24 Valentines

This week was Valentine's Day and I celebrated my 24th one with the love of my life. At twenty one years old I started dating Mark. On our first Valentine's Day together he asked me to marry him. We had been dating less than two months, but as cliche as it sounds, when you know, you know. Celebrating that day means much to me, as it was the start of my life with a man I still find extrodoary. Mark is kind, patient, smart, loving, talented, giving, loyal and beyond a shadow of a doubt, my rock. He lifts me when I'm down, he makes me laugh and shares my same twisted sense of humor when things are tough. We are steady, even and consistent in our love and in our friendship. We barely ever argue or even quarrel. He is the person I choose to be with when given the option, I enjoy his company and have grown more fond of him as we age. We worked together for over fifteen years running our in home daycare. We raised many people's children and then also our own. I can honestly say I enjoyed working with him immensely and still miss those days. Mark is a hard worker and we share the same priorities in life. Our marriage has always come first. He and I need to be strong to care for our complicated family. I have often said to people that "we are selfish." We work hard at staying connected, at staying friends and enjoying life beyond our children. My God has always been first, but Mark is my close second. Our relationship is a covenant with God, we are in our marriage with Him. So as we age and things change in our life, my God and Mark are the only sure things I count on. My children are growing, our oldest son applied to five colleges just this past week. He will be moving on and living his own life. Of course I expect and hope our son will stay close and always be a part of our life. But children grow and the ultimate goal is to raise them well, so that they are contributing parts of society. So if we reach that goal and the children move out to start their own lives, what is left? I have seen the breakdown of many marriages. Couples who suddenly seemed to have nothing in common after the child raising years. Couples who slowly grew apart and just couldn't get the spark back. Couples who thought life would be easier or more fun with someone new. We have purposely worked hard to not become any of those couples. We have been creative in our dating each other, even when times were tough. Even if our middle daughter Teale was spiraling and could not be left in the care of others, we would find a way to steal precious time together, just the two of us. Many dates in bad times were at home, a nice dinner, our Wedding china, candlelight and music in our own dining room after the kids went to bed. Daydates, where we steal a date together while the kids were in school became the norm after we closed our in home daycare. Respite was used too, people who truly could handle and be trusted with Teale in our home or in the community. We also would date after hours, putting the kids to bed ourselves and then leaving them in care of someone who would call us if anyone woke. Our cell phones became a way to get some freedom and see a band that started late or just go sit someplace different and talk about anything but the kids. We built a good support and as Teale got older and "easier" our nieces also often helped us. We forced ourselves to use overnight respite. As strange as it has always been for me, Teale has gone to a local respite home here or there since she was about five years old. Our marriage hasn't been easy because we are just lucky, our marriage has taken  work and we made it a priority. So as we planned our Valentine's Day date, I looked back on how we have evolved. We were once a young, happy couple with the world to conquer ahead of us. We may not have conquered as much as we hoped to, but when I look at my life with Mark, I am proud of what we have been to each other and I just know "the best is yet to be...."

