Life is Beautiful

I stole quietly into my 14 month old baby boy's room this morning. I normally go in with a big smile, singing a little song. He greets me with his 5 toothed grin and as much bedhead as he can muster with the modest amount of hair he is sporting these days. Today was a little different because he wasn't awake quite yet, and I wanted it to stay that way. I just needed a few moments to stare at him, to drink him in. Though he can be VERY loud during the day, reaching octaves I thought were reserved only for Pterodactyls, in this moment he was peaceful. I wanted to focus on his life and how in a seeming blink of a eye he had welded his soul to mine. His life holds infinite value for me. It held value before I ever felt those quiet butterfly motions that were the first tangible sign that he was really, really there.

 

 I needed to start slow and thoughtful this morning. I had a rough night, to say the least.  I spent hours tossing and turning. Left side, right side, on my back, and repeat. I searched in the darkness for the time on my non-illuminated clock for what seemed like the millionth time. I could hear Ryan's slow and steady breath next to me. It was comforting, and yet still didn't apply enough of the soothing balm necessary to take away the thoughts that assaulted me from every angle. Images and words tore through my brain like a jagged knife.

 

That's what I get for watching the GOP debate right before I go to bed. I know. I know. I have a few friends and family members that will be inclined to shove their phone back in their pocket or slam the laptop lid shut and not read another sentence. I totally understand. I've done the same to you before (wink wink). Though I am a fiercely political person, I do my very best to avoid politics in the social media world. It is far too easy to forget how much we love each other during a debate that uses such an impersonal medium. Besides that, anybody can post anything and people will take it for fact. Never mind that it was probably written by a chimpanzee in a dark basement with nothing better to do than stir up controversy. An actual chimpanzee. 

 

But this post today, for me at least, isn't political. Some may take it as such, but that's not really my problem. This post is about something I heard last night that I may never be able to shake from my brain.

 

THIS..... (Warning. This is extremely graphic).

 

 

 



 

Obama fan? Clinton fan? Fiorina fan? I don't really care. Republican? Democrat? Independent? Purple Spotted Lizard? I don't care. Pro-Life? Pro-Choice? Caught somewhere in the middle? I DONT CARE. Try and listen to this woman's monologue without being moved. I dare you.  You see, I have very purposefully avoided any details in the Planned Parenthood controversy out of selfish self-preservation. I know me, and I know that my stomach literally wages war against me when I hear details like this. I know it is the one thing in this world that makes me more MAD than any other. I myself am anti-abortion in most cases. But I understand that abortion is legal and that's not going anywhere. I get that. I understand that there are times when it is necessary. The option was given to the mother of the son I am raising when she found out at 20 weeks along that she had an extremely aggressive brain tumor, and they would not be able to start treatment until she either gave birth or aborted him. It gives me nightmares to think on it, but I wouldn't have blamed her if she chose that path. I understand that sometimes a woman is so scared, ashamed, or uneducated about her options that she truly feels this is the only way out. I get that. This isn't about those women for one hot second. It's not even about the women who are none of the above.

 

I had an experience earlier this year that I feel like changed the makeup of my character. My husband's brother and his wife struggled to get pregnant for years. When they announced at a family party that they were finally able to conceive, the electricity in the room was tangible. We rejoiced with them when they found out they were having a beautiful baby boy. I felt gripping fear when she was admitted to the hospital only a couple of weeks later with an incompetent cervix. Her body was struggling to hold their precious baby in, and at 21 weeks along, the prognosis was grim. As her body went into labor, they opted for a surgery that would give them a one in a million chance of saving him. But it was not to be, and I felt deep to the core despair as I witnessed his daddy come into a hospital room where we all sat and announce that the surgery had not been successful. His voice cracked and tears streamed down his face as he reported that she would deliver their precious baby Pratt sometime in the next hour.

 

 



 

After his parents and older sister had time to process and spend private time with him, family was invited into the room to share what I am sure will remain one of the most sacred experiences of my entire life. I was able to hold him for a few seconds, see his chest rise and fall, and kiss his smooth baby skin. I witnessed the time that he slipped from this world.  During that short hour, my understanding of why we are here in this world and the intrinsic value of life, no matter how many seconds, minutes, hours, days, weeks, months, or years it has lasted deepened. 

 

This post isn't about abortion. It isn't about politics. It isn't about choices. It isn't about healthcare, or government funding, or women's issues. It IS about what Ms. Fiorina mentioned here in this clip. CHARACTER. It's about RESPECT for living, breathing, kicking "outside of the womb" HUMAN life and the organizations and people that support it and those that do not. And a question. A question that has as many different answers as there are people to answer it. What do YOU support and what do YOU value?

 

 

 

 

Tipping Points

"It was one of those moments in which history splits, and we define the world as "before" and "after."

Unknown

 -Editorial, September 12, 2001

 

 

Most days in my life plug along without much notice on my part. They are filled with the kinds of activities that I can do on autopilot. There isn't anything about them that causes me to take notice. Though they probably should, these days never make it into the journal of my life. Wash. Rinse. Repeat. It feels like the mantra of my life.

