Sometimes Life Sucks

These are some of my harder stories. But like it or not, they have made me who I am today. And that’s not so bad.

Love and Loss

/ Kelly / Leave a comment

My last post was almost a month ago… Yet it seems like ages away. My husband and I had been trying to get pregnant for just over a year when we got the news that we were expecting. When I first read the little lines on the test, and the other five tests I took in the next 24 hours… I was terrified. It wasn’t pure fear, but rather fear mixed with excitement at the notion of a baby, joy in realizing our hopes and prayers were answered, relief that we could actually concieve, and the scary realization that in several months I would be in a labor and delivery room. We’re having a baby!

Having a baby isn’t all roses and candy. It’s scary stuff! And knowing what was coming, scared me. I’m not a spring chicken anymore. Layers of “fluff” now appear where I used to have muscle, stretch marks already line my soft belly, and evidence of too much junk food is obvious. I immediately regretted not starting that pre-pregnancy diet I had intended to start. But I was glad that I had found an explanation for why I had been feeling so exhausted and hungry lately. I was pregnant! We were having a baby!!

The next few weeks flew by and we celebrated with family and praised God for the gift of life and wondered and imagined about all the things this new baby would bring to our little world. My son was cautiously joyful at the thought of being a big brother. My husband was elated at being a new daddy to his first baby-baby. And everything was wonderful.

Until we went for our sonogram last Monday.  The appointment took twice as long as it should have. We were left in the sonogram room for about 45 minutes after the first attempt at finding a heartbeat and being told they needed to speak with the doctor. Then when the doctor, and another doctor, and two nurses came back in, they searched my womb while talking among themselves, not trying to explain what was happening. It was awful. After several minutes I asked point blank what was going on. The head doctor finally addressed me and explained that they were unable to find a heartbeat. He went on to say that either I was not nearly as far along as they had thought initially, or that the baby had stopped developing at some point and that “it just wasn’t a viable fetus”. Those are hard words to process. Viable fetus. It was our baby. Our love and pride and hopes and future. How did this happen? What was going on? How did we arrive at this place? In an hours time we had gone from giggling in the waiting room, wondering what our little baby would look like to… this? No clear answer, no guidance, just a million questions.

We left the facility in complete shock and confusion and despair. I cried, my husband consoled. I ran through the scenario a million times in my head on the way home, trying to figure out what was really happening. I contacted my local doctor and was advised that they needed to do some hormone tests to find out where we were with the pregnancy.  After the first round, they told me I was in the range of 0 to 6 weeks pregnancy hormone levels, which is about 4 to 6 weeks less than where they thought I was. They told me the next round would tell us whether the pregnancy was still progressing and I just wasn’t as far along as they initially calculated, or if the pregnancy was failing. We were given hope. A glimmer of salvation from the worst case scenario. And we waited.

Friday, I called the doctors office several times with no answer,  or was told they would call back. Finally, around 4:00 the nurse called and said they had my results but couldn’t read them to me without the doctor having signed off on them first, and he’d left for the day already. It would be Monday before we got any news. That would’ve been today. Friday night, the cramping and spotting began. I tried to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t what I was afraid it was. But by Saturday afternoon the pain was so much worse.

The only way to describe it was labor pain. It radiated and worsened and then would let up for a minute or so and then come again. The rest, you can imagine. It was soul crushing. I felt exhausted, cheated, and robbed, desperate for answers. Empty. I cried and cried. Then finally I slept. When I woke up,  there was a void where there had been joy. But it was over. And I was thankful for that at least.

We know that there are things in this world that we will never fully understand, and we know all things happen for a reason. God is in control of this situation and I trust fully in His wisdom and in His timing and plans for us. We will keep our heads above water by looking to Him and by petition and prayer, with Thanksgiving we will continue to make our hearts desires known to Him. Since sharing my story over the past week with other women, I have heard so many stories similar to my own and just last night I was comforted in a dream about our baby that now resides with the Lord in Heaven, patiently waiting for our reunion. God places people in our lives at just the right times and it is helpful to know that we are not alone in this pain and loss. I am grateful that the miscarraige happened so early in the pregnancy,  because I know it could have been so much worse. I can’t imagine the pain and loss of a stillbirth or late term miscarraige.  But I’m certain that it has to be nearly unbearable. I am so blessed to have an amazing family and friends,  a support group that is pulling me through this. And especially for a wonderful husband that loves and comforts me as much as I need. I hope my story will help another family someday and that to them also, God will bring a sense of peace and calm that I am experiencing as the days pass. Because really and truly, God is good. All the time.

