Faith Like My Boy

When I became a mom, I envisioned myself as the teacher in our relationships.  I would be the mom to impart all the knowledge, and then some, upon my children!  I imagined myself as the wise adult, helping my children grasp everything they would need to know for adulthood.

Good grief, how wrong I was!

I quickly learned I'm not always the teacher.

Many, many times, so very often, I am the student and my children are my teachers.

My kids are my mentors, my professors, opening my eyes to things I could never imagine.  Daily, they teach me more than I could ever hope to teach them.  I am but a mere pupil.

I frequently forget important lessons.  Sometimes, there are lessons I haven't learned at all yet.

And God uses my kids in amazing ways to educate me.  

Yesterday, while at the vet for Elijah, I was reassuring Avery.  I told him the doctor would make his duck better and we would all get through this.  My teary boy stopped for a minute, looked me square in the eyes and firmly, confidently replied, "NO, Mom. GOD is going to make Elijah better."

And I have no doubt that God hears Avery's prayers and is already busy answering them.

Oh, to have the kind of faith Avery reminds me to have, time after time after time.  This boy of mine. It's such a privilege, being his mom--as well as his student--getting to raise him, having this front row seat to his life and his love for Jesus.  

Confessions of a (SAHM, Homeschooling) Quarantined Mom

Does anyone know what day of the week it is?  What month?  Are we still in 2020???

What is even going on anymore????

The littles and I have been stuck safe at home for nearly 6 weeks.

According to our state, we've got 6 more weeks to go.  Six.  More.  Weeks.

Due to my health, I cannot leave the house.  Target... I miss you... Starbucks... Do you still remember my usual?  Shawn is essential, which means he's got to go into the office.  It also means we see very little of him.  Noah is out of work, but running calls.

We're not making any unnecessary errands, we finally have enough TP and paper towels, we haven't wanted for cleaning supplies, we're washing our hands, sanitizing Shawn's and Noah's cars, they're following necessary safety protocols at the station and the office--we're doing our part.

The littles and I finished school about 3 weeks ago.  Avery and I have some loose ends to wrap up, but we're pretty much through with it.  He was able to finish up his co-op tutored classes, as well as his independent classes through Zoom.  God bless his teachers, tutors and the creators of Zoom.  We could very well have just ended things the way they were with classes, but our teachers and tutors have worked around the clock to ensure proper closure for all of our kids.  While we were scrambling to explain things to our kiddos, they were scrambling to put measures in place so we could still say hi to friends, have conversations, play games and have classes.

I will be honest... I've neglected my mamas and our group.  We had to end our Embrace Grace group with the promise of throwing the baby shower; our Bloom had her baby without us being able to cheer her on, and have only seen her sweet little girl via text.

Being an introvert and seldom leaving the house as it were already, I really thought we (I) could nail this.  It didn't seem much would change for us.  We had this quarantine down! Not much would change for us, right?

And then--everything changed, while staying the same.  Does that make sense?

Y'all--this is hard.  Like, hard hard.

And I really don't like saying that.

I don't like feeling like a complainer.

I know how fortunate we are in this situation.  We have so much to be grateful for.  And we are.  I know so many of us are in similar boats.  I know allll sorts of things, but... This is HARD.

Like most kids across our country and around the world, mine were suddenly yanked from some of the comforts and friends they knew, struggling to understand and grasp the suddenness of the uncertainty so many of us were thrust into.  Ezra was excelling in OT one minute, making incredible strides--then the office closed.  We're continuing what we can at home, but we've still seen some regression.  It's frustrating.  Avery and Ezra are both extroverts, and this has been horribly awful for them.  Avery's anxiety has come back in the forms of tears and nightmares, and he's back in our bed by midnight most nights.  He's been afraid to even go outside, admitting to getting in trouble with the police.  Reassuring my kids has become a 24/7 job.  Ezra's best buddy from co-op has promised him a play-dough playdate when this is over, so every day Ezra asks if he will see Isaac today.  I've lost count of how many times I've answered, "Not today, sweetheart.  Soon, though."  With most events, we are able to make check boxes, framing things as "(fill in the blank) more sleeps!"  But with this, there are just too many sleeps for him to comprehend.  We scrambled to find a cake, flour, a cake mix--anything--for Ezra's birthday.  Friends mailed their own flour and their own cake mixes to us.  I sincerely hope you have friends like mine surrounding you.