The Unseen Plan

I have watched as my Mother in law has become a shadow of her former self. I have heard her struggle with words, the thoughts just won't come. I have worried that this disease will someday take grasp of my husband, taking away the dream of our golden years together with grandchildren around us. I have seen her become fragile, childlike even. Her strong, independent, colder personality gone. This woman is warmer, kinder and more appreciative of my care as time ticks on. When I first met her I was hurt by her distance toward me. She didn't seem to want to connect. Mark was apologetic, I remember him calling her "a weird lady." Mark had a girlfriend before me that was very intelligent, in her masters program and obviously an independent woman. She was planning on pursuing a career before anything else. I  remember feeling like I was a disappointment to to Mark's Mom. Education was more important to her than it was to me. I had chosen to leave college to be a Nanny because that was where me heart was. My Mom was disappointed also that I left college, but knowing I was happy, she soon supported my dream of opening up an in home daycare. My Mom allowed me to run the daycare in her home, the sound of happy children filling what had been an empty house, once again. The children called her Grandma & for many of them she was. I worked long hours, but I loved my job, kids had always been who I wanted to be with. I love the way children are hopeful, full of life and promise. I loved caring for people's most precious gifts from God, knowing in my care they were safe and loved. It meant the world to me when friends or family would ask me to care for their children. In turn, I was also hurt when friends did not seek my care. I took it very personal, I knew I had chosen this career for just that purpose, to love and care for family and friend's children. I was helping to build self esteem, creativity and give children what every child deserves, a place that was fun, loving and kind. I wanted "my kids," the daycare kids, to enjoy their time with me. As the parents said goodbye, I wanted them to know that their children, although they would prefer being with a parent, were in good hands. I built relationships with families that to this day still exist. I have ex daycare children in their twenties and thirties who still connect with me. Watching them grow and become productive people in our society is a real kick. Some don't even remember their time with me, as they were too young to have memories of it, but their parents have kept me alive in their hearts. I worked with children because I knew that was where I belonged. Older people I did not feel I had a gift for. My grandparents were a different story, my Grandmother was one of my best friends. But as a younger person I found the end of life cycle very sad and hopeless. I could never imagine working with senior citizens. But here I am, my Mother in law is 85 years old and quit frankly declining. Her Parkinson's and dementia is taking it's toll on her aging body. She has been with my family for two and a half years. It is amazing to me that as a younger person I could have never imagined me as her caregiver but in many ways, it has come to me very naturally. Mostly because she is very childlike, she needs much care and encouragement. I have joked with her that I had always wanted a forth child, but I always dreamt my forth child would be a baby boy. I think the parallels of children and senior citizens are incredibly similar. I could not have seen this coming though, moving my mother in law in with us was truly a gift of heart. I knew my husband needed it, he needed her to be in my care because he knew I would go above and beyond for her. That was the biggest compliment of all, his trust in me to care for his aging Mom. When people ask me how we do it, how I do it, my answer is the same, because I love Mark and this is what he needed. He is loving and appreciative of my being here for his Mom. He knows she and I were never very close in the years we could have connected. The years Mark and I struggled, she barely reached out to help us. I never saw her try very hard to build relationships with any of our children. I remember feeling sad and disappointed at her lack of interest in especially Teale's life. But as time marches on, as she has become part of our immediate family, she has healed much of that pain I felt. Her connection with my beloved Teale is sweet and their abilities are very similar as Mom declines and Teale matures. There are even times Teale helps my Mother in law. The two of them can enjoy an American Girl Doll catalogue for over an hour, discussing the details of the dolls and what each of them likes. My heart has opened more to my Mother in law because hers has. No, she is no longer independent and strong. She no longer can  relieve some of our stress by helping us, that opportunity has passed. Really, we can no longer even have conversations to build our relationship. She is mostly stuck in silence but Gods plan has worked, we now have a love, that I will feel forever.

Stuff

Working through stuff is never easy. I've learned we are never really done working through the pains of our past. Some people are better at letting things go and moving on. Some hold onto anger and loss with both hands, holding it so close to their hearts they are rotting inside. For me personally it depends how much the stuff still effects me. I look at my daughter everyday and I still wonder "what if?" The trying to come to grips with what her life is and how it effects my life is quit frankly, a constant. Whether it is in a formal setting, like a counsellors office where I am sharing my deepest feelings or it is in my own head. I regularly debate ways to get through to Teale and help her more effectively. I am often occupied with how to improve her quality of life. I work through feelings in informal ways too. Talking with my husband or with friends, who can empathize and help me come up with solutions or rejoice in an accomplishment or a blessing. The loss of what Teale's life should have been is always in my face, therefore I am always working on it. The losses of my childhood have faded. I remember the good, more than the bad. I worked through that stuff so long ago, it barely ever haunts me now. I believe that is mostly because I have built a good support network and am surrounded by much love and caring. My own marriage is strong and fulfilling. I feel safe, loved and secure in my life with my husband. Sure, I go through times when I'm questioning if we are really as happy as I think, but I have found I go through those times when an outside factor has crept in and corrupted my sense of security. When friends and family members have divorced, I have become insecure and clingy. I know this about myself and Mark has learned to live with it too. I may ask him if he loves me, if he will always love me, if we are really going to "make it" several times in a day. He has learned to just reassure me and help me work through these times with love. The feelings pass faster with more hugs, than with criticism for my sudden strange fears. Mark knows my father's infidelity comes out when I hear of a couple whose marriage is in trouble. Especially if the marriage is ending in infidelity. I may even question Mark's loyalty to me in such a time. Even though, I know in my heart that Mark is faithful and good. He has learned, it's not about him, it's about what I have lived, therefore he is not hurt or angry. I believe that has been a lesson Mark and I have learned well. Often it is our own "stuff" that creeps into our marriage and causes us pain. Mark has never caused me to doubt him in our marriage and I think he would say the same about me. Stuff creeps into good because your memory of bad is so strong. I have had many more good experiences in my life with Teale, than I have had bad. Unfortunately the bad sour the good so intensely. I often can't recall the times someone was loving and compassionate toward us. Ironically, I can instantly recall the grocery store meltdown & the person who treated me like a bad parent. The people who were cruel come to mind faster than the people who stood by our sides with compassion, empathy and love. This frustrates me about myself. Why do I seem to have to work harder to remember the good stories. Maybe this is a skill I have yet to master, empathizing the good in my life. Stuff, stuff creeps into our hearts and hardens us if we let it. It makes us remember things we wish we had forgotten. That's why we don't want to work through our pain, working through it can make it hurt more before you finally release it. I have had my fair share of stuff to work through though and in the end I always find it is easier to feel it and release it, than to let it rot you from the inside...

