Writer's Block, Suicide, and Grace

I would guess that I haven't journaled in my personal journal, or here in my blog for close to six weeks, which might be a record. There was a point of no return in the amount of stress any one person can tolerate, and I hit the wall, hard.

As I've tried to write, everything seems trite, and doesn't seem to do justice to the reality of everyday life - the good, the bad, and the ugly. I write a sentence, and delete it. I write a paragraph, and delete it. Writing is my way of processing the world and of making sense of experience. I have been a writer pretty much my whole life. I am a visual learner, but a verbal processor. The inability to write has been suffocating in ways. I can't write sermons, or papers. I can't write emails or journal. I can barely read the texts I need to read for upcoming classes, and put one whole class on hold.

When I am able to get my head above the water of writer's block for short periods and pound out a few sentences, or make a theological connection in my reading, I start to feel more like myself. I've discovered that the act of trying is as important as doing, even when it's frustrating.

My family has been through a lot this year, but November trumped everything that has come before. I have had my ability to be compassionate and kind and patient be stretched to the absolutely maximum - and at the same time, have been shown those qualities in spades by my beloved community - church, homeschoolers, friends, colleagues.

I thought that losing our home last summer was bad. I thought that the things came after piled on traumas that were hard - although there were gifts of learning and grace that came with each hard time. But right before Thanksgiving, we almost lost our oldest daughter to a suicide attempt. Now that, my friends is bad. Definitely the worst thing that I can imagine. Hard for us, but undeniably harder for her, to be in that space of despair and pain. To watch my child go through the suffering of depression and the medical intervention necessary for her recovery just about broke my heart. It left us all fragile, and even more appreciative of the gifts that we each have.

Why do I speak of such things? Because I must. Because families lose children and teens to suicide at an alarming rate, and it is frightening to speak of it. If you say it out loud, it must be true - and that's terrifying. I am now that mom - the mom whose daughter tried to take her life, and almost succeeded. I am now the mom who is grieving the loss of who she thought her daughter was, and celebrating her courage in fighting to come back from this. And I speak of it, because I've been through suicide attempts before, by my ex-husband, and it's a lonely time - one that frightens other people, and that society lays a film of shame over. This time, I wasn't alone, and I am not ashamed.

My daughter has nothing to be ashamed of. Nobody does. Depression is insidious, and awful and sometimes deadly. It's hard to treat, and not something your friends want to talk about, and it sucks the life out of you and everyone around you when it's deep. She now knows, and has the notes and cards and emails to prove it, that she is valued and loved and celebrated - things that depression made her forget, or wouldn't let her hear in the moment. She has a wall of affirmation above her bed. It makes me smile.

I have also learned that a life of service may be draining at times, but more importantly, it can also be sustaining. It is those moments when I watch a small ministry group have a profound theological experience, or feel the power of words flowing through me in the pulpit, or sitting and listening to a friend or congregant in need of love, not words...those are the moments of grace that fill me up so that I can work on being my best self in difficult situations.

I am a do-er. And I have not been do-ing much the last month - not that you would notice. But I have been. I've been quietly filling myself back up with meals dropped off, with hugs, with small gifts, with listening ears, with vegging out to Netflix, to reading mind candy fiction, to sleeping late and going to bed early. I've been snuggling with my kids, sitting by the fireplace, keeping the house peaceful and clean. I've been watching my kids grow in explosive and exciting and shocking ways, as they become more and more themselves with each day that passes. I've been locking eyes with my husband, feeling a love that sustains both of us and knowing that we're not alone, ever.

So thank you. Thank you to my classmates who are practicing serious radical hospitality this January in Chicago, in so many ways. Thank you to my friends who send me snail mail and email notes of love and encouragement. Thank you to the Lilac Children's Garden and RAHA communities who have brought us meals and provided child care for days on end. Thank you to the family who has surrounded us with their presence and love. Thank you to May Memorial, for trusting me and teaching me how to become a minister. Thank you to First Unitarian of Rochester, whose pastoral care team sat with us for hours, who drove me home to shower, who brought me food and Christmas ornaments. Thank you to the doctors and nurses and techs and aides and chaplaincy staff at Strong Hospital. There is so much gratitude that I hold, and it's this being in community that allows me the space to care for myself and my family. Thank you to all those friends and parents and teachers who love my daughter and have called her and offered support and coffee and friendship. You help to sustain us all.

Yes, it's hard to be transparent about the hard things in life. But it's harder to go around pretending that these things don't happen in life. To me, to you, to the grocer, to great minds and singers and writers and cab drivers. If we hide the painful things, we cannot begin to heal. I know this - I've known it my whole life. But if someone out there is  just learning it, I hope they know that there is a world of love and support just outside their door.

So, I know that I could just delete this again. That it doesn't express the depth of pain and love and grace in life. But writing is what I've got. My voice is what I've got. All my gifts and imperfections are what I've got. So here I am, back at it. And it feels like healing.

Thanksgiving Approacheth

Thanksgiving is upon us! I am thankful for a lighter schedule this week, so I can catch up on some assignments and reading that I have fallen behind on. I am super thankful for my husband, who seems to be everywhere all at once, supporting me, our kids, our home. He's working, he's cooking, he's parenting, he's driving...I don't know how I would manage without him. I love him more every day and it makes me wake up happy every morning to wake up next to him.

I'm grateful for my four children. This is the season of birthdays and reflecting on growth each year. Soren just turned 13. Jude was 7, Lucy and I have birthdays the week of Christmas, and my husband at the end of January.

I'm grateful that this is the first year in my life that I'll have to make a resolution to exercise. My age is finally catch up with me and I can't just float along on the heels of my active younger days!