Oh, and to those who have said this quarantine is an introvert's dream come true--I have some strong, scary words for you.

Just as quickly as classes were closed, so were our church and our groups.  We were all left floundering, wondering what is next and how to keep in touch.

We miss our people.  We miss life outside our yard.

On any typical day, our household is incredibly intense.  It's just who we are as individuals, and who we are as a family.  During this crisis, as much as we've tried to downplay it for the littles, we've just become more intense.  Between you and me?  I didn't think that was possible.

On a difficult day, pre-quarantine, I had the ability to pack everyone in the car and hit Chik-Fil-A, head to Target, grab a chai and cruise the aisles with the kids.  We had the opportunity to get out of our own heads backyard and head to a park.

We have gone for two rides, we've done a couple "social distance" playdates in driveways, and we've made some surprise love deliveries to a few porches.  We leave fun sidewalk-chalk messages at the bottom of our driveway, and rearrange our animal statues in the front yard, hoping to provide some laughs.

While other families are struggling to learn togetherness, balancing work and homeschooling, finding themselves suddenly in a situation we long ago became accustomed to, showing off their color coded schedules, proclaiming the many lessons they're learning about cherishing these times and their children--yeah.  They want to share their pearls of wisdom with the world, absolutely certain these are things everyone else has yet to learn.  Could you... Please just, maybe not?

*ahem*  Sorry.  Quarantine Amy has no chill.  As I said, we've become um, a little more intense.

You know what I've learned, though?  Actually, this is something I already knew going into this.  *The days I forget my sense of humor are absolutely, without a doubt, the most difficult.*  Read that again.

On a good day, pre-quarantine, I was not the schedule-oriented, color-coded, get-yer-butts-in-gear mom, as so many on social media have shown up to be.  We've found that doesn't work for us; we work and function better in a more relaxed atmosphere--okay, what qualifies as relaxed for us.

Pre-quarantine, I had stopped comparing myself to social media standards, I had found my tribe, I was rolling.

Do you see where I'm going with this?

I am tired.  I miss human contact outside of my own people.  My depression has plummeted, I'm trying to hide my own anxiety from my kids, I've had a massive flare up with swelling, migraines and intense pain.  We're all tired.  We're all weary.  I know we're not alone.

I've given up the basement to the children.  Psstt... Silver lining to sending them to the basement: I'm saying the word 'penis' less...  I've thrown devices at them for just a few minutes of quiet to myself...

Confession time: Sometimes, I scream into my pillow.  Or I attempt to hide in my closet with what's left of my Hershey bar stash.  Raise your hands if you're with me.

Right now, it just feels as though we're in survival mode.  I'm certain that applies to the majority of you, as well.  I wish I had some tips, some words of wisdom--anything for you.  But really, all I can tell you is--stay healthy, stay home.  Let's keep picking each other up.  Let's keep rallying around each other. Let's keep reminding each other that yes, it's okay to admit this is difficult.  And yes, we can be grateful even while admitting things like this to each other.

And--y'all--those first hugs when we emerge from this are going to be absolutely golden.

372 Days

My sister died one year and one week ago.  I haven't written about it because I haven't known what to say.  Words have failed me again.

I also haven't wanted to dwell on it (it's easier to just pretend it's not there--I wanted to ignore the day and go on as usual, whatever that is)--I know the floodgates need to open, but I keep them bay, allowing only a few tears to escape here and there.  The more I think on it, the more likely I am to reach that brink, the more likely I am to go over it--and can I come back from that?  I don't know the answer, and I don't like unknowns.  I don't like feeling not in control.  I just have so much which needs doing, and I really don't have time for Mommy-Needs-A-Few-Days (years)-In-A-Cave-To-Cope.  There's only one of me, and just so much of everything else that needs to be done.  I feel as though my kids don't need to see all of this either--yes, they need to see me crying, yes they need to know it's okay to feel, and deal with emotions in a healthy manner, and yes, it's up to me to teach them the 'proper' way of grieving--but this mess, this is not what they need, and this mess, this is not the example they need.  I am simply not there at this time.  I've put off therapy (I need therapy), asking for prayer (I need prayer--but when everyone else is asking for prayer, who do I go to?), attending prayer services (I need prayer services)--and even attending church (I need church).  It's all just too much, still.

