Baby Boot Camp: Operation Sleep Through The Night

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8477753510_abe0d00eee_zMeet Benjamin. He is 8 months old and getting ready to crawl. He is a smiler. He is sweet. He loves to eat. He loves his brothers and his daddy. He really loves his mama. He loves to nurse.
And he loves to wake up throughout the night for some milky snacks. As a matter of fact, he likes to stay pretty much physically attached to his mother via the mouth. All. Night. Long.

And it is I who created this deliciously sweet baby monster. And I did it fully aware of all the remedies. All the warnings. All the consequences.

But he is just so darn adorable and sweet. And I have to work in the day, so I miss out on so many hours of time with him. Night time has been a way for us to reconnect. To bond.

But I’m tired. I’m beyond tired. And I’m ready now for my full night’s sleep. He is 8 months old. It is time.

So I’ve come up with a plan. Starting this Friday night, the first night of my two-week long spring break, Benjamin is unknowingly entering a two-week baby boot camp called Operation Sleep through the Night. I’ve come up with the exercises and the two-week plan based on all the mommy knowledge I have gained from both experience, friends, and the bazillion books I read with my first child, Kanan—(who was sleeping through the night by 5 months, to my then disappointment. Oh if I only knew the future!)

8403863986_fb8abd7f7c_zI’ve read all the books and the methods from every angle and perspective. Baby Wise. Baby Whisperer. The No Cry Sleep Solution. Cry it Out. The Ferber Method, Dr. Sear’s Attached Parenting and the Family Bed. You name it.

This is my plan:
We will work in four day intervals. I have learned that it takes 3 days to train a child. So we have three days for each phase and then one day of “rest” to sort of affirm the training and maintain consistency before bringing in the next big change. If crying is going to be involved, both Benjamin and I need a day to just get the most amount of sleep given the new circumstances. By the end of the two weeks, the goal is for him to be sleeping through the night in his own crib in the kid’s room, right next to his two older brothers who share the bunk bed.

Phase 1—Sleep in own bed. This is what has contributed hugely to the problem. Benjamin has a cradle in our room where he starts the night. But once the first middle of the night waking takes place, my tired bones find it so much easier to just nurse him while lying in my bed. Unfortunately, that leads me to fall back to sleep and not wake up until he wakes again….next to me. Where my movement wakes him. Where his movement wakes me. Where he can smell me. Where I’m a quick at quick access. He used to have a pacifier. He won’t take one anymore. Why when he can have the real deal? Days 1-4 Friday, March 22nd-Monday, March 25th—Sleep in own bed (the cradle in our room). Mom does not have to go to work. So I will deal with the fatigue and nurse him upright in the rocking chair after which I will return him to his cradle. If he puts up a fight and decides to scream his bloody head off for longer than a few minutes, I will save myself and my husband from the pain by putting him in the Pack ‘n Play in either the living room or the office so he screams are a bit more distant and hopefully won’t wake his brothers either. One baby crying is bad enough. Three kids crying is not an option. If I fall asleep through his cries, so be it. If I don’t then I will go in at half hour intervals and rub his tummy and whisper hushes to him and then return to my bed. Past experience shows each night will involve less crying. Day four should involve acceptance to the new way.
smiley benPhase 2—No more Breasts. Bottle for Food.Part of his desire to wake and eat, is the comfort and connection he gets from breastfeeding. Unfortunately, the continuous nursing has also created in him a veracious appetite at night. I don’t know how much he is eating. Just 4 ounces spread out throughout the night? 16 ounces spread out? Who knows! All I know is he is nursing often and sometimes, they get really sore! So we need to wean him of his need to pacify himself with my breasts and return to the pacifier, but appease his hunger. Thus—the bottle.
Days 5-8, Tuesday, March 26th-Friday, March 29th. I will pump before bed. And use the expressed milk to feed him in the night. If he just wants to be pacified, I will offer the pacifier. If he downs the bottle at the first middle of the night feeding and wakes to eat again I may need to pump again in the middle of the night to prepare for the second feeding. I have no idea what to expect because I don’t know how much he is eating. For all I know he won’t even accept the bottle or the pacifier. In this case we have a long few nights and the process might jump forward a few phases. Again, CIO issues will be resolved in the Pack ‘n Play at 30 minute intervals if I cannot sleep through it.

Phase 3—Cut down to One Feeding.  Days 9-12 Saturday, March 30th-Tuesday, April 2nd. Pretty self explanatory.
8373525785_0b86b07a12_zPhase 4—No More Feedings. Official Sleep through the Night Countdown in the Crib. Days 13-16, Wednesday, April 3-Saturday, April 6th. Baby will sleep in his crib in the kid’s room. Any waking will be only solaced with a pacifier and some tummy rubs. No picking up. CIO in Pack ‘n Play– if needed in the living room or office so as to not wake up the kids.

The Goal—Day 17—Sunday Night—the night before I return to work. Baby will go down to sleep in his crib ideally and not wake up, if so, easily solaced with a pacifier if needed with no inconsolable screaming. Hopefully, he can just sooth himself. We shall see.

The Books that Taught Me It ALL

The Life and Accomplishments of Poet, Sherman Alexie; a brutally honesty, funny, and poignant writer

Posted in About Me, More Theresa's Thoughts by


I first got introduced to Sherman Alexie in a Literature Arts and Discourse class at California State University, San Marcos by an eccentric and passionate professor, Brandon Cesmat. He wanted us to read the novel Reservation Blues because of the writer’s unique ability to blend music, pop culture, and fiction into one. I read the book and was instantly hooked. I went on to read everything else the author ever wrote and researched his life. I had to know how it all began.

Who would have thought that a poor American Indian from a small reservation in Washington, born with water on the brain, and suffering multiple childhood seizures, would grow up to become one of the most inspiring and influential voices in American literature? When it comes to his own place as a Native American writer, he says, “Sixty percent of all Indians live in urban areas, but nobody’s writing about them. They’re really an underrepresented population, and the ironic thing is very, very few of those we call Native American writers actually grew up on reservations, and yet most of their work is about reservations” (qtd in “Sherman Alexie Quotes,”). Indeed, poet and fiction author, Sherman Alexie has transcended the obstacles of his early-life circumstances, to write many award winning pieces of literature that inspire the multicultural generation today with an authentic, poignant and brutally honest voice of a modern American Indian living in two worlds.

Life

On October 7th, 1966 Sherman Alexie was born to his Coeur d’alene Indian father, Sherman Joseph Alexie  and his half white, half Spokane Indian mother, Lillian Agnes Cox with hydrocephalus—water on the brain. Told he would become mentally retarded if even survived the necessary surgery on his brain at 6 months of age, his parents took the chance. While Alexie did suffer multiple seizures in his youth due to his condition, he shocked his doctors and parents by not only not exhibiting signs of brain damage post operation, but instead, phenomenal intelligence. Sherman Alexie speaks of his seizures in his early years, “The lights would pop, then I’d rise out of my body and be able to fly off anywhere I wanted,” he recalls. “There’s a surreal euphoria; the synapses are misfiring, so the memory banks are flooding your head. I’d get to feel like a superhero for a couple of minutes” (qtd in Maya Jaggi). He became an avid reader, even reportedly reading books like Grapes of Wrath by John Steinbeck at the age of 5 (Donovan and Lewis 21).

