Tag: inspiration

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Tired…

A typical shift for me, a healthcare worker on the frontlines, looks like this…

(This is my account, written in the second person. This is not meant to be an exact account of every worker, as all of us on the frontlines work in different areas, come from different backgrounds, and have on our shifts, different experiences. I assure you, however, that we are bound together by our passion to serve and that we are all affected by many of the same feelings expressed here. We are ALL Tired.)

 

You arrive to the hospital 30 minutes before your shift. You need 15 minutes to sit in your car and mentally prepare. Listening to soothing music, meditating or reading funny memes, you try your best to decompress before popping your trunk- That’s where all your work things live now… in your contaminated trunk. You grab your bag, lunch box, and designated ‘work water bottle’ and then tie a cloth mask to your face- a beautifully crafted gift by an former coworker.

Walking through the empty parking lots, you pass tents and trailers that will serve as overflow space, if you run out of beds inside. The same front doors that you’ve been walking through for 17 years, are now locked. And the entrance that is normally bustling with people, is blocked off and deserted. Security officers check your badge before you’re allowed to enter.

There are no tanks or landmines, rifles or camouflage, and you’ve never been in the military, but you feel like you’re entering a war zone. Around you, everyone is masked and many wear devices that make identifying the faces and voices of people you’ve worked with for years, a challenge. You’ve worked these same halls your entire professional career and now it feels like you’re on the set of a scary movie. New walls have been put up, units moved, you are in the same familiar work place and yet it’s so different. It feels like you’re standing in an different dimension, watching the world end. But you’re not…you’re saving it. Taking a deep breath, you press the button for the 2nd floor- Labor and Delivery.

In the locker room, you change into hospital scrubs and replace your pretty, soft, cloth mask with a surgical one that you’ve worn now for days. Your head is covered and a face-shield is attached to your waist for easy access, as you shuffle out to the floor. An announcement is made to clear the nurses’ station. There can’t be too many people in one place, so only the oncoming shift is allowed to stay. Standing 6 feet apart, you get report and learn of the latest findings and practices; because quite frankly, they change daily. Based on your assignment, you determine what other gear you’re going to don for the night. As the shift disperses to relieve the aching faces that worked the twelve hours before you, you each say a quiet prayer to yourselves that your next twelve allow you all to make it home safe in the morning.

Only those who know OB or who have been touched by loss know that Labor and Delivery isn’t always “the happy place,” that people like to call it. And working as a perinatal bereavement coordinator couldn’t bring you any closer to the raw and devastating losses that are sometimes felt there… and yet you are crying new tears of grief these days.

Some of the reasons are quite frankly, because of prudence and good practice on the part of your institution. You are incredibly thankful to work for an institution that has proper PPE for its staff and uses science to dictate proper procedure. And you can’t imagine the terror of working without it. Despite the limited knowledge available about the virus and despite the global shortage of supplies, your institution and your state are working hard to combat both challenges; and you believe they are doing an excellent job! Fortunate as you are though, it doesn’t make it easy.

It’s not easy when…

Your sweet little twenty-some year old patient, afraid as she was to deliver alone says, “I’m glad you’re here with me… I think you took care of me before… but I’m not sure because I can’t see your face.” What a scene this must be for patients here to welcome their new little bundles.

A single mom elects to deliver with no support because in doing so, she would have denied the baby’s father a right to come. One visitor-no swapping out. These are basic infection control principles… that sadly affect some more than others. And you are the “lucky ones”- other units have no visitors.

A father paces the room and finally cries when he sees his baby because Dads are not allowed in the Operating Room anymore…and her C-section meant his inability to see his child enter the world.

A covid-positive patient is forced to labor and deliver alone, medical staff only. We must keep the other parent/caregiver uninfected to be able to care for the baby.

A mother holds her stillborn or a husband, his dying wife’s hand and they know there will be no family called in to say good-bye and no funeral. There will be no gathering of friends and family for support. And they will go home to an empty house to grieve, because god help them if they lose another.

You are pulled to an area of the hospital you’ve never worked before and you feel like a fish-out-of-water, but you can’t even complain because you see that your colleagues are drowning. You do everything you can to help them- running labs, wiping hoods, holding hands… They most assuredly have it worse and you are tired and sad for them.

Your throat hurts from talking so loud for 12 hours, because no one can hear you under all that gear. It takes 3x as long to interpret using a video/phone translator and the hearing impaired are at a clear disadvantage without having lips to read.

You sweat for hours under the layers of PPE. And your face and ears ache. Yet you know that not everyone is as fortunate. Former colleagues across the country are posting about having none and while you are so thankful to have protection against this deadly virus, you also hate the gear, and you feel guilty for doing so.

Dehydrated and hungry, it’s hard to grab a quick drink or a bite to eat, when running into the break room means “waiting your turn” (because yes, healthcare workers too, socially distance, even when they’re at work). And properly removing your gear so as not to contaminate yourself, requires two people and precision. The only plus to not drinking, is that you don’t have to pee.

 

In emergencies in the past, you’ve delivered babies with your bare hands and held a woman’s sweating face so close, that you could feel her breath on your own… You’re not a squeamish or fearful person. But now, you can’t respond without a respirator and a face shield- because if you don’t preserve your own safety, there’ll be no one left to care for the Mommas still waiting to deliver. And it goes against every nurse instinct inside you to put yourself before your patient.

You love your job. It’s the job you dreamed to have since you were a young girl… and yet now, you dread going in. The “Heroes Work Here” sign posted in front of the hospital is sweet and the free meals are amazing. The support from the community has been unprecedented! As always, you are proud to be a nurse and are honored to work alongside the other healthcare workers. But this job is both mentally and physically depleting, every time!

You see what this virus can do and you are just as afraid of accidentally transmitting it as you are of contracting it.

At the end of the shift, when you’re exhausted, you’ll change back into your street clothes (always leggings because they cling and don’t drag, a designated “work jacket” and different shoes). You’ll save your surgical mask in a paper bag while you put your cloth one back on to walk to your car. It’s a welcome change, to get that damp-with-breath paper off your face, even for a short walk. Returning your things to the trunk, you are finally free to remove your mask and welcome the cool air hitting your face. You sanitize your hands again before you do so and before you grab the wheel. Driving home from night shift is no longer your final task and you dread “more things to do”, when you just want to collapse in your bed.

Just inside your back-door, a towel and bleach wipes will be waiting for you to clean your shoes. Then you kick them off, remove your socks and walk downstairs to the laundry room-careful not to touch any of your family or pets that have come to greet you. The towel, your clothes and cloth mask go straight into the wash and you, straight to the shower. Having scrubbed every inch of your body, finally, you can kiss your family. And you fall asleep with wet hair.

Each day before a work shift, other dirty clothes are loaded into the washer to avoid wasting water on small loads the following morning. And when you leave out the house, you are jacket-less, precariously carrying food items and coffee out to the car, so as not to bring your lunch box inside. Make-up is a no-go because it dirties the mask that you are now required to re-use (not-a-one-of-you imagined that would ever happen in the US of A). Jewelry too- gets left at home now. Even your showering and shaving schedule is adjusted, based on when you work. It seems your every-move, now revolves around this virus.

In between shifts, you have your own kids that you are home-schooling, your own family  you beg not to infect, your own creative meals to make with groceries you last bought weeks ago, your own challenges and worries that are just part of being human. And like everyone else, you are trying to stay sane- and those are your “days off.”

As you mindlessly scroll through social media and the news, you see herds of protestors, un-masked, demanding that the country/state re-open. Your heart aches because you know that they are desperate for work and you know how blessed you are to have a paycheck. And yet, with that paycheck comes great risk. “Healthcare workers are Heroes” suddenly feels like a stab in the back, when these reckless acts, threaten the very thing you are working so hard to prevent-transmission. Because you know how tired you all are now. You know that WITH the quarantine, you are all treading water… and if it were lifted right now, you’d drown. You’d do anything to keep people out of your ICUs and yet, you wish you could show them what it’s like-to be on a vent, to be alone, to die alone; not to scare them… but to protect them! The same way you used to scream at your kids when they ran into the street, you want to scream at the protestors, but you’re too tired.