Life in Motion.

/ Kelly / Leave a comment

Several years ago, my life was crumbling down around me. It wasn’t that I had found myself in an unexplainable situation that I had no control over. I wasn’t simply a victim of circumstance. I had, in fact orchestrated this glorious mess that was my own. And it hurt to own it. It was painful and raw and tender and new, but somehow it was my own doing, and I hated it. There was no switch to flip that would make it turn off, or balm to take away the sting. No way out. I had to go through it in order to come out on the other side.

I had come from a great family, had a wonderful childhood, loving parents, Christian upbringing, morals and values. But somewhere along the way I had traded that storyline for something much different. I had gotten into a different crowd, one without morals and values and good, caring people. It had become my new story and I wore it like a veil. It covered my happiness and my laughter. There was a difference in me that even I couldn’t readily see. An unfamiliarity with the image I saw in the mirror. Looking back it is scary, and sad. Sad. It makes me sad to remember my lack of backbone back then. I was afraid of making a move in the right direction again, back toward where I needed to be. Where I wanted to be. I thought that because I had chosen this path and spent so long on it and gone through so much to earn that set of scars, that it was where I had to go. There was no going back, no escape from myself and what I had come to know as my ‘normal.’

I thought I was fooling everyone. But I was only fooling myself. Friends tried to reach out to me, family tried to intervene. But I thought I deserved this life I had created. I didn’t know that my parents cared so much. I didn’t know that their prayers had saved me a hundred nights from some awful fate, and that their petitions to God were keeping me afloat while I was trying my hardest to sink. But they prayed anyway. I thank God they prayed. I will never forget the morning my dad drove me to the airport with a one-way ticket to a friends house in another state. He told me this was my ticket out, that I had to decide whether to sink or swim. We cried. He told me about their prayers for me, and their hopes for me. How they knew I was still in there somewhere. I didn’t want to go. I was afraid of what was going to happen once I really sobered up. I watched him from the plane, through hot, exhausted tears. He stood there until I couldn’t see him at the window anymore. It was one of the hardest things I ever did.

When the plane landed and my friend picked me up at the airport, it was bittersweet. She almost didn’t recognize me. My glow was hidden, my smile still lost somewhere. I think I was still in a fog. It felt like I must have slept for days when I first arrived. But eventually I woke up. We would talk over coffee and cigarettes. I laid open my soul to her with the hopes that she could help me empty the bad and replace it with good. And that’s exactly what she did. She listened. She cared. And she didn’t judge. Her husband was kind, and generous with their home. They were my resting place. It was hard for the first few months. Old friends tried to contact me, tried to slither back into my life. But I had changed. In the coffee and conversations and cigarettes, I had found myself again. I remembered who I was and who I wanted to be. I wasn’t the weak-minded shell that I had let myself become. I had a purpose here in this life.

I didn’t know then what my purpose was, and things haven’t been all roses and candy since that time, years ago. But I am always moving forward. Sometimes there are still thoughts of guilt and remorse. But I don’t let them take root. I am the gardener of my heart, and I work diligently to keep those weeds from sprouting. It takes perseverance and patience, and a love for yourself that must be learned again. But it’s so worth it. I will never go back to that dark, unforgiving place. I belong in the light, with the sun on my face and the wind at my back. I still cry, but I read somewhere that we must cry ourselves forward, out of that moment. It’s okay to cry, but you cannot stay in that place where the tears overpower you. You must cry yourself forward. So I cry myself forward sometimes.