The Lessons

Fishing with my Dad is one of my favorite memories. He never treated me like a girl, I was just me. His caring and teaching side would come out on those adventures. We sat side by side, quietly waiting for the big one to bite. He liked how I wasn't squeamish about hooking the worm or taking the fish off the hook. I liked the smell of his pipe and the way I felt sitting next to him, safe, loved and peaceful. The good times with him were the best. He was funny, caring and patient. My favorite fishing memory was when I went ice fishing with him. The fish seemed to bite at every drop of the line into that dark, cold hole. The memory of the fire he built me to keep me warm still clear. The thermos of hot chocolate just for me, hot chocolate never tasted as good. His friends were there too and they seemed to get a kick out of my Dad bringing me along. I was bundled up in a bulky snowsuit, extra mittens packed in case I got wet. He seemed prepared to make sure I was warm. We had a sleeping bag I could slip into also. I was his youngest, his forth girl out of five children. I looked much like him and was a tomboy in his presence. I think I always knew it had been a disappointment I was not a boy, but that was overcome easily as we became buddies. I also knew I was a big surprise, five years between me and my next sister. Dad was sweet to me, liking having another little one as my older siblings were becoming more independent and well, teen agers, with attitudes. He paraded me around like a prized possession at times. I felt special to him and loved. We both enjoyed nature and animals. He would often take me on hikes through the woods to just catch a glimpse of a deer or a pheasant. He taught me facts about birds I still retain today. He was an avid bird watcher and loved teaching me the names of the birds. We always had bird feeders and I still have one he made out of redwood 40 years ago. He hunted, something I had no desires for learning, but had I, being a girl would not had been an issue to my Dad. Somehow I knew my being a girl was never seen as an obstacle to him. He was not sexist and that made it easy to like being with him and learning the things my Dad knew. He taught me how to fix things, how to be independent and not need to rely on a man. He taught me strength and in the good times I knew his love for me was infinite. Those are the memories I hold onto. I dream of him healthy and whole, sitting by a stream waiting for the big one to bite. Someday I hope to sit next to him again...

