Waiting

Don't forget!

Donuts for Dad tomorrow!

845-930




The small piece of paper slipped from Lily's hand into mine. I read it and sighed. She looked at me.

"I know mama. Daddy can't be here."

Here eyes threatened tears, but her voice was steady.

"But he still loves me and wishes he could come, right?"

"Yes baby." I slip on my sunglasses to hide tears of my own.

We drove home in silence. Hers, peaceful. Mine, boiling with feelings.

Mark's job takes him away weekly. Sometimes for a few days, sometimes, like this week, for the entirety.

It is what he has always done. It is not new. And though I hate it, we get by. It is stressful and hard and I wish it could be different, but it's his job.

I am enough for my children. I can handle them alone for a week. I can do everything that needs to be done- the changing and bathtimes and feeding. I can do it all. They don't suffer any lack of care.

But Lily misses him. She cries for him. Her heart misses his heart desperately.

Lily also knows, when he comes home, he is hers. Fully and completely. If she needs him, he is there. If she wants him, he comes running. When she cries, he holds her.

He is dedicated to her. This is something she knows.

So this Donuts for Dad, this time he is missing, is merely a blip to her. It causes her sadness and a bit of envy of her other friends whose daddies can come, but it doesn't scar her.

Me, on the other hand, I am struggling.

I can feel the devil pulling at me today. I can feel his grip on my mind and my heart, reminding me over and over again of remembered pain, of remembered waiting, of remembered disappointment.

The sad truth is, you never outgrow wanting your daddy. Never.

And I want mine. And I miss him.

Right now, sitting in this chair miles from him, years from the last time I saw him, I can smell his scent. Whiskey, cigarettes, old spice. I can see his eyes, set deep into his face, surrounded by wrinkles. His hair, silver and lush. His clothes, his stature, his cane.

I can call him up as if he were here, beside me.

I can feel him.

The longing is...wrenching.

And I try so hard to tell myself- This is MY time. I have a family now. I am creating good. I am healing myself. I am the soft place to fall. I am there for my babies. My family is strong.

But I still am, inside, a small girl, sitting in the blistering Vegas sun, waiting for my daddy.

She's still there. And at times like these, she makes her presence very known.

And to see any of that longing reflected in my daughter...

It upends all of the emotions like a Pandora's box.

I have learned when my heart gives way like this, it is from God. There is no stopping the emotion or the pain. It gets a grip on me. It hurts, it burns, and it rends.

But it also teaches.

I miss my father. I miss him everyday, when I see other grandfather's with their grandkids. I miss him when I smell smoke. I miss him when I see a great sunset.

And I have a thousand what if's. And a million regrets. And alot of guilt over not reaching out, now. But what I have to say to him he will not answer.

Why didn't you save me, daddy? Why wasn't I important enough to rescue?


And that silence is more damaging than what I feel at this moment.

I am in a limbo state. Not at peace. Not at rest with him. I love him. I will always love him, but his lack of care and silence wears on me, and always has. He loved me and cared for me when it was convenient for him. This is the truth. And although I have forgiven him for that, I cannot be pulled in again, when the truth of who we are to each other is never spoken of.

I AM his child. I deserved to be taken care of. I deserved to be safe, and not abandoned. I deserved his love.

And I wasn't.

Yes, I am 35. You may be thinking I should get over it. But one thing my life has taught me is if I DO NOT remember these things, it will slip away from me. The immediacy of the pain will be lost.

And then I am at risk for doing to my babies what he did.

So keeping the pain close, keeps them safe.

This pain comes when I need it, when I am at risk of forgetting.

I know it is God given. I know he has stripped me bare as the tide pools. He is showing me my voids, my wounds, my ugliness.

And I know the tide also returns, covering these places with life and nourishment.

So now, I wait for the tide to come in.

An Open Letter

To all of the people who frowned at me, shook their heads, and whispered as I passed them in the mall last night:

My son is 2. He doesn't talk much yet. He doesn't have words for his frustration or his anger. He can't figure out how to get what he is feeling from his brain to his lips, so he cries. And he screams. And he hits himself with his little fists.


No, there is nothing wrong with him.

He is simply, angry. And he can't say so. And that makes him angrier. Which spirals into an epic fit.

And yes, I knew this would happen when I took him to ride the train. I knew he would scream and cry for an hour after coming off of it. I knew.

And I did it anyway.

So sue me. So You had to hear him scream. So you had to make judgements in your head, or whisper to whomever you were shopping with. So you had to give me fake sympathetic smiles.

I'm not sorry.

Because seeing that little boys face as we rode that tiny train through the mall, as he got to call out "Baaaaaaaa!!!" (bye) and "Whooooo Whoooo" as we passed people and stores and the food court was worth it.