That said, I haven't gotten through just about a single moment without either tears threatening, or full on tears for just a few seconds before I pull myself together and announce, "Enough of that," to the universe, God, my husband, to whoever is listening.  But still not the completely full-on, let-go, body-wracking sobs my body, mind and soul so desperately need.  

I know most people have forgotten about my sister and my friend anyway, so what's the good in reminding them?

So I push it away.  Everything's fine.  Everything's okay.  Everything's great.

At times, I feel as though I'm hanging on by a mere strand.  Not even a full string. Certainly, not the full hem of His garment.

There is still so much damn pain.

Yesterday, after a bushel full of crap, I talked with one of my sweet friends about it all, baring my soul to to her, knowing I wouldn't be judged; a friend who would listen and would only offer love and sincerity.  She wouldn't try to fix me, or offer unwanted help--she would quietly sit beside me (even though we are states apart), perhaps hold my hand in the quiet, not trying to fill in the silence and emptiness with her own words, and most importantly, she would LISTEN.  She did not judge, she did not offer empty sympathy--she would be exactly what--more properly, who--I needed in that moment: A sounding board full of love.

To be fair to her, it's not been the most pleasant month for her, either.  Knowing it won't solve either of our problems, we both still wish February would just be long gone.

After I poured out my heart, she replied; she knows the saying is "'God doesn't give us more than we can handle,' but He does.  Yes, yes He does at times."

Chuckling to myself (that on the verge of completely losing the rest of one's sanity kind of chuckle) because of having that same thought over the past several weeks. He absolutely does--and my training has the answer to that, but so does my inner four year old.

She urged me to continue.

Well--as a mature Christian, and with my training, I know while yes, God absolutely does give us more than we can handle as humans--or, perhaps more appropriately allow it --it is not God's works which we can humanely handle.  Those are best left to Him.  However, in those same moments, God ALSO provides us with the tools, the people, the wisdom, the guidance--and every other single thing we need to handle them.  We need only need to follow Him.  Could--will--it take time?  Oh, you can bet your pants on it.  But this a part of the entire process of growing and stretching as a Christian.  God plants the seeds, helps us water them--and in turn, we must endure the oftentimes painful pruning process as those seeds grow.  And we are merely humans.  We cannot accomplish God's works without Him.  This is the process in which we learn our reliance upon Him.  Does this process suck at times?  You already know the answer, so I won't use my colorful language to describe how much it sucks.

Then there's my inner 4 year old.  SHE is sticking her tongue out at God, "PBBBBLLLLTTT!" and kicking Him directly in the shins.  I. DO. NOT. LIKE. THIS. MAKE. IT. STOP.

I then gave my friend a caveat of sorts, bringing my thoughts back full circle:  God is okay with both.  He can handle it.  Much like when our children save their worst behavior for us because they know we're a safe haven for them--God can handle our reactions, our anger, our tears, our frustrating, and when we stick out tongues out at Him, kicking Him in the shins, because He is our safe haven.  Our hiding place.  He loves us SO. MUCH.  He's willing to withstand the shin kicking until we're spent, falling at His feet in absolute sobs, ready for Him to pick us up and ready to turn it all over to Him, ready to stand us up somewhat straight, ready for us to lay it all at His feet--no reprimand, no finger shaking, no judgment, just LOVE--and turn us toward HIS path, holding our hands, sometimes carrying us, ALWAYS holding us upright.

My friend and I agreed we're both 4 year olds right now, while also agreeing tomorrow is a new day.

She signed off telling me how much she loves me, as I signed off telling her the same, and promising to pay her bail.

And for the record, we both had a good laugh when we realized our conversation would most definitely turn into a blog.

Y'all, we ALL have moments we stray--or want to stray.  The important thing is when we come directly back to Him, knowing, faithfully, BELIEVING, standing in that chasm for others and even ourselves, knowing there are others doing the same for us.

Words for the Year

I'm not a person who does vision boards each January, makes resolutions or chooses a word or verse for the year.

This year though, our family was given three words: Grace, Goodness and Gratitude.

We were also given a verse: "I have made you and I will carry you; I will sustain you and I will rescue you"--Isaiah 46:4.

We've not just been given these as words, but as actual, real life moments.  We're taking things at a slower pace, drinking everything in, enjoying just being able to be a family.

Abba is carrying us through this season.  I constantly hear Amy Grant's words in my head, reminding me, "I will carry you, my child, my child."

