Through Who's Looking Glass?

We just rolled back into Augusta after a whirlwind trip to Atlanta....fangirls, concert, exhaustion.  In that order.  The hotel we stayed in was one of those swanky deals with valet parking, bellhops and $6 bottles of water via room service.  Also, mirrored elevators where you stood there, feeling queasy not just at the upward movement of the people moving, but the reflection staring back at you.  OMG, I look like that?!?!  To avoid my own hideous reflection, I looked at my daughters, who I know are adorable and perfect and they looked all weirdo too, which was somewhat of a relief.  You really expect mirrors to be honest you know?  They should be....they are supposed to be a reflection of what you actually look like and in this case, at least in the case of my gorgeous girls, that mirror had it all wrong.  Me? If I really do look like that, I need some help because it was scary.  Very scary.

But I was still me.  I still laughed at the same weird things (Like looking like an Oompa Loompa.  All vanity aside, that shiz was funny)  I was still Mom to those three girls standing there with me....still carrying my 31 overnight bag I absolutely love, with knitting tucked inside. No matter what the mirror was reflecting back at me...it was still me...

I've never been to a carnival, but I am familiar with the house of mirrors.  The walk through every kind of reflection possible.  The stretched out, tall and skinny...short and fat, warped faces, bodies, perceptions...and you know what?  It may just be the most honest place on earth...that hall of mirrors. Because we really do see ourselves like that.  All of it.  We see ourselves as less than, as more than, as beautiful, hideous...and we look...constantly at ourselves.  Constantly.  Always concerned with not only what reflection WE see, but how others see us.  Depending on the person you can be any version of yourself.  

Have you ever been around someone you feel beautiful around no matter what you actually look like?  They SEE you.  Beyond the hair, the perfect eyeliner, the cute dress.  They look at you in ratty yoga pants, hair up in a messy bun with part of your sandwich still on your face and just SEE you.  Hear you.  Feel you.  Conversely, have you ever been in a room.....dressed to the nines..and felt like the ugliest, stupidest, least valuable person in the room?  You could have checked the mirror a million times before you left, completely satisfied with your appearance only to see something devastating in the women's room mirror when you arrive.  Your hair is all wrong, your dress not fancy enough....you should have known....you aren't good enough to be there...But you're still you.  

You are still you.

Flip it around now. You know...you know when you look in the mirror that some changes need made.  Everything looks just perfect, but it's only the surface of who you are that's reflecting back at you .  You....are still you.  You are still struggling with every heartbreak you've ever buried being unearthed.  Every hurt you convinced yourself you didn't feel ripping open and bleeding  You are still you when everyone around you tries to convince you that because the surface is fine, the rest is too....and even when they don't want to see you for who you really are....you are still you.

You are still you.

You are still the person who doesn't understand why anyone can see what you see...your heart, your emotion, your life...no one knows what you do....so they can't possibly convince you of what...of who...you actually are.

But they try.

They try....

"Well at least..." 

"Well if it were me..."

"Well if I had that...I'd...."

And you want to scream STOP.  This is my life.  This is my story and my pen, my paper, my choice and unless you were part of writing any of the previous chapters you can't possibly know what made the cut when editing the bookstore copy.   

So you decide. Done. No more.  No more opinions about what the mirror is actually reflecting back. No more.  Because it never mattered.  Ever.  Keeping up appearances for anyone else, anyone...ever..is a waste of time, energy and life.  There's nothing beautiful about masks....

Not only do you stop comparing yourself to others, you start refusing theirs to you. No, my life is not perfect.  Yes, I have something you want....you have about 17 things I want....and about 100 I don't.  That's the raw, ugly truth.  You no longer allow anyone to compete with you on anything.  Ever.  If someone needs to, let them win because they aren't there yet...in that place where they realize no two human beings should ever compete, compare, contrast who they are with who you are and decide one's the winner.  It's a distraction.  A massive eye off the ball because wanting to be someone else will forever keep you from wanting to be yourself.  

