We can do hard things

As most of you know, its been a wild and crazy year both personally and professionally. I've struggled to feel grounded, worried late into many evenings and have sat in the same room as my kids, yet completely disconnected from them, more times than I am willing to admit.

Here's what I've learned.

Sometimes, despite our best efforts, we simply cannot control our life.
Sometimes, regardless of our deep desire for change, it's simply not possible.
Sometimes, even with the greatest regard for prayer and reflection, we wake up feeling exactly the same way as the day prior.

Sometimes we just need to be reminded:

We can do hard things

To my mom, fighting a mean autoimmune blood disorder that isn't responding to treatment:
You can do hard things.

To my girlfriends, struggling with wee little bebes who doesn't sleep, mothers gone to heaven and blended families:
You can do hard things.

To my BFFs, struggling with bad news, transition and life's uncertain path:
You can do hard things.

We can do hard things.

We can.
And we will.
For we possess love, grace and beauty.
And we have been given the gift of each other.

The Broken Elastic

I don't really know how to explain it.
I don't really know how to describe it.
I don't really know why it happened.
I don't really know.

The only explanation I have is this:

I knew it was bad when, in late July, I balled my face off, in front of my kids, at 9 o'clock in the morning. Over a broken hair elastic.

Yup.
You read that right.

I managed to get the dogs walked, shower, help the kids dress and eat, kiss my husband goodbye, pack up some bags for our morning jaunt and get the kids in the van.

I sat down in the driver's seat and pulled an elastic out of my pocket. My hair was wet and unkept, so I was opting for the usual mom look - the ever popular, high messy bun.

I stretched the elastic around my hair once, twice and SNAP. It broke.
And I sobbed.

Deep, breathless sobs.
The kind you cannot hide. Cannot quiet. Cannot stop in their tracks.

The kids just stared at me, silent. They knew I wasn't ok, but they didn't dare interrupt.

It took me many minutes of deep breathing (thank you meditation) to recover. My mind kept repeating - its ok, you are going to be ok - and my heart slowly settled and my tears stopped.

This has been my entire summer.
A series of broken elastic moments.

I do not feel depressed.
I do not feel anxious.
I do, however, feel entirely outside of myself.
I feel exhausted, burnt out and weak in managing life's every day moments.

Please do not take my absence as a lack of caring.
Do not take my forgetfulness as spiteful.
We all struggle, now and again.
Right now, I just happen to be a broken elastic. <3

The Bandaid

Last night I fed the boys supper earlier than usual. Their sister was off enjoying some time with family, so I made an easy meal and set them up to eat on our small counter height table in the kitchen. Somewhere between placing their food on the table and starting the dishes, I realized I had cut my foot.

No big deal. Right?
By the time I looked down, the blood was running off the top of my foot onto the floor.
Opps.

I looked down, surprised, and said out loud that I didn't realize it was bleeding. Nolan, who's always been interested in cuts and blood immediately hopped out of his chair and knelt down over my foot.

"It's bad mom. You need a Band-Aid!"

Off he scurried to the upstairs bathroom to grab one on my behalf. I knew he'd have to climb on the counter to reach the medicine cabinet, but I let him do it anyways. I knew he was capable (and his siblings weren't there to learn his trick).

He came running down the stairs and the most curious event happened.

He ripped off the paper cover.
Peeled the sticky edges.
Then placed the Band-Aid over my cut.
Talk about a role reversal.

I was in total awe. My six year old acted calmly, swiftly and with great compassion.
I leaned over to kiss his forehead, and thanked him for his kindness.

His reply?
"I love you mommy."

And then my heart melted.

Missing you, little angel

I'm not really sure how this is going to sound, but I am going to attempt it anyways. My heart has been increasingly heavy this week and it's going to explode if I don't allow the penetrating feelings to come out my fingertips.

It's been two years since I lost my niece. And two years (less a day) that my son was born.
One of the worst weeks of my adult life. One of the best moments of my adult life.