I'm thankful that we didn't lose any humans or pets in the fire. Everyday, I am struck that life could be so much more tragic than it was last summer. We are really very lucky.

I'm thankful for my church, for my calling, for my teaching congregation. I'm grateful for Wellspring and all my small ministry groups. I'm thankful for thoughtful and amazing colleagues and classmates. I'm grateful for friends who drag me out of my house and make me eat Indian food with them, and spend hours laughing and catching up.

I'm thankful for debit cards and electricity and hot water and furnaces and warm boots and sleds and big hills and ice skates and ponds. I'm thankful for swimming pools and Corona with lime and the hot, hot sun. I'm thankful for my Golden Retriever and flannel sheets and Nine West shoes. I'm grateful for morning snuggles with Lucy and allergy medicine and Advil.

That's just the beginning, but it's a start. It's a chilly day here in NY, but my family is around me, I've got a cheerful fire in the fireplace, snuggling dogs on my feet, and schoolwork plugging along. I've got a wedding to perform this evening and a lovely turkey dinner to look forward to on Thursday.

Thanks to everyone who has been a part of the creation of me.

Spring cleaning

The semester is over. I'm on reduced hours at internship till mid-June. The kids have two more weeks of classes, and then things will really ease up. Today was the first day I was home in weeks, really. I had hoped to enlist all 4 kids to help with massive spring cleaning, but it was raining and cold, and the oldest two came down with a stomach bug last night, poor chooks.

So, I decided to dig in without them and started in my room. No laundry got put away or washed today, but my carpet is ripped out, furniture moved, walls washed down, floors vacuumed, my bathroom clean and baseboards scrubbed...some minor vacuuming and cleaning in the dining room and kitchen, but much more to come. I am so in love with my new-ish Kenmore canister vac!

I have also been cleansing my palate from classes. I got an A- in my Christian History class, and a Pass in Congregational Studies (I am assuming ). I started doing some reading for July's Religious Ed class, which I'm really enjoying, but have been so busy with kid stuff at the end of the "school" year that I have barely had time to breathe! I would really like to spend a week vegging out to some TV episodes I've missed, but I'm anxious to get my house in order again - getting out warm weather clothes, giving away what's outgrown, and cleaning every last corner. 

I've been thinking a lot about my dad and my brother. I was so overwhelmed when he died, with my dad's service, the cat getting hit and dying, and the basement flooding (and the truck dying...and issues with my ex)...that I am just now spring cleaning my heart. I didn't even send flowers to the funeral, I was so befuddled. Totally unlike me. I owe my SIL a call soon. I have been thinking about how losing my brother was in many ways like losing one of the few links I have left to my father. It was hard for me to bury my dad's ashes. I found some comfort in having them in my house. I have a small urn, but it's not the same. I still have his clothes  and things to unpack this summer; Jude in particular is looking for a green and white polo shirt of my dad's that he wants and remembers.

All of these steps are ways to simplify the process of loss. I let go a little more each time I am able to grieve and cry. Each time I give away some clothing, or find a photo and enjoy it. And because my father had dementia, I feel that he is more present for me now, than he was in his last year. I am finding it harder to find ways to grieve my brother. I didn't know him as well as I might have liked, and really just started connecting with him the last 18 months. He was clearly a kind man, who seemed to really love children. He was extremely kind to my kids when we had lunch after my dad's service. I feel such sorrow for his teens, who must miss him dreadfully. I wish I knew them better too, so that we could more easily lean on one another in this time. And stupidly, I miss the damn cat. He was a big, fat, bossy thing, but I miss him plopping down on me, putting the pug in her place, and waiting in the sink for me to turn on the faucet.

All of these griefs have forgiveness in common. My father was human and left hurts behind him. My brother and I never resolved many things we wanted to talk about. The person who hit our cat leaves behind outrage. So, I was so grateful to be able to attend the Coming of Age/Wellspring service at my internship congregation yesterday, and to hear how members of my group had been touched by the work we did on Forgiveness. It was a moment of grace that I know I needed in my life. I have learned so much from the wise people in Wellspring this year. I can't wait to see what the future holds for all of us.

The Timeline of Grief

I'm feeling particularly raw lately. That "bubble" I developed during chaplaincy seems to be intact during minstry work itself, but in my personal life, it seems to have popped like so much warm air.

A friend was discussing the first spring of being without her father, and that made me cry. Earlier, I was with a dear friend/teacher, who lost her her mother last week and she told me of the large hole it has created in her life, and I found myself a few moments later, fled to the ladies' room, to dab my streaming eyes, and put myself back together.

My son is ill with strep throat. It's his first experience with needing antibiotics and somehow more difficult than the flu we all just went through. But today, at the doctor's, he was "a poor source of information" as was my own father. His spirit is close and present in these transitional days of sun and snow, before real spring comes to upstate New York.

I am bone tired, so maybe my defenses are truly down, which isn't a bad thing. I'm having a bit of trouble keeping up with everything as the semester churns into its final six weeks. I haven't been home since Christmas and am missing my old stomping grounds. I am feeling the stresses and joys of mothering teens and tweens, preschoolers and school-agers.

I am deeply saddened and struggling with how to understand and cope with world events in the Middle East and Japan, as well as the role of the United States and the choices we are making. The whole front page of the New York times made me want to weep today.

However, my daughter just came in and told me she is being pursued by the University of Pennsylvania as a potential transfer student, which brightened me up again. It's such a statement on our humanity that our personal experiences are a profoundly important way in which we interpret global events. Little successes are vital, both on a personal  and on a global scale. Thank you, Sharon Welch!

So I grieve. And study, and pastor, and grieve some more. I look forward to days of reading and sun; of recuperation and freedom from ill children and outside influences that threaten any sense of wellbeing - bacteria or other.