And you are enough.  Every human is a self-contained work of art, a masterpiece, a wonder of biology and spirituality and magic....in every mirror, in every reflection....every glance, thought, breath...you compete only with you....

Only with you....

And at being you?  You always win.  

Battle Scars

Just to the left of my right knee cap is an ugly scar.  Though it's faded over the years, I see it every time I smooth my legs with the razor or apply lotion.  It was a deep cut received from a youthful couch jumping episode while at a friends house....some kind of wire sticking out.  It gashed my leg brilliantly and the evidence remains.

Scars are funny things, really.  They are an outward proof of something we've endured and healed from.  They tell a story, our story and are a visible reminder that some choices have consequences that cannot be erased.

The biggest hurt I have ever endured left no lasting physical reminder.  My abdomen already bore the scars of having sacrificed vanity for motherhood.  Those scars that tell how much I had to stretch both physically and emotionally are worn with pride (and under clothes, thank you very much!!)  So nothing about my body changed when I lost Matthew.  This is probably why, so many  years later, I'm ready for his initial to be placed on my body permanently.  I need that scar, that reminder, that visible thing to say "hey, he was here...."

Scar tissue is only formed when an injury occurs deeper than the first layer of skin.  Surface hurts don't have any lingering reminders.  It's the ones that cut deep, very deep, that remain.  But sometimes the ones that cut the deepest aren't physical.  Instead of blood, tears.  Instead of stitches, grief.  Instead of seeing a change from injury to recovery, we get stuck in the cycle of brokenness that leaves us more comfortable being shattered than finding the pieces will no longer fit if we try to put them back together.

I was off duty one evening when my then only child woke from his slumber and wanted a drink.  I had been quilting and had my rotary cutter out.  It took two seconds. I was filling his sippy cup as he was grabbing the cutter and in a split second, with both our hands on it, it brushed the bridge of his nose.  The tears, both his and mine, were plentiful and to this day, a scar remains.  Every time I look at it, I feel remorse.  Oh, the things I would have done differently to take that scar away.  But I can't,  I certainly did learn from it.  No child has ever repeated that injury because I replaced the cheap cutter with a locking one, that I keep up 6 feet, out of reach and when in use, the door is locked (Yeah, I tend to go overboard. It's my MO)

Of all the scars, the absolute worst isn't the deep gashes that require a million stitches and dressing changes or even surgery.  The worst are the memory banks of those who saw us at our worst and won't let us forget it.  Even after we've healed, moved on and learned from the injury, those that remain to remind us of those scars, happy to rip them open time and time again as we are healing.  They hold us accountable (sometimes rightfully so, sometimes not) for our actions, but not their failure to keep us from injury in the first place.  They saw us holding the cutter and just stood back and watched to see what we'd do....

Healing is a funny thing.  It has to come from within, not from without.  Even though it's the outward appearance we find so concerning, the real damage from any injury is more than merely cosmetic.  Infection, improper healing and a constant abrasion of that hurt can guarantee it never heals.  That we never heal.  And so often its those who should be promoting healing that just don't want to....can't stand to...see it happen.  Because healing happens alone.  The injuries cannot be experienced by another, so neither can the healing.  It's one situation where help doesn't help, but harm really harms and so you walk that line trying to make people think they have some part of you getting better....but really.....it's all you.  It has to be.  No one can heal for you.

But...they can show you its possible. They can flash an ugly scar on the left side of their right knee cap and say 'Hey, this sucks and holy hell did it hurt. But it doesn't hurt anymore.  I survived it and it healed just fine.  You will too."  They can also take one look at that scar, that's been present for  years and say "Hey, how'd you get that you moron.  You should have known better.  I bet you have more all over your body with the kind of stupid you are..."  And even though that scar was fine seconds before, you will feel it all over again....