As I watched my sweet idiots throw each other around, jump off the furniture in flying leaps to join the pile, laughing so hysterically they couldn't stand up--for once, I didn't try to stop it.  I didn't caution them to slow down.  With the dog barking and Elijah quacking, both trying to join the fun (or protect their respective boys?), I didn't complain about the noise level.  

Rather, I stepped back and watched the melee.  Smiling, I gave my children grace--the same grace Abba affords us each day.  I curled up in my husband's lap, tucked into the safe refuge of his arms wrapped around me.  I listened to the certain, steady beat of his heart.  We soaked in the moment, offering up gratitude for this goodness.  

I nearly missed this. 

We know this won't last.  We know these brotherly moments will grow further apart, before they come back full circle.  We know we will miss this.

We know we are not guaranteed a single thing in this life.

Friends, soak it in.  Drink it up.  Let these forever moments just wash over you.  Don't hurry things along.  Breathe.  Take the time to pray and be in Abba's presence.  

And remember--Grace, Goodness and Gratitude.  And, He is always carrying you.

I Had a Heart Attack

I'm not sure how to even begin this post.  How often do I start this way?  More often than I can count. 

Here goes.

Several weeks before Christmas, a sweet little toddler died.  She and her family are part of a worship community I follow, and whose songs I sing sometimes with arms held high, other times in the fetal position and tears.

Olive died.  And her family looked to God, relying on His promises of miracles, which included raising Olive from the dead.  Her family and community rallied, prayed, worshipped with their full hearts and souls wide open, knowing and believing there would be a miracle in store.  With others throughout the world joining them, they prayed for Olive's resurrection.

God had other miracles in mind, though.

Ultimately, as everyone saw clear, God's miracle was truly in bringing His people closer to Him.  The prayer and worship movement for Olive's resurrection opened hearts, eyes, minds and souls.

To be sure, there was a resurrection here on earth--within the Christian community and many of Abba's lost lambs--but Olive's resurrection remained a heavenly one.

Her life had incredible earthly purpose, and powerful eternal ramifications.  

Throughout the entire phenomenon, I prayed for, and respected where this family and community were coming from.  Regardless, I also maintained what I thought to be a healthy dose of skepticism, guarding many of my own thoughts.  I wasn't skeptical about God and His miracles, but I felt genuinely horrible and awful for what this family was going through.  I know God's ways are often not our ways.  In some cases, He answers prayers in ways our human minds cannot comprehend.  My heart was in true agony for them.  Even so, knowing what I do about grief, I was concerned for their well being, concerned they were in denial and delaying their process.

I was so very wrong to be skeptical.  It was not my place.

Two weeks after Olive died, our family experienced a little bit of our own kind of medical emergency.

I survived 2019.

No, literally--I survived, ringing in 2020 in the critical care unit of the hospital, with all of us--family and friends--feeling more gratitude than we've experienced in a quite some time.

I had a medical crisis, we just didn't know it.

Shawn and I went to the ER when the pain and weakness in my legs became unbearable.  I was only looking for relief; but when Shawn told the staff about my sister and my cousin, family disease history, the fall I had that morning, and numerous other innocuous-seeming symptoms I've been dismissing for the past year, everything suddenly began moving very swiftly.  There was loud talking punctuated with urgency, and so many doctors, nurses, specialists and medical equipment in my tiny little emergency room suite, it made our heads spin. I was moved to the cardiac unit of the ER and the flurry of activity continued.

When my blood pressure plummeted, Shawn turned the monitors away from me, repeatedly trying to reassure me everything was fine each time I asked.  My sweet husband has no poker face, and I remember his facial expressions well from Ezra's labor and delivery, so I knew it was all far from fine.  

While still in the ER, we learned I'd suffered a heart attack and was dangerously anemic, most likely from internal bleeding due to an unknown source.  They had suspicions of other things going on, but my doctors began there.  I was started on meds, and began my first of three transfusions as I was admitted and transferred.

We sent out prayer requests, and Shawn unwillingly left me to go home to the kids, as well as to retrieve a few things for me.  The children needed to be updated and reassured. He returned to me very shortly.

I spent the next week declared a fall risk, confined to my hospital bed not only because of that, but by numerous machines.  I received a total of three infusions, which increased my hemoglobin only slightly, but enough to keep me stable and thrill my doctors.  I began proton pump inhibitors, as the  assumption was the internal bleeding and subsequent anemia were from ulcers, and related disease.  I eventually had an endoscopy, confirming I was no longer bleeding, but also verifying numerous large ulcers and several other smaller ones.  Biopsies were also taken, hoping to learn why I'm not absorbing iron (apart from the bleeding) and to rule out anything else.  From another test, we learned I had blood pooling around my pericardium, in addition to a mass in my abdomen.