And I sleep. Sleep is healing, as apparently is apple juice.

Preaching, Napping, Shopping

I had the typical intern assignment (or so I hear) of preaching on the holiday weekend, but had a pretty full house! When I planned the service, I had no idea that it would be so pertinent to my life in the moment when I was standing up to preach it. It was on the darkness that some people face in this time of light and bustle of holiday time, and how we are called as people of faith to pay attention and be open to the needs of those around us, whether spoken or not. I'll post some of the readings at the end. The first reading I used mentions God several times - someone walked out during it, but whether it was in response to God, or a call to the restroom, I will never know, though that person didn't come back as far as I know.

I read through the service quite a bit yesterday, not sure if I could make it through it with my own grief so fresh and sharp, but once I got onto the stage, everything fell into place. One person told me today that I am perhaps an example of the "best kind of humanist," and I took that as a glowing compliment. Another told me that she couldn't say that she enjoyed the sermon, but it certainly gave her food for thought (I admit, there were dark parts to it, but life is not all goodness and light, now is it?).

I credit my success in large part to preparation, but also to the love and care of our music director, Glen, who was incredibly solicitous of me, empowered me to change the order of service as needed, and did a great job planning music while I was on personal leave. His quiet emanation of love and support from the piano was palpable to me as I led the service, and for the first time, I really felt like I owned it. It was mine. Start to finish, music, readings, my scarf falling off in the middle of my sermon, stumbling over a word here or there...it was mine to own. I also had the most gorgeous decor behind me on the sacred shelf; I wish I had a photo of it to show you, because it was so creative and soft and touching!

In any event, it was a good way to get "back on the horse" after a week of grief and mourning. A dear congregant came up to me and told me that when her husband died, she got herself to sleep that first night, and woke up in the morning only to open her eyes and think: "GodDAMN, he's still dead!" It made me laugh, but it was also so true. I have received so many cards, calls and emails from the congregants at my teaching site and my home congregation that I am overwhelmed with the love of it all. I feel incredibly blessed to be going through this loss while in ministerial formation. There is no other time in one's life probably when I will again have this kind of daily support and love from such a wide and diverse group of colleagues, professors, friends, family and congregants.

I continue to grieve. The thought of my father's hands - large, confident, firm, but gentle. The idea that those hands have doppelgangers on the person of my uncle is a comfort. I feel my father's spirit strongly. I see it in my son, where I had not noticed it before, but he has my father's wave of curl on the back of his head, his outgoing and laughing personality, his ability to make friends instantly and everywhere. I have been arranging photos and wrestling with the complexities of his life and its impact on my extended family, many of whom are estranged or barely known to me, often for reasons that are barely known.

I feel love, anger, loss, pain. I want to bargain, though I am glad he is finally at peace. I said everything I needed to say to him back in July when I went home during CPE training to be with him during his TIA. But there is always one more affirmation of love we can give.

So I came home, I tried to nap. And failed. And took my oldest daughter - just her and I - to the outlets for a new winter coat for her. She looks dashing in a navy blue pea coat and a black autumn trench coat. We bought a few small gifts for her siblings, and had fun at the grocery store after. My children have been seeking me out for this one on one time. A private chat here, a movie there; someone sprawled across the foot of my bed, telling me their frustrations, hopes, dreams and successes.

Sundays are my favorite days. Church and family. Work and ministry. School, learning, love, life. It's all of a piece on Sunday.

I think I'm ready to re-enter the world tomorrow. The first Monday of a new life without George. But with his memory and his spirit at hand.

Readings:

The holiday season is upon us, and as David Barry so sagely said, 

In the old days, it was not called the 

Holiday Season; the Christians called 

it 'Christmas' and went to church; the 

Jews called it 'Hanukka' and went to 

synagogue; the atheists went to 

parties and drank. People passing 

each other on the street would say 

'Merry Christmas!' or 'Happy 

Hanukka!' or (to the atheists) 'Look 

out for the wall!'

Rumi, the great Sufi mystic, says:

This being human is a guesthouse.

Every morning a new arrival.

A joy, a depression, a meanness,

some momentary awareness comes

as an unexpected visitor.

Welcome and entertain them all!

Even if they're a crowd of sorrows,

who violently sweep your house

empty of its furniture,

still, treat each guest honorably.

He may be clearing you out

for some new delight . . .

Be grateful for whoever comes,

because each has been sent

as a guide from beyond.

Living with Death

My father, George Spahr, Jr. died last Friday. When I woke up this morning, I found it difficult to believe that it will be a week tomorrow. It has all been a blur of phone calls, emails, arrangements, and a flood of feelings that would make Kubler-Ross proud.

My dad had been in assisted living/senior apartments/nursing home dementia care for most of the last 20 years, and for more than 10 of those years, I was his guardian and power of attorney. The last five years, he was in a dementia unit, where he couldn't wander off and get hurt or lost, and yet, he was the most "with it" patient there, and spent a lot of time on the other floors, doing activities and entertaining the staff.

On this Thanksgiving Day, I am incredibly grateful for the staff at Centre Crest, in Bellefonte, PA. The nurses and recreational therapists kept my father active, his brain stimulated, and appreciated (for the most part) his humor and flirting. I was so relieved to have him in a safe environment, where he was loved. The staff even took him home for holiday dinners, and helped him pick out small presents for my children and I each Christmas. The last two years have been increasingly difficult, as his mobility was more compromised, and I couldn't take him out as much, while trying to manage my two young children at the same time. I missed taking him to the People's Choice Festival, and to Memorial Day festivities in Boalsburg, PA, where I grew up.