Living on a reservation in Wellpenit, Washington, he got to see the beauty and spirituality in Native American culture as well as the pain and the suffering. His father was an alcoholic and even his older sister and her husband died in a house fire due to drunkenness. To add to the suffering, the school system on the reservation was terrible. And his Indian peers seemed to find a desire to learn and succeed in the outside world as a sign of dismissing his heritage, of being a sell-out. Yet, because of his intelligence and love of reading, he was not satisfied with the education on the reservation and did not become influenced by his Indian peers. In 7th grade he opened up his textbook in school to find his mother’s name written in it. No new textbooks in how many years? At that moment he knew he needed something more. He needed to leave the reservation if he wanted to succeed in his life. He talked his parents into allowing him to go to school off the “rez” and in 8th grade, began attending an all white school on the outskirts of his reservation. He was the only Native American child there (Donovan and Lewis 20-27). But he learned and eventually he began going to college. This is where he would discover his love for writing, and find his place in the world. When talking about his leaving the reservation for education in the white world, he says, “”Plenty of people saw my leaving as a betrayal,” he says.”I felt guilty, but I’ve forgiven myself, and most of my reservation has” (qtd in Jaggi).

It was at Washington State University where Sherman Alexie initially pursued a degree in Medicine, but due to his inability to emotionally handle the gore of anatomy, began to pursue his writing. He ended up getting a degree in American Studies while at the university. His love of writing really started when one of his professors gave him an anthology of creative writing by Native Americans. This inspired his own writing. And before he even graduated college with his BA, he had already published a score of poems in a couple of journals. Then after winning a 5,000 dollar grant to pursue his writing more, he realized he was going to be successful and decided to stop his alcohol abuse (Donovan and Lewis 25). He has been sober since, claiming that he didn’t want to become another “disappointing Indian” (qtd in “Sherman Alexie Quotes.”) And so his career began—people paying him to write and his writing winning hearts and inspiring readers. What made his writing so captivating? He says. “I was always the depressed guy in the basement. But I’ve borrowed their sense of humor and made it darker and more deadly – a weapon of self-defense. Being funny you win hearts quicker; people laughing are more apt to listen” (qtd in Jaggi). His writing deals with the pains and pleasures of the Native American experience. He often draws from personal experiences but adds fiction to create dynamically alive complex speakers in his poetry. This is something he loves and does not consider work. His fiction both in short stories and in novels came later to make money. Something he considers work, but is still filled with the poignant poetry that started his career. He has been successfully writing since and continues now in his 40’s. Sherman Alexie resides today in Seattle Washington, with his wife Dianne and his two sons, Joseph and David. He continues to write and has even begun to do comedy in the form of standup. He would like to pursue film some more as well (“Chronology”2).  

Works and Accomplishments

Aside from being published in multiple respected journals like the New Yorker, Sherman Alexie has published multiple collections of poetry like The Business of Fancy Dancing and First Indian on the Moon as well as Summer of Black Widows, short fiction like The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven and The Toughest Indian in the World, and novels like Reservation Blues and Indian Killer and has won many respectable awards. Some of his works, he even adapted into indie screenplays—such as Smoke Signals which was a huge success and The Business of Fancy Dancing, which did not succeed due most likely to its dealing with homosexuality (“Chronology” 2). In “A New York Times Book Review essay on Native American literature […] Alexie [is called] ‘one of the major lyric voices of our time”’ (“Chronology” 2). He also won the Lila Wallace-Reader’s Digest Writers’ Award, was interviewed by Oprah herself on the Oprah Winfrey Show, has won the World Heavyweight Poetry Championship, has been labeled The New Yorker’s “Future of American Fiction “and most recently has won Circle of the Americas 2010 Lifetime Achievement Award for his most recent 2011 short fiction piece—War Dances,(“Chronology” 2).

Impact

In an interview with Identity Theory’s Rob Capriccioso, Sherman Alexie writes about his impact more so on the college-educated white women and the gay community than any else. He claims to be too white for Indians and too Indian for most whites. But it is the educated white women and the educated gay community who understand him more. And he doesn’t seem to have any qualms about that. He writes what he wants, only adding margin to his own writing when he began to pursue young adult fiction, even having his work appear in high school textbooks, which also drew him much success and certainly opened young readers up to the world of reading, but he has found more freedom and less writer’s block in his latter years of writing now that he has ventured back into the adult genres (Capriccioso). Perhaps it is the poignant emotion he so honestly expresses that captures the hearts of his female, gay, or teen readers—as the pangs of life are so often celebrated and explored in these areas more so than any other. Perhaps it is his honest analysis of prejudice in his life–a topic often discussed in depth in these communities, especially in education. Regardless of who loves him, he has a huge heart to help Native American youth rise above their circumstances and so speaks often in high schools, as well as being a founding board member of a program to help Native American youths develop film writing and filming skills, called Longhouse Media (“About Us”). No doubt he wants to show them that to be educated and creative does not mean they have to lose their heritage. Media could certainly help the youth of today find a way to express themselves–and shed the old skin and the filth from their lives. Becoming someone better inspite of it all.

Sherman Alexie says, “If I couldn’t write poetry, I would have to wash my hands all the time” (qtd in” Sherman Alexie Quotes”). Yes, his poetry does appearing purging in its honest confession of the conflicts in this life. But his honesty is refreshing, his figurative language is breathtaking, and his idealism is truly inspiring .If you have not had a chance to read some of the funny, sad, and beautiful literature of Sherman Alexie, you must. Alexie’s creative blending of poetry, fiction, and memoir truly exemplifies the complexities of being human in a postmodern multicultural generation, with all its good and bad—something this generation has desperately needed.

Some of My Favorite Works by Sherman Alexie

What I Can’t Wait to Read Next

Works Cited

“About Us.” Longhouse Media. Web. 19 March 2013.

Capriccioso, Rob. “Sherman Alexie.” Identity Theory. 23 March 2003. Web. 18 March 2013.

“Chronology of Sherman Alexie’s Life.” Critical Insights: Sherman Alexie (2011): 407-409. Literary Reference Center. Web. 19 March. 2013.

Donovan, Georgie L. and Leon Lewis. “Biography of Sherman Alexie.” Critical Insights: Sherman Alexie (2011): 20-29. Literary Reference Center. Web. 19 March 2013.

Jaggi, Maya. “All Rage and Heart.” The Guardian. 2013. Web. 18 March 2013.

“Sherman Alexie Quotes.” Brainyquotes. Book Rags Media. 2001-2013. Web. 18 March 2013.

