Last minute Five Minute Friday: Bloom

Our garden is exciting right now. The plants are green and growing. We even harvested our first Zucchini! A few other "fruits" of our labors are showing signs too. Others are still waiting.

before the blooms, of course, there are just buds. Before the buds, there are just leaves. Stems, sprouts, and visibly only dirt.  

But it was coming. On its way. Working on it. Growing. Growing just the same as it is now, in fact. Just some phases are a little less exciting than blooms and fruits. 

Sometimes all we can see is just all we can see. Inside, the changes keep happening. The processes are working their way around, doing their jobs. 

Leo, the Late Bloomer comes to mind, probably the teacher in me. Leo could have felt bad about blooming after all of his friends. Maybe it was just his dad who was worried about it. Who knows, maybe the love of his mother and those around him helped Leo feel safe as he grew. Maybe that's what helped him have the courage to keep growing, even though others couldn't see it. 

I can see the frustration in being just a little two-leaf stem, or a tall stalk with nothing more than buds. But that doesn't mean that the blooms aren't coming. Growth might not be as triumphant or vibrant as a deep orange blossom on the backdrop of huge green leaves, but it is growth still the same. 

Faith enough to move on is still faith. 

Already Hiking

Two hours laying in bed, not being able to turn my brain off, sinking further into deprecating thoughts and loneliness, and I finally decided to come write to get myself out of it. The house was fittingly dark for 4am. I came to the couch to escape and hide, to write safely covered under a blanket despite the still near 80 degree temperatures outside.
Just one little lamp in the corner, I honestly didn't think much of it, but apparently it was enough to wake up the two year old who I'd woken up for in the first place at 2 when he was out of bed.
I can't even crash into despair and cry myself to sleep on my own?

That's a sign you need help. I need help.
Fully admitted, but what does it matter? I could admit all the things that are wrong or hard, but that doesn't change them. Therein lies the difficulty.

I want to be heard and held and understood. I just want someone to care, to hear and to help. I want to run away and have a break. I can't. I want to hide from all the things I just can't seem to get done. but I can't.
If the outside of me is reflection of the inside of me, I am cluttered with corners in desperate need of deep cleaning. I am as dead as my lawn and filled with weeds. I am thirsty for basic needs, scorching in summer heat.
I am alone.

It was nice to see some friends this last week, and to be reminded of how it was to have friends like that. People I could talk to and work with and listen to, and I felt balanced and refocused after talking to them. But now comes the sad reminder that it was just reliving a nice memory.

Now I am alone.

I want to talk. I want someone to hear me and help convince me that I'm actually doing okay, maybe even quite well for the circumstances. Perhaps they've been through something difficult too, and they can offer suggestions and sympathy. Just a friend to talk to without worrying that I'm dumping on them. I don't think I can survive carrying the pressure by myself. I want to take it off for a few hours.
I'm carrying all the camping supplies my family needs, but without a duffle bag. I keep hoping if I can just set it down and lay it out, I can fix the bag and zip it all back up before I put it back on. Roll it up so it fits better. Breathe and stretch and rest for a moment so I can gather myself to keep going. It's a 50 mile hike and I'm probably 10 miles in on the journey. Not asking for the pack to be taken away, or the journey taken for me, just in need of a rest. Maybe some water. A chance to readjust would be nice.

But I can't rest. I can't even sleep. I can't even break down properly because I'd wake the children.

Sure does make me feel like running away. I don't have anywhere to go, and the guilt at leaving my children would be horrendous, so I couldn't ever do it. But the thought occupies my mind a lot, especially when I can't sleep.
"What would happen if I just ran away for a little while?"
 Would I finally be appreciated? Would my own health matter more? Would it be more than just words that I am loved? Of course, these thoughts/hopes are interrupted by my children and husband who need me so constantly. No, Emma, you made a commitment that you don't want to break.
I might just break instead.

Just.... So alone.
So many reasons why the few people I would talk to are not okay to call. Middle of the night, time difference, busy, have their own kids/husband to worry about, haven't talked in years;


I guess I'll just keep writing.

Hey. What's up world?

I feel like I made contact with the normal world today. 

So many ups and downs and insecurities and emotions have filled my life for the last 4 months. Maybe I just came up for a breath of air. 