I don't talk much, about those few days, but I relive them in my head quite frequently. There are some pretty intense memories floating around....

The moment my sister-in-law walked up my driveway in tears. The subsequent moment she told me that her baby girl had died in her womb. My heart breaking into pieces. My eyes holding back tears so as not to scare my children. The look of utter horror on my devastated sister-in-law's face.

The night she went into labour. Staring at my phone to check for messages of her progress. Dozing between conversations. Feeling insanely hopeless. Angry. Overwhelmingly sad.

The moment I first laid eyes on her. Little Kinsley. A simple photograph shared by cell phone, an intimate look at the beautiful little angel who was born still. Feeling the need to scream. Or throw my phone. Or run away. Heavy, deep grief.

The phone call from a distraught relative. The words - you tell that baby of yours not to come, this is not his time. He better stay in there for now - which seared my heart so deeply I nearly fell to the floor.

Labour pains. Frantic tears. Terrifying conversations about the possibility of having a child so close to such loss. Prayers begging for mercy, for a reprieve from labour for just a few more days.

The ultrasound. Confirmation of a breech, 8 day overdue child. Panic in my midwife's voice.

Laying on a hospital bed, wondering if my sister-in-law had been in the same room. Preparing for an ECV, nerves frayed and mentally exhausted. Looking up at my husband, tears flowing down his face as the midwife offered him a package of infant loss materials for his sister while I laid in reverse position in an effort to flip our child.

The pain. The excruciating pain of knowing our child was alive in my belly.
The guilt. The take-your-breath away guilt of knowing we'd meet our son that day.

Then, the rush. Of clothes being removed, needles being inserted, questions being asked. The shaking of my entire body as they rushed me into the OR for an emergency C-section. The tears. The inability to stop them from falling down my face.

Then, there was Ethan.
Loud, alive and healthy.

More tears.
Heart pounding guilt.
Shame.

Two years ago, and less than 30 hours apart, two children were born into our family. They were suppose to be best friends. Go to school together. Play together. Grow up side by side. But the story we had written did not meet the reality of our life.

Two years later, the guilt has become tolerable though still overwhelming at times. I cannot help but wonder to myself, would she be as tall as he? Would she love his favourite show? Play ball with him?

Why is he here? Why is she not?

When he hugs my sister-in-law, is his hug filled with divine purpose, a greater gift from his angel cousin? Does he love his aunt so intensely because he is loving her not just as himself, but as his cousin, too?

He is, in many ways, greater than the sum of one child. I cannot help but wonder if in some small way a little piece of his spirit is connected to the spirit of my little angel niece. That a smile from Ethan is, in a way, a little glimpse of heavenly love as well.

Happy birthday baby girl, we miss you and think of you every day.
xo

On Mother's Day

Even after the most heart-wrenching, exhausting and emotional days, the ones where I find myself saying:

'If I could just run away'
'Maybe the kids are better off without me'
'If another little human touches me in any way'
'Maybe I should I change my name'
'I didn't sign up for this'

I know I am meant to be a mom.

My heart loves more.
My spirit endures.
My eyes see the beauty.

There is no greater gift than being a mother.

Today, I selfishly celebrate this gift. This amazing opportunity to mold and motivate little minds with big hearts, little hands with incredible dreams and little feet with many miles to travel. For they are my biggest accomplishment.

They call me mom.
xo


Happy Mother's Day to my incredible Mom and Aunt, my loving in-laws, grandmothers and all my incredible friends playing the role of Mama, Stepmama, Godmama, Furbaby Mama and daughter missing their mama. Sending all my love.

Birthdays in Heaven

I'm struggling to detail my thoughts, my heart full of feelings. I know that tomorrow is Miller's first birthday in heaven, and I wish it were here, with us. That little pooch, my first fur baby, he is still missed an incredible amount in our home. My heart still has an unoccupied, empty space which used to hold his physical presence. His skinny body. His furry ears. His relentless quest for snuggles.