Life is too short to keep ripping scars open, or allowing anyone else to.  Love is leaving healed hurts alone, respecting the work it took to get through the pain and the process and letting what happened in the past keep it's address on the timeline and not asking it to come visit for a week or two.  Love is lightly brushing over those scars during a backrub and standing in awe the person made it through the injury with a story to tell and a lesson learned, not a prompt to chastise the person for having gotten it in the first place.

Battle scars...we all have 'em.  Some more, some less, but not one of us escapes this thing called life without a few of them.  The trick is to wear them with grace, to allow them to be a part of your story.....but not your whole story.  A page, or two...even a whole chapter, but not the cover to cover reality of the person you are and the person you've become because of them.  We learn, we grow, we change and evolve and it's largely because of those injuires and our ability to heal from them that we even have a story to tell at all....

So what's yours?

In care, concern and in the name of healing,.....

I've sat down to write this blog no less than 7 times.  The words came but they were ugly, harsh and not representative of what is really going on here, but even still....a month later I'm at a loss.  I'll begin with a few snippets of previous attempts to get this all out.....

The papers are signed and on their way.  Formalities, dealt with and so I drive home, business taken care of.

It is finished.

But now it begins.  Now we get down to the heart of the matter.  We get down to what this has meant. To me, to all of us.

First, let's clear something up. Our loyalties were never to you.  Ever.  Our loyalties were first and foremost to....

Matthew, Ronald Kent, Ellie, Ceilidh, Alexus, Courtney, Owen, Carly, Zoey,  Kaitlyn and Teagan, Holden, Karina........

Do you even know who they are?  These are our children who lived and died before we could even meet them and we pledged, in those moments where we were grasping that we'd have to live our entire lives without them to make their existence matter; to make them known and no matter how quickly you dismissed their lives with your disgusting pride and ego, we have no regrets.

Unlike you we can still walk with our heads held high.  Unlike you, we didn't need to have our names plastered across our "care and concern."  We gave it because we actually cared.  It wasn't a currency for us. We needed nothing in return but the knowledge that what we were doing was good and would help heal the hearts of parents getting ready to walk a path we knew. We didn't want to sell a tour, we wanted to give the map freely.  You charged for admission, we paid it in full, of our own volition,

Our babies died once and we did what we did to honor their memory and you stole that from us.  You took our babies and used them for money.  How could you? You fucking asshole. Seriously?  Who does that?

Once the f bomb was dropped I felt a *little* better....but, then I erased the rest because that particular word took over....and that's not who I am.....And here's another.... 

In care, concern and the name of healing....

Really?  Who's?  Who do you care about?

You.

Who are you concerned about?

You.

Who's healing are you promoting?  Your own. 

See, the thing is, you were never the guardian of anyone's healing.  You appointed that title to yourself. No one voted you in. You just pushed your way in. You created a monopoly on grief and have sat firmly on your throne for years. After all, without any accountability, is easy to maintain a reputation as being pious and benevolent isn't it?  If anyone says any differently, just give 'em the boot and in your sickeningly sweet passive-aggressive way, bullshit the masses into believing you are protecting them.  Right? 

You know what that is?  It's sick.  It's abusive.  It's disgusting and my God, it's wrong. You lie behind closed doors, you lie behind the people who are so convinced of your goodness, they won't ask questions.  We all know what happens when someone disagrees with you.  That's simply not allowed.

I want you to really let this sink into that sick, twisted brain of yours. You have lied to every single person you have come into contact with.  What does that say about you?  It can only be one of two things.

One, you justify that lying in the name of "healing."  You keep facts back from people who need them because you view yourself as further along in the process and thus, have the authority to make those decisions for the people who trust you.  You know what?  We don't need another lie to take up space in our lives.  We've told ourselves one too many already by the time we found you.  That we'd be okay, that it was no big deal, that the world would understand what it means to parent a child from the grave.

I was stuck, quite literally.....in every way imaginable and I wasn't alone.  Multiple other people were stuck in the quicksand of grief, unable to eat, sleep, function, while you posted your happy little vacation pictures and pretended we didn't exist.  Something you're really, really good at.

