely on the idea of negative repercussions if I don't do them,
2015 is my year. I can feel it. I won't stand for it being anything other than mine. I have amazing people in my life, big dreams, talents, and a heart full of love. I won't squander those things anymore based on guilt and fear. I will be myself, I will own it. I will be content.
And I invite you to do the same.
Happy New Year!
The new year is upon us. 2015--it's hard to believe. I've decided that this year, instead of making resolutions that I'm unlikely to follow through with, I'm going to give the year a theme and build on it. My theme for 2015 is to be content.
2014 was a very trying, exhausting, saddening year for me. I won't go into details but I will say I fought my own demons, faced trials in my marriage and family, and was met with some very big changes. I found myself feeling more hopeless and worthless than I had in a very long time. My anxiety and depression reached an all-time high and it seemed that trouble awaited around every corner. 2014 was just a culmination of so many years of things working their way into my life and my heart--negativity, frustration, disappointment.
I looked back on my life, namely on my adulthood, and realized that two emotions were prevalent: fear and guilt.
I have allowed these two emotions to control so much of my life and it's time that I regain control.
Despite the trials we faced this year, my little family came out of it with our heads above water and we're working to make ourselves even stronger than before.
I want this next year to be filled with love, laughter, and progress. I want this year to be filled with contentment.
Some people confuse contentment with complacency. That's not the case. You can be content with the goals you have set for yourself but achieving them still takes work. It's not always going to be a "sit back, relax, and take it all in" type of feeling. But, one thing that I know for sure--I want it to be a happy feeling.
I have so many things in my life to be happy about. So many. And yet, I've realized that I've not been experiencing all the happiness I can. I haven't allowed myself to. Some of that has been due to my anxiety and depression--which I'm working on--but some of it comes from insecurity and those two pesky emotions I talked about before: fear and guilt.
Fear of being rejected.
Fear of being abandoned.
Fear of not being worthy.
Fear of others' perceptions of me.
Guilt about not "adding up".
Guilt surrounding not being the best wife, the best mother, the best daughter, the best friend.
Guilt about wanting something for myself that others may not approve of.
Guilt about doing things differently; being myself.
I've spent many years of my life so worried about what other people think, what society says I should be doing, and what I might be messing up, that I've not allowed myself to truly enjoy the blessings I have in my life. And for that, I'm sorry. Because those of you who have been a blessing in my life deserve to be truly, fully appreciated.
How often do we let others dictate how we feel, what we do? How often do we follow through with something, knowing it will bring us no joy, simply because we feel constrained, obligated, or forced?
I'm not saying we should be totally selfish. We shouldn't ignore the needs of others. We shouldn't be so self-absorbed that we don't notice when someone could benefit from our time, our words, and our presence. But, we shouldn't be forced to tolerate negativity because we feel it's "just the way life goes."
I'm talking about allowing others opinions to influence your choice of career, how many kids you have, when you make big life decisions, who you marry, or what religion you practice. I'm talking about "going through the motions" every day because you feel you owe it to your family or your peers. I'm talking about beating yourself up with each mistake. I'm talking about setting unrealistic expectations for yourself and others and being torn apart when they aren't met. I'm talking about the constant feeling of competition--someone is always prettier, always a better mom, always smarter, always more advanced in their field, always richer. I'm talking about drudging through life doing everything you feel you have to do without stopping to think about what you want to do.
In 2015, I want to rid myself of all of that. If nothing more, I want to begin to make a more positive impact in my own life.
I just recently graduated college and you know the first thing I thought? "Well, now I have to go get a job in my field, I guess."
No true, genuine excitement. Now that it's here, and it's real, I wonder if this is even what I want to do with my life. I've always been smart. I had big dreams of double majors in psychology and poli sci. I wanted to run for Congress some day. I went straight into college, because that's what you do. But then, I got married and I had kids. And I realized life is much more than checking boxes off of some giant "must-do" list. My loved ones are my passion. Singing makes me happy. Writing fulfills me. And I honestly don't even really care for politics anymore. I realized that shortly into my college career, so I went with Psychology and then back to school for Substance Abuse Counseling. Substance abuse hits close to home for me and I love helping people so I could see this being something I enjoyed doing. But is it my passion? No. And now here I am...several years later. I've put what truly makes me happy on the back-burner to do something more tangible, something that will make me some money, a "real" career. I've got two college degrees, a whole lot of debt, and a commitment to something I'm not sure will ever make me feel fulfilled.
Why have I not tried to make anything of my writing? Fear. There it is again. Fear that I'd fail. Fear that I'd waste my time and then when I realized I couldn't make it, I'd have to scramble to find a "real career". Fear that people would look down on me. "Oh you're just a mom and an aspiring author?" I can just hear the contempt.
2015 is about being content. Content in my choices. Content in my abilities. Content in my discernment. Content in my love, in my relationships, in my own worth.
