You just don't know

You might think that with a beautiful, healthy baby, a year and a half of healing time, and a million things keeping me busy that I am "over it" and that my heart doesn't hurt anymore.  You would be wrong. 

The last few weeks, I've been struck with how much I don't know about the things that are going on in other people's hearts and minds.  Before Gideon, I'd have made the assumption that losing a baby wasn't so bad, especially if you have other children.  I'm sure there are losses that bear more weight than the loss of our infant son, and I can only imagine the depth of pain and hurt that many others must have experienced.  I have changed in the way I understand grief.  You don't really get over the loss of someone dear to you, instead I think you just get used to it.  It changes what "normal" is for you, and feeling a sense of loss is just part of normal.

When it comes to making assumptions, guesses, and judgement calls about what another person is or should be feeling, DON'T.  JUST DON'T.  I can't even begin to describe how dumb and how bad I feel for ever thinking that someone should not (or should) be over it, or that something shouldn't be hard for them.  The more I know, the more I know I don't know.  It has been a supreme lesson to me (who grew up as an insufferable know-it-all) that I truly don't know as much as I think I did. 

We (as human beings) have to make judgement calls.  It's part of life.  We have to determine if situations or people are safe, if they are helpful, if they will require more strength and time than we can physically commit.  We do our best to judge according to the knowledge we have, and live according to those judgements.  Too often, though, we overstep our judgement calls and begin to judge people, condemning and belittling people, simultaneously putting ourselves on an "I know better" pedestal and shutting ourselves away from the ability to feel compassion and learn from the people we're judging.  DON'T.  JUST DON'T.  It harms both the person who is being judged and the person doing the judging.  Let God be the judge, it's His job, and he'll be perfect for it.

I noticed something that I hadn't noticed before, as I observed my husband this week.  He is a quieter man than I, and thinks things through very thoroughly.  (Sometimes he thinks things through so thoroughly that it drives me crazy, as I just want to make something happen.)  Not that I am a "fly by the seat of my pants" type person, but comparatively, I jump in and get my feet wet much more quickly than he does.  Because of his deep thinker (and feeler) type personality, he often has moments where he just quietly starts to weep.  We both miss Gideon at many different moments: birthdays, milestones in our children's lives, group hugs, family traditions.  The way my husband deals with grief is different than the way I do.  He takes it in, thinks about it, and he reverently treasures the memories we did have with Gideon.  I guess I try to burn the emotion out.  I work harder and need more to do to keep me busy.  Once Gideon's funeral was over, I accepted very little help from others, because I knew I needed to be busy.  I enrolled in a few college classes just days after the funeral.  At Christmas time, I did extra service projects with my kids.  I practiced the piano more.  I just deal with it differently than my husband, and that's OK.  If I had judged him or he had judged me for the way we dealt with our grief, we'd have only damaged our relationship, instead of allowing us to love each other with our differences.  Some people thought he had a harder time than I did, but I'm not really sure if it's true or if he just had a different way of dealing with it.  Maybe it has been harder for him; I don't know.  And I'm not going to try to make that judgement call.

Why is it a competition anyway?  Sometimes, I think we're trying to relate with someone else, and understand and compare their pain with ours.  That can be taken too far though, when it becomes almost competitive in an "I've dealt with harder things than you" way or an "I could handle this with more grace and skill than you." type assumption.  Someone actually said to my husband "Well, at least it's not as hard for you to lose your baby as it would be for me if I lost my 20 year old son."  DON'T. EVER. SAY. THAT. TO. ANYONE.  It's not a competition.  Don't belittle someone else's grief or their struggles.  And don't assume that someone had a harder or an easier time than you, or that you could handle it better or worse.  You just don't know, and it doesn't matter.

It still hurts.  I love this life, I love the depth and richness that the loss of my son has created in me, but it has come at a price.  I am grateful for each day I have with my family, but part of that gratitude is born of pain that he's not here for these moments.  Watching my little girl grow is a wondrous experience, I love seeing her personality, but part of my ability to truly treasure each moment is due to the loss of my son.  People might look at me and see how much I love being a Mom, they might see me laugh at her smiles, and even laugh when she is upset, because I think she's so adorable and it's wonderful that she's alive, but they don't see me when I look at Gideon's handprints and footprints and gasp because I still miss him so much, and I want to have these moments with him right now too.  They don't watch me tear up when my children decide to do a group hug and I know he is not part of it.  Don't judge.  Don't assume. 