You see the complaints of the people “stuck at home” with their kids and you know that your patients who have had recent losses are seeing the same posts… your patients with infertility are seeing the same posts… your friends who are living alone… are seeing these same posts… and you want to scold them for their insensitivity and lack of perspective… but you know their exhaustion as a parent is real… and you’re tired, too.

You hear the conspiracy theories and inaccurate statements “It’s just a flu”, “People will die anyway…”, “The government is taking away our liberty”… and you want to school them on why this is different, on public safety, on how to control the spread, on how to save as many lives as possible, on the sanctity of life over money… but you’re too tired.

You want to say forget it, “survival of the smartest,” let the protestors and the ignorant get their due infection … but you can’t… because you’re a nurse… and nurses fight for every life! And you don’t want anymore people to die… even the ones who don’t understand. And that grief and that conflict makes you tired.

So you turn off your phone and you wipe away another tear and you pray.

You pray that someone helps these people who are about to lose their homes and businesses.

You pray that your next shift isn’t the day you watch someone die alone.

You pray that your service doesn’t bring this virus home and lead to the demise of your family members.

You pray that you never see the day that the critically ill out-number the available equipment.

You pray that you continue to have the strength to fight this war…

Because you know, that for every healthcare worker who reluctantly and exhaustedly puts on and wipes off their shoes every day- no job, no house, no amount of money, or government position… for them, nothing matters more than life. And you pray to preserve as many as you can… eventhough… you are so god awful, tired.

 

 

 

 

 

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10 Things about this virus and this quarantine that the people on the frontlines want you to know…

img_7802Because I’m tired of responding to posts individually and I’m tired of working the frontlines while people complain about being at home. I don’t have the energy for a back and forth, so if you don’t want to hear it, just keep scrolling. Please don’t troll me right now.

I’m tired.

  1. The government isn’t restricting your liberty, they’re saving people’s lives. This is global pandemic, get over yourself.
  2. This is not a conspiracy theory. It’s a nasty virus and if you saw what we saw, you’d realize we’re not spreading negativity or trying to induce panic. We too, are trying to save lives. We are frustrated that people are not taking this seriously and want them NOT to panic, but to understand the importance of their compliance and to be safe and smart.
  3. People are shedding the virus before they become symptomatic. Just because you don’t have symptoms right now, doesn’t mean you couldn’t have it and spread it. So stay in quarantine!
  4. Adjust your perspective. Americans have become accustomed to a lifestyle of convenience and instant gratification. This is a hard transition. But when you become frustrated or feel inconvenienced, please take a moment to re-evaluate what is truly essential and please try to minimize your trips out and stay away from other people. Please don’t let selfishness be this country’s demise! And please stop complaining about not getting your name brand whatever, it’s annoying. People are dying.
  5. When you do have to go out, masks are a good idea. Use cloth ones to save the professional grade ones for healthcare. And most importantly, wash your hands! Because transmission occurs via body fluids, if everyone keeps their nose and mouth vapors and hand touchy germs to themselves, it will help slow the transmission. (But leaving your nose uncovered or taking it off to talk kind of defeats the purpose and makes you look silly).
  6. The economy will recover. Yes this is scary. Yes a poor economy has consequences. But let’s remember 1. This is a global emergency which means it’s not just the US that’s screwed right now. A huge part of “economy” is how we, as a country, are fairing in relation to other countries. Everyone is struggling and everyone can rebuild together. 2. Dead people can’t boost the economy. If we lift the quarantine too early, it will be a death sentence. Instead, ask of our government that they help us the way other countries are helping their unemployed until this disaster passes.
  7. Back to perspective… at what cost do we attend a gathering…lift the quarantine before it’s advisable? Are you willing to accept that the price for doing so might be the loss of your loved ones? Might mean you not getting a ventilator if you need one? If you think you are immune, I hope you are right.
  8. The quarantine slows the spread, it’s not a cure. This is less about the number of cases and more about controlling them when they occur, (that’s what “flattening the curve” means.) If everyone gets sick at once, we won’t have enough equipment to help. That, increases preventable death exponentially. Imagine being told, “As sick as you are, we could’ve saved your life, if we had just one more ventilator, but we’re out. Sorry.”
  9. There is no sure timeline. How in the hell could we provide that? No one has lived through this or dealt with this virus before. No one has a crystal ball… but the more we socially distance, the higher the likelihood that we recover faster and with less death. And if the numbers never reach what the models project, let that be because we heeded the advise of the countries before us, rather than to blame the models, media, government for inflation or inducing panic.
  10. Search for goodness!!! Tired of the negativity? Me too! Rather than focus on the loss of jobs, the inconvenience, the media, lets hope that this brings people and families together. Let it refocus our priorities. Instead of hoarding, leave a drop off on someone’s porch. Instead of fear, be prudent and resourceful. Instead of focusing on loss, search for a way to help. Will some people lose their houses and businesses from this, yes, but better than their lives. Be the person that opens their heart and home to help another when that time comes. While the gravity is great, the fruits we stand to reap, too, are great. Sometimes in great sacrifice, we find our best selves… Let that be us! ❤️

 

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Stone Eggs

This has been an Easter unlike any other…

For 4 weeks now, we’ve been in quarantine. Four weeks of scheduling grocery shopping. Four weeks my children haven’t seen their friends, cousins or classmates in the flesh. Four weeks I’ve been a mother, nurse, writer, wife … and now middle school and high school teacher, resource finder, creative outlet user, frontline emergency worker. I’m tired.

And now for the sake of my children and for the sake of searching for goodness (a principle I always promote), we are faced with a holiday, that in my humble opinion, must be celebrated. Not because I feel a religious obligation, because I don’t (and I mean that with no disrespect to those who do).  It must be celebrated because our children, our selves, have been robbed of enough these past few weeks.

We’ve been robbed of peace-of-mind, robbed of face-to-face human interaction, robbed of convenience, day-to-day food items and amenities we’ve come to expect, robbed of traditional schooling and many jobs, and some of us have even been robbed of our safety and health. I will not allow this virus to rob us of this holiday too. And yet we have this moral and social obligation to maintain social distancing for the sake of that very health and safety we stand to lose further.

So how? How do we celebrate when everything we’ve come to know and expect has changed? Holidays are largely built upon tradition and togetherness. I come from a huge Catholic family.  And while I have abandoned the religious aspect of the holiday due to my personal beliefs, I greatly anticipate the tradition and togetherness that comes with each holiday, this one included. In my family, we are used to a table filled with lamb and ham, deviled eggs and endless desserts, salads and side dishes. We are used to getting dressed-up in new spring apparel, Easter egg hunts and baskets filled to the brim. We are used to a day well spent in each other’s presence, with laughter, good food, conversation and games.

How do we celebrate this one… in quarantine- when resources and groceries are so limited? And the faces we normally anticipate seeing are all isolated in their own homes… How do we create that sense of ritual when it feels like there is none?

It seems ironic with the happenings this year that this holiday’s roots are in re-birth after sacrifice.

So first, we must be willing to sacrifice. Sacrifice that extra trip to the store… sacrifice having all the food dishes and all the activities that we’ve had in years past, sacrifice some gifts, sacrifice sitting with and hugging our loved ones, knowing that that sacrifice leads to a greater good (remind you of anyone?… Our sacrifices sound pretty small next to his.)

And then we must search for another way… Another way to commune, another way to feast, another way to continue tradition.

My family is setting up a Zoom encounter to see one another tomorrow- to chat and perhaps even play one of our famous family games.