I have so much gratitude and a pile of thank you notes to send out. I have dozens of notes and emails that I have filed in a folder to be answered when I am feeling ready; I have phone calls to return. I am blessed to have friends in my home town who hosted my family, provided a luncheon after the service (Thank you to Jane and Anne, and my mom), my uncle and aunt who drove from Brooklyn, NY to support me and honor my father's life, and my former minister, Rev. Mark Hayes from the UUFCC, who provided a lovely Celebration of Life.

The Heintzelman Funeral Home in State College was outstanding in their compassion, kindness and professionalism. I know it was a small service, but it meant the world to me, and they treated me with the same respect I believe they would have showed to the wealthiest family in town. Jan took care of every single detail, including getting my father's veteran's records, planning the eventual burial of my father's ashes in Manchester, PA, and handling everything with grace and delicacy. I cannot recommend them highly enough to anyone local to central PA. My husband has born the brunt of childcare and cooking for days now.  He gracefully took care of the children during the planning of, and the services themselves. He has been in the background of every moment, bringing me coffee and plates of food and letting me sleep when I can. He has respected my private grief, and I have watched his own on his tired and drawn face. He has been right there, as was my mother, my sister, my dearest friends. I may not have acknowledged them in the moment, but their love has allowed me to do what needed to be done, and it now allows me to take this quiet time before I must get back to course work, internship and parenting.

Rev. Hayes read something (I have the book somewhere around, as he kindly gave me a copy for my personal and ministerial use) about Why? That this is the unanswerable question of death. I have not been sleeping well, waking in the middle of the night for hours. My friend Jane counseled me to consider this time a gift - a time of quiet reflection away from the business of the day - and I've been trying to see it that way. These late night times have given me some space to grieve in the whirlwind of the last week. Our culture does not give us a lot of time, but I have had what I'm sure are the same feelings and thoughts of many people who have dealt with death and grief, as we all must.

This is getting long, so I will write more in another post - I process and learn through writing, and it's easier for me to deal with logistics and facts at first, and then make room for the feelings. I've had good advice from friends - make time to grieve now, while the world gives you space. Be prepared for it to be even worse in a year. One thing ministry has taught me is to take care of myself - all those people screaming self-care at me have been heard. I have turned off the phone, filed the notes and emails, and have gone into a private time.

I know my dad is gone, but I can't really believe it. I miss him.

Dementia

I was afraid to tell my father about the death of my brother, because I am afraid that he will forget. And then I'll have to tell him again. I talked to him today, and I think he has indeed forgotten about it. Now see, this is part of what informs my theology. Because really, what kind of God would allow almost 40 years of debilitating brain damage, then take away a son, and then let my dad have to find out over and over again?

Certainly not my God, but perhaps the God of my childhood.

And while someone is helping me to understand theodicy, perhaps they can explain why my 6 year old son is obsessed with this song, which he has heard perhaps twice, before I really paid attention to the lyrics.

Grace and forgiveness

My paternal grandmother's name was Grace. My daughter Lucy is named after her - Lucy Grace Antoinette.


Grandma died when I was pretty young, but I remember her smile, and her white hair, and her diminutive height. She had five children, my father being the oldest. He then had three children to his first wife, the oldest of which just died. 
http://www.legacy.com/obituaries/york/obituary-print.aspx?n=craig-s-spahr&pid=146067044


I remember going to the annual Christmas party at my aunt's house. It was my favorite time of year. My childish memories are of the swinging wicker chair that the kids all loved to sit in. Of the spiral staircase leading up to the roof and the hot tub. Of the bar, where all the adults congregated, drinking mixed drinks and eating delicious food. There were tons of cookies, and everyone dressed to the nines. My aunt Luella, with her bright red hair, loved me to pieces and always made me feel special. 


My aunt's husband was an identical twin, and they got a kick out of confusing people. My oldest brother has a daughter, Jenny, who is about four years younger than me, so by the time I got around to being interested in her, my parents were divorced and I wasn't attending the party anymore, or she was maybe on to more interesting things as a young teen. I only met her little brother once or twice, but I remember my oldest brother always being kind to me, as was his wife. 


I am the only child of my father's second marriage, and my mother has never been easy to get along with. The boys didn't get to see my dad much after he married my mom, and especially after I was born - and then 4 months later he became permanently disabled with a brain aneurism that left him institutionalized for almost 4 years. 


There haven't been a lot of opportunities over the years to build relationships with my siblings, though my sister and I (from my mom's first marriage) are now close and have shared the trials and tribulations of marriage, moving, parenting, and now caring for an aging parent. And I don't think that my dad's family were given much of a chance to understand how changed he was by his brain damage. And I think that he left a lot of hurt in his wake up until that point, so it was easiest to just slip away and let my mom deal with the bulk of his care for years and years. 


For the last 10 years or so, I have been my father's caretaker, which is a big job, especially emotionally, as he deteriorates into dementia, and has had to have increasing levels of nursing home care. My dad's family showed no interest in helping me with that, or even in staying in touch, which hurt my father very much - but I suppose they may have figured turnabout was fair play. I don't know, really. 


I do know that he is our father. And it hurts to have been left out of my brother's obituary. I have never had much in the way of a close family and I cherish what I have, and build what I don't, out of whole cloth, and loving people in my life. It is almost amusing to me how much it hurts for my dad, and perhaps me, just by association, to be rejected again. 


Regardless, I refuse to do that to others. I have joined the CLF's prison ministry, writing letters; and am going to be part of a pastoral care team at Rochester Unitarian, where I can continue to serve and reach out to congregants in need. Thankfully, I have what I need right now. Friends and a husband who understand my lifelong pain around my family's disassociation with each other, and who cherish me for who I am, not because of the sins of my parents. 


Forgiveness is the art of building bridges across pain. It has been a difficult concept for me over the years, and one that I continue to wrestle with. 


