Moving Forward

*I've been working on this for a while.  It feels very raw.  Thank you for bearing with me.*

I want to hold my arms out, hands extended, feet planted firmly, and scream STOP.  The world just keeps spinning.  It just keeps going.  Seventeen more lives lost, and the world just keeps spinning.

Sometimes I get stuck.  I don't know how to move forward from an event.

With each new shooting, each new reality, I feel as though I get more stuck.  My head spins, and I think, "Please God, not again.  Not again."  And I need to talk about it.  I can't let it go.  I need to get it out of me.  There are real people hurting, moms and dads with empty arms, wives with empty beds, children without dads. I can't take it.

The kids, teachers and staff from Stoneman Douglas went back to school last week.  With looky-loos galore, their parents protectively shielding them from what they couldn't before, and holding their hands, and their community cheering them on, they reentered the buildings that hold their absolute worst nightmares.  This week, they began full day classes again. I cannot imagine. How do these precious babies move forward when so many adults are stuck?  How can we possibly expect them to learn?

I still struggle with PTSD from the active shooter event from Noah's freshman year.

It was hours of hearing nothing, just a robocall from the school informing us of an event that caused a lockdown, not being able to talk with my child, a huge fight with my husband the one chance we did have to talk with Noah.  Shawn told him to help protect his friends and other students, and I told him to run.  A huge fight when we should have been united and comforting each other.  We were both scared out of our minds.  Terrified.

"We didn't raise a coward!"
"And we didn't raise him just so could bury him, either!"

It was physically and emotionally painful.  It was being within sight of the high school when I could finally pick Noah up, but not being able to get there because every single panicked parent in the county was doing the same thing I was.  We just wanted our hands on our kids.

It was another mom shoving me forward, yelling, "She's got a baby, she is!" when the officer manning the door asked who was next to pick their child up, even though we were both about 20 parents back.  It was a sob caught in my chest, and my legs turning to jelly, Ezra squished between us when I finally laid my eyes and hands on Noah.

It was a rush of relief when the usually friendly, grandfatherly deputy with an M4 physically handed my son over to me after checking my ID against the paperwork on his clipboard.  That day, that gentleman was a stone-faced protector.  Every other day, he is the SRO at Avery's school, a big ol' teddy bear of a man in the elementary school. I hug him every time I see him now.  We don't talk about why, but he knows.  He also now works scenes with the teenager he once protected.  

We got lucky that day.  At the end of the day, it turned out to be a BB gun, the police found the kid, and he was arrested.  We all tucked our kids into bed that night, where they belonged.

There are parents and families who don't get to experience that relief at the end of such agony. Their agony only worsens.  And it weighs me down.  It wears down my soul.  It is a physical and emotional and spiritual burden. My heart physically hurts.  I'm weary Lord, I'm so weary.

The other night Noah loaded my grocery cart with supplies for his first aid bag.  With his FF certifications, came a BLS certification.  My boy is now officially a first responder.  A target, and a first responder.  As he added each item to my cart, we didn't speak of why.  As he restocked his first aid bag once we were home, we didn't speak of why.  When he put his first aid bag in his backpack--his BACKPACK--we did not speak of why.  

We've raised Noah to put others first.  When he's looked at careers, they've always been helping and serving careers.  My biggest fear as his mom is that ethic will be my undoing.

I'm tired of the infighting, the politics.  I'm sick of hearing the debates and the theories and the conspiracies and the accusations and the projections. There are children dead, and all we can do is point fingers.

I don't know how to move forward from this.  It used to be as parents, we couldn't wait for our kids to graduate with that coveted diploma--now, we just want them to get through school alive.  Alive.  This is the world we live in now.  There's no going back to normal--this is normal.

I cannot stop thinking about these families, first physically attacked, then verbally attacked, then the fallout as they learn the many ways their children were failed leading up to the attack.  I cannot stop thinking about the first responders, and what they are still have to work through.

I just want it to stop.  Please, someone make it all stop.

Speak Life

Pardon me while I beat a dead horse, again, but I keep hoping that maybe some day, just maybe, my message will reach the medical professionals who need to hear it.