And then it hit me.  Denial is your MO.  You are stuck in it.  In the first stage of grief.  Should we then pity you?  Maybe, but I can't find it anywhere.  Not for you. Not even a little.

Here's the thing, lady.  You are hurting grieving parents.  You have created an atmosphere where you encourage dependency on YOU.  Everything about your little empire says "You need ME." But you know what?  We don't.  We need each other.  We found each other.  You are wholly, completely unequivocally unnecessary and you can't stand that, but you know it's true.  

You have lied to the people who gave their all.  You have lied about everyone and everything you have touched.  And you have to live with that.  

A dear friend told me I can't change your mind.  I can't make you do the right thing.  I can't.  You have to live with yourself day in and day out and the level of dishonesty you must carry around with you is burden enough.

As for us.  All of us....we are moving forward with the one lesson we can take from this disgusting situation.  To never, ever, ever, ever be anything like you.  Ever.  

May you find the love, care and concern somewhere along the way.....but for now we'll call it like we see it....

Bullshit.  

Converse, Size 13, Red Please

The ride home took about seven minutes.  Test results in hand, I think we both knew what the other was thinking.  We'd done all we could and left the rest up to you and the decision was made.  Those numbers matter and while you can't quite understand it yet, it was largely on you TO understand it and do better.

College-bound or no.  We've had this discussion 17 million times and you've morphed from resistant to angry to accepting to agreeable.  We all had the same goal in mind.  Play those numbers and play 'em to win.

Over the past year, we've seen you grow in maturity and understanding, wisdom and grace and as you've grown more into who you're going to be, we've done the same.

Being your parent is hard.

Beautifully, wonderfully, agonizingly hard.....and not because of YOU, but because of us.

You see, son, we want the best for you.  We want every breath you take to filled with passion and purpose and we sought that goal from the day you were born!

From the video tapes with classical music with black, white and red shapes floating across the screen to classes specifically geared towards screen-writing for your budding video passion, every move has been to help you become the person we KNEW  you could become.

And you have.

It just doesn't look like we thought it would.  And what we just realized tonight, for the first time, is we've parented you with this odd combination of both hope and fear.  Hope that you'd do all the right things and fear you'd do it all wrong and yet tonight we're left wondering who's actually been right and wrong all along.

You live with this passion and gusto.  Self-motivated.  Kind.  Caring.  Genuine.  Loving.  Creative. Inspiring. Tenacious.

Every single thing we hoped and prayed for.  You are everything we are, but better.  Times a thousand.  You don't let fear of the unknown cloud out your hope of the same and I think we forgot how powerful that can be because we were taught to be very afraid.

We've tried instill this desire to make this one go around on the planet worth your while, to be the best you can be and I think we missed it actually happening because we were so worried that it didn't look like what we thought it should look like and truth be known, a little afraid of what "they" would think if we became fully vested in allowing a man-child to pursue a passion that takes him down the path of HUGE resistance.

But it's not your job to walk in my shoes or down any of the paths we've chosen.  They're your shoes and your life and they are some pretty big damn shoes (and hip to boot!)

So while we totally expect you to maintain your responsibility to society at large (you know, schoolwork, chores, family relationships...) we accept your choice to give your passion all you got.  We can't be those people who say we're about living outside the box and then systematically force you into our own.  We can't truly believe that God makes us who we are and then ask you to be someone else's version of the perfect child just for the sake of looking the part of the the perfect parent.

You aren't and neither are we.

There is no line drawn that can't be erased and no path that can be doubled back on.  Not yet.  You're young and with that comes a certain ability to be a little braver, stronger and smarter than us old folk who got so busy worrying we stopped dreaming.

Don't stop.  Not yet :)

Go for it.

Love,

A mom who will  never be sure I'm doing the right thing, but tonight I'm more sure than I've ever been.

Surprise Me....Not!