Benjamin’s Birth–My Third C-Section–Looking Back 7 Months After

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7607382182_aea34748ce_mI can’t believe it has been 7 months and I still have not written about my experience giving birth to Benjamin. All the little details and fresh emotion from the experience is gone now—but I will zero in on some key moments.

I went into the operating room for my third c-section rather fearful. I barely remember my first c-section—because it was an emergency and I was in so much pain from labor and my uterine infection that it was all really a blur. With Jameson, my second c-section, the epidural they gave me before the surgery spread so strongly that I had a hard time breathing and felt a lot of stress and weight on my chest. It was a bit scary. But then I got through it with some oxygen and I was pretty high….the video Owen took of me shows my flicking my tongue and talking so quietly and jumbled that I was not even understandable. So with the third c-section, I was fearful of two things—one, would be that the epidural would make it difficult to breathe and weigh on my chest again. And second—that a crazy complication would happen and I’d bleed to death on the table. Yep….I thought that this could very well be the way God was going to take me out of this world.

But I survived.

They gave me a spinal block instead of an epidural this third time, but just like the epidural, it worked too strongly and sure enough, the weight spread across my chest and made it difficult for me to breathe. The oxygen mask helped as I told the anesthesiologist about my prior experience so he knew what to expect. I writhed and moaned and he gave me the mask. After what seemed like a few terribly uncomfortable minutes, the effects subsided and I could breathe again.

The pressure and movement then came from down below  and I heard the doctors talk excitedly about the baby they were pulling out.  But Benjamin didn’t really cry. And I heard voices of concern. They brought him to Owen and me without tears and then took him to be cleaned up and monitored to see if anything was wrong.

During the hour in post-op, I knew they were going to send him to NICU. Just like they took Kanan, my first to NICU. And I was right. The doctor came in and gave us the news.

Benjamin’s blood sugar was a bit low. That was their first concern. The second concern was Benjamin’s lack of tears and lethargy. They figured it might be due to the sugar. So they said they wanted to get him into NICU until his blood sugar got back to normal.

It did. But they didn’t let him out. They hooked him up to IV’s.

Then their concern was that he was not eating enough. When he did, they would take him off of IV’s and look to releasing him. He did. They took him off the IV’s but didn’t release him.

Their next concern was to get him to eat even more. Eat more than even a perfectly healthy baby downstairs would eat. And until then, they refused to release him.

I was pissed. But what was my alternative? Take my baby against the doctor’s orders?

On the second morning, I called to see if I could come up and nurse the baby. The nurse on the phone said yes. So I went upstairs to nurse him but the nurse who answered wouldn’t let me in because they were in transition of shifts. I shared my frustration, calmly but firmly—saying that I wish they had told me this over the phone or else I would not have walked all the way over there. Next thing I knew, the nurse was telling me to calm down and that no matter what I felt, I couldn’t take my baby that morning. Now I was really pissed. Calm down? I was calm. Now I was not. Take my baby? I just wanted to nurse him. I knew I couldn’t take him right then. They’d made that clear. Then the worst happened—the nurse attempted to hug me and tell me that she knew I was frustrated and what could she do to make me happy. Uh, how about you don’t touch me? Then she grabbed her manager. The manager then came out and told me that I couldn’t take my baby home right then and I needed to calm down. Now I’m yelling. I’m not here to take my friggen baby! I just came up to feed him! What the heck! I seriously had to put my hands up in the air and back away in calm surrender after this explosion because I recognized it was heading in a bad direction. Just leave me alone ladies. I’ll walk back to my room and will come back later.

That was the most frustrating and looking back, funniest experience I ever had with NICU.

Baby Benjamin finally came downstairs to stay with me after noon on the second or third day. I don’t remember now. We had one night together before going home the following day. His cheeks were so chubby, they sagged! And they were scratched up from his nails. He was precious. I was so happy to have him with me. And I’m so happy God chose to give him to us.

Here are some good reads on c-sections, NICU experiences, and raising boys

Do Prizes Motivate Children or Does Praise?

Posted in About Me, More Theresa's Thoughts by

What circumstances encourage people to become “effective, competent, and independent” learners? According to a passage by psychologist Margaret Donaldson in her book, Children’s Minds—a learning environment where children are praised for their work is the most effective. Donaldson explains the traditional way of encouraging children to learn has been to give “extrinsic” rewards to the students for their work—these include “Prizes, privileges, or gold stars” for example. She then walked the reader through a series of studies conducted on preschoolers in which they compared various environments with control groups. Numerous studies studied preschoolers desire to and time spent in drawing within various environments and compared them to a follow up study where those environments were changed to a natural setting to see if they would independently seek and spend time drawing again. All the studies showed that the preschoolers who were offered and given prizes for their work spent less time independently seeking and even enjoying drawing in the followup study than those students who were not offered or given prizes. In one study, these two groups were also compared with two other groups and demonstrated that students who were praised for their drawings at the end instead of given prizes spent the most time independently seeking and spending time drawing in the follow up study and that a final group of students were actually ignored once they finished drawing and not given any attention whatsoever sought drawing the least in the follow up. Donaldson suggested that the results showed a need for “recognition” in children and to have their achievement communicated but that using material reward or prize instead made them feel controlled, something that children do not want. She believes children view prizes as a form of control and so while it will encourage work it will not encourage the free and natural engagement in that activity again when the prize is removed. So how do we get our children to be independent learners that are effective and competent? According to Donaldson’s —Don’t give them prizes but instead, praise them for their work.

While I do find her views on the reasons the praise worked and the prizes did not work to be plausible, I do have a few questions and need more information and studies for me to whole-heartedly agree or to even apply this knowledge to my own students and children: My first issue deals with the conditions in which the prizes and praise were given to the children and the variables that may not have been ruled out. My second issue deals with how the results could change with older children who are closer to going out into the working world.