Floating on my back for a moment on top of the water, looking at the sky and clouds and just breathing. Today it was while Clark snuggled with me on the couch and his teething baby brother slept through the entire Curious George movie. Any we were avoiding using the water because the drains had backed up and there wasn't a plumber to be found all afternoon. And dad was off getting the mechanics to fix the problem they caused with the oil plug. 

But see? A moment of peaceful back floating can make life feel just a little bit better. 

I'm sure holding the family afloat while treading water will resume soon enough, but today?

Today I was calm and normal for a whole morning. 

Life must be getting better! :D

Emotions overload

Long, hard days.

Physical labor.

Mental stress.

Over committed.

Running everywhere, late.

Messy house, messy mind. 

An unending todo list at home, at school, at church.

Not meeting up to my expectations of myself.

Doing everything, accomplishing little.

Alone at home. 

Not being able to help others. 

Rejected offers of help.

Exhausted. 

Wonderful family.

Adorable, happy, inquisitive children.

Good job.

Chance to sleep.

Five Minute Friday: Glue

This is my first one of these, so here I go.

Glue.
The glue that holds things together. That melts in too much heat.
The glue that looks like a big white mess all over until it dries clear and somehow comes out okay.
The glue that gets up early for one kid after staying up late for the other just to keep us all sane. Or as close to sane as possible.
Sticky glue that sometimes feels dried up but pulls off the crusties on the tip and pushes hard to find just a little more good glue at the bottom of the bottle.
How much can you hold together with glue?

The glue that holds the family together.

Sometimes I wish I was the superglue and not just plain old schoolhouse Elmer's. I hope it can hold us all together just the same.

MY STORY: or The More Difficult Mental Emotional Stress and Difficulty Caused by Living and Writing About THE STORY

(Read AFTER reading THE STORY post)

I can't remember the last time it was difficult for me to write something. Writing and typing have always been a welcome release of information and emotion. Usually the words flow out and help me see clearer and feel better afterward. This time, I am struggling to make sense. I struggle to express myself and the words feel awkward and strange. None of them fit right. I keep going back to make changes and then I still feel unsatisfied. 

Probably because all of this feels unsatisfied. I still have no real answers. I met with Jordan's doctors and have a little bit of insight, but I'm still alone. I still don't know if anything I do can help or will hurt. I still feel lost and confused. I don't know what my role should be or if he's going to attempt this again. I feel extreme guilt that I didn't know this was coming. I knew the night was difficult at the end of a difficult week and a difficult quarter, but in my mind there was an end to all of that with the end of classes. Spring break was on the horizon and here was a chance to reset.
But it wasn't that way for Jordan. 

Fear clobbers me over and over as I try to get this on paper. I am making it real by putting it in black and white on the page. Real should be good so it becomes a tangible experience. Words can be read and analyzed and understood. But these words are also vulnerable. They are words that carry heavy meaning and significance. The experiences that wring and twist the heart as I drip out the words one sentence, one phrase at a time. They were shrapnel in my heart and extracting them I hope will help, but performing self-inflicted surgery hurts so much. 

Looking back over the words I managed to spit out so far makes the letters seem meaningless. 

Long-ago memorized words of the prologue to Henry V make all the more sense:

O for a Muse of fire, that would ascend
The brightest heaven of invention,
A kingdom for a stage, princes to act
And monarchs to behold the swelling scene!
.....But pardon, and gentles all,
The flat unraised spirits that have dared
On this unworthy scaffold to bring forth
So great an object: can this cockpit hold
The vasty fields of France? or may we cram
Within this wooden O the very casques
That did affright the air at Agincourt?

Just like the cockpit cannot hold the vasty fields of France, neither can the mere letters and unfeeling phrases capture the confusion, the despair, the loss, the hurt, the loneliness that have been my reality this past week. How could a phrase embody the desire to make whole again what was once my innocent hope? 

Hope.

Hope is not lost. Even Jordan found it as he listened to someone on the helpline. He didn't know he had it as he walked himself in to get help. Help was there. Hope pulled him in and pushed him back out again on Saturday afternoon. I stood next to him with hope of my own. Hope because I was standing next to him. He was still here in this world. He was still able to walk by my side and be here with me and our children. Hope told me we could still have dreams and life and options and lunch. Hope even told me we could have help. 

Hope tells me now not to be afraid as whispers that your judgement and misunderstanding will make you treat us differently. You might. Maybe we will have to face this terrible new perception of reality without the support and extra love that we wish for. We can. Maybe you, like I was, will be paralyzed for a time, unsure of how to react to this startling information.