I shop for 2-4 weeks at a time, and when you do that for 5 people and 6 pets, you have a ton of groceries.  I tend to chat up the cashier to pass the time, and I just like being friendly.

The other day, the cashier noticed my Light it Up Blue reusable bags.  She told me about her grandson, who had been diagnosed with CP and autism as a small child.  The doctors told her daughter to not expect much.  Her daughter couldn't get much help and support from the school system.  She pulled him, and together, she and her daughter homeschooled him.  Now, he's an overachieving high school student, setting the bar high and running with his future.

Gee, let me think.... Where have I heard that story before?

Oh wait, that's right--my own child.

See, here's the thing.  Doctors only know doctor stuff.  They can't predict the future, and they need to stop trying.  They can give a diagnosis, they can try to give a prognosis--every parent wants that, we all want to know how our child might fair with this diagnosis we've just been given--but they cannot predict the future.

I feel awful for the children of parents who take these predictions at face value.  The children of the parents who allow that negativity to be the life that is spoken over their children, and sit back and do nothing, or do the bare minimum, because either, why bother, or they don't know better.

If you are a medical professional and you happen to be reading this, please find a different way to phrase your prognosis. You can't predict the future, so please don't be so arrogant as to pretend that you can.  I don't care what school you went to, how many years you've been a doctor, or how many statistics you've memorized, you simply do not have the right to pretend to predict the future or speak negativity over a child's life.  Encourage the parents and their children.  Help them find services.  I'll never forget taking that binder in my hands, hearing the words, "we'll see you in six months," and feeling so stranded.  Six months?  Are you outta your freaking mind?  How about tomorrow?  Don't abandon your patients like that.

We figured it out on our own, with the help of other parents who figured it out on their own.  Pioneers.  I remember that word, a word another mom used to describe us moms.  I will always be here to encourage other moms figuring it out on their own.  But it shouldn't have to be this way.

We shouldn't have to fight so hard against the proclamations from the very professionals we seek out for help. 

Online Petition

Our military is sworn to defend and protect against all enemies, both foreign and domestic.

On February 14, 2018, that is exactly what Peter Wang, a 15 year old JROTC student, did.  Peter protected staff members, and his fellow students and friends against a domestic enemy inside their school.  The very school in which they were supposed to not only feel safe, but be safe.  Peter died holding the door open so students and staff could quickly and safely escape the gunman terrorizing them.

Peter died in the line of duty.

Let's honor this young man.  Let's show Peter's family how grateful we are for his service to his school.  There is a petition being circulated so Peter may receive a burial with full military honors.  I believe in my heart this young man earned it.  The past few days, I've read about Peter's life, and his aspirations.  I believe he would have gone on to have become quite the soldier; already at 15, though, he's made his country proud.

Please, I encourage you to sign the petition. I know not everyone will agree with me, and that's okay. I would like to encourage you to think about it, pray about it, and if it is in your heart to do so, to then sign this petition.

Thank you.

https://petitions.whitehouse.gov/petition/allow-cadet-peter-wang-receive-full-honors-military-burial

Where is Your God Now?

We've all seen the news.

Another shooting.  

More children are dead.

Politicos using a mother's dead child for their platforms.  Celebrities-turned-self-proclaimed-advocates sparking Twitter wars.  Hatred being spewed, factions choosing their sides, fingers being pointed.  The parents who can, holding their kids a little tighter, a little longer.  No, please don't let go yet.   

Heads are shaking.  Tears are falling.  Hearts are breaking.  Mothers' arms are empty.

Perhaps the most poignant questions being flung at Christians--again--

Where was your God?

Why didn't your mighty God stop this?  

How are those thoughts and prayers working now?

I don't know (m)any of the answers, but I do know this:  

God was there.  

God was there, holding the hands of the frightened parents and their children, who were literally running for their lives.  He was there, comforting those who lay dying, and welcoming them as they entered into Heaven.  He was there in the guise of the first responders and the staff members, saving lives and keeping more from being hurt.  He was present in the prayers reaching Florida from around the world.