See my previous post on playing family games virtually: (Zoom, WhatsApp, Skype and the like, are amazing technologies that are FREE and can be downloaded on virtually any device. And they allow us to see one another, connect and commune, even if it’s in the virtual sense. So why not still get dressed-up and pick out a family game to play. Or, find the joy in being dressed-down this year, but enjoy each other’s company nonetheless.)

I’ve never had salmon for Easter. My brother always makes this amazing roasted leg of lamb and most of my family members have their signature dishes that they contribute-broccoli salad, homemade cakes and pies, maple bacon brussels sprouts, Jell-o salad… oh how I’m going to miss them! But salmon is the best meat I’ve got in the freezer right now and so I’m thankful to have it and for the reason to cook it. Honestly, it suddenly feels like the perfect choice to accompany the asparagus I have. And potatoes are a lock-down staple! No eggs though… I’m down to my last four. My mom has ham and is cooking for only two this year. So she’s going to do a porch drop off and share some with us. I wonder if others might consider sharing with their families and friends what they have as well…

As long as I have been a mother, I have always crafted Easter baskets for each of my children and filled them with loads of goodies. The “Easter bunny” hides them and on Easter morning, it’s a spring-time scavenger hunt to find their hidden treasures in the house. The Easter egg hunt comes later, when the family gathers and it’s held with all the cousins together.

I don’t have enough goodies to make individual baskets this year, much less to stuff eggs. That is partially due to what was available in the store and partially due to delayed shipments and finances. So I’ve settled on a family basket this year. We will search for it and enjoy it together. And instead of silly little toys, earbuds and socks, I managed to score two new family games to play at home, to replace the time we normally spend elsewhere.

And then we’re going to put in a family garden. It’s the season of fertility, after all.

Instead of dying eggs- because food conservation is a must, a dye kit isn’t worth it for four eggs, and quite frankly- my kids were never big fans of hard-boiled eggs anyway… we came up with a new idea! It started with my teenage daughter painting rocks to pass the time and then delivering “Smile!” eggs to neighbors as a random act of kindness. And now it has continued as an activity to recreate two time-honored traditions- dying and decorating eggs and the well-loved egg hunt.

This year, we are painting and hiding Stone Eggs!

We went on a family walk in the woods this morning, collecting rocks as we went.

Then we brought them home to wash and dry them.

And then we busted out our old paints and creative juices.

After they dried, we hand delivered them in a basket, to the yards and porches in the neighborhood. Little surprises left for the people around us. It’s like we got a turn at being the Easter bunny for once. I watched my almost 13 year old son, who is increasingly hard to excite these days, dart in and out of the yards to deliver our goods unseen, like a ninja… or an Easter bunny. On his face was pure joy and it shot straight to my heart. A perfect culmination of our day of family togetherness.

The irony that the eggs, a pagan symbol of fertility, are made of stone this year, like the stone rolled away from Jesus’s grave, didn’t escape me. I am a complicated bundle of everything that has made me who I am- loss of faith and a huge loving Catholic family all rolled together.

And I am at peace with that.

Just as I am at peace with this Easter unlike any other… an Easter where space might have divided us, but love kept us together. An Easter of sacrifice and giving to others. An Easter of new traditions created from old ones. An Easter of making do, of ingenuity and creativity, of grasping every bit of gratitude you can find and searching for goodness everywhere… even if it leads you to a neighbor’s porch, to a dried creek bed of rocks, to an empty tomb.

This is an of Easter with stone eggs.

There was another Easter that was very much unlike any other… it was the Easter that my grandmother died… read that post here:

Learning the meaning of Easter

 

 

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Virtual activities to play with teens and older children via Facetime/ Skype/ WhatsApp: An Activity List of Pandemic Proportion

This times certainly are challenging ones… especially, when it comes to our social needs. While I have been utilizing Facebook and Instagram for my gratitude lists and my “Daily Jelly Bean Jar,” where I post a trivial daily challenge using the things lying around my house… I am honestly, more than fine being at home (when I am not out on the front lines).

My teenagers, however, developmentally appropriate in their egotistical ways, are miserable! Socializing is such a key element of their lives at this stage, that without it, they are not only pushing my every limit to bend the rules (which I’m not), but they are also battling mood shifts of irritability, anger/frustration and depression. I am honestly very concerned about suicide rates during this time, particularly, from our adolescents. Getting them outside is key-and I often have to force it. And moving their bodies is also crucial- easier to accomplish with boys than girls, I find, but nonetheless a necessary step. Solo bike riding, dog walks and hikes have been a life-saver at our house.

While they Facetime their friends plenty, this is no change from their previous habits. So, they have lost the social interaction at school and in the neighborhood and gained nothing. But this is what I have learned these past two weeks: Togetherness is not dependent on location but instead on intention. We can connect and socialize without being in one’s immediate presence. (I had a therapy session with my Best Friend- locked in my car, sitting in the driveway with a glass of wine…and it was fabulous!) This time that we have been given, is a gift. Use it!

Having a history riddled with unexpected loss, I have always been very conscious of making the best of the present day. This Covid-19 crisis has made that even more apparent. And every time I head into the hospital, I ask for the gift of continued time with my family. I’ve heard it said… and I’ll say it again… “You are not stuck at home, you are SAFE at home.” Reframing is an effective tool my friends… learn it!

So, rather than to complain and get on each other’s nerves… I encourage you to use this precious time to reconnect and have fun in a previously, non-traditional way! And on those hard days, give each other a little extra grace… we’re in a global pandemic, afterall… stop expecting normalcy.

For mutual benefit… I have created here, a list of games that can be played over Facetime, Skype, WhatsApp, etc. Some of these games would be better enjoyed if you do a little prep work and create the space, board, or clues in advance, before you make the call. So, message your friends/family, create a plan, settle on a time… and have fun! We’ve done many of these over the last two weeks and it really is a good way to spend the evening and to connect with friends and family that we are missing.

  1. Charades– as long as the camera is focused on the person who is acting out the word/phrase, everyone can play… no matter what side of the screen they are on!
  2. Hangman– all you need is paper and a pen!
  3. Pictionary– Create a drawing space and focus the camera there. Before playing, each household can get their own set of cards (if they own the game) or create their own (in advance) to draw from (you can’t draw your own). I suggest breaking into groups of 2-3 people per team so that each drawer has only 1-2 guessers. When a lot of people are yelling out guesses over phones and screens, it can get a little confusing.
  4. Trivial Pursuit– As long as someone has the board and each household has a die, each group of players can roll, and the masterboard can keep track of the playing pieces as per norm.
  5. “Watch ya’ Mouth”, or a similar dental mouth piece game, has players trying to pronounce ridiculous phrases, and can be be enjoyed even if only one house has the game. Those without the game can simply guess. We even played a flash-version where we used the same person, saying the same phrase and called various people via video call. Whoever answered the phone was given a quick explanation for the call and then timed as soon as the phrase was said. We recorded the time it took each caller to guess the phrase correctly and we texted everyone the results and winner. Spontaneous fun!
  6. Battleship– can be played the traditional way if both callers have the boards… but if not, the board is really only a simple grid. Draw it out on paper and mark your ships (1-10 horizontally and A-J vertically with dots at each coordinate. Photo copy at home to save yourself additional work).
  7. Twenty Questions– an oldie but goodie that merely requires each person to think of and then write down a word. The other players ask “yes” or “no” questions and try to guess correctly before their 20 question limit runs out.
  8. True or False– One person gives a statement, the other players guess if it is a true or false statement. It could be a simple statement about one’s self, or a little known trivia fact. The score is kept on the wrong answers. The first person to get 5 answers wrong, loses.
  9. Guess that Movie Line– Before you convene, write down a few signature movie lines. When you gather virtually, take turns guessing what movie the line came from. Guess the movie on the first try with no clues- 5 points. With one clue- 3 points. With two clues- 1 point. If no one can guess the movie after two clues, the answer is revealed, no one gets points and you move on to the next player.
  10. “Would you Rather?”– Play using the cards, if you have the game. If you don’t, search “Would you Rather questions” online or create your own. Many of them are so giggle worthy and/or bizarrely thought-provoking, that we have enough fun answering them, that we don’t even keep score.
  11. Build a Story and Memorize it– The story starts with one person saying one sentence/phrase. The next person has to re-state that sentence/phrase and then add their own. Going in rotation, everyone has to remember all of what was said before them, in order to add their own sentence/phrase. Make it just for fun -or- make it competitive and assign a recorder to write down the story as it unfolds and keep track of whether or not people remember correctly. If you miss a sentence, your turn ends. If you remember it all, you add a sentence and gain a point. The person who remembers the most, adds the most, and thus wins with the most points.
  12. Personality Quiz- create or download a set of personality questions. Pass the quizzes along to all the participants and have them fill it out in advance. Starting with person 1, question 1, the remaining players take turns guessing the 1st person’s answers. Play for fun or for points. 1 point goes to the first person to yell out each correct answer. Or a more civilized version- take turns going around the circle to guess. If the first guesser gets it wrong, the guesses continue around the rotation of players until someone gets it right or you return to the owner of the test, who reveals their answer and then no point is assigned for that question.