2015 is about not letting anything get in the way of my self-confidence. It's about being an awesome wife and an awesome mom and an awesome family member and friend---not based on certain accomplishments or comparisons but just because I am awesome. At least, my husband and kids and family and friends think so. And I'm going to stop trying to convince them otherwise.
2015 is my year. I can feel it. I won't stand for it being anything other than mine. I have amazing people in my life, big dreams, talents, and a heart full of love. I won't squander those things anymore based on guilt and fear. I will be myself, I will own it. I will be content.
And I invite you to do the same.
Happy New Year!
Saturday, June 14, 2014
Becoming a Father: A Wife's Perspective
With our oldest having just turned 5 and Father's Day coming up tomorrow, I felt inspired to reflect on the wonderful gift that it's been to watch my husband become and grow as a father.
It's sort of a funny thing, the way life works. My husband and I began dating between our Junior and Senior years of high school. While the feelings of lust and infatuation often lead to daydreams of happily-ever-afters, I think it's fair to say that no seventeen-year-old truly and adequately imagines a life beyond drive-in dates, love notes left in lockers, and the ever-pressing dilemma of studying for the big Calculus test or snuggling with your cutie.
At 17, my husband never wanted to get married and definitely never wanted kids. Yeah, he was one of those. lol. At 17, I dreamed of us being together forever. I assumed the white veil and the bouncing baby would come at some point, though the idea of it always seemed kind of like that distant 4th cousin you have that acts on Broadway. You know it exists. It's there somewhere, way in the distance, and one day it'd be cool to cross paths.
Eventually, those ideas became more real. Our life together grew and blossomed into something I don't think either one of us could have imagined or predicted. We walked down the aisle at 19 and 20 and within two months from that day, that boy I knew with the newly acquired title of "Husband" was off to serve his country in the United States Navy.
By that point, I was a bit older. You know, 20 years old. Completely ancient. I was in a rush to start our family. I assumed my PCOS would make it a long, difficult journey and it was one I was anxious to embark on. I'm not sure my husband would have said the same. We were just beginning such an incredible endeavor with the military life, we were going to be out on our own and "living the dream". The world was our oyster and I don't think a screaming, pooping, sleep-depriving pearl was what he had in mind. But, we both knew we wanted a family. Again, eventually. But we had no idea when that day would come.
We spent 4 months apart from each other and at that point it seemed like forever. Now, 4 months seems like nothing. You grow immensely and realize your strength as a military couple. But that's another day, another blog.
On August 28th, 2008, I joined my husband in Great Lakes, IL and our "married life" truly began.
On September 7th, 2008, I got pregnant with our first son.
Because of my PCOS and some wacky cycles, I had no idea what my body was doing. I knew I felt "off" but it could have been anything. I tested, and it was negative, and so I went on thinking that my period would come any time. On my 21st birthday, I chose to test again. Big fat blue plus sign. I remember tears streaming down my face. Happy tears. It was my birthday..and the first one I spent away from home. I got phone calls from my friends, my family, my mom. I was screaming inside but I wanted my husband to be the first to know so I held it in.
6pm, he comes home. I'm waiting on the bed with the positive test. For 12 1/2 hours I'd kept the biggest secret of my life. I was ready to burst. He walks in the room "Happy birthday, baby. I'm sorry we can't do anything. I'm so upset that I can't take you out, but you know money is so tight right now. Duty was awful, as usual."
"Can we talk for a sec?"
"Maybe in a minute. I need to take a shower and unwind."
"Just a second. Listen, I know you're upset about not having any money, but I'm okay, I promise. We don't need to do anything big for my birthday. It'll be memorable regardless..."
"I doubt that."
"Hey, sometimes we think things are supposed to go one way and they go another. And sometimes the second way is a better way, after all. God only gives you the things you can handle.."
"I know, I know. I'm going to go shower and maybe I'll feel more like talking after."
"Babe.."
"Robin, seriously. We can talk in a minute. I'm just really stressed out.."
Okay, this wasn't going how I expected. But I'd waited long enough. Another 20 minutes would seem like an eternity. I blurted it out..
"We're having a baby."
And then something happened that I wasn't ready for. My husband literally jumped for joy. His entire expression changed. He ran to me, hugged me, kissed me, looked at the test with shining eyes. "We're having a baby!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Woohoo!!!"
And it was true. We were having a baby and our lives were changing. Our lives would be forever changed.
On June 3, 2009, Xander Wesley Lunsford came into this world. He put up a fight and this mama was exhausted but he was glorious. He was precious and perfect and amazing.
I remember my husbands expressions changing over the course of labor and delivery. Disbelief, confusion, fear, encouragement, excitement, pure joy. Tears of happiness filled his eyes as he looked at his baby boy. It was a beautiful moment, forever etched in my heart.