 

But there are some days when there is a different feeling in the air. It almost TASTES different. Sometimes these days are obvious, and sometimes, if I don't pay attention, I may totally miss that this is one of those days that will change my life forever. These days are my Tipping Points. They alter or set in motion the major events in my life.  Some of my tipping points are beautiful, awe inspiring. Some of them are painful, even excruciating. But they are all sacred. I  learned a long time ago that the root meaning of the word sacred was "to make holy". These days are holy to me because, whether beautiful or painful, they are woven together to make the tapestry of my life.  I may be biased, but I feel like this tapestry, with all its bright colors and intricate designs, is breathtaking. At the very least it is one of a kind. It is a gift from God, The One Being who knows me more intimately than I know myself. He is helping me to design the tapestry of my life. Because of that, I wouldn't trade it for any other in the world.

 

September 11, 2001

September 8, 2003

January 22, 2009

August 25, 2009

November 11, 2011

 

These are not the only important dates in my life, or even the most important. These are simply the dates that have controlled the major course of my life.  I find that these points are all interconnected. They are a few of my tipping points that have brought me to where I stand today, a place that I love.



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September 11, 2001

 

It started out normal. I was driving to my 7:00 am math class at Mesa Community College in my grosser than gross white 1989 Ford Crown Victoria. It had no air conditioning (feel sorry for me) so I had the windows down to catch the breeze. On the radio was one of the radio channels with the mindless prattle that I always listened to, but today was different. I could feel my brain switch from subconscious listening to very alert.  New York. World Trade Center. Airplane. Horrifying accident. These were all words that sunk into my mind, but I fought to make sense of them. They were so foreign to me.  As I parked my car and walked from the parking lot to class, I passed strangers who I knew were sharing the same feelings. We were all in the same boat together. Instead of learning math that day (would math ever be important again?), we all gathered around the one kid in class who had a portable radio with headphones. He relayed the information to us as he heard it. With each new bit of information, I became less and less sure of what I had felt was a very secure world only an hour before.  I felt fear. Real, true, paralyzing fear.

 

That night, in an effort to steady my rocking world with a little bit of the familiar, I got together with my best friend. We talked about the events of the day and how we were feeling. I don't remember much from that conversation 14 years ago, but there is one thing that remains burned in my memory forever. We seemed to sense that that day was a tipping point. We each had 2 brothers, and we both felt fear for them. I was fiercely protective of these boys, only 11 and 15 years old. We feared that our brothers would be asked to fight in a war that was a response to the events of the day. I feared that they would be required to make the ultimate sacrifice. I felt like there wasn't any way possible I could handle that. I KNEW down into my bones that this would affect me in some way, I just didn't know exactly how on that night.

 

September 8, 2003

 

2 years later, I was 21 years old. I was fighting to recover, sometimes successfully, sometimes not so much, from the emotional and mental battle of my life.  I had a boyfriend, but I already knew that it wasn't going anywhere. I went to the church that night for a ward activity, looking for a distraction. As I walked into the gym, I saw him. He was seated on the floor with his back against the wall. He had dark hair, green eyes (my weakness), and ears that stuck out just enough to keep things interesting. Even though he was seated, I could tell his lean frame was tall. Luckily, I had an excuse to talk to him. He was the little brother of a friend of mine, just home from finishing college. I can't say that I was overwhelmingly physically attracted to him, because I wasn't. Talking to him just felt like....home. And I KNEW. At some point, our paths would merge and would never be separated.

 

January 24, 2009

 

That boy. That goofy, kind hearted, adventure-seeking boy. We had been married for a little over a year. I was 4 months pregnant with our daughter, and he had been away from home for a couple of weeks trying to earn his "Expert Field Medical Badge". We had been stationed at Fort Lewis, Washington for a little over a year into his three years as an Army Physician Assistant. It was a Saturday, so I was home from work. I was finally starting to feel some relief from the constant nausea of the last few months. Things were looking up. The phone rang and I felt the twinge of excitement that comes when that's the only form of communication you have with your spouse for awhile. He was really excited. He had some news for me that he felt was a bright spot in his day. Newly inaugurated President Obama had announced that he would shift the focus of the War on Terror back to where he felt the original problem sprang from back in September of 2001. Afghanistan. He needed thousands upon thousands of troops to help fulfill his initiatives. Chess pieces in a strategic battle. Chess pieces with heartbeats. And personalities. And families. "Our brigade has been selected to help make the initial surge. Isn't that exciting?!" I knew it was a tipping point. The feeling in the air changed. Time slowed down. But he was just so damn excited. And so I said the words he wanted me to say. "Wow! Honey, that's really exciting". When our short conversation was over, I hauled my pregnant body into the shower, cranked up the heat all the way and then lay there curled up in a ball and sobbing until it ran to ice cold. It would be easy to blame this moment on pregnant hormones. But I KNEW.

