Midlife Crisis

Happy Holidays and Merry Christmas!

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time out their busy lives to read my blog, watch my little girl's videos, or check out my book! I find myself in unfamiliar territory this holiday season. Christmas just wasn't the same, being so far away from our family.

As my thoughts were drifting to days gone by, it occurred to me that some may view my new found hobbies as a midlife crisis. The truth is, even as a child, I always wanted to write. Now that my 38th birthday has come and gone, I find myself with an emptiness I attribute to now living so far away from two of our children, so I guess I jumped into new ventures and trying new things as a result.

First, I began this blog, feeling like it would be a fun way to document our story. I continue it now because it makes me happy. Next, I jumped into being a beauty consultant. Though I've never been very talented with girly things such as hair and make up, I knew I could learn a lot and maybe even make some extra cash. Well, I learned a lot...I'll leave it at that. Most recently, I decided to write a book. I'd always wanted to, and though it will not likely amount to much monetarily, it was a fun process that I got to, in part, share with my daughter.

I guess what I'm trying to say is, I've come to the conclusion that I'm not having a midlife crisis. Not yet anyway. I've merely reached the age and the place in my life that I'm finally comfortable trying anything I want to, regardless of what others may think about it. So what if my blog has a small following? I'm admittidly the very worse make up sells lady I've ever seen. My book may not even sell enough copies to pay me minimum wage for the time I spent writting it.

It doesn't matter. My children see this new found bravery in their mother that will hopefully encourage them not to pass on life for fear of failure. Sink or swim, my husband loves me regardless. At the end of the day, they are proud of me.

So why wait? Try everything you can and laugh at yourself along the way. You are never too young to chase your dreams and never too old to have new ones! After all, you only live once. Don't miss out out great experiences because you are afraid of failure. Instead, fear never knowing because you were too afraid to try.

Hope you all had a truly wonderful Christmas!

Dorrenna

Miracles from Heaven

Having mentioned in my last post that my 4 year old's favorite movie is now, Miracles from Heaven, I wanted to take a minute to explain how that came to be. Had I brought this up last week, her answer would still have been Frozen, just as it has been for nearly 2 years now. However, one little girl's youtube video and a late night heart to heart unexpectedly changed all that forever.

While browsing Facebook, I recently ran across a little girl named Claire Ryan. For those of you who aren't familiar with this little angel, she is my sweet Gabby's age, and like Gabby, has her own youtube channel. Her videos appear professionally done and many are of her singing Disney songs with her dad. I knew Gabby would love it so I introduced her to Claire's channel.

One song wasn't from a Disney movie at all. "Gethsemane", panned back and forth between this little girl and what appeared to be takes from a movie about Jesus. Gabby was enthralled. We have taught her about the 'happy' side of things. She knows about God and his love for us. She knows how important it is to have a good relationship with him. She knows that my mother went to live with him before she was born. However, being so young, I had avoided many of the other details.

We had never really talked about death. Needless to say, the video showed sweet Jesus being drug away and a cross of thorns being placed upon his head. As a few drops of blood began to run down his face, she turned to me and asked why. I make it a point to try to be as honest as I can be with my children, without providing information that I feel they are too young to understand.

I took her little hands and I explained what sin is. I then told her about the sacrifice Jesus made for us.  I didn't give the details such as the nails being driven into his hands and feet or the severe beating he withstood. I simply explained that they hurt him very badly and that he died for us.

Despite my efforts she began crying.....really crying. She asked direct questions about life, death, God, and human nature. We talked and she wept for over an hour. My heart broke as I watched a small piece of her childhood innocence and belief that the world and everyone in it is good, slip away. I worried terribly about how I answered her and if I should have postponed the conversation a little longer.

She finally accepted most of of her new found knowledge and seemed to have a basic understanding with the exception of Heaven. I tried to explain there are no actual pictures, and that different people have different ideas of what it will be like, but she needed more. I then remembered the previews of a movie I had wanted to watch, but never got around to, based on the true story of a little girl who got to visit Heaven and her experience. I asked her if she wanted to watch it with me. Of course, she excitedly agreed.