It's sort of a funny thing, the way life works. My husband and I began dating between our Junior and Senior years of high school. While the feelings of lust and infatuation often lead to daydreams of happily-ever-afters, I think it's fair to say that no seventeen-year-old truly and adequately imagines a life beyond drive-in dates, love notes left in lockers, and the ever-pressing dilemma of studying for the big Calculus test or snuggling with your cutie.
At 17, my husband never wanted to get married and definitely never wanted kids. Yeah, he was one of those. lol. At 17, I dreamed of us being together forever. I assumed the white veil and the bouncing baby would come at some point, though the idea of it always seemed kind of like that distant 4th cousin you have that acts on Broadway. You know it exists. It's there somewhere, way in the distance, and one day it'd be cool to cross paths.
Eventually, those ideas became more real. Our life together grew and blossomed into something I don't think either one of us could have imagined or predicted. We walked down the aisle at 19 and 20 and within two months from that day, that boy I knew with the newly acquired title of "Husband" was off to serve his country in the United States Navy.
By that point, I was a bit older. You know, 20 years old. Completely ancient. I was in a rush to start our family. I assumed my PCOS would make it a long, difficult journey and it was one I was anxious to embark on. I'm not sure my husband would have said the same. We were just beginning such an incredible endeavor with the military life, we were going to be out on our own and "living the dream". The world was our oyster and I don't think a screaming, pooping, sleep-depriving pearl was what he had in mind. But, we both knew we wanted a family. Again, eventually. But we had no idea when that day would come.
We spent 4 months apart from each other and at that point it seemed like forever. Now, 4 months seems like nothing. You grow immensely and realize your strength as a military couple. But that's another day, another blog.
On August 28th, 2008, I joined my husband in Great Lakes, IL and our "married life" truly began.
On September 7th, 2008, I got pregnant with our first son.
Because of my PCOS and some wacky cycles, I had no idea what my body was doing. I knew I felt "off" but it could have been anything. I tested, and it was negative, and so I went on thinking that my period would come any time. On my 21st birthday, I chose to test again. Big fat blue plus sign. I remember tears streaming down my face. Happy tears. It was my birthday..and the first one I spent away from home. I got phone calls from my friends, my family, my mom. I was screaming inside but I wanted my husband to be the first to know so I held it in.
6pm, he comes home. I'm waiting on the bed with the positive test. For 12 1/2 hours I'd kept the biggest secret of my life. I was ready to burst. He walks in the room "Happy birthday, baby. I'm sorry we can't do anything. I'm so upset that I can't take you out, but you know money is so tight right now. Duty was awful, as usual."
"Can we talk for a sec?"
"Maybe in a minute. I need to take a shower and unwind."
"Just a second. Listen, I know you're upset about not having any money, but I'm okay, I promise. We don't need to do anything big for my birthday. It'll be memorable regardless..."
"I doubt that."
"Hey, sometimes we think things are supposed to go one way and they go another. And sometimes the second way is a better way, after all. God only gives you the things you can handle.."
"I know, I know. I'm going to go shower and maybe I'll feel more like talking after."
"Babe.."
"Robin, seriously. We can talk in a minute. I'm just really stressed out.."
Okay, this wasn't going how I expected. But I'd waited long enough. Another 20 minutes would seem like an eternity. I blurted it out..
"We're having a baby."
And then something happened that I wasn't ready for. My husband literally jumped for joy. His entire expression changed. He ran to me, hugged me, kissed me, looked at the test with shining eyes. "We're having a baby!!!" he screamed at the top of his lungs. "Woohoo!!!"
And it was true. We were having a baby and our lives were changing. Our lives would be forever changed.
On June 3, 2009, Xander Wesley Lunsford came into this world. He put up a fight and this mama was exhausted but he was glorious. He was precious and perfect and amazing.
I remember my husbands expressions changing over the course of labor and delivery. Disbelief, confusion, fear, encouragement, excitement, pure joy. Tears of happiness filled his eyes as he looked at his baby boy. It was a beautiful moment, forever etched in my heart.
From that moment on, life was an entirely different creature than it had been before. Our time was not our own. There was someone else, far more important than we two, to think about. Every decision was made in the interest of that boy.
I remember the great things: my husband enjoying dressing our baby in the silliest of outfits, the times when Xander would giggle and then Robert would giggle and then I would giggle and we'd all be in a full-on laughing fit before we knew it, the moments when Robert would come up behind me while I was nursing or rocking the baby and just stare at us in amazement.
I remember the bad times: my husband pacing the floor while bouncing a screaming baby.."I don't know how to help him", he'd say in desperation. I remember the sleepless nights. The exhaustion and stress induced arguments between us. The fear that we were doing everything "right" but somehow we were messing it all up.