God was there, shaking his fist in anguish at human fallacy, arrogance and free will. He was there as the world wondered at His abandonment.  God was there as Jesus wept.  

God was there with the parents whose children were not there at the end of the day.  

In the coming days, we will hear stories of heroic acts and lives saved.  We will hear stories of God in action.

Yes, I'm telling you--God was there.  

I cannot explain the mind of a young man hellbent on terror and killing, a young man who made an angry, tragic choice.  But as I sit here at 2:30 am in tears, unable to sleep, completely wrecked by this, please don't tell me my God doesn't exist.  Please don't tell me my prayers don't matter.  You do you, and I'll do me.

God is still here.

Simply, I Love You

This one has been rolling around in my head for a while.  Valentine's week seemed like a good time to finally let it out.

The christian radio station we listen to gives listeners the opportunity to dedicate air time to loved ones.  Many times, I hear parents dedicating air time to their children, saying, "I love you," and "I'm proud of you."  I think it's wonderful--until the parent goes on to list the child's many accolades, as though they are the reasons for the parent's love.

My hope is this is not how it is meant, but having once been a child, I know this is often how it is understood.  Too frequently it seems, I hear "I love you because (fill in the blank)."

It saddens me!  It frustrates me!  It upsets me.

It really frosts my cupcakes (with extra frosting), and usually results in me dragging my soapbox out.

God does not list our achievements when He says He loves us.  He loves us because we are His.  God's love for us is unconditional and limitless.  When God smiles at you with parental pride, it is not because you received a promotion at work or you are mother of the year, it is because you are His child!  It really is that simple.  He loves us when we're lying in the dirtiest gutter, unclean in every way imaginable, and when we've come clean at the altar.  Our Father rejoices over us!

If my children learn nothing else from me, I want them to learn my love for them is unconditional.  My pride in them is not a result of their successes.  Do I congratulate them and make a big deal out of their accomplishments?  Of course I do.  I'm their biggest cheerleader.  But is my love, or my pride, based on anything they do in life?  Absolutely not.

So, when I look at my children, when I smile at them, when I rejoice over them, when I am proud of them, when I express my love for them, it is simply because they are my sons.  There are so many things I love about them, but the plain and simple reason I love them is because they are mine.

There's a Duck in My House

You don't really plan on falling in love with a duck.

Elijah, and her three sibling eggs, were just supposed to be a science project for Avery.  Something for the two of us to bond over.  We'd always wanted to hatch eggs, and we finally had someone willing to give us the eggs, and take the birds back once they were old enough.

You certainly don't plan on having one live in your home.

I've always been the mother who responds, "NO!  They're dirty, gross and noisy!", when my eight year old looked longingly at the birds in the pet store. I mean--have you ever seen those things???? My grandmother loved her outdoor birds, and because of her I love them, but--indoor birds?  Inside my house?  Ew.  No. We have more than our fair share of animals living in our home, and I have to help Shawn draw the line somewhere.

And now...  There's a duck living in my house.

An actual duck.

Have I mentioned yet that I'm nominating my husband for sainthood?

Elijah's egg was the only one that hatched.  Right on time, exactly on day 28. As we walked in the door from church that afternoon, there was a tiny little crack forming down her egg.  We couldn't believe it!  The excitement from all the days before--the little ducky sonograms we'd performed with flashlights ("candling"), watching all the babies swim around in their eggs, was finally peaking.

We were having a baby!

Elijah slowly emerged, first a leg, then finally the rest of her, until she was completely out, that following Tuesday.

We anxiously awaited the other eggs, David, Esther and Samuel.  Sadly, they were not to be.  Never in my life did I think my own miscarriage would help me explain loss of life to my son, but there we were, huddled under the kitchen table, talking about how sometimes babies are just too sick and God spares them pain.  We saw them swimming around in their eggs, we know they were alive at some point.  It's a difficult thing for a child to wrap his head around.  Hell, it's a difficult thing for an adult to wrap her head around. We don't really know why, but it's something we can ask Him when we meet Him.  It hurts us, and it's okay to be sad, and it's okay to miss them, but we know God is taking care of them.  