 

These time calls for creativity and thinking out of the box. Use this time to grow! Stay safe, stay sane, wash your hands, and stay the f*ck home!

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I’ve been waiting for this day…

As a bedside nurse and mother, these times are frightening ones… and a title such as the one I’ve chosen, likely seems a strange choice. Let me explain.

My life has been filled with an intricate balance of hardship and opportunity. I grew up poor; but thanks to loving friends and relatives, I had middle-class opportunities. I spent my first six years in a trailer park, where my parents raised four kids and shared one second-had car. Our home environment was strained, and yet my grandmother would have us over to play with our cousins and teach us how to cook. My aunts would take us out to the zoo, theme parks, various outings and treat us to special things. And one year, my grandparents even treated the whole family to Disney World! We were loved.

By school-age, we had a fixer-upper, single family home. There, the local library and woods served as our playground. My great-aunt splurged for a community pool membership and lessons; and that pool became both our babysitter and the source of a great skill. We were avid swimmers when our grandparents invited to us to their “beachhouse”, a bay-side trailer that was our only vacation, every year. While my parents fought to provide us our basic needs… I was afforded the opportunty to receive a private school education. I was the kid in a uniform, who’d never been skiing, or owned name-brand anything, but knew how to cook. I was the honor roll student, who lived in a home that the police knew all to well. I was the girlscout who passed all her tests but never had her badges sewn on, the teenager who had four jobs, the young mother who didn’t drop out of school and earned her degree, but will carry her loans for decades. I was the 25 year old white woman, who married a 43 old divorced immigrant, who had not a dollar to his name, but a heart of gold…and we made it! 18 years and counting!

For ages, I felt like I got the short end of the stick. And yet, I was so often met with unbelievable blessings. My education allowed me a career in healthcare… and yet my hardships gave me perspective. Exposed to universities and surrounded by professionals, I grew and I saw what the world had to offer, but my childhood reminded me to stay humble and it helped me to withhold the judgement of others. This combination of struggles and gifts, continued my tug-o-war of gratitude and discouragement into adulthood. While I was grateful for my blessings, I often struggled with feelings of inadequacy and wished I hadn’t had to work so hard to achieve what others seemed to have so easily.

Having married a man who grew up in a dictatorship, tackling the challenges of parenting, and a nursing career that brought me to the world of grief work, however, helped me to sort those feelings. All of these things furthered my sense of perspective and settled my priorities. Nursing and grief work gave me an outlet to apply my own lessons learned in grief and loss and it reminds me daily, what truly matters, as I help people who have suffered the ultimate loss-the loss of a child. And the challenges I face with my own children, heavy as they are (and trust me, they’ve been heavy!), are never as heavy as losing them.

Both my husband and I work very hard in our professions to give our children the things we didn’t have. And yet we hold our family time sacred, because we understand that life and love is a gift. We cook every day and save restaurants as a special treat, in order to afford travel. And while we have the grand goal of traveling to all 50 states (we’re up to 35!), we make it happen by driving and camping a lot. Travel too, improves perspective. And busy as the day to day is, we limit our children’s activities and it is a requirment that we sit together at the dinner table every night. We found …. no we fought… for balance.

Together, we took our bucket of disadvantages and hard knocks, missed opportunities and lessons learned hard, and we seived out the things that really matter. And we have created a happy and balanced life.

Yet as proud as I am of the life we have created, it has become harder and harder to maintain, as our children have entered adolescence. “I’m not hungry”, one will say as I call them to the dinner table. Homework has sabotaged our afternoon walks and friends have stolen family game night from me… leaving our closet full of games often abandoned (until the foster kids come that is.). As hard as we continue to fight for balance, the culture in this country and social pressures to be everywhere and do everything, are hard. I get tired of being the “bad guy” and saying “No.” What good is time together, if it’s forced?

For years I have been uncomfortable with the busy culture that our country has embraced. We kill ourselves and work til exhaustion. We fill our children’s lives with so many activities, we’ve forgotten how to feed the family unit and spirit. Money has replaced compassion. And materials have replaced selflessness. Our intention to get ahead and to plan for the future has left our arms full of things, and our souls empty. I am appalled at the condition that we have left our planet in, all in the name of convenience and greed. And I am discouraged by the loss of community and the selfishness that this culture seems to breed. Technology has flourished, with computer tech salaries doubling my own and contributing to the nursing shortage. And yet it’s nurses that save lives. We’ve created a generation of children who have no survival skills and think You Tube is the greatest source of information.

This virus has this nurse and momma fearful for her safety and for the future of the world. With hospitals worldwide packed to the gills with people starving for air and dying due to lack of enough equipment, the world is broken… and yet… in some ways… we already were.

While Covid-19 has created a plethora of problems and I believe we will see the repercussions for years to come… in some ways, it might just fix some of our others.

Out of work and shut off from the outside, families have found one another again. Skills and supplies have become our currency. Nursing and other manual labor jobs are once again valued. Wealth is less useful than ingenuity now. While panic and selfishness are certainly evident in hoarding and ignoring quarantine restrictions, the people I witnessed when I did my weekly shopping were kind and considerate and patient. We’ve been forced to let go of luxuries and we’ve re-discovered our creativity. Last night, my teenagers played with sidewalk chalk again. Two weeks ago, I was looking for someone to gift that very set of chalk and paint to. And a week ago, I was the “worst Mom in the world” for denying my 16 year old, the party she was invited to, because according to her friends, this virus “wasn’t serious”. But last night, she snuggled against my legs, all four of us, piled into my bed to watch Frozen 2. As I sit here and write, both kids are playing BINGO with their Dad and he’s playing music by Kenny Rogers, to educate them on “one of the Greats”. Time together, it turns out… IS valuable… even if it’s forced. Venice’s waterways are clearer than they’ve been in ages. Smog and pollution are down. And the technology that turned my children into zombies and I once screamed to limit, is allowing me to play virtual games with my family, across cities and states.

This is just the balance I was praying for.

We’ve stopped looking over the rainbow for our happiness and started looking in our own backyard… and drawing them on our own driveways.

I have been a mother for 16 years now and a nurse for 15. I have witnessed countless births and deaths. I’ve held babies while they took their last breath, raced out of work to respond to my own family’s 911. I’ve been called to the school after being awake for 28 hours because my child was in crisis and received devasting diagnoses and news for the very children I raised so carefully. I have struggled and suffered… but I have known a love that few people do. I laugh until I cry and I have made it my daily goal to search for goodness so as not to be consumed by darkness. My life has in so many ways, been very, very hard… but it is also so very, very good. That, is balance.