First, who exactly were given prizes in the prize group? Did every child earn a prize regardless of the efficiency and competency in his or her work? Or were the children in the prize group offered prizes if their work met a certain standard? Were all the children in the praise group told ahead of time, like the prize group that they would receive praise when they finished? The passage seems to suggest that all students were told in the prize group that they would be given a prize and that they all got one while the praise group was not told ahead of time that they would receive praise afterward and no information indicating that all received praise or only some. And even if all received praise, if they were not told ahead of time they would all get praise, they may have given the praise more value because it came as a surprise to them. Even more so if they didn’t know that all the other students received praise as well (again a variable that is not communicated). My concern is that the differences between the prize and praise group could have affected the results, giving us a false appearance that prizes were less effective but praise was more effective. Perhaps if the prize was given at the end as a surprise, it would have been just as effective as the praise. And students were told ahead of time that they would receive praise for their work, it would have been just as ineffective at fostering a desire to learn independently as the prize group. To me if I were told that I would be given a prize or even praise regardless of what I produced, I would indeed feel controlled, but if it were offered for good work, it would motivate me to want to do well and give me a sense of pride if I accomplished the activity and earned the prize or the praise, especially if the prize was something I liked or the praise seemed authentic and not contrived. Praise would not appear authentic to me if I were told ahead of time that I would receive praise in the same way that a prize would not feel as valuable under the same conditions. When we know after the fact or ahead of time or that everyone received an extrinsic reward no matter how well they did, it diminishes our appreciation for the skill or creativity in a learning situation and lessens our desire to want to do well—there is no motivation because we know the prize doesn’t actually determine the value of our work and in the case of universal praise, that the praise itself is not trustworthy. Secondly, if we find little value in the prize or praise we were given, that too can lessen our recognition of a work’s value. I think as humans we do find a natural enjoyment for learning something or doing a good job at something if we find value in it yet we also won’t do it if the environment hints to us that there is no value. In the cartoon movie “The Incredibles” when Dash’s mom told him that everyone was special, he replied with something to the effect as “that means no one is.” But when he was actually given the opportunity to do his best at running in an attempt to win the race and show off his special talent, he did well. Now of course, it doesn’t show hypothetical future races where a prize was not offered but again, my example is only to clarify a situation when prizes are given for a job well done rather than a prize for all regardless of skill. Perhaps after winning a prize for a job well done, he would have recognized that he had a gift and therefore enjoyed the activity later or even without the prize because he learned there was value to it.

Secondly, even if all the variables ruled that praise was still more effective than praise, how might these same scenarios affect teenage children rather than preschoolers? While learning may still be the key here—do teenagers see prizes as a form of control as well? Or have they been conditioned by the educational system and by capitalism to find enjoyment and independence in learning environments without feeling controlled in order to prepare them for the real world? When I was in high school for example, praise was not enough for me to earn good grades—I cared about going out with friends and with making money at my job more than praise. And after my year in 9th grade, my father discovered that despite his praise, I had earned a couple of C’s and even one D (on account of a boy I enjoyed chatting with in 6th period Health). So the following three years of high school, my father offered me money for my grades. I earned 20 dollars for every A I earned each semester and 10 dollars for every B. But I would earn no money for C’s or lower. Not only did I earn the A’s and B’s but when I moved on to college and was no longer given money for my grades, I still maintained a strong desire to succeed. Could I have viewed the grades in college as my prize? Does that negate Donaldson’s interpretation that prizes produce results but no longer produce them when they are taken away? My answer to that would be even if that is so, what does it matter? We live in a world where people are rewarded often for learning and working well. Students earn good grades; creativity and talent can often earn money, prizes, as well as praise (professional athletes, writers, artists); and hard work is also rewarded with compensation like money (workers) . While it might feel good to believe we want people to learn for learning’s sake, we don’t live in a world where that really matters anyway.

Donaldson believes that learners find prizes as a form of control and therefore while they will work for their prizes, will not independently seek to learn in a similar activity when the prize is removed. I say, this may be true if prizes are given to everyone, but perhaps if prizes were only given for a job well done, the results could be different. Similarly the results could be different with older children who may need the rewards to motivate them and instill them with a recognition that they can do well at something and find pleasure in that alone. I believe while we should most certainly praise students for their work, but if we only motivate our children with praise instead of prizes, we don’t prepare them for a world in capitalism, but instead, a world of communism. And while theoretically, working for praise might seem nice, it does not produce good work if everyone is praised—praise for all work can reduce a desire to improve the quality of the work. This produces mediocrity and in the working world, it certainly doesn’t help an economy.

My Thoughts on Mary Sarton’s Views of Solitude

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Many people often associate solitude with loneliness, but not Mary Sarton, author of the book, Journal of a Solitude. In her book she argues that in fact, “Solitude is the salt of personhood.” After telling a story about a friend of hers who was surprised to discover that he actually enjoyed doing something by himself, she explains that contrary to the fears people have about solitude, the discovery of oneself actually is quite rewarding. She argues that we tend to not notice our own perception in activities when we involve ourselves with others because we are so focused on the other person. She explains her metaphor by saying that just like salt brings out the flavor of food, so does doing things alone “bring out the authentic flavor of every experience”(1). Salt enhances the natural flavor of an item, but perhaps we don’t notice the natural flavor of an experience or of ourselves because we are always with other people who by their very presence add additional and unnatural elements, tainting the flavor of the experience or changing it completely. She further argues that because “solitude is the salt of personhood,” we are not actually alone; we are involved with ourselves and our experience and are able to enjoy those experiences without anyone else tainting our perception of them. Further demonstrating the point for example, she shows how if music is heard with others, then we are experiencing both—not the music by itself.

She gives examples of the further rewards of solitude by elaborating with her own life; she can do what she wants when she wants and not have anyone else disrupt her plans or lack thereof. She is quick to defend her argument that solitude is not loneliness, however—arguing instead that “alone is never lonely,” but instead loneliness actually comes from being around other people, which she says at some point leads to a disconnect or conflict which hurts us, drains us, or perhaps just over works and makes us feel vulnerable and so we “lose” ourselves (1-2). She explains that when this happens to her, she has a momentary period of loneliness when she leaves those people or job because she lost herself when around them, so when she returns home, she has to slowly find herself again through experiencing the pleasures of her home and setting while alone where she can privately reflect on and learn from the experience she had with others. While I believe she does a fantastic job at explaining the beautiful and rewarding experience we can have when alone without loneliness, I also believe that she over-criticizes companionship and neglects the rewards that come from expressing our thoughts to others and learning from them as well—experiences that also help loneliness.

Her arguments about the rewards of solitude definitely resonate truth in my life. I have often found myself reenergized and ready to face the world again by spending time by myself, listening to melancholy or nostalgic music, and reflecting on the circumstances in my life—both good and bad, while writing out my thoughts through blogging or through poetry. Sometimes I never even share these writings because they are often not meant for anyone else to read. They are for me. I feel purged of the impurities that come from the stresses in and excitement in life, and I am able to just think without others comments or suggestions or ideas to muddy up my own thoughts. I have even had moments when someone has walked in or called, and I have felt frustrated by the interruption. I don’t think I could enjoy my life without these special moments with just me and my music.

Still, that does not mean that companionship is all-together tainting as Sarton suggests. To me, sometimes having someone there to talk to and to listen to can be very rewarding and can make me feel just as fulfilled and not lonely as I would by myself—but in a different way. I recall one of the happiest moment with my husband and truly appreciating the rewards that came from our relationship. One night, we sat on the couch drinking wine and taking turns playing our favorite songs from our past. Rock ballads from Dashboard Confessional, Pearl Jam, Alanis Morisette, Sublime, Green Day, The Cure saturated the air that night and intoxicated us with memories from our lives. We’d play the song for each other and then tell stories about what we were going through in our lives when that song was the song we put on repeat in our stereos. We laughed, we cried. We learned about each other through the soundtracks of our youth. And we were able to share thoughts and feelings freely, without condemnation or criticism from the other. It felt good to be so understood. And so loved. Not only did I not feel lonely in those moments, I felt fulfilled in knowing that I was understood by my husband and loved.