So, we had a baby duck!  What's next?  Oh--post tons of pictures to Instagram, of course!

We moved Elijah into a plastic tub, which we placed in our--my--luxury tub in our master bathroom (the only room we could close off to protect her from the cats and dog), complete with her heat lamp, special lovies and mirror (to simulate siblings), food and water.  Lots of water.  

For weeks we cleaned up pine shavings throughout the house as Avery cleaned Elijah's plastic tub and cared for her and bleached my tub each time she swam in it (ohhhh, the sacrifices a mother makes for her children!). We also made plans to return Elijah to the farm her egg came from.

And we fell in love.  It suddenly became perfectly normal to have a duck in our house.  I became used to having Elijah chat at me as I showered and dressed in the morning, and got ready for bed at night.  Being who I am, I talked back.  Her evening chatter became my bedtime white noise.  Elijah imprinted on Avery, following him everywhere when we let her out of the bathroom. A duck and her boy.  Like glue.  Melting hearts left and right. I never considered a duck could be so affectionate, but watching her with Avery, she's just such a sweetheart!  She gives kisses, she hugs, she sits in his lap and snuggles, and even preens him.  She calls to him, and responds to his voice.  Avery took to sleeping on our bathroom floor, and spending his free time in there when Elijah couldn't be out. She found ways to entertain herself, like pushing Ezra's matchbox cars around with her beak. Both younger boys loved to read to her, and we had regular duck/boy races occurring in our home.  We spoiled her rotten, discovering her affinity for peas and Cheerios, teaching her to eat right out of our hands.  Elijah had become a member of our family.

Instagram rioted the day we took Elijah to her farm.  Avery cried.  Elijah cried.  I cried.  Shawn took it hard.  Ezra didn't understand.  Noah went easy on Avery for the day. 

It was downright awful.  Our house was so quiet.  Too quiet.  Every time I looked at her plastic tub where we left it until trash day ("Never again, this is too hard on everyone, there will never be another Elijah anyway" Shawn and I declared), and the incubator where we left it until we could give it away ("Never again, it was too much like being pregnant again, and it was just too hard on us," Shawn and I declared), I cried.  Avery's behavior, moody and prone to rollercoaster-like fluctuations on a good day, was off the charts.  Even though we knew we could still visit Elijah, it was as though a death had occurred in our family. I framed two pictures of Elijah for Avery, putting them on his dresser, hoping they would help him cope.  Shawn and I had decided it would be best for both Avery and Elijah if Avery didn't visit for a few days, even though Avery was eager to go back the very next day.

Then I got the phone call, not even a full three days after we'd taken her to her farm.  The long and short of it was, Elijah wasn't adjusting well to farm life, and if we wanted her, we could come get her.   I knew the answer, but with respect to marriage, I explained (trying to hide the giddiness in my voice from Avery) I would have to discuss it with my husband.  I called back the next day with a resounding YES, and the following day, Elijah was back home, where she belongs.

Instagram celebrated!  I cried when I saw our girl.  Avery couldn't stop laughing.  Shawn smiled.  Noah shook his head and rolled his teenage eyes.  Ezra was a giddy little toddler.  And Elijah--she knew she was home and wouldn't stop quacking at us.  She put her little face right in Avery's lap when he sat down for her at the farm.  She ran to our car with him.  A reunion never looked so good!

Life is back to what qualifies as normal around here.  It's the way it should be. Avery does his schoolwork curled up with his duck, and both littles are happy to have their reading buddy back.  She is enormously good for Avery.  The effect she has on him--I can't describe it.  They need each other.    Elijah has explored her backyard a bit, and we learned that a duck attempting flight and a Border Collie do not make a good outdoor mix.  That nearly ended badly.  She nibbles on our toes during dinner, settling under the table near Avery.  We've adjusted a few things--no more wood shavings, for example.  Elijah has a little apartment in our bedroom, some cute little digs that make things easier for everyone.  She has a bed next to the fireplace, just like the cats do. And with duck diapers (yep--but the question on all of our minds as we shopped for the maxi-pad inserts, do ducks need pads with wings???), she is free to roam the house when we're home.  I've drawn the line at allowing her on the furniture, but I have a very willful boy, and a duck who rests her beak on the couch, staring at her boy, wondering why he isn't on the floor with her, so it's just a matter of time, right?  Everyone gets along, the cats think she's one weird looking cat, she thinks they're one weird looking duck, and the dog--well, Lilly is Lilly.  She's never sure what she thinks.