It was determined I had what is called a silent heart attack.  There is minimal damage to my heart, and these are considered to be the 'less severe' type of heart attacks, although the more which occur over time, obviously the more damage is caused, which does make them more dangerous.  The symptoms are atypical of a heart attack, and often dismissed, or attributed to other reasons, both by doctors and patients.  There is a possibility I've had more than one.  Mine was most likely caused by the anemia, so there isn't any follow up treatment (aside from continuing to treat the anemia).

While we've downplayed it for the littles' sakes, this entire experience has scared us shitless and left us feeling overwhelmed.  There is still so much to process.  Shawn and I have cried with each other behind closed doors, clinging to each other with everything we have.  There is so much they don't tell you about surviving a medical trauma.  Rather, you hear a lot of hey, you survived a heart attack!  Rejoice and be happy!  You're still alive!  Surviving a medical trauma is much like grief: Most everyone is quick to remind you how good God is--and He is, to be sure--but they diminish your experience, your emotions and everything you're still reeling from.  What no one tells you is you'll develop a sort of PTSD.  You'll be afraid to sleep because what if I don't wake up?  They don't tell you how many times you'll get up to check on your kids throughout those sleepless nights.  They don't tell you how scared you'll be each time you think you feel your heart twitch, or when your arm hurts, or your legs and face start swelling again.  They don't tell you how you will obsessively check your pulse, your blood pressure, and your ECG through your watch app.  They don't tell your husband he will stop sleeping because of his own fears.

They don't tell you how many times an hour you have to tell your fears, and the demon creating them, your God is bigger than them.

This experience has also left us with immense gratitude.  My sister and my sweet friend did not get second chances.  I've been given a new perspective on my grief, as well as my life.  I've grieved my heart dry, but is living this way really honoring their memories or legacies?  It's time to start LIVING like I mean it.  We've been humbled by the outpouring of love, prayers, texts, emails.  We are grateful for deeper friendships, and knowing just how many people our family can count on.  We are grateful to still be a family, to know we didn't have to say goodbye.  We have so much to be grateful for.

I am not finished being Mama, beloved wife, niece, Mamie and Great Mamie, friend, or sister in law.  I remember breaking down, telling the admitting doctor I have three kids, nieces, and three of the sweetest little greats to see through life.  I'm not finished hearing my children laugh, hugging them tight, kissing my husband, or holding his hand.  I'm not finished loving on my nieces and spoiling their littles.  I'm looking forward to daughters-in-law, and maybe grandchildren. I'm not finished laughing and grossing my kids out when they catch me and Shawn making out in the kitchen and embarrassing my kids in public with my antics.  I'm not finished with miracles and everyday messes.  I'm not finished cherishing these times and these moments and my people.

I'm.  Not.  Finished.  Yet.

Apart from desiring to show the world God's abilities and believing in His everlasting Word, that's all Olive's family wanted.  They weren't finished with her laughter, her light, her love.  They weren't finished with her being daughter, child, sister, niece, grandchild, friend.

While my heart is shattered for Olive's family, going through something no parent should ever have to go through, I realized they were not delaying their grief nor were they in denial.  Their eternal hope is in Abba, and they have been an encouraging example to us all.

Because of Olive's family and community, I've been reminded--again--in Whom my Hope belongs, and resurrections come in all shapes and sizes.  

How About A "Don't Be A Jerk" Project

I'm sure by now you've heard of the Blue Bucket Project, aimed at 'normalizing' the Halloween experience for children with autism.

Don't get me started. 

I have so many problems with this project, I don't even know where to start--oh, but believe me--dear readers, you know me well--I'm going to start.

Yep, here it comes.

Yes, let's single our children out even further--let's further the stigma our children already carry by forcing them to carry a gigantic poster board that screams, "HEY WORLD, I HAVE AUTISM!"

Granted, I can see some pros to this.  As Ezra's parents, we're exhausted with explaining why he's not in a costume.  He loves the idea of costumes, but hates wearing them.  There are some children who are unable to make eye contact, or say, "Trick or Treat" or "thank you."  There are others who don't understand social cues and norms, and may try to enter your home.  There are many reactions a blue pumpkin could help head off and explain to the untrained eye--that is, if the untrained eye is aware of this project.