Sure, companionship can also lead to conflict and loneliness as Sarton suggests, but there are benefits to that as well. We can learn from those with whom we have conflicts and in turn, become better people ourselves from those lessons. My husband and I have had our fair share of conflicts, but it is through them that I have learned that I can be selfish and I can be disrespectful. If I did most activities alone and avoided getting married to live a life of solitude, sure I might be happy doing what I want when I want, but in those moments when I was with others I would not realize that I also hurt others. Close relationships with others bring honesty. And sometimes the truth can hurt. But it can also heal. My close friend once gave a great metaphor to explain the benefits of conflict with marriage—she said that marriage is like rubbing two rough and jagged rocks together over and over again. Overtime, the rocks become as smooth and round as river rock. My husband teaches me to put a little more thought into my words before I speak. He teaches me the love that comes through self-sacrifice. And to me that not only makes me a better person, but it makes this world a better place.

I think to be a well-rounded person, we need do need to embark on adventures alone and discover the unchartered territory of ourselves and of the experiences in our lives as we alone see it–as Sarton argues. But at the same time, to express ourselves and learn from others through the times we feel understood and even the times we feel lonely. To avoid that, strikes me as either selfish or terribly timid.

Time for a change

Posted in About Me by

You don’t know how often I have wanted to blog, but have found myself too busy with the responsibilites of this world to find the time or the energy. I can’t believe I didn’t even write down Benjamin’s birth story—he is already 6 months old.

I’m done with this.

My biggest conflict is the belief that I just don’t have the time. But I do know that I can atleast devote 5-10 minutes a day. No the blog won’t be extremely detailed. No, it may not go through a few drafts. But I could write. I could get out what needs to be released.

So someone needs to hold me accountable. Write me on Facebook and tell me to blog if I haven’t. Make a comment here that says, “hey!”

Turning Left: the next chapter in my hypothetical future memoir

Posted in Random, The Hemsath Life by

It has been a while since I’ve blogged. I remember a time in my life when I had time to blog like once a week. I love writing. I love finding poignancy in the fragments of life, in the little windows. One day, I hope to find the time to be able to do that again. It seems nowadays life is just so busy. But tonight. Tonight I have some time and I feel inspired. I normally have about 8 blogs a month I write for Owen’s clients and so when I do have time in the evenings, I’m spending them writing other people’s business blogs. But this month the baby is due. And so Owen gave me the month off. Another one of his bloggers is taking over the blogs this month and that means I have time to breathe, pack the house, prep for the baby, and then in two weeks—July 17th to be exact, take care of a newborn again.

Tonight, Owen has some Christian rock ballads playing in the living room stereo, the cool summer breeze is blowing through our balcony window bringing in light whiffs of smoldering coals from the bbq shrimp kabobs we made for dinner, Jameson is sound asleep in his crib, and Kanan is off with his dad. I just sat down and pulled out my grandmother Lois’s composition book of her memoirs. My project for this summer is to type up her stories so she can give them to her kids. My grandmother’s stories are the best. She really has had an amazing life. And just the idea of starting the first page of her book, gets me thinking about my own life and where I am right now. I am in the midst of living out the stories that one day I might be able to share with my kids. And right now so much is going on. So I thought, I’d take a pause here for a moment and write some of it down. How much of the emotion that permeates this very moment I’m not sure I can explain when I’m 85. Will I even remember it exactly? I don’t know.

Owen and I and the boys are at a cross roads in our life. And we just decided to turn left. The blinker is on and the car is starting to idle out. We are excited. I’m a little scared. But we’ve got God taking care of us and that makes it feel less scary. Like a roller coaster. You know you will be okay in the end because you’re confident in the ride’s engineer. But what is the ride going to be like?

I look back at the road we have been on. I am ready to turn left. Where have we been? Two people who lived in the world and had a blast, but found ourselves in a place where the world just didn’t satisfy anymore. Two people who found Jesus and then found each other, married quickly and experienced a volatile first year of marriage as we got to know each other fully. We made adjustments and grew, our rough edges smoothing out with each friction to something much softer. In our second year of marriage, we moved and mourned the surprise death of my father, then had a beautiful baby together named Jameson. In our third year of marriage, we grew some more as Owen finished school, started a business, and watched Kanan and Jameson grow as well and fill us with love and laughter and inspiration. We also discovered to our surprise that we were pregnant again, and watched out little apartment shrink and our stuff crawl up the walls with each month my belly grew. We anticipated the possibility of me staying home with the kids when I was pink-slipped, praying God would use this to build Owen’s business to the point of breadwinner and bring me home. We recognized that our timing is not God’s timing when my layoff was rescinded and used the benefit that we still have two incomes to look for a house to rent and call home for our growing family.

And now here we are. We found a three-bedroom house in a cute neighborhood next to all of our friends and places we go often. It has a backyard for the kids to play in and sits on a quiet street that dead ends, so I don’t have to have a heart attack if the kids ride their bikes on the side walk. We move in 14 days and the baby is due in 17 days. Owen’s business is growing and he continues to learn and make it better. A new school year is around the corner where I will return to work about 4 weeks late from maternity leave and try with all my might and lots of prayer to teach full time in Temecula and raise three boys, maintain a house, and be a supportive wife to my hardworking husband who is desperately trying to build the business enough so that in one year, I can take a leave of absence and be really be home.

So much changes with renting this house. We will have more room so it will actually hopefully look clean and therefore reduce our stress. It will have a backyard for the boys to play in so they don’t get restless on those Saturdays when I have to catch up on all the work I couldn’t do during the week because I spent it teaching instead. But it will also require us to spend differently. We actually need Owen’s business income now to maintain. Before, it was just extra cash for paying off things and saving for a rainy day. The baby changes things as well. Now on top of adding an extra human to our home, we need to find a daycare provider who can take care of both our baby boys—and for hopefully cheap because we will be tight. We have no idea yet who that is going to be. And on top of all of that, Kanan starts kindergarten in the fall. He will be going to an elementary school near his dad’s house in Oceanside. It is full-day, thank God. And I found a little Lutheran church next door to the school that has a preschool and after school program for kids in the public school. So Kanan has a place to go to afterschool and be safe until I am able to grab him after my commute home from Temecula. Not too bad either in price–will cost us about a hundred dollars a month.

So we are turning left. Down a road of a house, a brand new baby boy added to our two active boys we already have, a growing business, a teaching job in Temecula, kindergarten, and finding/paying for daycare for our babies. I’m looking up articles and ideas on how to cook fast and healthy meals so I don’t get too stressed in the week with just making dinner. I’d love ideas on how to organize everything else too….chores, family time, work time….you name it. Do kindergartners have homework?

It really feels like it’s a whole new life ahead of us. A new life filled with new blessings and trials. Of opportunities to grow closer together and closer to God and also to find new cross roads in the distant future. On July 14th, the day we move out—we are officially through the intersection. And three days later, when Benjamin comes, we will be on the road, the two of us in the front seat holding hands and giggling, three kids in the back seat with crackers and juice boxes loaded, and the stereo playing that old Amy Grant Song, “Thy Word is a Lamp Unto my Feet.”