Thinking of all the blessings I have been given, especially today – when I think of God ransoming me from the death I deserved, by giving his only son to die in my place, on a cross, with all the shame of my sins… It’s unexplainable. I am utterly unworthy. I would never be able to earn His forgiveness. But God so loved ME. Who am I, Lord? That you would lay down your life for me? A wretch. A sinner. I am Yours. And I am so profoundly thankful for your unending mercy and grace. I am thankful for second chances. And third, and fourth… I’m a work in progress, I know. But I know who holds my future, Lord. And I am so glad it’s not in my control. I tend to make a mess of things. But I keep on trying to do better. I am so thankful for the precious child I have been given, and the amazing husband that meets me right where I am, without judgement – only encouragement and love. I am so very blessed. And I don’t deserve any of it. It’s all because of Gods unending love for me. Thank you, Jesus!

20 Things I Know To Be True

/ Kelly / Leave a comment

1. People treat you exactly how you let them.
2. A child will always say the thing out loud that you really hope they won’t.
3. Dog hair gets a little easier to live with once you become a dog person.
4. Being in love takes two people.
5. Good people do stupid things too.
6. Sometimes cats run away and never come back.
7. It really does take a village to raise a kid.
8. Money is not the solution to all your problems.
9. When you think nobody is looking and you do a good deed, someone always sees it.
10. Elderly people are one of the biggest treasures in this life.
11. Hurting others won’t make you feel better in the long run.
12. Marriage isn’t always forever, but it should be.
13. Animals are usually very good judges of a persons character.
14. Laughter can’t heal a broken heart, but it helps.
15. True friends are few and far between.
16. A tiny hand clasped around your finger can bring down all of your walls.
17. A good husband is worth more than all the gold in California.
18. The simplest act of kindness can have a profound effect on someone.
19. Fairy tales sometimes come true when you least expect them to.
20. God loves me, even when I am unloveable.

My Crazy-Stupendous Story – Part 1

/ Kelly / Leave a comment

Things are finally turning around for us, and it feels amazing. While I try to always be upbeat and optimistic there have been some parts of my life that weren’t all roses and candy. First off, I have a son. He is a wonderful kid – well rounded and healthy – smart, funny, happy, imaginative (all qualities he gets from me) as well as moody, smart-mouthed, temperamental, impatient (again, from me). Anyway, he’s mine and I wouldn’t change a single thing about him. I love him with every ounce of my being.

Having a child changes a person in a way that can’t easily be put into words. I know everyone says that. But I was a very self-centered person before he came along. Then all of a sudden I was second. My needs were put aside for the sake of his. My goals and ambitions became secondary to this tiny persons needs. Throw in a “guilt-marriage”, some drug use/abuse, two completely polar opposite families and value systems, and two step-kids and well, let’s just say you have one royal disaster on your hands. While the relationship he was born of deteriorated in the worst way, my love for my son was untouched. As a matter of fact it was strengthened by my commitment to protect, nurture and successfully raise him on my own. That’s a very hard thing to do, by the way. Every decision makes a million more things either possible, or impossible. And the extraordinarily bad situation surrounding me and the father’s split made things even more frightening and complicated. Luckily I had a great group of friends and a strong support network in my family, so that while things were tough, they were manageable.

During the first year of separation from his father, I found myself in an equally unhealthy rebound relationship. I thought surely some drinking issues would be easier to handle than a drug problem. Turned out it was a whole other kind of misery. Husband #2 was very financially stable, book smart, independent, and confident. At first. Things have a way of going downhill in a hurry, apparently. The alcohol made him super insecure and confrontational. Accusations and control became the primary players in our daily routine. One step forward was always accompanied by three steps backwards. It was a totally different set of circumstances, but equally dysfunctional.

And then there’s my son. Watching from his front row seat. Seeing and hearing all the drama. Too young to understand the complications of life but old enough to know things weren’t right. There wasn’t much ‘happy’ that happened when the three of us were together. Those happy times were reserved for when it was just me and my son. On the days we would spend away after HE had stayed out all night or we’d had a big blowout about something. Me and my little guy would escape by ourselves. Sometimes it was just for an afternoon, sometimes it was an impromptu stay in a nice hotel, or a surprise trip out of town to spend a weekend with family or friends. We would recharge, rest, and then as always – the trip would have to come to an end and we would head home. The reception was always one of apologies and promises to change, and it’s hard situation to be in. You want peace, stability, normalcy. And it’s as simple as a single choice. But that was always the problem – it wasn’t our choice to make. It was his.