 

 

August 25, 2009

 

Fast forward to 7 months later. Cory had been deployed for 5 weeks, and I was trying to settle into my new normal, a normal that consisted of mothering a 2 month old baby by myself in a state without a single relative. It was work, but I had found comfort in routine, and I was happy. One of our routines was to go on an afternoon walk. The Pacific Northwest air was already starting to chill, and I could feel the moisture coming off the Puget Sound a quarter mile from our house. We walked around the neighborhood, made a brief stop at the little library, and then headed home.  We settled into the rocker in her nursery so I could feed her. Then a knock came at the door. I quickly put myself back together, rushed to the front door, and peeked through the side window. There were two men in green army dress uniforms. I should have known, but I was an ignorant, uninformed, brand new army wife.  I must have known on some level, because as I let them in and chattered nervously with small talk, I felt an uneasiness and anxiety down into my soul that I just could not explain. I sat on the brown microfiber couch in our front room, painted red because I had a brain lapse one Saturday.  I invited them to sit down as well, but only one of them did. The other stayed standing, not 3 feet from me. Poor boy. Captain Harmon. I had never met him before this day, but I will remember his name until the day I die. He couldn't have been more than 25 and he looked as scared as anyone I have ever seen in my life. Then in a broken voice, his face lined with tears, he said "The Secretary of the Army regrets to inform you that your husband, Captain Cory Jenkins, was killed in action........". I didn't hear the rest. All I could here was the sound of my own voice thundering in my ears "Oh My God! Oh My God! Oh My God"! Over and over and over again. I felt as helpless as the baby I clung to. There was something deep down inside of me that split in two during that moment and I KNEW that I would never be the same.

 

November 11, 2011

 

It's an amazing, and beautiful, and complicated thing to understand how someone can become whole again after they have been broken. Somehow, mercifully, if we let it, it happens. There usually isn't a defined moment. It heals slowly, like a cut that is growing layers upon layers of new, pink skin in place of the old. There may always be a scar to remind us of the trauma, but we really can be whole again. That "whole" looks different for each person.  I had grown many layers of new skin before I ever met Ryan Walters. He was the opposite in almost every way of Cory. Yet somehow, this opposite felt like HOME, too. Funny how that works. We held hands across a beautiful white alter in a temple designed to be a House of God, surrounded by loved ones, both seen and unseen. I don't remember many of the words of the ceremony, but I do remember the feeling that I had. It was peace, and contentment, and gratitude, and awe, and love, ..... and pain. Pain because healing always, always hurts. If we aren't feeling brave enough to face it head on, we end up running the opposite direction. It was a beautiful hurt, because I KNEW that things would never be the same.

I and Love and You

I have four children. One of them is not like the others. Three of them have my blueprint written on their characters, their bodies. My blood flows through their veins. For one, it does not. For the three, there are parts of me in them that make me laugh, make me celebrate, and make me cringe. For the one, there is not. 

My relationship with the one began because of the choice of two adults, two adults eager to begin a life together. He was a little boy, barely 5, and was just along for the ride. The belief was that Our love would bind together our new little family. We hoped and prayed that eventually, that love would be felt naturally between and among all members of our family. 

I used the words I and Love and You with the one from the very beginning. At that time it was an exercise in hope. I hoped that I would one day feel for him the same way that I felt for those who were a part of me. That hope was almost immediately realized. It is easy to love someone when you are constantly serving them. When I dropped him off for the first day of 1st grade, I felt the lump rise in my throat at the thought of missing him. I stood among hundreds of parents during a school fun run, searching the little faces for the one that belonged to me. He ran past my place in the crowd with a red face and heavy breath, looking for the life of him like he was being tortured and wanted to quit. But he didn't, and my heart almost exploded with pride as the tears threatened to spill over.

I feel those words, I and Love and You, and so I say them often.  I have said them multiple times a day for 4 years. He almost always says them back, usually absentmindedly or as an afterthought, playing every bit the part of a 9 year old boy. But he has NEVER said them first. Not once. I have come to terms with this, and while I can feel it nagging me from the recesses of my mind, I understand that he never asked to be yoked to me. He is entitled to his own feelings and his own timing.

I drove the carpool to school this morning just as I always do. And just like always, I unconsciously listen to the random chatter floating up from the back of the van. I think the topic was Halloween costumes today. Just like always, I navigated the traffic jam outside the school and pulled up to the curb, hitting the automatic door button as I threw the van into park. Just like always, the kids poured out of the van and on to the sidewalk. But today, wasn't JUST like always, because I was distracted. I usually call out to them "Be kind! Be smart! Be brave! I love you!"  But today, I didn't, and as I shifted the van back into drive and prepared to pull away, I heard "Hey Mom.... I love you". I looked back, but he was already gone. Time slowed to a standstill, and I sat there for awhile as all the other minivans and SUVs pulled around me, because today......

HE SAID IT FIRST