Okay Grandma Lois, I’m ready to type out your memoirs now. Thank you for inspiring me to think about mine.

“I am a Flower Quickly Fading, Here Today and Gone Tomorrow”

Posted in Pregnancy Update, Random, The Hemsath Life by

“I am a flower quickly fading, here today and gone tomorrow”—such a powerful line from one of Casting Crown’s songs.

We all know that people die. We all know that we can die right now. But it’s funny how even though we know, we don’t live our lives like we know.

A year ago, my father died. And his death threw everything in perspective again. None of us expected him to die. It was accidental. He was too young and we had many plans with him still.

It has been a over a year since then and once again, I am reminded of this truth. Just in the last two months, people in my little bubble of existence have either died or lost precious ones who have died. One of my good friends just lost a friend. She was pregnant and healthy. She went into labor. Everyone was joyously waiting for the baby to come and to celebrate with her. But she died. She died during labor. Thank God, the baby survived. Had to be in the NICU for a little bit due to some complications. As for the mother—autopsy revealed she died from a rare condition called amniotic embolism. Somehow some of the baby’s tissues entered her own bloodstream. It killed her. Left her husband, ten year old son, and newborn baby and her extended family without her just like that. I don’t even know this woman. But my heart breaks for her family and their loss.

Then last month, an acquaintance from high school with whom I loosely stayed in contact via Facebook died in her sleep. She was 7 months pregnant. Baby didn’t make it. She was newly married. This was her first baby. She was only 32 years old.

Then just now, my husband shared the news that his friend from Utah, a woman I’ve met a couple of times on our trips up to visit and with whom I too stay loosely connected via Facebook, lost her 5 month old baby. I assume it was SIDS. Her post said it was sudden and unexpected. I can’t even imagine. She too is newly married. She had twin babies with her husband. Now they have one baby.

These stories can’t help but sober me to my own fleeting existence and those of my family. I don’t know what I’d do if I lost my Kanan or my Jameson. What would Owen do if he lost me or one of our boys? What would I do if I lost my Owen? What would the boys do if they lost their daddy? It could happen.

I’m pregnant too. And in July, I will be on the operating table getting my third c-section. I got pregnant very quickly after my second c-section. Four months after the surgery to be exact. That is only one month after the uterus is technically “healed.” It is recommended that after a c-section, a mother wait a good two years before she gets pregnant again. And it is recommended that one does not exceed 3 c-sections as each one adds more scar tissue. Each surgery is higher risk to the mother’s life. So I just can’t help but feel a bit uneasy about this July. What if I die? Or what if my uterus ruptures before that day because I got pregnant so soon and the baby and I both die?

I know what you are saying right now—you can’t think like that. Worrying won’t help. You will probably be fine. Don’t stress yourself out over things out of your control. I know these things. And I know that if I died, I’d be with my Lord and Savior in heaven. Honestly, I’m not scared of dying for me. I’m scared of dying for my children and my husband. As much as I’d rather be with the Lord than all else, I want my children and my husband with me when I do. Or at the very least, I want that they had enough time with me before I left them. My children are young. They need their mommy. My husband needs me—I am his wife, his other half, the mother of his children.

Please pray for me that I can enter this next surgery without fear and instead just peace. I fear a panic attack. Before my last c-section—the nurses had us sign a “Living Will” in case I died during surgery. We laughed at the obsurdity of giving this to us when I was already hooked up to all the tubes. But I didn’t have fear. Then there was a moment during the actual surgery when I felt a great pressure on my chest and I felt like I couldn’t breathe. The doctor’s gave me more oxygen and I felt better. But it was scary for a few moments there. One of my friends had her c-section a few months ago and lost a lot of blood during the surgery. She was fine in the end, but recovery was hard. It was scary for everyone too during the process.

I don’t want to go into this surgery in July without thoughts or recognition that I could die. I think that is unwise and naïve. But of course, I don’t want to go in fear or with an overwhelming anxiety about it either. That too is not good. In the end, I could die tonight in my sleep. I could die tomorrow on the freeway. My children could die today. Or we can all live until we are 120. We all have no control of this, no matter what we think. We can be safe and be healthy and that can limit our possibilities for death, but in the end, there are outside forces that we cannot control.

So we just need to live each day, loving our God, loving each other, and loving the lost and the suffering. That is all that matters. Whenever I do die—I want to hear my Lord say “Well done my good and faithful servant.” And I want those I’ve left behind to have the hope of Jesus, knowing that we will see each other again in the eternal future outside of time. And that if they are pained by my death, that they will have find hope and comfort in the hope of our Savior.

If you have accepted Christ as your Lord and Savior, please pray to our father in heaven for those people in my little circle who have recently died and left their families or who have lost their babies and their wives and mothers the last couple of months. Pray that God use all of this for good in the lives of those who love him and are called according to his purpose, as he promises. That through the suffering and pain, those that don’t know him find truth and comfort in him—and come to him.

Jameson is 9 Months Old!

Posted in The Hemsath Life by

Loves to sleep on his belly with one leg, froggy style--- just like his Mom!

Yesterday marked Jameson’s 9-month birthday! And it has been a month of progress, for sure. 🙂 Jameson got another cold this month—this time from his brother, Kanan. This one was fierce— high fevers, runny nose, cough, tummy aches, and lots of lethargy. Jameson had a couple of rough days so I took the Thursday off on President’s Day weekend to stay home and just be with my boys. By Sunday, both were feeling better. Last week, Jameson still had a little runny nose but was feeling much better. This week, we are free of runny noses! Ugh! Lets hope and pray we can go longer than 2 weeks this time before we are hit with another virus. Sooooo over this winter and its viruses. That was the 4th cold this season and we are not even out of February yet. Come on Summer!

Jameson loves his brother Kanan. Jameson crawled on to him by himself and cuddled with his big brother on sick day.

Swing time at the Beach!

Regardless, Jameson had a few little outings this month. I took him and his brother and cousin to the beach to walk around and play in the park. Jameson went on a swing for the first time. The pictures I took crack me up. He was so unimpressed by the swings, I was surprised. He didn’t dislike them. He just didn’t smile and squeal like I thought he would. Instead he just sat in the swing, holding his ninja doll and sort of staring blankly out in the distance. I’m sure he was probably just more interested in all the people walking along the boardwalk than what he was doing, but nonetheless so funny. He also began bathing in the bathtub without having to use his sling. He just sits his little bottom now in the tub and crawls around and splashes in the shallow water. He loves Loves LOVES taking baths. And so of course when I had him and Kanan take a bath together one night, he was even more excited. I have never seen Jameson smile and laugh and splash so much. Even Kanan just beamed with adoration at the naked chubby baby loving him so much in that tub. I’m not sure how much longer I can have Kanan and Jameson bathe together as Kanan is approaching his 5th birthday. It feels like Kanan is getting too old to be sitting in the bathtub in front of me. I’m not sure when is the appropriate time to let the kids go in this department, so any thoughts or insight would be helpful. Until then though, Jameson is ecstatic to share the tub with his brother, the big brother he just loves so much.