That's not to say that you shouldn't attempt to understand.  While it is probably an impossible task to TRULY understand another person, as everyone has had a unique set of traits and experiences, the effort to be empathetic is good.  In my grief, I have appreciated those who have cried with me, those who have been through it and were willing to share their own experience with me, and those who have simply told me that they are sorry and don't know what else to say.  That they are willing to feel pain with me has meant so much to me at times, and it makes the burden feel shared (not really lighter, but shared.)  When I have tried to empathize with other people, I have found that my heart has grown, and that I am able to learn so much more from them and from their situation than if I shrug it off, under the assumption that there's nothing I can do.

The bottom line is: you just don't know what someone is TRULY going through.  Be compassionate, not judgmental, because you just don't know.

Lessons learned from motherhood: The tricycle

On Sunday, we went on a walk, because it was sunny and felt warm (about 50 F/10 C, which is warm for this time of year in northern Utah.)  My 5 year old wanted to pedal his trike, rather than walk or ride in the stroller.  He reminded me that he's been practicing and getting better at pedaling and driving (which he has been doing during the slightly warmer weather.)  We were excited to get out and get moving, and his trike isn't so heavy for me to carry it if he gave up, so we let him ride his trike.

 Watching him today, I'm not sure he'll ever be ready to drive when he gets older--he's a crazy little driver!!  As I watched him, tried to prevent him from driving into the road, and attempted to keep my family's ankles and legs safe, I began to notice a metaphor for life.

As long as he kept his eyes on the sidewalk ahead of him (but not too far ahead), he did pretty well.  When he tried to worry about being faster or better than me, my husband, or his siblings, he would frequently glance over his shoulder or look way too far ahead, and he'd go off the sidewalk into the grass (or snow) along the side.  When he tried to pedal faster than normal, (and he normally clips along at a healthy speed, so that's saying something) his feet would slip off the pedals and it would slow him down.  When he tried to be tricky or fancy, he'd veer back and forth across the sidewalk, endangering the ankles of those near him.

I was struck by the importance of keeping on our own path, at our own healthy pace.  As people, sometimes we're so busy trying to "keep up with the Jones's" that we don't pay enough attention to where we're going on our own path.  Sometimes we're so busy trying to go faster and be more perfect than is actually possible for us, and our feet slip off the pedals, and we run over our own feet or run off the road.  In our attempts to be the best, the fanciest, or the trickiest, we sometimes hurt the people nearest us.

He's pretty good at just readjusting, hopping back on and trying again.  He went off the sidewalk many times, and got stopped by snow or grass, then he'd pick up his little trike, put it back in the middle of the sidewalk and try again.

We're going to make a mistake or two (or a LOT) and go off our path, and we'll have to readjust, get back on the path and start again.  Watching my son get back on the path multiple times was the embodiment of this quote by Oliver Goldsmith: "Success consists of getting up just one more time than you fall. " (According to 3 websites, he's the guy who said that.)

Our home is on the highest street in our neighborhood, so in order to get back here, we have a long hill to go up.  It's not terribly steep, but it is a long uphill climb for a little kid on a trike.  In order for him to make it up the hill, back home, I had to give him a few mighty pushes.  For a little while, I carried his trike, and let him walk, because it was just too steep for him, and I knew there was no way he'd be able to do it without me just pushing constantly.  Once the hill leveled off a little, I had him get back on his trike.  There were times when he was trying to get going, and he struggled to get his wheels turning.  Often, with a little push from behind, he could go for a while on his own, as long as he didn't stop.  Inevitably, if he came to a standstill, he'd need a push to get going again.

Again, I've discovered multiple metaphors.  We're all on a quest back home to our Father in Heaven.  It's not always overly steep, but when it is, He assists us in ways we couldn't manage on our own.  It's a long, steady climb.  We occasionally need a push to get going, and as long as we keep going, we can maintain forward momentum without a push again.  Whether that push is medication (if you are suffering from depression), help from friends or family, a priesthood blessing, or whatever a push might be for each person, each of us need different kinds of pushes to help get us going again.  And that's OK, right, and good, and nobody should feel embarrassed about needing a little extra help.  WELCOME TO HUMANITY!

Being a Mom teaches me so much, I am often floored at the symbolism that I find.  Truly "All things denote there is a God." Alma 30:44 (in the Book of Mormon).

Why me?

In the last few years, I've had the thought "Why me?" a multitude of times.  Often, I have used it when I feel like life has been giving me grief, despair, and overwhelming sadness.  I am also trying to use it during the moments when I am doing better than I deserve, which feels like a lot lately.

My baby girl is 6 months old today.

  It's completely awesome to me that she is a part of our lives, and I am not sure I can find the right words to express the tenderness and gratitude in my heart for the beautiful addition she is to our family. 