The 5 minute ride was worth the struggle of the hour after. The hour of screaming and kicking and crying.

Why? Because he is 2. And so few things are simply joyful at 2. Bubbles, cars, swinging, and the train ride at the mall top the list.

All the rest of the day he is at my whim. He goes where I go. He doesn't choose to go to the grocery store, the gym, the post office. He doesn't choose to eat grilled cheese for lunch or to have a nap. He doesn't choose what to wear or when to leave the house.

I choose it all for him. And he has no control.

And he is 2. And behind in his verbal skills due to repeated ear infections. And he is easily frustrated. AND HE WANTED TO KEEP RIDING THE DANG TRAIN.

And I GET him. I understand his little heart and his feelings. That's why I wasn't scolding him. That's why I gave him a cookie. That's why I stopped to hug him and kiss him while he cried. That's why I got down on my knees in the middle of the mall and talked to him, again and again.

Imagine you are 2. You can't talk. You can't communicate. And something you treasure is given to you and then abruptly removed. What would you do?


So next time you want to cut your eyes at a mother with a screaming child, just remember: She is probably doing her best. She is probably trying. And your comments, your frowns, and your looks cut right to the heart of her as a mama. They make her doubt herself. They make her feel ashamed and angry.





See that little face? It is precious to me. It is precious to God. And despite his faults- temper and fierce independence, he is a joy to me. He is my baby. Not just a screaming child to be annoyed with. Somebody's baby. Beloved.

Kindness is never ever futile. Next time, try to be kind instead of judgemental.

35-35-35-3.5

Today is an ultra special day.

This morning I stepped on the scale, and I was down 35 lbs.

My daughter weighs 35 lbs.

I am 35.

The walkway around out subdivision is 3.5 miles.


So, can you imagine what I did? That's right- I loaded my baby girl in the stroller and we took off for a 3.5 mile run.

My first run since surgery.

My first all out cardio since surgery.

(I am 7 weeks out)

And, I did it. Not only did I do 3.5 miles, I did 4.2. Mostly because Lily fell asleep and I didn't want to disturb her by stopping, but hey, I still did it!

I couldn't run the whole time. And a few months ago, that would have made me upset with myself.

Not today. Today I picked up my feet and put them down without a thought of how fast I was going, how far I was going, or of how long it would take.

I set my feet down one in front of the other today, enjoying the feeling of my body coming alive under it's own power, with the only goal being to finish.

And finish I did. Before I could even blink it was over. And I was sweaty and out of breath and completly joyful.

Starting weight 2.14.12- 229

Today's weight 4.5.12- 194

I don't know.

The text message came to me. The words, sad and angry and fearful all at once.

"Why? Why can't God stop this?"

And my heart hurt. My words froze. All of the things that I could say got lost under my own remembered pain, my own remembered helplessness.

And I answered: I don't know.

Because I just don't. I don't know why things happen to people. I don't know why good people become different, struck down by disease and addiction.

I don't know.

I've walked this my entire life. I have loved God my whole life. And I still have no answers.

The situation has peeled away all of my layers of healing I have applied. It has unearthed all of my own sadness. And I thank God for that. I thank Him for the remembered feeling, for the pain, and for the feelings of being at odds with this world we live in.

Because it reminds me that I don't have any answers.

The world is a broken place. Filled with broken people. A world that is becoming more and more lost and broken by the day. And the only thing we have to cling to when the world shatters is God.

But to do that we have to lay down all of our own understanding. We have to look past the people in our lives to see the creatures God has made. Creatures who have their own path to walk. Nobody's walk is our own. We can't walk for them. We can't drag them along.

And we can't make anyone better. Even those we love more than life. And even those who should be our shield and our fortress. Those who should protect us and those that should hold us up.

They fall too. And their falling resonates forever in our own world.

We get angry. We shake our fists and we cry. We beg and we plead. But some things cannot be reasoned with. And some things cannot be fixed.

Some things can't be fixed.

Not by human hands, or human words, or human deeds.

My parents had their own walk, long before I was born. The had their own path to God. Do I agree with their choices? No. But I have come to know, through tears and agony and self blame, that there was nothing in this world I could have done to change they steps they took.

It was their path. Not mine.

The moment of letting go of that was the most heart rending of my entire life. The pain of it was intense and searing. I felt like I was going to die. I felt sick. I felt angry and ashamed and disgusted.

Until I handed it to God. Until I said. "I cannot."

Cannot carry this.
Cannot hurt this way.
Cannot feel responsible.
Cannot worry this much.
Cannot hurt this much.
Cannot take into myself their pain and make it my own.

That is the only answer I have, after 35 years in this skin, loving my Savior.