Showing off them three pearls! Before he cut his 4th on his 9-month birthday

Superbowl was also a fun day for us. Jameson had a great time flirting with all the 6-13 year-old girls who played with him while Owen and I caught up on adult talk with our friends. Jameson refused to nap, but he held out okay. He loved his little buddy Luke Adam’s jumper and his drum toys. And the little guy even tagged along with Owen and I as we set out one Sunday to buy ourselves a car. He went with us to three dealerships, sitting the longest at the BMW Encinitas where we found our Highlander. Everything was great and funny enough, he didn’t start freaking out until the Sales Manager tried closing on us with these dealership maintenance and road-side assistance packages that would be financed and tacked on to our car loan. We didn’t even have to suggest to Jameson that he turn up the fussy baby in that moment. It was perfect timing. Sorry Mr. Sales Manager. Fussy baby means we are done. Lets just sign that paperwork and be on our way, mkay?

Mom takes off work to stay home with sick babies

Playing with Mom's childhood puzzles

Now as for growth and milestones—the little monkey is gobbling up solid food all day long. He eats solids for breakfast, lunch, and dinner with two snacks in the day as well. At dinner, he is so hungry for his solid dinner that I can barely eat. If a spoon is not putting food in this boy’s mouth, he is whining. We are trying to teach him “more please” and “all-done” in sign language so we can hopefully cut the whining down. Every time Owen and I show him the sign, he smiles super big and just stares at our hands. I can tell he is thinking and taking it all in. But no signs yet of him doing it. Not giving up though. 🙂 He must be going through a growth spurt though or just not getting enough food in regardless of how hard I try because he has been waking up at 3AM again, screaming his head off until I come in at 5 and feed him. I won’t feed him before 5 AM. He is too big to be still eating at night. The problem is that the whole 3-day rule to the crying it out, just didn’t work for this one. After the 5th day, I decided to try problem solving. It was either teething, hunger, or just a stuck internal clock. I decided to try the hunger option first. He goes to bed at 7 and I go to bed around 10 or 11. So I decided to come in before I went to bed and do a dream-feed with just 4 oz of formula. Done. The kid didn’t wake up at 3 AM that night. And he even slept through the standard 5 AM wake up and feed me scream-a-thon that he has been doing the last couple of months, every single day. So that was it. He was just hungry. Now, I don’t want to continue doing a dream-feed. He has three teeth. Scratch that. He just cut his fourth tooth yesterday, on his 9-month birthday. So he has four teeth now and a dream-feed is not going to be good for cavities and such. So I’m hoping to just do this for a week or so and then stop again and see how it goes. Hopefully, it’s just a growth spurt. The problem is because I work, I cannot guarantee that he is getting enough food in the day. He is with his dad in the morning, who then drops him off at Grandmas, who then is picked up by his babysitter—Kelly, who then takes care of him until I pick him up at 4. And in between all the hands, communication is not always clear and I believe the changing people and environment sort of excite him—and so often times, I am told he just didn’t want to eat this meal or drink that bottle. I’m not really sure what to do about it. Hopefully, I won’t have to dream-feed long to compensate and instead, Jameson will just get used to the routine and eat better. Technically, Jameson has only been in this routine for one month. He had just Owen and then one sitter everyday up until the beginning of February. He may just need a little more time to get used to this program.

Berry Time!

So with other milestones—yes he has cut his fourth tooth. Also he can stand now on his own without support for a good 10-15 seconds before falling. He is just so proud of himself for doing this. You should see his beaming smile and excited squeal when he is able to balance this long. Also–today, he took his first few steps while holding my hands. Before today, I would try to “walk” him around, but he didn’t know what to do with his feet. I’d have to move his feet for him. But today, he moved his feet forward all by himself. And once he did it once with me, he wanted to do it again and again and again. He was sooooo excited that he could “walk.” Our babysitter Kelly has been able to watch the “steps” leading up until this moment and told me a few days ago that she thought Jameson would be walking soon. I wasn’t so sure. But now I can see that yes, it looks like we are on our way to a toddler here soon. Maybe a month. Still, it doesn’t mean he will be just walking around everywhere in a month. Kanan took his first real steps at 11 months but really didn’t start preferring walking over crawling until he was about 13 months old. It will be interesting to see which route Jameson takes.

Reflections on my Father’s Death, One Year Ago Today

Posted in About Me, More Theresa's Thoughts, The Hemsath Life by

The silly picture he texted us all while he was in Maui, a couple of days before he died.

One year ago today, I was having a stressful Thursday and decided in the middle of third period that I was going to take the following day off—for sanity. I remember thinking, I just need a day to rest or else I might get sick. So I made some last-minute substitute plans for the next day, requested a substitute teacher through the school website, and headed home right after 6th period. I had no idea that my father had died in the midst of my preparation.

I went home to a lonely house. Owen was away at school taking a media course. Kanan had left to be with his dad for a few days. And so I lied down on the couch and held my 6-month pregnant belly and fell asleep. I slept hard. So hard in fact that I missed the calls from Linda. I missed the calls from my sister. I missed the calls from my mom. I missed the calls from Owen. I awoke at 6:30 only to realize I needed to race off to my bible study which met at 7. So I quickly grabbed my phone and my bible, slipped on my shoes and started to head out of my house. I looked down at my phone to see if I had missed any calls and saw the number down below. I missed 12 calls. I saw Owen was the last call I missed so I called him first. He answered upset and stressed—why hadn’t I been answering my phone because he had tried to call 6 times to tell me to call my family? Why were my sister and mother and everyone calling him? He was in class and needed to focus and everyone was blowing his phone up and no one was leaving messages.

“Call your family, Theresa!”

I hung up and scrolled through my missed calls. My mother was next. I called her. At this point I was in my car and hadn’t yet started the engine. She answered crying. I can’t recall exactly what she said because her words and tone sent me into a cyclone of fear and confusion. I can piece fragments of her words.

“Oh no Theresa…..its terrible its terrible… I can’t tell you…I can’t tell you…. You are pregnant…I can’t tell you.” And then she let out deep sobs, so deep, so primal, I knew someone I loved was badly injured or dead.

“Mommy please tell me….just tell me!” I cried. But she hung up.

I scrolled back through my missed calls and stopped short when I noticed that the first missed call came from my dad’s phone. My father who was currently on a beautiful vacation in Maui with my stepmother, Linda. My parents, who would never call me while on vacation.  I pressed the number and held my breath.

Linda answered in a calm, slow small voice: “Hi, Treese.”

I immediately burst out, “I know something terrible has happened so just get out with it.”

Her words were slow…contemplated…quiet. Again only fragments. I remember “snorkeling…. he said help….I tried Theresa…. He’s gone…I’m so sorry.”