My Dad

After my suicide attempt, life went on and I didn't think too much about it. I know I shared it with a few close friends, but I'm not sure when or how I told them. It was tough admitting. I felt weak,  embarrassed and scared that people would lose any respect they had for me. That was 28 years ago and much has happened since that time. As a teen I went to counseling, trying to work out my issues surrounding my dysfunctional family. As an adult I have gone to counseling much, checking in from time to time. Mark and I saw someone after finding out about Teale's gastroschisis in 1998, as there was a 30% chance she would not survive. But the two times I worked the hardest were long before I was pregnant with any of our children. As a young adult before meeting Mark and shortly after my Dad died in 1992. My Dad's death was a surprise and I struggled to accept the finality of it. I had all but lost contact with him in the years after meeting Mark in 1988. My husband never met my Dad. He had been in a very bad stage of his mental illness and quite frankly I was taking a break from his sickness and therefore also from him. He displayed classic bi polar symptoms. I'm not sure he was ever officially diagnosed, but now after being Teale's Mom and learning much about the illness, I can see the similarities. His second wife, the one he left my Mom for was much younger than he. She was always nice to me, but I still found her tough to like, after all she knew my Dad was married when the affair began. As fate would have it, soon after their marriage, she was diagnosed with brain cancer. The timeframe of these evens are unclear. As I remember she fought the cancer after surgery and it went into remission for sometime, but soon after came back with a vengeance. Linda went into a vegetative state and was placed into Monroe Community Hospital during one of my Dad's bad stages of bi polar. He could barely care for himself, much less his ailing wife. It was sad to know my Dad was failing and I had no control, but risking the good thing I had found with Mark was not something I was willing to do. I stepped away, thinking there was time to work things out with him. I stepped away knowing I could not solve his alcoholism brought on by his bi polar. Had I had the knowledge I do now, I may have had a mental health arrest done on him. His behavior was erratic, sometimes I would call him to check in or stop by and it would be pleasant, other times it was painful, hurtful and sad. I was well aware that he was just sick. I accepted it was not him, it was not his fault he had this awful disease but I also knew I had no control. I attended Alanon meeting from the time I was young. It is a philosophy of Alanon to accept that you have no control over your loved one who suffers with alcoholism. I had worked hard at letting the alcoholics in my life not destroy me. Mark and I started dating in December of 1988, by Valentine's Day 1989 we were engaged. We set our Wedding date for August 12, 1989 and I made the decision to not invite my Dad. I would have my sister's husband walk me down the aisle. My Dad could easily show up drunk and belligerent. I just didn't want my Wedding to be filled with drama. So in 1992 when he died from a heart attack (brought on by alcoholism) with a drink in his hand, in his favorite chair, by himself, I should not have been surprised. Funny thing is, I was, I was heartbroken inside. Outside I was strong, barely any emotions. The call came from a stranger to me, his neighbor found him dead and somehow knew how to reach me. I had to call my siblings. Being the youngest of the five, Dad had been in my life the least. I have good memories of him. I know he was a good man who loved us all very much, but his illnesses took him over. Telling my siblings and then subsequently dealing with his funeral and the loss I experienced was all pushed down, deep into my soul. It was tough to grieve the loss of a man I had not even invited to my own Wedding. I had guilt and regret and instead of feeling my pain, for the first time in my life I started eating for comfort. Mark and I had bought our first house in January 1991, but after my Dad died, my cooking seemed to turn to comfort. I started gaining weight and was not seeing the connection to the loss of my Dad. Suddenly one day I had an epiphany, I was stuffing my feelings. I told Mark what I thought was going on with me and that I wanted to seek counseling. Mark understood and supported my feelings, so I found a counsellor and started the heavy work of finally grieving the loss of my Dad.

Sometimes

Sometimes the purpose is unclear
The time goes by and the dreams vanish
The love you want to share gets lost in everyday struggles
The people you want to see are not there
The words you wish you said, disappear
The things you thought you would accomplish, are unreachable
You age, wisdom is found, youth is gone
Regrets fill your head
Love fills your heart
You hope for second chances
You hope for dreams lost, to come true
You hope the pain of reality lessons
You hope burdens ease
You see suffering and want to help
Your purpose is unclear