She is adored and treasured, and I wish all babies could feel so desired and loved.  There have been moments when I look down at her and think "Why me?"  "How am I this blessed?"

I'm still in shock and awe over all the things that have happened in the last years of my life.  I wouldn't have believed I could handle it all, and I might have said: "Why me?" if someone had explained it to me.  A miscarriage was hard.  Losing Gideon after a miscarriage was hard.  My paranoia and anxiety during my last pregnancy made it my hardest pregnancy of all, and I wondered why I had been called to endure these particular trials.  I know the Lord knows what I need to grow and become my best self, and I know He's a master creator, but just because I know and trust Him, doesn't mean I always understand why I have to go through things.  There have been other times in my life when the trials I was called to endure felt FAR beyond my ability to bear, and I have wondered "Why me?"

I also don't always understand why I'm as blessed as I am.  My life is not the picture of perfection, I have struggles, and I have weaknesses.  I also have amazing gifts and amazing people around me to share both my good and bad times with.  My husband is a loyal, hard-working man, who loves me and our children, and who treasures being a husband and father.  My children (even my 12 year old) love me, and have grown and matured so much as a result of losing their baby brother.  I have heard them express emotions and tidbits of wisdom that are highly unusual for children their age.  I have a wonderful army of family and friends who have dropped everything to be there for our family, and I know they would again.  I have felt the Lord's spirit speaking peace to my soul, bringing inspiration, guidance, and comfort when I have needed it.

A few times, both when I'm feeling overwhelmed by trials, and when I'm feeling in awe of my blessings, I've begun the song "Bohemian Rhapsody" by Queen.  "Is this the real life?  Is this just fantasy?"  That's how it feels.  My life is no fairy tale; it's not all bunnies, roses, and happily ever after, but I am learning to recognize my blessings more, and it makes me feel like I'm living a fantasy.  It's still challenging, but I wouldn't trade it away for anything.

Different each time, written Sept 2015

When I delivered both Gideon and Miriam and the nurses asked how many children I have at home, I answered, "Four" and they basically said, "Oh, you have this under control then."  I have caught myself telling so many people "This is not my first rodeo".  My nurses and doctors in the hospital didn't worry about me knowing how to push, how to breastfeed, and even my pediatrician thinks that I've done this enough times to remember what's normal and what isn't.  It feels great that so many people have confidence in me, but...Can you be a childbirth pro?  Can you really know and remember all there is to know all there is about what is normal for babyhood and childhood?  Yeah, I've done this more times than many, but 6 times at doing most things does not make me an expert. (Think about rock climbing, swimming, bowling, golfing; I've done those way more than 6 times and I am not really very good at any of them.)  When people treat me like I'm an old pro at this, I am not entirely sure it's true.  The experience is vastly different every time, so there are many moments when it feels like it's just a different first time.

My first baby just did not know how to eat.  I'm pretty sure that his eating instincts were somehow sort of broken.  The second was totally different, he was a great eater.  It wasn't until he got closer to school age that we could really notice some things that were VERY different about him--avoiding eye contact, strange sensory sensitivities, some social struggles, a true struggle to remember/memorize information--he was later diagnosed with mild autism and some learning disabilities with ADHD.  Our 3rd was a girl...that was a whole new experience by itself.  Who knew so many things could make someone cry?!  The 4th has been busy from the moment he was born, he was so alert and looking all around.  Our 5th was only able to be with us for a week--a week that taught me more about life than most of the other weeks of my life put together.  And here we are at number 6, still figuring out who she is.  She is a good eater, and pretty good natured thus far, but there is still so much to learn about her.  And there is still so much to learn about each one of my children. Each year brings new learning and understanding, new challenges and opportunities, new memories and insights.

In thinking about the confidence that people have in my ability to deal with Miriam, I have thought about how we maybe all start to get confident in our dealings with people once we've gotten used to a few, and that's not really how it is.  Every one is different.  Each interaction with each person will have a different meaning.  Some will be more profound, some will be more abrasive, some will teach  you, some will calm you, some will make you feel special, and others will make you wonder and doubt yourself.  In dealing with people, I don't know that there truly is an "expert" level.  Each year will bring new learning and understanding, new challenges and opportunities, new memories and insights.

I have caught myself wondering: Am I in tune with other people?  Am I in tune with myself?  Am I going into an experience in such a rush that I might miss the moments that could be special?  Am I missing the real moments and replacing them with virtual ones or with moments that don't really count for anything? 