“My dad is dead?” I asked, as if that idea had not been something I had considered up until this moment.

“Yes, Theresa, he’s gone.”

I immediately screamed out long, dragged out “No’s.” I dropped the phone on my lap and just cried and cried, heaped over in the driver’s seat like a sack of flour, feeling like I was crumbling into little pieces of dust. I can’t imagine what Linda was doing or thinking on the other line as she heard my cries. And to think she had to make that phone call to my sister and brother, to my aunts and uncles, to my grandmother; each time having to sit there in her own despair and have to listen to ours as well. I don’t know how she did it.

I don’t remember the rest of the conversation. At some point I must have ended it. I remember calling my sister and immediately headed over to her house. We were going through a tough time in our own relationship at this time in our lives and yet, how silly and meaningless it all seemed now. I went over without a thought. All of that was gone. I needed to be with my sister right now, the only family closest to me while Owen was at school. On my way to my sister’s house I called him. He didn’t answer. So I texted him: my dad is dead.

That night and the following day are a blur. I’m so glad I already had a substitute planned. I don’t know how I would have even been able to plan a sub-plan during that time. The following night, Linda flew back. My brother and his wife and son as well as my sister and her kids, Owen and I, and our Aunts sat in Linda’s house, waiting for her to come home. She insisted on driving herself home from the airport. When she arrived, we all just held each other and cried and cried. We all spent the night. The entire weekend, we all crammed together in my father’s house with Linda and just mourned together.

Monday was a holiday, so I assumed by Tuesday, I would be able to go back to work. I remember thinking it would be the best way to heal. I was wrong. By the end of first period I was in tears and wondering what I was thinking coming to work. I was so relieved when the Vice Principal walked confidently and yet delicately into my room and asked me why I was even here.

“I thought I could do it, Juan. But your right, I don’t think I can.”

“Go home, Theresa. We will take care of a substitute. Take the week off. I needed two weeks off when this happened to me.”

I packed up and headed home.

It took a couple of weeks before we could hold a funeral for my father. His body was stuck in the coroner’s office in Maui and then had to be shipped to Minnesota or something for another test before it could return here. I didn’t realize how much work and time went into autopsies. But during that time, I made a video and a scrapbook for my father, as well as wrote a memoir of him called “His Hands.” Pain has always been a creative catalyst for me. And creating, whether it be through my writing, painting, or other media has been the only way I can sort through reality and to deal. It purges me, heals me. So by the time the day of his funeral arrived, I was doing better than my sister and brother. Still, we all do things differently. I had planned to show the video and read to the funeral guests the memoir and so I felt I needed to be strong. If I broke down and cried, I don’t think I would have stopped. And they deserved to see the video. They deserved to hear the story. They came here to celebrate his life and to mourn his death.

It was an open casket up until the funeral itself. I stood there in that room, setting up the video equipment with my father’s lifeless body laying in the casket behind me, yet I refused to look. That man was a shell. I didn’t want to remember his shell. I wanted to remember my father. Still, the image I caught in my peripheral vision of his soft, fuzzy brown hair, dusted with gray still resonates with me. Looking back, I regret the decision. It sounded right at the time. But somehow, I think now it would have been good to hold his hand one last time. To kiss his cheek one last time. I don’t remember the last time I had actually seen him before he left to Maui. Owen and I had taken him out to lunch one afternoon a few weeks before. And I had stopped by quickly to pick up some tools and I remember his pleased smile when he greeted me, his warm sweater-covered-arms around my shoulders. His large hand patting my belly. But I don’t remember which one happened in which order. And given that was still a couple of weeks before he passed away, I didn’t get to say good-bye. The last words I had with him were through a text. He was in Maui and texted me a silly picture of him by a stream pretending to be falling, the one posted into this blog.

I texted him back: Looks like you are having a great time!

He replied: Its kind of hard not to.

And that was it. I didn’t reply back. Oh how I wish I had replied back. Said something like—Daddy, you have been everything and more that I could ask in a father. You are a great man and I am so honored to be your daughter. I will love you forever.

And so I guess that is why I am writing this. I’m still trying to let him know, through my blogs and my life, through my prayers to God, how much I love and miss him. But my Aunt Julie made a good point on Facebook today, she said these profound words and they moved me greatly: “The other great joy in your passing, like with Dad, there was, for the most part, no words unspoken. We knew you LOVED us and you knew we LOVED you.  What greater joy is there than that. ”

Still, that doesn’t mean we don’t mourn. More so for ourselves than anything. We are incomplete without him here. Linda still mourns, probably more so than anyone else, and rightfully so. He was her soul mate. She is alone now with out him. She lives with my grandma now, my dad’s mother. And they have a great system set up. They are good for each other and I’m so glad my grandmother is there with her. She sits in his chair. She rubs her feet together the same way he does. And I see him in her. A topic came up the other night in our family after we watched the movie Courageous together. What is it like to continue living without your love there? Is it like living with an amputation? She said no. For her, she feels abandoned, she said. What do you say to that? No hug, no pat on the shoulder, no meaningless “keep your chin up” comment could remedy that. All I could say was, “I’m so sorry. Thank you for sharing that with me.” Even then….stupid. It was a stupid thing to say. I don’t know what the right thing would be. Probably nothing. Probably just a hug and a good cry.

My brother,sister, and I have all had our own trials this year as we’ve mourned. And yet despite the trials, we have persevered. My brother has a new job and a growing second career in music. He has started to go to church again. The first time since he was a child. My sister has moved out of her boyfriend’s house and exploring a new independent life and a newfound relationship with Jesus as well. God uses all things for good.

I myself have had Jameson. Owen and I decided his middle name would be Jeffrey, after my father. He is a beautiful, happy baby with an easy-going disposition, just like my father. He bears his name well. I wish my father could have met him. And now we are pregnant again. Amazing how much my father is missing. But then again and I can’t help but be reminded that no matter how many awesome life events he is missing, he is having a way better time with the Lord. We have joys, yes, but in a broken, fallen world, waiting to be restored by the creator when Christ returns. My father on the other hand, is with Him. He is with the Great I AM. No child, no wife, no father, no friend can ever be as awesome and fulfilling as that. And I also take great comfort in knowing that this life, with all its joys and pain, is but one grain of sand in an eternity of beaches we will spend together one day with the Lord. My children, by the grace of God, will meet their grandfather one day.

My Aunt Julie said another profound statement in that Facebook post today regarding this very thing. She posted, “The only happiness that we were all able to gleen from your passing is that by your own admission and through your upbringing you were a believer in Christ and with that singular and sole choice by you, we know that you have everlasting life in Our Lord Jesus. The greatest gift you gave to yourself you also gave to us who believe too. We are so grateful that we will see you again. Our sorrow would be a 1000 times greater if you had chosen a different path.”

So true. So true.

But until that time when we see him again, I will keep his memory alive through these blogs, through his photo illustrations, through the stories of his life we share as a family. My children will meet him already knowing him. I promise you that.