My Secret

If you know me, you know I believe in God. I believe that He sent his Son for the purpose of saving our souls. I believe that there is a Heaven and all the love ones I have lost are there enjoying an intense love and peace. I believe in prayer and I pray often for many. I believe in destiny and in making your life better by believing in the powers of your own heart. But I'm not always good at these beliefs, I waffle at staying on track. I pray for others but forget myself. My relationship with God has been strong and it has been weak. I sometimes have trouble believing I am important to Him. I have struggled with why my daughter suffers and why God lets her. I have hated God, knowing it is ok for me to, but wondering if I will ever love Him again. God has been a constant in my life. Since I was very little I believed in a God helping me, watching over me, loving me. I think I grasped for Him because I suffered much. My childhood had many challenges, many heartbreaks. I hoped God would help me not live the same heartbreaks as an adult. I saw divorce through my parents, betrayal of love by my father when he left for another woman. I saw my sister suffer through a marriage that had alcoholism, addiction and abuse. Her husband beating her and her forgiveness and the cycle continuing over and over again. The drama of those days, of those months are still clear in my mind. I saw mental illness and depression, alcoholism, drug addiction, sadness, loneliness and despair. There were times life was too much and I felt alone and confused by the purpose of it all. I was desperate for love, wanting to feel cared for unconditionally, wanting to be seen, really seen but feeling like I was a burden and invisable. My family was overcome by problems when I was a teen. Being the youngest of five I watched three of my older siblings turn to drugs and alcohol to ease their eternal pain. My Mom turned to alcohol and although she was a good woman who had a huge heart for others, she seemed to be drowning and I often felt alone. The pain took hold of me one night and I decided my life was not worth it. I decided to end my suffering. I just wanted to die. I had friends who were like family, people who loved me I could have turned to, but the pain was deep and I was done. I truly wanted the pain to end, I wanted to go to God, even if it meant I would hurt many in the process. I barely talk about this, I doubt my son or my husband's family knows I went through this time. My daughters are too young to share this with. Of course Mark knows, Mark is my everything. Mark is the man I was dreaming of when I was suffering alone. He is what I hoped my life would be, loyalty, consistency, peacefulness and most of all unconditional love. As a teen I was lost, I couldn't find my purpose. No one seemed to see me, to care where I was, what I was doing and most of all how I was doing. I lived in a house of drama where bad behavior got attention and good behavior went unnoticed and unappreciated. Three of my siblings were in need of help constantly. My Mom seemed to suffer from loneliness after my Dad left. I felt like the forgotten one, the good one who was invisible in the family. I couldn't help my Mom, my Dad was a classic case of disappointment. He would make plans with me only to break them last minute or just not show. The dream of being part of a family who loved me seemed distant, unreachable. Lost in their own issues, I felt alone in my pain. After many days of contemplating it, I wrote a note saying goodbye and took a bottle of Tylenol and Nyquil. Falling asleep was peaceful and I did not expect to wake up, but I did. I was sick to my stomach and my Mom thought I had a bug. I didn't tell her the truth. Why I woke up I'm not sure, it should have been enough to kill me, yet it didn't. I have thought about that moment much, the desperation of just wanting to die, the feelings of hopelessness. I didn't talk about what I had done, but I think waking up changed me. Somehow God wanted me to live, there was a bigger purpose to my life that was unseen and God wanted me to live it. I have shared this with very few people. Many believe suicide is a selfish act. Many believe it is something only the weak do. I believe I am a strong woman and I have lived through much, but there are times I have debated suicide even as an adult. Even with the love of Mark I have thought about ending my life because the pain of Teale's mental illness has put me over. There have been times Mark and I have felt alone in this world. We have suffered through unbearable mental anguish. Teale has had stages of her bi polar and other mental illnesses where she has all but stopped sleeping, for months. Those times I have actually gone back to that night I took the pills and hoped to never wake up. Those are the times I wish our families were there for us. Times where the pain was so unbearable death seemed like the only answer. I once said to Mark "I know I won't do it, but I'm as close to suicide as I can get." The truth is I shouldn't be here, I should have died when I was seventeen. I took a bottle of Tylenol and a bottle of Nyquil, it should have been enough. I was given a second chance, I was given a chance to see what my life would become. I married the man of my dreams and he has been everything I hoped for, even after 24 years together we still love deeply. But I see the irony in my life too. My hope to pick a man who was not an abusive alcoholic, after seeing my sister go through Hell, happened. My hope to pick a loyal man after seeing my Mom hurt by my Dad happened. My hope to pick someone who didn't have addiction issues happened. My hope to marry a man I would love eternally and who would show me the same love, happened. But, and is there always a but in life? Teale happened. Teale has torn my heart out at times, she has been abusive to me, she has brought chaos to what should have been a peaceful life. There have been times I have actually thought about killing the two of us to give my sweet husband and other two children a chance at peace. I have been sleep deprived to the extent of this sounding like a rational idea. The fact that I can talk about that pain is a strength, not a weakness in my opinion. Because until you live the extreme pain both mentally and physically Mark and I have lived, you will never understand how desperate a person can be for peace. So yes, I believe in God, I believe He is with me and He saved me that night I wanted to die. I believe my life has changed some hearts and I believe I have a purpose. Although still unclear, I do believe I am worth getting to know and love because in the end I believe I am a person of value. After all, God wanted me to stay here and he gave me Mark to get through the tough times with.