Tomorrow is Miller's birthday. And his mommy can't be there to spoil him.

It's funny, how kids just know, just sense what adults need. Tonight, B asked me to read her 'Somewhere Over the Rainbow Bridge', the gorgeous book which describes a dog's journey to heaven along a connected rainbow beginning on earth. It was hard to read, but I found comfort in the following passage:

Just as they did in life,
dogs want to make their
loved ones happy, to tell them,
"Everything is all right.
It's beautiful over there.
And we are not done -
not by a long shot.
I'll always be here for you."

Happy Birthday my Miller boy, I hope Gram feeds you Pizza Hut crusts and Pop takes you fishing. Maybe Babcia will even slip a cheese slice into your dinner. You are well-cared for, no doubt, but please know you are so special that the kids, Daddy and I still talk about you every single week.

Love, Mommy

On his last day, so sick but still one of my favourite photos. I can see deep into his soul through those eyes.

'Tis the season

I absolutely love the holiday season. Not just Christmas, but the entire season of advent all the way through New Year's Eve.

I love it.

This one has been no exception.

Despite a few hiccups - mainly Jay's epic smoke detector reach-turned broken foot and E's inability to sleep the night - I'm happy to report the tree is decorated, presents wrapped and Christmas music is blaring (side note: Jay you really have to stop changing the station on the kids and I!) I have even learned that the season can be wonderful without doing everything on my list. I didn't decorate as I usually do, nor did I bake. And I've realized that I'm ok with that. I am learning (slowly) to pull back on the 'want to do's' in favour of downtime with my kids and husband.

While the boxes are yet to be opened, I've already experienced some incredible gifts.

First, two long time girlfriends went out of their way to 'lift me up' over the last few weeks. An unexpected delivery of flowers. A sweater drawn up with a Miller-esque pup. Both deeply affected my heart, as both went out of their way to think of me. I am so grateful for their gorgeous souls, and have decided to pay it forward with two unexpected gifts of kindness to other mama friends. Mamas supporting mamas. Love.

I also received a well-disguised gift from N early this week. It began as an epic meltdown and ended with his realization that while he couldn't change the situation he was in, he could do the one thing I've been urging him to do for a very long time. In between sobs, and INSTEAD of raising his voice and escalating, he say, "Mommy, I just need a hug." WOW. I was insanely proud of him. He GOT IT. Sometimes we don't get our way, but that doesn't mean we can't feel upset, and in being upset it's ok to ask for a hug to release the negative feelings. So proud. Major milestone.

Last night, B came home with a homemade ornament. Made in class, her first year of school, it's just so special. It immediately brought tears to my eyes. Her little hand. Her handwritten name. The little faces she drew on each 'snowman' finger. Such a beautiful memory to share for years to come.

To say I am grateful is an understatement. My heart is aching with love. And I keep thinking, what can I do with these feelings? Well here's what I am going to do.

I am going to pray.

Pray for my friend who is celebrating a last Christmas with her palliative mother. Pray for my friend who lost her little sister unexpectedly. Pray for my Gram, who is celebrating her first Christmas in heaven with all her family and friends. Pray for Jay, the kids and I, who continue to miss our furry boy Miller and feel a distinct sense of loss as we get closer to Christmas.

I am going to pray for love and strength for those experiencing loss. I am going to pray for quiet moments of beauty and divine intervention for those unable to celebrate this season. I am going to pray that each of my incredible friends and family members find beauty in the holiday season, despite the worst circumstances.

Christmas brings out the most wonderful and also the most debilitating of emotions. It's so important that all of us remember that we cannot help how we feel, but we can help others feel loved and supported. Reach out this week to someone you care about. Give them the gift of your time, your ear to listen, or perhaps just a hug.

This is the true meaning of Christmas.