One lesson that I have learned and carried after losing my baby is that you just don't know how many moments you'll have with any one that you care for, and it's important to make moments count.  And knowing how much I don't know about my Gideon...I don't know for sure what color his eyes or hair would be, what he would like to eat, what his voice would sound like....I also have realized that there is much I don't know about many other people who I do have time with.  Each moment is different, each experience, each stage of life such a new horizon to explore, and I don't want to miss out on knowing any of my loved ones because I missed out.  I don't want to decide that I'm an expert when there is really so much I don't know about my dear ones, and so many things to learn and experience together.

So here's to making each day dealing with humanity a different first time, making it special, and really, truly connecting with those around me.

Unnecessary anxiety attacks overcome

Something in me has changed, and I'll do my best to explain, but it's unusual and difficult to put into words.  I never had issues with anxiety before Gideon was born.  Hard things came and went, big plans happened, sometimes things turned out, sometimes they didn't, and I just rolled with it all, no trouble.  I was a little more adventurous with my plans and projects.  I have used the phrase "It feels like an elephant is sitting on my chest" to talk about how it feels trying to breathe when I have found myself so overcome with sadness and emotion, when it's been so overwhelming that it nearly crushes me.  Since experiencing that new "elephant" sensation, I have found that it has spread to other areas of my life.

I don't exactly know why it spread, and I don't like it at all.  My best guess, as I've self evaluated is that I know I have a perfect angel of a son in Heaven, so I feel more pressure now than ever to be perfect and good.  I had an awesome epiphany a few weeks ago that is helping me to break the pattern of feeling so much overwhelming pressure to be perfect, and the disappointment that accompanies it as I fall short over and over.  

It was my husband's birthday.  I wanted so badly to have our home pristinely clean (which is CRAZY HARD), to have the perfect presents for him (complete with a few grand surprises), a fabulous, favorite, homemade dinner ready to go, and a festive, delicious dessert for his birthday treat.  I wanted all the kids to behave perfectly, and I wanted to look beautiful.  I wanted it all.  My ambitions were far larger than my abilities, and I found myself in the "elephant on my chest" situation, and I began to feel that panicky, overwhelmed feeling.  How was I going to make this birthday special?  How was I going to help him feel so much love?  As the day went on, I worked feverishly to make it all happen, but there was just no possible way.

Thankfully, I have a deep and strong sense of both logic and spirituality, and the two of them were able to help me talk myself out of a complete shut down of functionality.

I reminded myself that Scott didn't marry me because I was able to keep everything perfectly clean and organized, give him awesome presents, make him terrific meals/desserts, or know how to train people to behave perfectly.  He loves me with and without perfect hair and makeup.  He does love that I work hard to do all those things, that I love to try new things and explore the world around me, that I love nature, that I believe a job worth doing is worth doing well.  He loves my bizarre perspective, and that I love to think about things deeply.  He loves my deep down who I am inside, no matter what else is swirling all around.  He loves ME, and wanting to do all those things is a part of me, but succeeding at them isn't necessarily part of the package, and he knows that.  Talking myself through this, I was able to see that if I was trying to make his birthday special, it would be, even if it didn't turn out as perfectly as I wanted. 

In that moment, I realized that I regularly set myself up with absolutely unattainable plans.  I always have more good intentions than I have the ability to carry out, and I often hope for the most perfect scenario.  In real life, there are red lights I'll have to stop at.  People get sick sometimes.  Food doesn't always turn out.  I have to sleep.  People are unpredictable, and children are especially unpredictable.  I am going to forget things sometimes, because I am a human being.  I'm going to get distracted sometimes.  And that's OK.  God doesn't love me because I am able to keep things perfectly clean and organized, give him awesome presents, make terrific meals/desserts, or because I know how to train people.  He loves me without perfect hair and makeup, He loves that I try hard, try to do things right, love nature, enjoy trying and exploring new things, and work hard at the things I do.  He loves my deep down self, He loves me for who I am inside.  And so each day that I put forth effort, makes it a day that Heavenly Father will be pleased with. 

I have not felt those heavy anxiety moments since my husband's birthday.  If I start feeling anxious, I can take a step back and remember how much God loves me.  He wants me to succeed as much as I do, but he understands that I am a mortal, surrounded by mortals and situations that I can't always control.  HE LOVES ME for who I am, and as long as I am truly putting forth my best efforts, it will be good enough, because He planned to make up the difference all along.  Its OK and good for me to keep having big dreams and big plans, and its OK for me to fall short often.  God wants us to try to be perfect, and we'll inch toward it with the effort, but He'll make the difference, and we'll grow in the meantime.