So yeah, there's a duck in our home.  And she's family.

Suicide

"Hey boys?"

"Yeah, Mom?"

"You know I love you, right?"

"Yeah, Mom."

"Not just because I tell you, but I show it, too, right?"

"Yeah, Mom.  It's okay, Mom.  We know."

It's been a rough week here.

First, I want you to grab your kids up and hug them.  Tight.  Squeeze a little harder.  A little harder.  Have they complained yet they can't breathe?  Good.  Now, whisper to them how much you love them.

Say a prayer of gratitude you are able to do this.  

Last week, a friend of Noah's took his life.

Protect your children with your life, then a little more.  Watch them carefully.

There were so many cracks this young man fell through, and I'm angry.

I'm angry for him.  I'm angry about his circumstances.

This young man deserved better than he got in life.

Precious boy, I pray those gates were opened wide and welcoming for you, Abba's arms ready to hold you.  I pray you are now at peace, that you are now finding what you could not find here on earth. Oh, sweet boy.

I'm frustrated and sad for those left behind.

I'm frustrated and sad for those who don't have answers to the inevitable questions.

I'm sad for his friends who don't understand, for those who say, "I wish I had known, I wish I had done more."

I pray peace for those left behind.  I pray healing for them.  I pray, as they struggle within their own hearts and minds, they can forgive themselves.  I pray these, and no more, blessed loves will not fall through the cracks, or lose hope.

I'm angry and sad this young man did not have hope, that he could not see one foot in front of the other.

I'm angry that life just goes on.  As a mom, I've wanted to plant my feet solidly, hand out in STOP position, and scream, "NO!" A child has died!  A tragedy has occurred!  The world needs to stop and pay attention!  This does not have to happen again!

It will be a while, a long while, before I stop grabbing up my kids spontaneously and holding them so tight they can scarcely breathe, tears in my eyes, a hitch in my chest, remembering this young man as I do so.

The vigil for this young man was last night, and I saw so many teens dropped off by their parents, or arriving in their own vehicles.  It boggles me still.  Do these parents not understand suicide is a communicable disease?  Do these parents not understand NOW is when their children need them the most?  Teens do not always ask us, but we need to be there--we need to be HERE.  I just wanted to scream into the night.

Selfishly, I'm sad at the irony of celebrating my own son's birthday, when another mother will never celebrate hers again.  All the plans I had for Noah seem so--awkward.  Selfish.  Awkward.

Please, PLEASE--I'm begging you.  Look after your friends and loved ones.  Look after your children's friends.  Even look after those you pass by, the strangers on the street.  When you ask, "How are you," MEAN. IT.  Do not use it in passing.  I always ask, "No, really, how are you REALLY?"  It could save a life.  YOU could save a life.  Pay attention to mannerisms, to changes in appearance, to anything that looks different.  Know the signs of depression and potential suicide. On top of this, remember that teens and children are impulsive. You may not even see the signs. Talk with your children about who they can go to if they feel they can't, or don't want, to talk to you.  Trusted adults.  Talk about hope and peace.  Be an open, safe sounding board for their friends.

This young man's death, this tragedy, should never have happened.  I don't know why it did.  I don't know why this young man felt so hopeless.  One of the things you must understand about depression, one of the things we, those of us with depression are told--people say, "reach out when you're down!"  It's not that simple.  We can't.  So yes, the onus is on the rest of you to reach out instead.  And, think of this--so often, when someone does reach out, it is passed off as attention seeking.  Please don't do that.

You have the power to do more.  Every day, you can do more, in the life of every person you encounter.  Reach out.  Please.

Give hope.

Save a life.