The next day, we picked it up at Redbox. She loved it! She watched it 3 times that night, and she nearly started crying again when we explained it had to be returned. I was pleasently surprised to receive it from her for my birthday a few days later. We've watched it nearly every night since! Each time is followed by new questions that convey to me her interest and level of understanding of everything we've discussed so far.

I've listened intently as her bedtime prayers have evolved and noticed she no longer needs reminded to say them. I reassure her when she needs it and remind her that what she thinks and how she feels is important. I will never forget that conversation with her or how I prayed the whole time for the wisdom to appropriately answer her questions. Some day, when she's older, I will explain to her that she was my very own Miracle from Heaven.

Faded Memories

Well, I turned 38 yesterday. I must say, I've been a little blue. While I was surrounded by people who love me, my birthday has become one of those days I tend to spend thinking of my mother.

I couldn't sleep the night before, and found myself quite lethargic the next day. Yet I was blessed to be awakened by an excited little girl who couldn't wait to show me what was in her pretty little pink gift bag she and her father had snuck out to get.

Among it's other contents was her favorite movie, Miracles from Heaven. She explained how we could share it if I wanted, to which I readily agreed. We spent the day at an indoor playground, and then had a nice dinner together. I received an enthusiastic call from my daughter, who is away at college, and then from my father. Many people took the time from their busy lives to message me or post on my Facebook wall. All in all, a great day, leaving me feeling special and loved.

My heart was there, but my mind continuously drifted to trying to remember my mother describe the day I was born. I have no idea why the thought persisted or why it suddenly became so important. The memory has faded over the years, but she described it as the happiest day of her life, as most mothers do. I was the 1st and only child she would ever have, yet all I can recall is her saying she looked out the window and noticed it had began to snow.

I tried to picture her face when she was younger, and to imagine what she may have said about her new baby. I tried to envision her smile and the sound of her voice. I had hoped that she might visit me in a dream that night and remind me of her story, but she didn't. With every passing year, I miss her birthday call more and more.

Getting older brings birthdays that aren't about gifts or parties, or even happy occasions for many. For some it's a grim reminder of things we never accomplished but meant to, an ageing body and mind, or times in our lives that are missed but can never be returned to.

Though all these things cross my mind as well, I find comfort in knowing that though memories may fade, taking with them the details of things we thought we'd never forget, their significance lives on forever as moments that mattered in our lives.

For me, my birthday validates that my mother was here, and that she loved while in this world. It reminds me that she had happy memories of her own. Memories that likely faded with time to make room for new ones. Memories that made her who she was, both now gone forever.

Treasures of an Old Coat

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The unpredictability of the pain or joy brought from an old memory is in part what makes it so very special. I was reminded of this tonight as I sorted through the pockets of an old coat that had been lost in the sea of clutter, deep within our storage room.

We recently learned of a leak to the storage area, likely caused from the winds of Hurricane Mathew. We decided to go through all it's contents to see if any of our belongings had been damaged. Several bags of clothes were able to be salvaged, thanks to the help of a bottle of white vinegar and a thorough washing, but several bags had to be thrown out.

Thankful for the minimal loss, what was waiting for me in the last bag was truly an added bonus. I was happy to see an old coat of mine. Not because it's style particularly appealed to me, but because it took me back to a different time in my life. A time when my relationship with my now husband, was still relatively new. I remembered wearing the coat on our date when he proposed and was excited to see what the contents of it's pockets held.

I was surprised to find a post it note from one of the hospitals my mother was in. On top of the note, given to me by a nurse, was her room number, 223. If you've read my older posts, you are aware of why this number is so special.

Digging a little deeper I found a piece of paper with her hand writting. If you knew her at all, you already know she was constantly doodling and making random lists. On this one in particular she was trying to sort out her monthly bills. It was a sad reminder of her monthly struggles. She was disabled, yet managed to keep her house payment and other bills current with a total income of only $698 per month. How many things she must have wanted and never gotten or needed and did without.

Next was the hospital bracelet from me being admitted the day of her burial. We really didn't expect me to leave there without our baby girl, but God miraculously decided to help me keep her in there a bit longer, despite the nightmare I just endured.