What is money if you have no one to laugh with? Education, if you have no platform to apply that knowledge? Opportunity, if you can’t create your own? Good food, if you always sit at the table alone? A green and blue planet, that is covered in waste?

For the sake of healthcare, for the sake human lives, for our economy and for public safety… I pray that this pandemic will soon end. But I hope the positive change doesn’t. I’ve waited for this day… not like this, not with lives lost and a job that now has me in a war zone… But a balance of priorities, a time to love and cherish, and quiet, to find amongst the storm, rainbows.

Seach for goodness… and where you find none… create it!

Wash your hands, stay home, stay safe!

 

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Angels and Porcelain Dolls

Life is a series of ups and downs, hard days and easier ones, and not a one of us are spared pain and tragedy. Some tragedies however, are life altering. When they hit, they take away not only our breath, but our sense of self. It is with those moments that we are given the opportunity to rebuild and redefine or to withdraw and lay victim. Neither way is an easy way out, as the human mind and heart are fragile. But in rebuilding, we create a journey of giving back that is simply magnificent.

Here’s to those who at one time, found themselves broken.

 

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You were whole…

Despite the scars, despite the hard days’ work, despite an imperfectly perfect life…you felt safe. You felt whole. A hardened shell, cushioned by a life going right, at the day’s end, your body sank into the bed and the quiet calm of the night soothed you. Comfortable and relaxed, you pulled the covers under your chin and breathing out, you sank further into the softness that surrounded you. Life was predictably unpredictable… and you, an imperfect porcelain doll, scuffed and tattered, but intact and beautiful in your well-loved way.

All was well. All was still.

And then, from out the darkness, with no sound, no preemptive warning, an unspeakable, crushing blow leapt from out the shadows, striking you… and you felt yourself break into a million pieces.

Disoriented at first…and confused. One plastic eye hanging loose from its socket, staring at the floor in disbelief. There is shit everywhere and you’re standing in the middle of it.

Braving a glance in the mirror, you look just in time to see another piece fall out of place. What you once were, is now a pile of debris scattered on the floor. And you no longer know your name.

A faceless, nameless tragedy….time and space stand still. You are numb.

Simultaneously, pain and reality soak in. Like a laboring woman, reflexively, you rock. The pain in your soul is too much to bear and you feel yourself crumbling further, from the inside out. Surely, it is your heart disintegrating under the pressure.

And then finally, in the whirlwind that is your life, the racing circles of rational thought, feeling and physics unite and your tears are accompanied by heaving sobs. Your chest aches and you starve for air as much as you starve for reprieve. You beg the universe for a different truth. Bargaining, you’d give anything to have been spared this blow. The pillow that once brought you peaceful slumber, now stifles your wails.

Bouncing between horror and emptiness, in one moment your heart races with panic and dread…and in the next, there is an absence of thought and emotion. You awaken to find yourself staring into space… gone from reality… gone from your body. Unable to speak, unable to move, your only task is to fill and then empty your lungs.

Everything that was before, it seems, has been destroyed. Trust, faith, safety and security, like life-long comrades, lie lifeless amongst the list of causalities. Robbed of your former happiness and ease, you are broken. And the life you once knew, is gone.

Two bare legs, thin and pale, dangle off the bed where you sit- speechless and motionless. As the sobs slow and your breathing again regains some sort of rhythm, you gather your energy and your courage. Easing yourself off the edge of the bed, you crouch to the floor. Slowly and intentionally, you begin to pick up the pieces. Gathering them in your bleeding hands, you are sure you will never be whole again.

Alone in your space, depleted simply by standing and holding what your life once was close to your heart… hands trembling, in a weak and cracking voice, you use the slightest wisp of energy to call out for “Help.”

Expecting your voice to merely echo into the darkness, you are surprised when the doorway fills with light.

Silently and floatingly from the other side, angels move in. One by one, carefully selecting piece-by-piece out of your hands, tenderly, they fill each broken space. With their words and their hearts, gluing each piece back. “Tell me I will be whole again” you cry, as silently, they work. As they mend and you surrender, you begin to see your form take shape again. Knowing that you could not rebuild alone, you revel in their aid. Still you resolve, you will never again be the same.

Time passes and still you gasp for words. Exhausted and aching from every joint, you glance once again into the mirror. Relieved to see the pieces of your life put back into place, you can’t ignore your blessings… but neither can you ignore the fracture lines that remain. Whole again, and yet, still so shattered… your voice quivers when you try to speak, so broken you hardly believe where it’s coming from.

Night falls and anxiety erupts, sabotaging the safety you once felt. Your bed is no longer a safety nest and your room, no longer a sanctuary. You breathe and you imagine and you pray, begging to feel the wholeness the rest of the world sees in you, the wholeness you once felt.

Angel voices whisper in your ears and silently, you respond to the figure in your reflection. “You are strong.” “You are brave.” “You are resilient.” And from the light of the angels, a sliver of hope pierces your heart, “goodness can come from tragedy.” Believing those words, you long for the day that you will regain your voice and your strength. You know you are a survivor and your story will one day be told.

Today you will rest, tomorrow you will crawl… and one day, with grit and knowledge and the pain-staking work of healing, you will fly.

For the broken doll, will one day become the angel- called upon in another’s darkest hour, to minister and mend another broken soul. Your light will fill her doorway when she gains the courage to call for help. And when you reach to pick up her broken pieces, she will see on your hands, the fracture lines…and in your eyes and soul, your strength and undying love.

 

Saviors often wear the deepest scars. Scars are always tougher than uninjured tissue. It takes grace and hard work, not to yield to bitterness and anger. Compassion, wisdom and empathy can be the byproducts of trauma, if instead of shutting the world out, you call for help and accept it… if you work to heal, instead of pushing the pain away.

To every doll standing in the mirror, seeing their missing pieces… broken as you may feel today… if you take the time and do the work, you will one day heal and grow wings.

And to all of the angels, who have at one time or another, answered one’s frail call for help, may you forever know that your pain created a strength that carried them. And the glue that is your love, is ever-lasting.

Perhaps, life is just a series of breaks and mends… some days we are the doll… and if we do it right… some days, we get to be the angel.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Not now

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Clinking the last dish into the drainer, she dries her hands and the single tear running down her cheek. “Self care” she hears her therapist say, in the echoes of her ever chattering mind.

Walking past the unvacuumed floors and today’s untended mail, she makes her way to the washroom and draws herself a bath. Bending over to place the stopper, steam drifts towards her face…and another tear falls, joining the tiny ocean she is building.

The same clothes she’s been wearing for two days now, falls to the floor. Stepping into the hot liquid, she remembers the mound of laundry waiting for her…“Not now”, she thinks.

Saturated and soaking in the steamy bath, islands of bubbles float around her body like lonely continents and collect at her breasts. The warm water soothes her aching muscles, releasing the pain from her soft tissue and pushing it into the bony prominences of her spine that lies flat against the hard bottom of the bathtub. Plump, pink feet propped on the stone wall in front of her, she judges their pudgy appearance, yet, welcomes the cool air that envelops her lower extremities, a reprieve from the heat that her body is soaked in.

She is tired.

She wishes the walls of this tub would melt away and that the water were an ocean that she could float away in.

She wishes that lying down would relieve the weight she’s been carrying on her shoulders, as if it were a backpack…weight that feels extra heavy today.

Closing her eyes, she imagines that weight falling backwards into the white walls of the tub, giving her small frame and her soul a break for just a moment. And she floats, suspended in the warm, soapy basin.

The un-quiet of her mind quickly opens her eyes again and staring at the ceiling, she notices a spot of mildew. Her mind wanders to another task that needs tending; but she takes that thought and puts it on a leaf in her mind and watches it float down the river…“Not now…” she whispers.

“Not now” when the office calls for yet another “favor”, “Not now” when her mother starts to criticize, “Not now” when a girlfriend comes just to gossip, “Not now” when life asks for more than she can give.