Grace is undeserved and unexpected. My sister often surprises me with moments of caring and grace. She did so this week. My mother often makes me laugh uncontrollably at her crazy sense of humor. My children lavish me with undeserved and expected hugs and kisses and affirmations of my mothering journey. My life is full. Grief and loss, joy and grace, are all steps on the daily travels of my heart. I am grateful for this fullness of my days - even the sorrows amidst the joys.

Bears and Pirates and Kayaks, Oh My!

My family has survived their first trip to Unirondack!

On the way there, a young black bear sprinted across the street in front of us about 20 miles outside of camp. It was quite exciting! I got to kayak for the first time ever, and went out three times. This afternoon, we saw a loon as we were getting ready to head out. Lucy and I went out in a two-person kayak, which was a lot more work than the single. My 11 yo kicked my butt in paddling.

When Tom took Jude and Lucy out in the rowboat, Lucy saw a sailboat, and said, "Jude, oh no! Pirates!"

Jude calmly took stock of the situation and said, "Lucy, those aren't pirates."

"How do you know," posits Lucy.

"Pirates don't wear lifejackets!"

Indeed.

As a student minister, I felt this was such a great opportunity to get to know some of the congregation in a more informal setting. And there's nothing that builds humility like having your 3 and 5 year old in the dining hall, right? I got to hang out with teens, littles, and adults. I got to play Crypto with my teaching pastor (she kicked my butt). I got to go to a talent show, a bonfire where the teens ran a reflective listening circle, and light the chalice for a sweet and short worship service this morning.

My teen got swept right up with the other teens and my 3 yo fell in love, over and over again. I know this must be an awesome congregation, because we felt just like family by the end. Everyone pitched in to cook, clean, and watch kids. There was guitar playing, and drumming, and piano, and singing. It was everything I had heard of Unirondack. My older kids now want to switch summer camps from the YMCA after years!

I have a lot to think about for my gratitude sermon at Thanksgiving, that's for sure. I can't wait to see everyone again next Sunday!

Odds and Ends

I seldom comment on political topics, because others are so much more eloquent than I, but I am increasingly frustrated with the political furor over the Mosque "on" Ground Zero, and even on Obama's comments. I am constantly amazed at disinformation and how easily "herd" mentality takes over, as Dowd says. When are Americans going to stop being so narrow-minded and gullible? When are they going to act like educated adults instead of the boys in Lord of the Flies?

I am also really enjoying the 12 part (so far) conversation over at East of Midnight on RE for kids and adults. I added a few comments, fwiw.

I am struggling to finish some reading and writing for the start of school's convocation. Whoever thought it would be a good idea to give summer homework while were all in CPE?

Our last week of vacation is starting with rain, which is putting a crimp in my plans to go to the Finger Lakes, as is the falling through of a house sitter, which I had hoped would buy us a few days at Lake George, or even the Eastern Shore. :::sigh::: I guess that buys me extra time to do the aforementioned homework.

I have been slowly getting the house uncluttered from the summer, and trying to figure out how to manage 6 people's schedules in the measly amount of hours allotted to a day. Seminary + work + community college for the teen + homeschooling programs and academia for the other 2 + plus keeping the preschooler alive seems like a gargantuan task. Thank the heavens for Google Calendar!

I also need to plan the Boy's birthday party. How did that happen so fast? Ideas for cheap and fun presents for a six year old would be appreciated. So far he's getting a plasma car, which he's super excited about.

Back to the Grind

My daddy (my mother calls her dad, daddy too) is back at the nursing home. He was discharged from the hospital today. The doctor said he remembered my name this morning! That is progress and makes me happy. I bet he will be less confused when back home too. He was worried about his roommate, Merv, who is blind.

I went back to work yesterday and it was good. It was hard to go to one of my units, because Monday, a long-time patient of mine died there. But I did it. I have a whole new bunch of patients there that I am coming to know and love.

Today we had a full day of patient visits and I got to see 9. We also had a workshop on gang violence. Whew.

Tomorrow I rest and practice my...

Sermon! That I am preaching at my home church on Sunday! I am excited and nervous. It means a lot to me to be asked to preach there, my home, my support, where my church family is. I did opening words as a worship associate last summer and knew that I was in the right place.

It is good to be home, I miss my daddy, and am grateful for all your prayers and good thoughts. I have felt lifted up by them and they have helped me to get through this week.

Shalom.

Home again

In a whirlwind of travel, intensive CPE, and family illness, I have been to PA and back to NY in 24 hours, while spending just as much, and possibly more  time in a hospital room then I would have in NY.

My father is medically stable. They are continuing to do tests. He had an EKG today, and will have a follow up CT scan tomorrow. He is terribly confused and has no recognition of anyone but me (and he doesn't remember my name), or even his distant past and childhood, which worries me.

I hated to leave, I hated to stay. I feel torn in two between my two homes. I was horribly homesick for both places in transit, both ways. I can't wait to go back, I dread going back.

The full-time chaplain, an Episcopalian priest, came and met with my dad and I, and I am much reassured. She promised me she would see him every day while he's there, and understood dementia and confusion and was patient and loving with him. He even oriented enough to ask her a Bible joke! (What 3 nuns are mentioned in the Bible?)

It was so hard to say goodbye to my dad. I told him how much I love him, and that he is a great dad. He got all teared up, which I have never seen him do. I didn't quite know what to make of it, but it was very moving.

He became agitated this afternoon and required a lot of redirection and supervision as he refused to wear his oxygen and kept trying to leave to "go home." They assigned him a 1:1 aide today but now he's sleeping and they just have the bed alarm on. Hopefully the Seroquel will keep him out for the night.