Please and thank you.

So, my anniversary has come and gone.  There was much anticipation about this day because the "surprise" lingered for days and weeks (it seemed.)  There were hints and more hints and everyone was in on it but me....... and you know what?

I hated it.  Hated it.  Me and surprises?  Nope.  Hate them.

And I know it's odd, but to me surprises feel like a betrayal.  Everyone is in on this thing that you are left out of and then you are supposed to be all happy and give just the right reaction when really you want to be like "Really? I had no input, no say so and I've said I hate surprises no less than a million times.....so really who is this for??"

Seriously, Jamie could come home and tell me that we're all going to Paris, everything arranged, all needs met, all cares attended to and my reaction would be?  Fury.

I'm a horrible person.  I know it.

My husband was trying to do something lovely for me.  But he included other people in on its and left me out of it.  To "surprise me" and my reaction was appropriate until I had to be honest the next day that it really hurt me to have communicated time and again that I hate being surprised and to have him, time and again, not listen.

However, all things that happen....yes, I analyze them to death and this was no different.  I asked him to listen and we talked.  I asked him to really think about why it was okay to gift someone something you have already been made aware they will not enjoy. In a relationship with two people if only one person enjoys what is happening (in any case) that's no longer a relationship.  All things being equal who bears the burden to change?  The person who is doing the thing the other person hates or the person who hates the thing being done?  Is it my burden to get over it and/or lie about the thing, or his burden to not do it?  I poured out my concerns that I was being unfair and unkind by not enjoying this surprise (or any surprises) because I recognized the intention as pure and good.....but with knowledge that something is unwanted, giving it to the person is really NOT a good and pure intention....it's actually quite selfish.  He had a really good idea, one that he actually flubbed up because he didn't quite know how to execute ( I did) but instead of including me in it, he wanted the glory and the credit for doing it.  He asked me how we could fix this from here on out and I explained that the idea was beautiful and I would have loved it if he had gotten the supplies for this idea, boxed them up, presented them as a gift and said "Let's do it together..."

No sneaking around and fussing at me to stay in the house.  No people coming in and out while I sat and waited and they giggled because  they knew something I didn't.  I asked him to pray that if this was a pride issue on MY part it would be removed from me, but that if it was a pride issue on HIS part, the same would happen.

No surprises in my life have been good ones.  I have clear issues with this and I could pinpoint where they manifested with  ease.  Mostly surrounding death and people not thinking I knew what I already knew, then sneaking around me, whispering so that I would hear them talking about things I knew they were talking about.  Maybe this is why I've grown to value the truth, as hard as it is, as ugly as it is.  I want the *truth* and "little white lies..." and "fibs" and "insert excuse for not telling the truth" piss me off hugely.  The older I get the less I can tolerate being lied to.  But I digress.

Also with age, I've gotten a little braver in exploring these things. Before I'd either be really mad at Jamie for "screwing up" or really mad at myself for being "mean.." But neither are true.  I have a preference that I truly need to be honored to feel secure in our relationship and he has chosen to take that to heart and really see MY intentions aren't to be ungrateful (he has told me often he wishes he could find joy in the same simple things I do) but simply to be included.  At the root of it all, I hate being left out and made to feel like I am not welcome.  Surprises invoke that feeling in me.

So while I love that he loves me (thank goodness he loves me)....surprise me?  Surprise me not.

And the truth shall set you free...kind of

So I am sitting here grinning at the irony of a person inspiring a blog because that person thinks my blogging about things I go through is "exhausting" and something else I can't quite remember (I think maybe the word was annoying)  The weird thing is after being told that I considered closing down my blog because well....this person obviously didn't approve.  I didn't really examine that any further. They didn't approve so obviously I needed to quit.  I didn't consider whether or not that person had any authority to approve or disapprove of anything I chose to do....but when I did...finally examine it..I realized I had handed that kind of authority over to this person for years....