Now, she tends to her “self”. Now, she takes a break. Now, she lets her body rest…and begs her mind to do the same. Now, she starts to heal.

She is not a laggard. She is a castaway who has given every ounce of energy her body could produce. And she is exhausted. Swimming without a life raft, tossed like debris in the angry seas of life, storms raging around her, head bobbing, she has surfaced from the crashing waves, but she is choking. In a moment of desperation, she reaches for a passing piece of driftwood and clutching it, she collapses. She is in survival mode.

She wishes it hadn’t come to this. She wishes it weren’t such a heavy blow which brought her to realize her self-worth…and self-preservation. She wishes she had reached for help sooner. She wishes she had saved more reserves for the swim. She wishes she felt more sure of the land she was floating towards.

Nonetheless, she is floating. After she rests, she will swim.

And then, one day, one day when her feet once again feel earth, she will run.

But not now…

Now, under the moon’s gentle light…in the quiet of an empty house, despite every lie the universe tries to whisper…she tells her self… “You are enough…right now.”

 

 

 

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“You are Not Alone”- A Letter to the Person who Finds This Season a Struggle

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Dear friend,

I see you. I see you sitting at the table, hot cup of coffee/tea in your hand…and a pause…that you wish would go away…or last forever. A desire to move on…or to freeze and be lost in thought, anything but to deal with the outside world right now. I see the struggle to decorate, the struggle to participate, the struggle to smile.

I see that you are tired. I see that this is hard.

You are not alone.

This isn’t how you want to be. The rest of the world is happy. The rest of the world is bright and busy…and you are just trying to hold on and survive. You want to feel “normal”. You want to get caught-up in the happiness and the joy…but just when you do…you remember…and then…you’re low again. You’re alone again. You’re tired…again.

Maybe the holidays were never good for you. Maybe they have been a reminder of your trauma since as early as you can remember. Or maybe, they used to be good…and things changed. I don’t know what’s worse- to have never had…or to have had and lost.

Either way, I see you.

And I feel you. You are not alone.

This is a hard, hard time for so many people, myself included.

This is what I have learned:

Sometimes, it never is the same again or the way we wish it would be. We may never get the family, the partner, the wishes that we’ve had for so long. We can’t rewrite history or resurrect the dead. But that doesn’t mean that we can’t find value despite our pain.

Finding a way to give back, attaches purpose and positivity to the season. Years ago, my family and I decided that we’d pick three “give-back” activities every holiday season. Some years I called soup kitchens, others we packed a box of donations for the local cat/dog rescue, and still other years, we sponsored a family in need and added their needs and wishes to our holiday shopping lists. Our longest running tradition is creating gift-bags for the homeless (as we live close to a major city with a large homeless population). The kids decorate gallon-sized zip-lock bags with colorful sharpies and we fill them with things like weather-appropriate socks, hand/foot warmers, non-perishable proteins, sweets, toothbrush/toothpaste, hand wipes, a water bottle, etc. We hand them out on the days leading up to the holidays. And on the years that I am scheduled to work at the hospital on Christmas Eve, I make a deal with the universe that if they don’t call me in to work, I will instead, drive around the city to hand out bags with my children. We never get tired of the satisfaction that we gain in helping others. And the kind words and expressions that we receive in return, make it feel like Christmas morning on the city streets. Good deeds are scientifically proven to improve happiness. With no obligation, no price point to match, nobody over-seeing you…find your own way to give-back…and let the magic happen.

And a smile or a kind word is immeasurable to the person receiving it. Don’t get caught up in consumerism-either feeding into it or fighting it…just be kind! The world needs it!

Rituals and traditions-however mundane or silly they might seem at times, help to improve mental health outcomes. Not only do they give us something to look forward to- the game that we always watch, the recipe or the restaurant that we always enjoy, or the “thing” we always do…but they also decrease anxiety because, whether we realize it or not, traditions within a family/group, are predictable. Whether you like the tradition or not…the fact that you know that it’s coming, makes it less anxiety-provoking than the unknown. So, traditions provide us with a comforting sense of “what to expect.” If you don’t already have long-standing traditions, start them! Let this year be the beginning, so that future years reap your ritualistic rewards.

Self-care is essential- and that doesn’t have to mean the spa… (cuz who has time for the spa this time of year?!) While cooking/creating can feel like a chore sometimes…it can also be a wonderful method of self-care. There is something very therapeutic, very maternal, very practical and satisfying about cooking or creating a gift (instead of buying one) for our loved ones. Consider building a photo book/calendar, painting a canvas or ceramic, drawing, writing a poem/letter, making homemade bird seed ornaments or dog treats or baking for friends/family/neighbors. If it feels pressured or overwhelming, than we’ve missed the point, but if it provides distraction and a sense of accomplishment… then well done! You have experienced self-care, with a practical multi-purpose.

You don’t owe anyone, anything… Ok, so if you’re a parent with small children….you’ll have to pull it together for them. But other than that…work functions, family get-togethers, community events…they will all go-on without you-and you don’t owe anyone an explanation. This season might be self-preservation-mode for you. While the rest of the word seems to be operating in over-drive, what you are comfortable doing, is enough! Create boundaries. Know when you are approaching your limit. It’s okay to say no. It’s okay to “sit this one out.” It’s okay to stay close to home this year. This is your holiday too, protect your heart and your energy.

Energy is precious when you are struggling. When I am in grief, I have learned that I can have one really good, productive and social day. One day when I’m acting like I’m back to my old self and it feels like “the old days”… and then, I’m exhausted. The next day, both mentally and physically, I have nothing else left to give. Learn what your patterns are. If this is true for you…then don’t schedule more than one busy day back-to-back. You can always spontaneously add activities if you are feeling up to it, but don’t set yourself up for failure by committing to more than you are comfortable doing. Ask for help if it’s a matter of carting kids around to activities or other such stops that don’t require your presence. And always make an escape plan- a easy way to get out of a social gathering if you need to.

I see you.

I see the sadness and the longing in your eyes. I see the heartache that feels as though it will last forever. I see the broken promises and the shattered dreams.

I see you standing in the middle of the flashing lights, the blaring carols and the larger than life trees-donned in loud and bright decor…in the middle of lots of happy people.

You feel small. You feel unheard and un-noticed. You see their smiles and you hear their laughter and you want to join them… but tears and the urge to run away feel stronger than the muscles that could turn the sides of your mouth upwards.

You are not alone.

But you are loved and you are important.

I urge you to step out of that busy scene and use this time to discover the real significance of this season. The quiet, reflective season of giving, nurturing, and loving one another. If you feed that…it will feed you in return. And blessing will come, even in your darkest hours. You can do this. You will survive this season.

Wishing you peace, this season…and always! Happy Holidays, from LIFELIBERTYANDLIBATIONS.com

 

 

 

 

 

 

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The Quilt

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Forward: A deeply personal piece, I have woven into this quilt my own life experiences. This quilt, while unique to me, represents the patchwork inside all of us. Some days I struggle with the loss and tragedy that has touched my life. And some days it’s hard to see the good through the bad. But we must remind ourselves that in the end, it is both the light and the dark, in the struggles and the successes, the tears and the laughter that build the beautiful masterpiece that we are. I am learning to love myself, in all of my different shades. And this piece was an exercise in doing that through writing. I encourage you to reflect on what your quilt would look like and learn to love yourself too, in all your many colors.

Outside, rain smacks against the window panes. Sitting in her chair, her wrinkled hands guide the shiny needle, poking the soft edge, then pulling the thin white thread through the colorful panes of fabric that lie folded on her steady lap. As she sews, she reflects…

Her eyes scan the fabric for a pattern. Is there a pattern? She holds in her lap and in her heart, a patchwork of progress, experiences, accomplishments and hardships that have unfolded over a lifetime. Each event, each square, occurred separately in her life and when stacked in a pile on the table, felt solitary and unrelated. And yet seeing them now, in her old age, side-by-side and top-to-bottom, she realizes that the thread in her hands is not the only thing that ties them together.