I now know what all that free floating anxiety I was feeling on Tuesday (yesterday?!) was about. My family has a history of being slightly psychic with each other (weird, and unbelievable and magical I know). But there you have it.

I wonder what tomorrow will bring? I know one thing is a run in the morning, a chance to see patients, and juggling phone calls with the hospital in PA. Being in the sandwich generation is no picnic (pun intended).

Walking in those shoes

I got a all at the end of the workday yesterday that my dad was having some sort of mini-stroke at his nursing home. I had them call the ambulance, and then called the hospital to give them my contact info, and set up some local people to come to the hospital and be with him.

He did indeed have a TIA  and is still pretty confused, and getting a bit agitated. For those that know his history, he already has brain damage from an aneurism, and has age-brain-damage-related dementia, and lives in a nursing home.

I talked to his doctor this morning who was encouraging, but I didn't see the improvement I was led to believe I would from talking to the doctor. Things are better, incrementally, than last night, but certainly not back to baseline.

As a chaplaincy intern, I did request a chaplain visit, something I've never done before. A volunteer chaplain came to visit and I learned a whole lot about what not to do ever again (if I ever did any of these things):

1. Do ask if you can stay and visit - don't just come in, get the name wrong, and then attempt to flee
2. Do ask about religious preference, don't tell me about yours, unless I ask
3. Do ask if the patient would like another visit
4. Do ask if the patient/family would like to pray (I fail to do this all the time, but sure would have been comforted by the offer this morning, even as a non-Christian).
5. Don't be intimidated by patients who are confused. They still like visitors and like to talk, even if they don't make sense to you.
6. Oh, and introduce yourself FIRST thing - don't make me guess who you are and what you want.

All that said, I'm glad she came, and hope she sends the full time chaplain up, as she promised. I'd really like someone to be able to sit with my dad, even for 10 minutes, after I can't be here.

The doctor said that if things stay stable, it would be fair for me to head home and monitor events from there. As I said, I'm not entirely encouraged by 'progress' from last night, but the next 5 hours should show a lot - 24 hours is supposed to show how things are going. I'm still waiting on results from his carotid artery ultrasound, and he'll have another CT scan tomorrow.

Thanks for all the prayers and good wishes on facebook. They mean everything. I miss my family like crazy, and owe a huge thank you to my daughter Emma, who packed my overnight bag and put everything I needed in it. She really is a mini-clone of me sometimes :). Love you girl.

Sandwiched

Like many of my contemporaries, I am part of a sandwich generation, simultaneously parenting young (and not-so-young) children while caring for the needs of aging parents.

I went home to central PA this week to visit with my family for the first time since Christmas. My little kids adore visiting their grandparents, and I look forward to stealing some hours to visit a couple of dear friends and their children.

It struck me, really struck me, how time is passing. I am no longer a young adult (duh). My parents are aging and struggling with illness. Balancing the needs of my children while visiting with them was enlightening.

My mother has always been (and considered ) a handsome woman. But the last 10 years have not been easy on her body. I really saw her with fresh eyes this week, as she needed to be helped out of the shower. This woman, whom I spent years hating, and still avoid at times, and who has defined so much of what I have become in spite of her, is old. She has mellowed a bit. She is overweight and on oxygen 100 percent of the time. I helped her put lotion on her back, and then her legs. She had beautiful legs, in her day. Due to Bowen's Disease (which is not usually malignant, but is in her case), she has sores all over her legs, as a result of too much sun, and arsenic poisoning. She also has developed an autoimmune disease, which has left her legs and arms covered in other sores and rough patches.  She has severe diabetes, and cares greatly for her feet. I rubbed lotion into her feet, taking the time to massage them for her. 

My father is adored by my 5 year old son. He never let go of "Papa George's hand and prattled on and on. My father is in the process of being tested for prostate cancer, and has moderate to severe dementia. He has survived aneurisms, accidents, heart attacks. Jude and him are a good pair. They talk to each other, but don't really care about the response, just needing a warm hand and a listening ear. Lucy climbed on his lap, and it brought tears to my eyes to see how much they love him and accept him as he is. That's not an easy task for the older girls, who dislike the dementia unit at the nursing home and are made a bit uneasy by the overly friendly overtures of the women patients. We took my dad out to Red Lobster, because Jude remembered how much Papa George loves it. It was a fun meal, and my dad had a great time.

It was hard to come home. My 14 year old was ready, after 4 days. She told me, "I know this is your home mom, but it's not mine anymore." That about broke my heart - I would move back in a heartbeat. I am homesick for the mountains for weeks after a visit. Happy Valley is a charmed little place, privileged, growing,  transforming. I miss my house there, my friends, Spring Creek, bike riding. I miss my friends still. But there are things I love about the Finger Lakes.

Being sandwiched means that when I took a vote on whether to stay another night or not, and I was the deciding vote, I put my own love for home aside and put my children's love for their home first. So here we are, back at the ranch, so to speak.

Next week starts a new chapter in my life, and I am a little anxious, but ready. The joys and sorrows of being in the sandwich generation will inform my compassion and love for those who share this journey.

Lilac Festival

I don't have pics off my phone yet, but we had such a great day. I took the morning off of work and took the three youngest kids to the Science Museum. Jude (5.5) has decided that this place is more fun than the Strong Museum of Play, because there are dinosaurs there. He wants to be a paleontologist this week. We dropped off some clothes for a friend, and off to the museum!

They had a great time and enjoyed watching the new Brain exhibit going up for May 22nd. We can't wait to go back and see it live! We had a picnic lunch out on the lawn, and then went to pick up my oldest at her science lab at the University of Rochester (science Friday for all!). Oddly enough, her lab was also on the brain - they got to work with cat brain matter (can you say ewww?) and did some diagnoses from real case studies.