How I should wear my hair.  What I should name my children.  What furniture to buy for my living room.  I asked and actually listened to this person's ideas about MY life.  Because that person was living a life I admired and wanted to emulate?  Not really (if I am to be completely honest). Because that person was so loving and kind and important to me?  Important yes, kind....I'm sad to say I can't use that adjective for this person after hours of thinking back over our relationship.  Because they had some stake in the end result of my choices?  Not at all.  So why? I've been thinking about that for a full 48 hours (well, actually a little over a year now, but in spurts) and the answers are a bit more daunting than I'd like to admit.

I wanted approval.  I asked for it.  And that person needed me to be the type of person who needed approval and when I finally got to a point in my life that I didn't need or want it from them, everything broke down.  When someone has a controlling personality, when they lose control...of you....they lose control of themselves.   Watching the situation play out with that in mind, I was horrified I let it go on so long.

I got no credit for the right things I had done our entire relationship but 100% of the blame for the things I had done wrong.  That fact alone made me realize how absolutely toxic the relationship had always been.  We only worked if I kept myself in line and if I stepped a bit over that line I was told what a horrible person I was.  I said the words "I'm sorry I..." multiple times whereas the other person said "I'm sorry but you..."

Catch that?

The thing, the truth will always be the truth.  At the end of the day, when we lay our heads down on our pillows and we are left alone with ourselves and our thoughts...the truth is simply the truth...even if we argued ourselves out of the other person knowing or believing that truth, it still exists.  We can twist it with words, we can blow smoke up everyone's ass from here until eternity, but it doesn't change truth's existence.  It doesn't matter if we convince 99 out of 100 people to believe our bullshit.  The truth isn't decided on popular vote, it simply exists.

Here's mine.  I tell the truth.  I haven't always, but I was always aware of when I wasn't.  I justified it as being "socially acceptable" and well, I don't always want everyone to know everything about me because most days I suck.  I don't feel the need to document my every move or thought for everyone who knows me to examine, but conversely I don't feel the need to say anything other than what is real to those who ask.  I will answer you with "I don't think you need to know that" if you don't need to know that but I will not lie to you, or about you, or WITH you (about you) to make you feel better about yourself.  That's not my responsibility. It's YOUR responsibility to fix whatever it is that's bothering you so much that you are having to lie about it.  If you need to lie, fine...that's on you...but don't include me in it cause I'm not going to play that game.  But this I CAN promise you....being truthful....with yourself, with your friends and family, and the strangers at stores that you "fib" to...to get a return or a better price on an item...is exhausting and not worth the soul damage you are doing to get whatever it is you think you are getting out of it.

I never quite understood the phrase "Oh what a tangled web we weave..." until I started knitting and realized the word tangled is one of the worst words in the English language.  Tangles are awful.  You can't tell until the very end of the untangling where the issue began.  You just keep removing string from knot after knot, little by little and it's honestly not worth the effort a good deal of the time.  Lies upon lies become so compounded that the second you open your mouth in an attempt to navigate your way out of it, you trip up on the last one and really the only thing you can do at that point is toss the yarn (friend) in the garbage (or you know, unfriend on Facebook) because you realize there's no way out.

Unless you tell the truth.  You know, admit you lied.  And apologize.  But we all know that ain't gonna happen.

And that's okay.  That's the last truth I need to accept.  And it has indeed.....set me free.

Aweariness

When I was a very small girl we had a firefighter come into our....oh I don't know...second grade class?  I can't even remember, but we were taught all about fire safety and how to escape and how we should have a plan to get out and not die if our house was engulfed in flames.  After all that merriment, we were asked to draw a picture of how to survive a fire and my drawing won a prize and got hung in the local Long John Silvers.  (And I never saw the prize.  It was cash.  No wonder.  A better prize would have been a certificate for therapy after all that, right?)