I Don't know why these things happen. I don't know how to fix them. I don't know how to make the pain go away.

But I do know who can, and does and will. And until I reach Heaven, that will have to be enough.

A Milestone

Today it is 6 weeks since my surgery.

I got on the scale today not anticipating a change, but there it was: a full 30 pounds lost.

30. It seems like so much. It is halfway to my goal of 60.

But it is just a number. It cannot compare to the lightness of my breath, the difference in my energy level and stamina, the way I can feel my heart settling into a steady beat as I push myself with weights.

It is in the way my body responds to all I am demanding of it- carrying babies, cooking, laundry, workouts. My body gives with flexibility and strength. It pushes beyond endurance into excellence when I ask it to- when I lift an extra 20 pounds, when I bump up my cardio.

It's as if all this time, my body and myself were separated, and now it is fusing.

In short, my outside reflects my inside now.

So today instead if going to the gym, I wanted to celebrate my small victory.

Days are gone when I would have eaten something decadent, or taken a nap.

Today I strapped my Sammy into his Beco carrier, grabbed the dog, and went for a long walk.

Sam is 31 lbs. Just a little over what I have lost. And as I carried him I felt every pound. It was there in the small ache of my feet, the burning in my thighs, and the cracking of my knees. It was a heavy, sweet reminder of what I have left behind.

And when I finished three miles and lifted him from my back, I felt like I could fly.

I have a feeling that there are many more moments like this to come, but today, walking in the cold breeze and warm sunshine with my boy chattering in my ear, life was very very sweet. And it's only going to get sweeter.

Sweet

Yesterday I walked by a floor to ceiling mirror at the mall. As I passed, a woman in a long purple maxi dress and a big white cardigan caught my eye. She was shapely, curvy, and elegant. Her face was free from all makeup except gloss and mascara. Her hair was twisted up tightly, showing off her slim face and neck.

I did a double take.

The woman was me.

Me.

And in that split second between knowing I was looking at myself, and thanking I was looking at a stranger, I thought I was beautiful.

I can tell you that it was the first time since I was called "fat" at age 10, that I liked what I saw in the glass. The first time I didn't pick myself apart, my hand going immediately to my stomach, my lip curling at the sight of my thighs.

This has been, by far, the deepest prayer of my heart, the one I prayed out loud in the surgery room as I went under anesthesia: "Lord, change me inside as you change me outside."

And He has. As in all things, He has been faithful. He has been gentle. He has been comforting when my doubts got in my way.

In all ways He has reminded me that this was a choice He and I made together. That it was for my good. That it was to unshackle me.

I feel the hold food has over me peeling away, revealing what food truly is: fuel. Nourishment for life. To move, to care for my children, to be strong and healthy. It is only that- fuel. It is not to hide behind, to take refuge in, to drown in. It is not to bury my feelings in or to create a body that keeps others away.

It is to live that I eat. To subsist. I have been freed.

I feel every word that has every been hurled at me disappearing slowly. Washed away by the tide of my own confidence. Realizing that these words are not ME. They are not my body, not my spirit.

I am opening to the world. And it has nothing to do with the number on the scale, or the number on my jeans.

It has to do with me and my Savior. It has to do with giving up all that binds me. That makes me sit in fear of speaking up, being seen, or living life.

Freedom is sweeter than anything I could ever taste. And I am rejoicing in the breaking of bonds.

The skinny

Tomorrow is my one month surgi-versary!

One month out, and I have zero regrets. None. My recovery has been awesome. I have felt good from the beginning, only hanving a handful of days when I was tired or dragging.

My belly has healed. I will always have scars, but in a weird way, I don't care. The scars are from a positive life choice- I put them up there with stretch marks from pregnancy.

Two things that have been downers- I have rapidly lost muscle tone in my legs and butt. They have always been big, but also muscular. Those muscles have dwindled quite a bit, leaving me feeling very loosey goosey. However, I know I put on muscle very quickly, so I am psyched to get back to lifting weights daily to restore it. The second- the hair loss has started. Luckily I have a ton of hair, but I am praying that it doesn't thin too much.

So far, I've been super lucky.

Daily I am still on protein shakes and a few bites of other things. I can't eat much still- around 1/4th of a cup at most. But I am back to being able to drink ice water, which made me gag post surgery.

And, I am down 24 lbs. I can see the change in my face and my body- everything seems easier. Moving, walking, biking. My ankles and my knees don't ache. I have energy. And this is after just losing 24lbs of my 100 lb goal! I can't imagine what life will look like in a few months. Just being able to wear a swimsuit without being embarassed- it truly brings tears to my eyes.

Thanks for taking this journey with me. Please comment with any questions, or e-mail me. I am an open book!

Surgery weight- 229

Weight today- 205