The public is being encouraged to display blue pumpkins outside their homes to show their support for the Blue Pumpkin Project.  There are even flyers being distributed throughout social media and other internet sites, downloadable, so people can put them on their door to let the world know they are an autism friendly house.  Gag.  

For the parents who will be subjected to amateur diagnosticians, and those who want to talk about your child's diagnosis--I am so sorry.  And really, please feel free to put those types in their place!

The past few years it's been teal pumpkins for children with allergies.  This year it's blue pumpkins for children with autism.  Next year, these social justice warriors will move on to a new cause, and there will be a new pumpkin color.  I want to scream, "GET OVER YOURSELVES!!!!"

So, here's the thing--how about, just don't be an asshole to kids?

It's ONE night.  If you don't want to participate, don't.  Don't turn on your lights, don't hand out candy.

Otherwise, it's so very simple--just be kind to kids.  Have fun.  Let them have fun.

And don't be an asshole.

Gratitude

As we enter this week of Thanksgiving, as well as the season of celebration of Jesus' birth, I'm reflecting on all the thoughts I've had recently, the arguments I've had inside my own brain, and the conversations Shawn and I have had.

Truth be told, I've been dreading this season.  All the anniversaries, the reminders, the memories.  I don't want them.  I've been afraid I'll screw up Christmas all over again for my kids.

I'm trying to be mindful of this, of my emotions, my grief, of my children's reactions and their needs. My children need me more than I need to continue clinging to this hurricane.

I have so much to be grateful for.

I've spent the last year mourning my friend and my sister.  At times I've been angry and bitter--usually with myself.  I've been filled with regrets.  I've had so many this isn't how it's supposed to be moments, which have brought me to my knees and wracked my body with sobs.  I've lost my words, my ability to pray and praise, and my happiness.  I've neglected my family in ways I might chastise someone else for.  This journey through grief is not something I asked for, and at times I've shaken my fist at it and cursed it's very name.  This is not something I would wish on my worst enemy.  It's been a rough go.

And yet--we're surviving.  Maybe not always, every day, but somehow, we're making it through, slowly, hour by hour.

As I look around at the many people God has surrounded our family with throughout this time, I realize--when He says He will carry you, He means it.  Even when I haven't wanted to see it, even when I haven't wanted to like Abba, He has remained faithful.  He has surrounded us with friends who have carried my children, myself and my husband.  He surrounds me with my children and my husband.  My 10 year old, who has shouldered more burden than a child should, who prays over me, holds my hand, senses my needs, and is allowing God to use him in fantastic ways.  My sweet husband, who carries me when I can't function, believes in me, and gently encourages me to the other side.

I wouldn't have made it to this point without any of them.

This season, I'm desperately clinging to the hem of Jesus' garment.  I need this hope.  My family needs this hope.  I am concentrating on gratitude.  My family needs to see me concentrating on gratitude.

Yes, I lost two people I love dearly.

But, mourning them continually, forsaking my own--this is not living to honor their lives.  I can just imagine the lecture my friend would give me right now!  I have to remember, death was only just the beginning for Nancy and Angie--it was not the end!  And I should rejoice in that--my children are watching.  It's okay to be happy, it's okay to laugh, it's okay to play with my kids and be silly--in fact, it's more than okay, it's necessary.  It's okay to get back to what qualifies as normal around here.  It's also still okay to be sad and allow the tears to flow when I need to.

Again, Abba is teaching me gratitude.  He is teaching me to lean on Him--not myself, not the world, not anywhere or anyone else.  He is opening my eyes and my heart, doing some deep soul-work. He is sowing the seeds of something in me.

My children need to know I value them above the memories of my friend and sister.  They need to know they are more important than the regrets I carry.  Not just know, but they need to see, to feel they are more important.  I also need to stop adding to those regrets and get back to living.  My children need that security I ripped out from under them.  They need their Mama back.

I have a family who has not given up on me.  I have three incredible children here, right now, who need me to be Mama.  They need me to be present and whole.  I have an amazing husband who prays daily to have his happy, 'normal' wife back.  I have wonderful friends who encourage me, check on me, love me, pray for me and speak the hard truth in love when I need to hear it.

Yes, I have so much to be grateful for, yesterday, today and tomorrow.