Over time, I watched my husband totally get the hang of the "dad thing". I hated seeing the heartache in his eyes every time he had to leave us. He missed first words, first steps, and birthdays. But he would always jump right in the second he got home.
We loved being parents so much that we thought, hey, let's do this thing again! When Xander was about 15 months we started trying for baby #2. We were excited to find out I was pregnant just a couple months later, but we felt the truest form of heartbreak when we lost that baby. It's a phone call I'll never forget. My husband had gone underway that morning. He called to check on me, as he knew I'd been feeling bad and experiencing some concerning symptoms. I heard his voice crack on the phone when I uttered those words. It was so difficult and I knew that more than anything, he longed to be home with me and Xander in that moment.
After that underway, we decided to try again right away. We had a limited amount of time before he would be leaving again, for his second official deployment. My doc gave the go ahead, and a mere 3 weeks after we experienced our loss, we were pregnant again.
On New Years Eve, 2010, I excused myself into a hotel bathroom for just a minute. It was too soon to test. It was too late in the day to test. But I just felt I needed to. "I just want to make sure I'm not before I have a drink tonight.", I told Robert. A dear friend of ours, Jenifer, was there with us while we awaited the arrival of some of our other friends. I walked out of the bathroom and they both looked at me. "Still waiting. Gotta wait 3 minutes."
So we did. We talked about how excited we were for all of us to be back together and spending the holiday together, save Jenifer's husband, Ryan, who was deployed at the time. "I wish Rybo was here", I said. She and Robert kept talking and I walked back into the bathroom to check the test, expecting to immediately toss it in the trash and go on about our night.
"Oh my gosh." I said. Kind of quiet but audible. They both turned to me, silent..waiting. "It's a yes! It's a yes! It says pregnant right on it!!" I yelled. We all jumped up and down together. And we totally took a mirror selfie of ourselves with a positive pregnancy test and confetti blowers.
On September 8, 2011, just under two months after my husband returned from deployment, Archer Reichen Lunsford was born. That morning my husband was taking the advancement exam at work and--he wasn't allowed to miss it. I was scheduled to be induced at 7. He breezed through the exam and got to the hospital at 9. I hadn't even been seen yet. "Sorry about you having to rush.", I said. "Of course I rushed. I wasn't going to miss our son being born because of some Navy bs." He wasn't even close to missing it. Archie came at 6:02pm. But my hubby was there through it all. He failed the exam, though. I think he'd say it was worth it.
We spent the next year and then some in familial bliss. We were all together. Of course, we had our bumps in the road, but things were really good. My husband was so happy with his two little boys. I loved seeing them grow into funny, active, charismatic little people. Mini versions of their Daddy. I could see how much he loved being with them. We'd spend afternoons at the park, watching our big run and climb and our little, early bloomer, trying to keep up. We'd have dance parties in the living room. Robert bought a bike trailer and took the boys on rides around the neighborhood. I think he loved that as much as they did.
In February of 2013, my husband left for deployment #3. It was by far the most difficult of deployments we'd seen. He was leaving an extra loved one behind this time. He had been home for over a year, aside from a few underways, and we'd gotten into a routine of being a family of four. Now we were being torn apart again, for the longest time we'd had to be--hopefully for the last time, but that was no comfort.
After 9 long months, my husband returned. Our boys had grown up so much. A lot changes in 9 months when you're a child. My husband had already missed nearly half of Xander's life. And that 9 months alone was a 3rd of Archer's days spent on the Earth up to that point.
Now, looking back, it seems like such a short period of time. It drug on, but the time passes so fast when you're looking back on how your babies have grown. I couldn't imagine being in my husband's shoes--having to sail away for huge chunks of their lives. Having to see milestones through emails and pictures. Having to ask yourself "What is my son like these days?".
But my husband did it with strength. He did it with grace, with commitment, with dedication. I thank him for that, and I know someday our sons will too.
Tomorrow will be my husbands 6th Father's Day. It will be only the 2nd one that he's been able to spend with his kids. I know it's just another day of the year and I hope he feels loved and appreciated every other day, as well. But tomorrow is a special day. It's a day for my sons and I to look at him and say "Thank you for being an amazing father."
So, Babe, thank you. Thank you for finding so much joy in teaching our sons new things. Thank you for getting down on the floor and playing Hot Wheels and building Lego dragons. Thank you for spending hours watching Disney movies and for having coloring contests. Thank you for being here, even when you've had to be away. Thank you for taking training wheels off of bikes and then putting them back on again. Thank you for filling pools, for setting up tents, for spending countless Christmas Eve's piecing together the most complicated of play sets. Thank you for apologizing when you lose your patience. Thank you for being my savior on some of the longest, most challenging days of my life as a mother. Thank you for loving, for caring, and for spending time. Thank you for growing..for becoming not only a man and a husband, but a daddy. A million times, thank you. We love you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)