Olive and white strips with a silver ring filled with burnt orange felt- the colors of the trailer she was born in and the mud pies that she learned to make from the clay outside. It was there, from her very beginnings, that she learned how to make-do and find joy in simplicity. And the move was her first experience in feeling uncomfortable in order to make positive change, at age five.

Change is easier with magic. She was always looking for magical things- like fireflies and genuinely kind people. Royal blue, with stars, the outline of a jar and little black and yellow fireflies embroidered within its lines. Next to it, a frog, patiently plopped with a subtle smile. The flying creatures that she watched decline in numbers over her lifetime, brought magic to the evenings of her childhood, and lit-up both her jar and her inner joy. The jumping amphibians that she chased as a girl, became an exotic pet and then a tattoo on her back…and then a favorite pitcher and candlestick set on the dining room table that she used to entertain her guests. She loved frogs!

And she loved to entertain- something that wasn’t celebrated in the home she grew-up in, because anxiety oftentimes overruled joy. So she had to make a busy and colorful square with a cake and confetti for all the parties she was denied as a child and overcompensated by throwing as an adult. Birthdays, baby showers, weddings, even seasonal changes- her parties utilized her organized and energetic nature to satisfy both her drive to create beauty and to share joy.

Animals also brought her joy. Her Dad taught her to love and respect all creatures-even snakes. When she was a girl, she thought she’d grow up to be a veterinarian. She wanted to help animals that were hurt or sick. She’d grow up to teach her own children the same values and have a house full of pets. There was never a time that she didn’t have several. So with tiny, shaped pieces of material, in various hues of brown, she created a square for a lifetime of unconditional, furry, scaly, love.

And next to the mud pie, the frog and the pets, a powder blue square with a white house and a tree for the childhood home, she at first hated, but grew to love. Pragmatically perched across the street from her school, with the best climbing tree a kid could ask for, it survived both a house fire and a multitude of challenges. That house held her bed, her pets buried in the yard, her secrets and her screams, her dreams and her nightmares for 15 years. The house that she both ran to and ran from, taught her both what she wanted to be and what she didn’t.

A dark gray square with a single candle. “There’s a candle burning”… sings the Aerosmith song of child loss, “Fallen Angels.” Her family of six crumbled to a family of five when as a teen, her brother ended his life too soon. And it burned a hole in her heart where her faith once resided. Out of the darkness she crept and many a survivor she ministered from her own painfully, preventable loss. And while his flame of existence he might have snuffed, the threads of his influence weaved the most intricate pattern and spelled compassion and understanding on her soul.

An emerald green square, for a pop of her favorite color and birthstone, a symbol of her Irish roots, the color of frogs… And the color of mental illness- that took so much more than a brother from her; but became a passion that she fought for fervently. And top-stitched on the green, a purple and turquoise semi-colon, a lovely cool color pallet that appealed to her on the days when she felt low, and the symbol of suicide prevention.

The turquoise of the semi-colon almost matched the teal hearts sewn atop the solid black square. One tiny heart for each time hers was broken by another “me too,” her own and the children and women she loved so dearly. She wished she was left with more open space and her heart and hands grew tired of cutting out the same shape. And yet she knew the experiences came to define a large part of her- the power that grew from her pain and the anger that energized her fight for change. Her gray head nodded as she thought of the progress made by her gender and education on the word “consent”.

The black background and the fight for women complimented the dark red square, that she proudly embellished with a black tassel and a gold RN- for the day she danced across the stage with a diploma in her hand, past the instructor who told her “Who do you think you are… having a baby in nursing school!?” The diploma that handed a single mother the most rewarding career of nurturing (not animals, like she once thought, but people) and empowering women in their life changing moments of childbirth- where the screams and tears of pain, perfectly married those of new life and joy…(the irony didn’t escape her).

And two more blocks of life-altering significance…cotton candy pink and blue ones with cradles, not just for the career she choose, but for the two babes she birthed herself. She added a microphone to the pink one, for her feisty girl’s ability to always speak-up, to use her voice to help others and….for her love of Elvis Presley- (a unique obsession for a girl so far removed from that generation). And the blue one had a monkey with a pink heart hanging onto the side of the brown cradle, for her active little boy who learned to climb before he walked; but carried with that crazy boy energy, a love for the color pink and a tender heart that found compassion and love for the people most often rejected by the world.

Pink and blue mixed together make purple…a lavender square with a dark green leaf and a tear, for the many babies she held in her career that were still…and the many tears she wiped, when a gift became a betrayal. Around the leaf she stitched concentric circles. Like the ripples a falling leaf creates on a pond, the ripples of grief and loss were ones she knew all too well.

The thin lines that created the pond circles almost matched the perfectly spaced blue stitch that repeated horizontally across the white square. Evenly spaced circles lined-up along the left, to create a piece of paper. Like the papers she graded as an instructor and the papers she sat with for hours, helping her children do homework (ADHD sucks), like the papers she filled with her thoughts and poetry. Across the center she added a pen and covering the bottom corner, appeared to be the edge of a book. She believed that knowledge was power and writing was her therapy.

Empowered as she was and though armed with a spirit of steel and a therapeutic habit, during some seasons of her life, that therapy wasn’t enough. And she remembered the days that she walked into an office and said, “I need help…I’m not okay right now and I can’t do this alone.” Then it was someone else’s turn to minister to the ‘soldier’ who so often ministered to others.

A tangerine orange block spoke to the trauma she witnessed too many times to count and the caution it created in her steps. But overlaying the color of both bold fun and caution, she stitched a rainbow, because after every storm always came a new perspective and behind the dark shadows of tragedy, beautiful blessings are always hidden. Rainbows also mean “love is love” and she never could understand why not everyone could support that.

A light gray square served as fitting background for the beige stoop and black and white door, for the first foster child who knocked on that fateful August night. He brought to her what she knew she was being called to do. “Grief is love without a place to put it”. And fostering gave her love a place to go- cradling those in need of comfort and acceptance and a safe place to lay their heads. Coming full circle from her own childhood and experiences with grief and trauma, it opened a door in the greatest of ways. And she ensured that every child that walked through that door knew both love and fun.

A colorful Ferris wheel made of tiny scraps of fabric for another meaning-filled block…that’s fun….or not. A day at the fair gave her an illness that would forever change her perspective and overall health. Like the facial paralysis she experienced as a teen, being a medical anomaly isn’t cool when you’re living it. Whilst some days, it felt like another illusion, another betrayal…from it she learned what was really important in life and she gained an immense gratitude for the things she took for granted- eating, walking and living a day without pain.

A sunny yellow square with a green tent for the camping vacations that started out as “all we can afford” and ended with driving across the states for a lifetime of unforgettable adventure. Persistence and hard work always pays off. And the view from the summit is always worth the climb.

A cornflower blue one, to compliment that yellow…with some clouds and a plane. The plane that brought her her husband, adventures and a worldly view.

And a sand-colored bottom, with an ocean blue top for the bodies of water that bordered both her and her husband’s home lands. The only vacation she ever knew as a child, didn’t bore, but instead guided them to their most favorite place to be…at the beach. There, the hot sand soothed her joints, the waves washed away her anxiety, and the wildlife provided joyful entertainment.

Every square carefully stitched, each one sewn together to create shapes of both light and darkness, warm colors and cool ones. Every experience interwoven into the next, nothing happening by accident or without repercussion.

While she so wished some of those squares weren’t there at all…while she would have done anything to keep the colors of trauma out of her quilt…she realized the fact that they were there, wasn’t her fault. Instead, it was through her hard work and healing that those colors didn’t sabotage the rest and instead made space for new habits, new experiences, new colors. She even began to see the ways that the different colors complimented one another. A black quilt would be drab, but black next to cheerful colors make them pop. A life without pain and tragedy yields a life of ingratitude. And a life without struggle, yields a life without perspective. Painful as they were to experience, the quilt wouldn’t be complete without them.