Then one day my son asked me, point-blank, “Why are we still here with him?” So we left. For good. And we didn’t go back this time. I could go on for days about how God literally opened doors for us to make our escape, from the house we rented to the daycare situation and all the little crazy details in between. But that’s for another set of posts. Basically, the doors were swung wide open for us to be on our own, and not just ‘okay’. We were great. We were happy, and had everything we needed physically, financially even. I wasn’t wealthy but we had plenty. Both of our needs were met and with a little (okay, a lot) of help from my parents my son was able to have most of his wants met too. Things were wonderful. But something was missing. It wasn’t obvious to those around us in a way that stood out to onlookers or even those who knew us in a more personal way. But in the quiet moments of our life, during bedtime prayers and the little whispered conversations while I kneeled at my sons bedside for our more serious talks – the ones filled with hopes and wishes and things that we didn’t say to anyone else, it was painfully obvious.

My little boy wanted a dad. He wanted a dad in a way that most kids never experience. He didn’t want the dad that he knew was his biological father, or the man he knew as his step-dad either. This was a deeper want. He wanted someone good, and kind, and honest. Someone who wasn’t like his other dads. Oh, it wasn’t that I wasn’t enough or that things weren’t good the way they were, he’d explain. But he just didn’t understand why things were the way they were. Why wasn’t his dad good? Why couldn’t, or worse – why wouldn’t his step-dad be what he needed him to be? Why did his friends not have those kind of dads? Most of the time the only thing I could think of was that it was because of me. It was my bad choices that put him in those situations. My lack of forethought. My poor judgement of character. My sins that had lead us to this place. And there was no amount of penance I could pay to change any of it. He would cry. We would pray for God to send us someone to fill that broken place in our life. Then I would tuck him in, kiss his face, and head off to bed to cry and pray some more.

Super Bowl Sunday about a year after my second divorce, me and my son were watching the football game at my parents house. I had only recently joined facebook at the prompting of my best friend and after years of futile resistance, and I had a message. It wasn’t a message from one of my friends though. It was a message from a guy that I knew from back in school. And not just any guy, either. This guy had been my first and biggest, real crush. I say real crush because I had other crushes back then. Cute guys, boyfriends even. But nothing serious. But this guy… He was my first REAL crush. Hardcore, couldn’t stop staring, not even blushing anymore, from the pit of my stomach, in love – crush. My 13 year old selfs dream guy. Out of the clear blue sky.

He asked how I had been doing. We chatted for awhile. And eventually we set up a date. It was super weird. First, that he would blow off the Super Bowl game to chat online with me. Second, that I hadn’t seen or heard from him in about fifteen years. Third, that it was my 13 year old selfs dream guy! What are the odds, right?? To be continued……..

Trampoline Justice

/ Kelly / Leave a comment

Growing up there was a girl in my grade that lived up the street from us who had the same first name as me. Early on we had come to the conclusion that we were destined to be friends due to the fact that we shared a name. Anyway, she and I both had big brothers that were around the same age. And they were problems for us. Always picking and teasing and taunting. They were not cool. At all.

One time, me and my friend were waiting our turn to jump on our trampoline. We were waiting because our older brothers were already on the trampoline. That in itself wasn’t the real problem. The problem was that our older brothers were much bigger than we were and we couldn’t get on while they were up there. Not like we had some rule that we couldn’t get on while they were on it. Like we actually could not get on. They were mean and selfish. And big. Really big. Way bigger than us. We would attempt to climb on. And they would jump really close to the edge and push us back down. We would cry and scream and kick and swat at them. No good. It was hopeless. We told my parents they wouldn’t let us have a turn, and mom did the old standard “holler from the kitchen window” routine. Which is totally ineffective, by the way. So we waited for almost an hour, literally. And in kid time, it may as well have been three days. We were DYING to jump.

Then, out of nowhere, there was a loud thud and popping noises. We watched in complete horror as the trampoline bottomed out and springs went everywhere. It was epic. And infuriating. Needless to say, they were in big trouble. But being in trouble and getting punished don’t always go hand in hand. Apparently, bottoming out on a trampoline from mid-air hurts. We wouldn’t know because we didn’t get to experience that. But they were pretty sore. And that was justice enough for us.