Maybe then you will realize to yourself the low moments you have felt and find a way to empathize, while realizing you might not understand the gravity he felt was possibly heavier.

I don't expect you to know how to act, or what to offer, or how you can share love. I don't know what to tell you that you can do to help. But I hope you will. 

THE STORY

There's no easy way to start this. 

I guess the fact that I'm writing this means there is hope.

Hope is always something to hold on to.

THE STORY

One week ago tonight my husband had plans to commit suicide. 

I got a phone call at 10 PM on Friday night notifying me that Jordan was in a crisis center at the U. A man named Brandon told me all about what had happened. How Jordan had taken leftover pain medications from the house and was planning to take a mixture of flexeril and hydrocodone and "fade away". I found out later he'd had plans from when we both left the house together earlier, in separate cars, as he presumedly left for school. He thought to himself, that was the last time he'd see the house. 

I don't know the details from there, but wherever he went or wherever he was he texted me "I love you" at 7pm and that was about the end of it. He was "about to take" the pills when his doctor, Cathy Seegers, for some reason decided to call him to notify him about his new prescription being available for pickup. Miraculously, Jordan actually answered the phone call. Without knowing what was going on, she asked him if he was okay. I'm sure he said something like "fine" but she reminded him about the crisis numbers she had given him and to not hesitate to call them. Somehow he found the strength to call them after he hung up with Cathy and ask for help. I don't know the details from there, but they convinced Jordan to come into the UNI's crisis center and bring all the medications he had with him. I guess he actually came by the house (before I arrived home) to pick up his regular medications before he went up there. 

The crisis center was probably the best thing that could happen to him at that point. Physically, they took his belongings, gave him a safe place to stay and eventually destroyed the leftover medications for us. More importantly they spoke for hours with a man who had lost all hope for the future. He had lost all hope for the day and what he thought was his life. He never really understood he could get help. 

Jordan has Major Depressive Disorder, which means that his depression or "feeling low" can last more than a week without feeling any better. This latest depression has worsened over the past month. He had made plans before, and even told me he had made them two weeks prior. But then we talked and faced problems a little; he was seeming on the upswing. At least, he seemed better to me. I guess now I can see that he was covering that up by acting like everything was normal again. I got a cold and lost my voice and he was again pushing himself aside to take care of me. 

I don't want to get into all of Jordan's story, it's not mine to tell. 

What happened after: 

The next morning Jordan called me and asked me to come and get him. I have a wonderful brother and sister-in-law who took our boys for the day. We went to lunch. We worked for three days to try to reach "saturation point" with the amount of hugs we could give each other in a day. We never found it. 

We talked through the safety plan he made Saturday morning with the Social Worker and added more to it. We leaned like a crutch on anything normal for two days. On Tuesday we dropped off the kids and went together to the prescheduled therapist and doctor appointments as Jordan bravely owned and explained his experiences. The worst part for me was reliving the fears and the "what ifs". The best part was seeing my husband humbly admit his strengths and his own value, so very recently realized and for the first time given a residence in his heart. He chooses a word each day to help him hold on to something positive amidst the ocean plague of negative thoughts that has been drowning him. The first day it was "flicker". Then "family". Then "Happy". Life preservers in turbulent waters. The first few days were actually full of hope. He knows now many things he never accepted before. He has value, talents, and abilities.  He doesn't have to always worry about the future. He has people around him who love him and can support him. He can ask others for help. He asked for and received a blessing.  

He doesn't know exactly how to talk about this. Neither do I. But after months of worry and pulling away, I think it's time to accept a little more help. It is frightening to open up and wait to see how you will treat our freshly bandaged wounds. But it can't be more frightening than tending to them by ourselves. At least, that is the hope. 

Afterward/Current Status: Fortunately, this was the week of spring break for me and we've been able to spend some extra time together. Unfortunately, the week is ending. Jordan got physically sick with a nasty cough, a sore throat and body aches, which have made his spirits fall a little. Also, next week is beginning to loom over us as Jordan goes back to retake classes at school and I won't be able to help during the day with the boys. We have been trying to keep up on everyday things, but both of us have been mentally and emotionally set back a bit. In other words, our house is somewhat a disaster and so are we. But we're surviving, and right now, that is most important.