Then we were off to the Lilac Festival. Honestly, it was a perfect opening day. The lilacs are still out though are starting to fade, but it was sunny and around 70F after a rainy, cool morning. We met up with a friend and her kids, and then the teens met up with some other teens and wandered off for awhile.  Much tree climbing was done by all, and I am exhausted from pushing 70lbs of kids in the double stroller. We went on the little train and the carousel; smelled the flowers, and then were off to the final performance of the girls' Waldorf program plays!

Soren was in a performance of Prometheus. Disaster! We got to the school, and realized that her costume, in a shopping bag, had been passed on with the other clothes we dropped off earlier! Many tears - but Emma to the rescue! She had a toga and tunic for her role in Antony and Cleopatra (turns out Soren like it better than her original one!). BUT, Emma forgot to give her dad the video camera, so no video of the performance. Oh well! Another dad took vid, so I'll try to get a copy.

I had already seen the oldest class perform Antony and Cleopatra on Tuesday and WOW. Emma was Octavius Caesar. I can't believe this is her last performance there. I am so sad that she is graduating :(. Off to community college next year for her first college classes, and we are going to start taking Zumba together!

Anyway, both performances were awesome. Lucy and I left early to get her to bed and now I am supposed to be working but wanted to give a quick update as I've been absent. I'm enjoying my time off from school and am doing mad spring cleaning.

Good grief

First of all, a mother and writer I have known via parenting lists for years, and with whom I did one of my favorite journalistic interviews with ever in my writing career needs prayers. Her teenage son is in critical condition in ICU. Prayers are welcome.

Also the young kitty that adopted us/has been hanging around on my front porch the last week also appears to be quite ill. She's got very little color - I suspect yet another case of feline leukemia, though she must have come to us like that. NO MORE CATS for 6 months! She is quietly enjoying the warm sidewalk in the son and is very quiet and weak. I can't afford to take her to the vet, and don't want to drop her off at the shelter, so plan to keep her as comfy as possible over the next few days and see what happens. She's eating, but is very thin and lets me examine her with no fuss (not a good sign).

At they gym doing a final project for school while the kids are in class. Feeling grateful for my babies and hugging them tight.

The faces of ministry

Ministry takes many forms. Yesterday, I got to experience some of them all wrapped into one day.

In the morning, I filled in for our DRE and ran children's worship at both services. It was SO much fun. We read Henry Builds a Cabin and I had the kids play the roles. We built a wonderful cabin, and meditated on the simplicity of spring flowers and their needs, and what we would have to give up to live in a simple and small cabin like Henry built.

I ran up and down the stairs and elevator with all the RE stuff so that our RAIHN guests could use our regular space, and it felt good to do that extra step - to be part of the behind-the-scenes work that helps that ministry run smoothly and create safe space for families. I got to check in on all the classes and see what the elementary teachers were doing and it looked like so much fun! My two oldest daughters volunteered their time and energy. Emma has been teaching the 3 year olds every week for about a month now and loves it! Soren helped me run the first children's worship, and my friend's daughter helped for the 2nd service. To see their enjoyment in helping was a wonderful feeling.

After cleanup and tallying attendance for the office, I rushed off to the teen shelter. I spent some time watching a movie with about half the kids. They all identified with it in some ways and it opened up conversation with kids and staff about gang activity and bad neighborhoods in our own city. I did some behavior management with some kids who have not been taught boundaries - challenging, but it offered some opportunities for peer leadership. I spent some time processing the year with my supervisor, and processing another client's issues with staff. A client came in after dealing with extreme violence, and it was striking to me to compare my work of the morning and the cheerful faces of my church kids (not that there aren't issues at work there too), with this kid who is facing more medical care and a lifetime of recovery from the emotional trauma of her experience.

Home again to the bosom of my family - popcorn and snuggles and bedtime and time with my husband. It was a nice end to the day. I feel so blessed to have my supportive family to come back to.

Authenticity

It's been duly noted that I've been absent from my regular journaling for awhile. Perhaps not writing, but certainly not mentally absent. Just not really sure how authentic I should be, in an ironic twist.

The last 2 weeks have been a time of inner and external turmoil; probably some of the most frustrating and reflective days I've had in recent times, and that's saying a lot, considering that I do a lot of reflection!


Last Monday I met with the RSCC, who determine whether I get the go-ahead to the next step - from ministry aspirant to candidate.The upshot is that they postponed my candidacy for a year, which was very disappointing. Two main issues that stand out for me are:

1. I was not perceived as being authentic until near the end of the 30 minute interview, at which point they saw the person they were looking for. I was trying to portray the professional and capable side of myself during the questioning, which was intensely personal, and at times felt invasive. It is ironic because this was my first real interaction with the professional side of the denomination, and at the end of the day, I did not feel supported in my journey to ministry. Even though there was no indication that the committee felt the need to deny me candidacy, but just to postpone it, I left that building not knowing who the heck they saw, if not me. I have been given strong recommendations, excelled in academics, and pushed myself to take on leadership opportunities. Somehow, that group of people saw someone else that was not well represented by the paperwork they reviewed.

Unfortunately, my career assessment paperwork took 4+ months to be processed, not giving me enough time to comment on it before I had to approve it due to the deadline for paperwork. The very thing that concerned them is the very thing that I would have asked the center to edit had I had time. My relationship with my mother continues to haunt me, though it no longer defines me, just informs who I am.

The ironic part is that I now find myself feeling less able to be vulnerable, and am not even sure that this is the right path to be on. That is not what the committee said, but how I feel. Once I work through my Kubler-Ross stages of grief, I"m sure I'll make lemonade out of lemons.