Snipping the final loose threads, she lays down her tools, sinks back into her chair and pulls the blanket up under her chin. She’s tired now and as her head relaxes to the side, she nods off to sleep. Her dreams are flooded with every memory that together, created the final masterpiece that she has become. And although there are times in her sleep that her brow furrows and silent tears sneak past the wrinkles around her eyes, she ends with a smile on her face; because she not only survived the storms, she managed to create beauty with them.

Behind her, the rain has stopped and a rainbow crowns her…. and her masterpiece quilt.

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If Life Were More Like Video Games

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In the wake of National Video Game Day…

As a mother of an adolescent boy, I must confess I distain video games and virtual realities more than I care for them. The addiction and the violence associated with them is something that deeply concerns me. And the empty void that kids find themselves in when they play is frustrating. However, I also appreciate the art that goes into their creation and the fantastical escape that it can offer (when played in moderation). And the world is certainly moving in that virtual direction, whether we like it or not. Graphics are better than we could have ever imagined. Complex gaming systems and VRs are now readily found in most homes in the U.S. Disney’s newest top rides/experiences around the globe are based on virtual reality over animation. And whilst I do like old fashioned, outdoor play and adventure, if I’m truly honest with myself, I too- the screen-limiting, no-fun Mom, sacrificed quite a few middle of the night hours, in the 90s, trying to beat those pesky levels in Super Mario and Zelda.

So it had me reflecting today…

And I began comparing and marrying components of the video games I once so enjoyed playing, with the harsh realities of the world as I now know it.

And I thought…“What if life was more like video games?”

Despite the very obvious perks of cool suits (or skins as they say in Fortnite), amazing fantasy lands and kick-ass, unearthly abilities… video games come with even more practical advantages over real life… like instructions and an on/off button.

Real life doesn’t come with a manual- our instructions are based solely on who happens to be around us or what info we have access to at the time. None of us get more than one life. And the reset button, despite every best effort we might make, never erases our memory when we just want to start over.

I think of it like this: Birth-toddlerhood is like our pre-game. It’s gazing at the new gift, still in its wrapper and clicking it into the console, before anyone even picks up a controller. It’s that hopeful time, before any real skill is required or sense of defeat is experienced. It’s a place where we can just be. No matter our background, genetic predisposition, or how we came to be, our very existence is widely accepted because we are small and cute and innocent. The world smiles on us and we are embraced with open arms by virtually everyone who passes us by. Babies, like puppies, are loved by all. (And of course, it’s the one phase of our life that we have no memory of… go figure!)

But it doesn’t take long before that cuteness, that baby pudge, wears off and our genetic and environmental influences begin to surface. And at just about that time, we are dropped into our own reality with a pack strapped to our back… to explore, to learn, to conquer, to live… and to be judged. The world who once ogled and coddled us, gives us a swift smack on the back, as our game called “Life” begins.

Once we try out our legs and get a good look around, the first things we look for are instruction and tools. Only in life, there are no instruction boxes that pop up. And it’s not grappling hooks and sling shots that we look for in our packs, but coping skills, emotion management, social awareness, a sense of safety and security, and life skills.

And unlike the predetermined game settings, real life isn’t fair. We don’t all start with the same weapon and powerpack. Some people, because of their background and circumstance, have a lot of tools and they carry a full pack with many options. And others, hold a pack that is nearly empty. From the very beginning of the game, these players, lacking the tips and skills that others were gifted with from the start, feel slower and less inept. Life for them, is harder from the beginning.

But regardless of these disparities, we do all start at the same stage in life. No one gets to skip ahead a level without completing the one before it. Nor does our beginning determine our end. Each person, regardless of their start, will encounter different experiences along their journey- there will be treasures and challenges along everyone’s way. Every level has characters who are willing to help, if you can find them… and every level has a different villain. We all start with an empty score and a full life pack.

What is or isn’t in your pack, similarly, doesn’t seal your fate. Creativity and resourcefulness go a long way over gem stones and cross bows! And even those with no weapons at all, can run and hide in order to survive. But the point of the game isn’t to survive… it’s to win! And let’s be honest, it’s easier to fight a dragon with a sword then it is a toothpick. Those who started with a map, a compass, power bars and new boots are clearly at an advantage over those who have none.

When I look at the faces that walk through my hospitals doors and into the foster system, it is clear who had a full pack and who didn’t. Tackling your demons and conquering your fears, whilst certainly possible for us all, is much easier when you come into life carrying a tool box instead of an eviction notice. Winning at a game is easier to do when someone you know has already done it. Imagine trying to beat a game that no one else has played and no one wrote a manual for. Life is easier to win at when you have another winner to consult with.

I wish more people would realize that.

You know those opaque boxes that pop up above character’s heads in some games? Inside those boxes is typed basic information that the players would find useful as they navigate the game… a sort of character profile box.

What if, in real life, we had such an insight…

If above every person’s head, popped up a profile box with basic facts regarding our background/experiences, tools/weapons, energy level… alongside an image of ourselves- only instead of being pictured in our armor, we were pictured at our start.

How might that change the way we view other people’s worth and productivity?

If you knew someone came into the game with less, would you expect less? If you knew they lacked the tools to tackle their current predicament, might you stop to lend them one of yours? If you knew someone’s energy level was flashing red, would you go in for that last dig, or walk away and let them live? Would you feel as proud of the fortress you had built, knowing you started with an army and they with only a knife?

Would you use that information to eliminate disparity and to promote community? Or would you selfishly use it destroy faster and build bigger?

And what about that youthful image? The one without the armor… the happy, pudgy baby and the sweet, giggly toddler that the world stops to smile upon…

If when you passed by the damaged and aging bodies of our elderly, our homeless, our sick and addicted… you could see first-hand, that they were once young and healthy like you… If behind those sad eyes, you could see their once hopeful face as a child… Would you write them off so quickly? Would seeing them as someone’s “bundle of joy”, someone’s “congratulations,” someone’s baby… before trauma and illness and poor circumstance, before life, had a chance to create its influence, allow you to see them as a human instead of a burden?

How might knowing just a small piece of someone’s puzzle change the perceptions that we make at first glance? Would it create unwanted biases and nudge us to jump to preliminary conclusions? Or would it encourage us to see people from a different perspective and perhaps give them a little more grace?

Would knowing someone’s history, give us the courage to reach into our own tool box and find that patience, compassion, and understanding to meet them where they’re at?

Life isn’t a game. It’s a journey that has a start and a very clear end. It isn’t fair and it isn’t easy. But it also isn’t a void by which we lose our hours. It’s an investment wherein every step and every day matters.

And we don’t get fantastical lands or super-natural powers or convenient little info pop-ups. But we can pretend that we do. Just like we pretended as a child, that the backyard was a jungle or that we could fly…

So too we can pretend…

That everyone we meet is on their last energy bar. That maybe they came into the game empty-handed and that instead of a fight, they’re really just looking for a helping hand.

We can pretend that we’re not really looking to win by ourselves, but to win as a whole.

We can pretend that the thin and dirty face we see, was once a pudgy babe or a silly toddler who has now suffered insurmountable pain and is looking for respite.

We can pretend that a soul’s worth is not dependent on the body’s abilities.

We can pretend that our actions make a difference.

We can pretend that our lives belong not just to ourselves but are players in a much bigger scene and the talents we have are tools to make other lives better.

We can pretend that we are in fact super-hero’s in this life and we can be the treasured helpers hidden in various corners of the game, to offer other players a helping hand so that they might better succeed on their journey. 

We can pretend that this world is in fact fantastical in all it’s varied lands and that there are different lessons to be had in each, if we take the time to explore them.

We can pretend…

And sometimes… just sometimes… when we pretend… we are crazy enough to believe it.

If life were more like video games…