From that day on, I was very aware of the reality of house fires.  I actually had a little bag I packed with all my most important possessions and at the tender at of like....eight...I remember sitting on my bed contemplating packing my favorite stuffed dog because I really just wanted to sleep with it as I always had, but then....what if there was a FIRE....and I left it behind.....I did put that stuffed dog in that bag the first couple of nights it hung on my door and I slept terribly.

But I was aware.

Then when I was about 11, I read this horrible article about how many animals were put to death in our local animal shelter and the picture in the paper showed an employee placing dead animal bodies (wrapped up) into the incinerator.  I sat down with pen and paper and wrote a strongly worded letter to the paper....it was published and thus began a years long obsession with everything animal.  Spay and neuter people!! (That was a directive about PEOPLE spaying and neutering, you know...their animals...not themselves, although that isn't always a bad idea, but I digress...) Until I left home I would deliver my left over newspaper to the animal shelter because it was something I could actually DO.

Fast forward a few years and I had made myself aware of all kinds of travesties, tragedies and horrors. Hurricane Katrina had me in my shower bawling until I couldn't breathe, with thoughts of loading up my entire van with bottled water and granola bars....even though I couldn't get to the people who needed them.  I've organized drives for cloth diapers, sent money for rare diseases, and prayed for everything big and small that has crossed my path.  I am an empath and  it's both blessing and curse

So when the ALS "Ice Bucket Challenge" started invading my newsfeed, I thought "Wow...everyone knows what this is?  Why don't I?"  And I admitted it.  (I know the PC thing to do is just do the challenge and pretend like you know what it is but I doubt the point of an awareness campaign is pride of self.  Just saying) I had a couple people who were like "Really you didn't know...I had a friend...or this person.." and I get that.  If you know someone who's gone through something I imagine seeing an awareness campaign dedicated to that cause is both healing and empowering.  But I'd like to offer a flip side of that coin...

Do you know what scheuermann's kyphosis is?  How about Thanatophoroic Dysplasia?  I'm sure you've heard of Lupus, but you probably don't know much about how it affects daily life unless you actually KNOW someone who has it.  Hashimoto's?  SPD?

No?  These are the things that have affected the people in my immediate family.  One was deadly and took the life of my infant son and the others just all around suck and cause limitations on quality of life.

When you say these things out like, the normal human reaction is..."Well at least..."

Think about it.  We all do this.  We assign levels of how terrible something is, and thereby judge other people all.day.long  With every breath we take, with every word we utter about an illness, disease or condition, we tend to compare it with something else, declaring one a winner for the "worst thing ever.."

I know the world wants me to be aware.  I am.  I always have been.  I always will be.  I'm most keenly aware of the fact that I know next to nothing about most of the things that people, all people, are suffering with on a daily basis.  There simply isn't enough room in the human mind, or human heart, to digest and process every single sad thing that exists. I believe that the circle God has given me is the one he wants ME to attend to.  The people who are struggling in MY LIFE with the things THEY have to deal with.  I am aware of my humanity and my limitations and having accepted that I can't care about every single worthwhile thing there is to care about, I feel MORE empowered to do something with what I do know.

I use all of my energy, time, love and some money to do the things I have personally been called to do.  I am aware and involved.  Active and passionate.  Awareness is good, Aweariness is not.  It's up to each individual to find their cause, their mission and their path.  Fortunately, ALS was not in my circle inner, or outer.  That's why I had no idea what was going on.  But that's okay because I WAS made aware.  I did look it up.  I did take a moment to really internalize what that must be like, not only as the person suffering, but the people watching it happen.  I said a prayer, made note to pray again and then I clicked off the page and got back to the mission I'm on....working for Cuddle Cots, which is MY circle, my passion and my path.  My baby died.  Yours didn't  I wouldn't expect anyone who didn't experience this particular thing to spend their days or nights working with the same intensity I am.  Because that's not their path ;)

And as far as the ice-bucket challenge, well, I was TOTALLY up for it, but since....you know....I'm holding a tiny infant most of the time.....I'm opting out.  I think money was the point anyways and that....I can do ;)