2. My finances were a huge issue, which I was blindsided by. And the upshot is that I left there angry that the very denomination that is talking the talk of economic, gender, racial, etc. diversity does not seem to be walking the walk. Postponing my candidacy will cost me thousands of dollars in grants and scholarships that are not available to me this year as an aspirant. I will also be held back a year and may not be able to get into the MFC in my final year of school. That will cost me a year of job searching. There didn't seem to be any recognition of this fact, or even forethought, that some of the recommendations they made, and the postponement will put me in a longer term, more precarious financial situation. I feel quite personally hurt by this, in terms of the faith I have put into our denomination spiritually, and also have some crushed idealism about whether we are capable of changing.

Regardless, the recommendations - CPE, counseling, financial planning, etc., are all good things that will help my ministerial formation; however, I could have done all the same things as a candidate, and have ended up in better financial shape at the end of the whole process. I already have an appointment with a new therapist, and a financial planner. I'm a can-do kind of gal.

I wasn't sure how transparent to be about all of this but you know, it seems like a good idea. I'm not perfect, and feedback is good, even if I don't agree all of it. Maybe another example of my ambivalence toward authority, but it's something I have to deal with, and they are good people who want to make good ministers. Nobody I've talked to really seems to be able to understand it, so maybe I just had a bad interview. The next one will be better. Though I have no idea when or how to set that up, since the whole system is changing in about 6 weeks. :::sigh:::

 The interview came on the tail end of two of the worst migraines I have ever had, one of which I drove to Boston with. My physical health has been an issue lately. After that difficult experience, I had to have extensive hand surgery a few days later, which has kept me mostly off the computer except for school and work. I still have a mid-term in process that is a week overdue and spring chores are calling my name. I am in a cast and already ripped half the stitches out of my finger, and am not dealing well with the whole healing process.

I saw the doctor (again) about the migraines and am on a new daily medication plus an acute migraine med. I spent 3 days after my surgery intentionally allowing myself to mope and rest. I watched a lot of 24. I did a lot of nothing and I am better for it, but now I'm ready to move on and my hand won't let me. I'm still having a lot of post-op bruising, swelling and pain (despite my attempts to do very little), and I'm out of patience. I have to wear this cast for another week.

My dad, who I am guardian for, has been having increasing health issues, and I am getting several calls a week from the nursing home lately. I'm trying to finish this semester, prepare for 11 weeks of full time CPE starting June 1, and be present and available to jumpstart my fall internship, should it be approved next month.

In the midst of all this, my independent contract job is causing me additional headaches. I was hired in January and have not yet gotten paid. Legal is holding everything up with contracts, but my bills aren't getting paid, and I just found out I am looking at a $300/month shortfall in another area. I feel utterly defeated tonight. we are already stretched so thin that I can't really imagine how to make that work and I already anticipate all the fun pushback I will get from my older kids about sacrificing more. They may say they understand, but that doesn't mean that I won't pay the price for it in other ways both intentional and not.

So, that's where I've been. I'm tired, and depressed, and not feeling very good about my path, my body, or my ability to function like a responsible grown-up today. I know it will all work out, but man, I am really tired.

So I want to write, I want to connect, but my soul needs to hibernate. Catch up. Rest. And there's just no time for that. I try to be pretty PollyAnna, but I'm feeling like it's OK to feel like crap right now. Everyone will just have to put up with me for a couple of weeks . 

That said, I have a lot of people in my thoughts and prayers. Breathe in peace. Breathe out love. I am grateful for spring days, fresh eggs, smiling children, a loving husband, and a comfy bed.

Long day

We spent this morning getting the house the rest of the way under control, which was not too bad. We planned on doing schoolwork, but ended up packing it up for the girls to take to their dad's. I had my first meeting with my teaching pastor, and found out that what I thought was a done deal for my two year part-time internship was not, in fact, a done deal at all. I am not sure how that miscommunication occurred, but now we begin the process of the committee on ministry and board approving it. I am depressed about it, but hopeful that it will work out. It really has to.

It is frustrating that one needs to have an internship (for good reason) to become a minister, and yet, it is so difficult to find a congregation that is able (per MFC standards) and yet, also willing, to put the considerable effort into a seminarian's formation. I am sure this will be a good fit for me - I found the minister to be lovely and we had a really good talk, that was juuuust getting going 1.5 hours in when it was time to go! I am thrilled to have a real, live minister to work with, talk to, explore, dig into my growing edges, and who gets to know me from scratch as a seminarian, not as a congregant, or from a non-church area of my life.

So after all that, through which I maintained non-anxiety on the outside , I had to drive an hour home, shove the kids in the car, then drive 1.5 hours in a white-out snowstorm to get them to the gym. Then the same trip home, in reverse. I was so exhausted when I got home,and so grateful that I had put a roast chicken with stuffing in the oven (or had my daughter do it, rather) right before we all left the house together.

Yesterday, I had my CPE interview, which seemed to go quite well. I'm keeping my fingers crossed, though I am sure that 11 weeks of full-time plus hours will seem like the depths of hell to my family during our favorite time of year - summer. I'm wondering if I can get away with just one class in the fall with my (hopefully) internship, so that we can at least try to get a little time to breathe.

We just watched Stardust with the littles. I love that movie. For all sorts of reasons.

Update and such

Thanks for the good wishes. CT scan didn't show anything definitive but there were some obvious physical symptoms such as more left-side weakness and drooping mouth. They allowed her to come home, but she has to see the doctor again today and will have an MRI this week, which is more conclusive hopefully.

I am trying to embrace the message of Sunday's sermon: What do I want this day to bring? Rather than getting through a to-do list. I want to be my best self, have a good balance of work and play, and to not have to rush!

So I need to get off the computer!