Finally, I pulled out 2 love notes written to me by the man who is now my husband, in the early stages of our relationship. One was dated just a month prior to our original proposed wedding date, and the other right before our 1st Christmas together. Folded in with them was a Christmas list. It contained the names of all our family and friends with gift ideas beside them. I had no idea that we be my last one with my mother's name on it.

Each item, significant in it's own way, accompanied by it's own emotion. Each memory, a little stronger then the last, taking me back to that time in my life that forever changed everything I had ever known about myself. Memories both good and bad that would one day lead me here to this day, learning to never underestimate the treasures of an old coat.

No Longer Her Home

There's a tradition in our house that involves major cleaning when we know family is going to be staying with us. My oldest daughter has always helped me with this tedious chore. I remember discussing it with her when she was younger. She said, "But they are family, why do we have to be so thourough." I explained that it was out of respect and love that we try hard to make our home nice, clean, and comfortable for them.

This year I was so excited that my mother in law was coming to visit for Thanksgiving and bringing my daughter who had been away at college, as well as her brother, who lives with his mother in Kentucky. I started my usual tradition of freshly washing towels, blankets, and sheets that had been stored away in a closet. I remembered as I cleaned, all the years I'd done this and how it was actually kind of fun, having my older daughter to help me.

That's when I realized that my own child had now become the "company" I was cleaning for. I had a bit of a moment. Her entire life I had been home to her. From the time she was living inside my own body to the time she moved into her dorm, home had always been wherever I was.

She can't travel 9 hours one way when she goes "home" on the weekends, and wouldn't even if she could. To her, home is the town she grew up in. I knew she wasn't telling her friends she was going "home" for the holiday break, but instead was explaining she was going to visit her parents. When her visit was over and it was time to leave, she would then consider herself to be headed home. She would from now on, look at her time with us as visits.

I pondered on this for some time. I hadn't fully taken into account how much her relationship with us would change when she left for school. Our lives had been so chaotic at the time, I think I underestimated the significance of her moving into the dorm. Most kids get to travel home regularly, maintaining that connection to their family. She was so far away, she had begun to take care of herself entirely.

I watched her during her stay. I noticed how she had changed and how grown up she looked. I noted she no longer felt the need to ask for permission or to seek approval. We talked about her plans for her future and she told me what she was going to do. She made all her own decisions and they were well thought out. I was fully aware that any insight I might add was only advice to be taken into consideration now and would have little bearing on what she ultimately chose.

There's a sense of pride that comes with knowing you've raised a child who is now competent and responsible enough to take care of themselves but it's sadly overshadowed by the sense of loss you feel when you realize they no longer need you. Wherever she ends up, I know that home, for me, will never be the same.

Time Marches On

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Hope everyone had a wonderful Thanksgiving! Ours was truly special this year. It wasn't that we had a marvalous feast or a grand selection of deserts. Heck, we didn't even have turkey. We went to Dennys and most of us ordered pancakes.

There are a few times in your life when you have a revalation about something that makes you genuinely appreciative for the memories you've made and the individuals with whom you've been blessed to share them with. This Thanksgiving was one of those moments for me.

This was our first Thanksgiving living so far away from two of our five children and the rest of our family. We hadn't seen them in four long months. Thankfully my mother in law made the nine hour trip and brought them with her for a holiday visit.

Every Thanksgiving prior to this one, we really took for granted that we were all able to be together. I've come to realize over the last four months, how foolish that really was. Children grow up. People move away. Sickness and jobs happen. So many things could have easily made this our 1st Thanksgiving that at least 1 person was unable to be here.

I looked around the room and was truly aware of how incredibly blessed we have been all these years and with a lump in my throat and an ache in my heart, dreaded the inevitable day when a chair will, for whatever reason, be empty. I longed to go back to when my daughter was in high school and we got to see my husband's son regularly.

I realized even with 2 small children, how quiet our normal had become, in comparison to just a few short months ago. I took in the laughter and their smiling faces. I happily watched while our two teenage boys caught up and jokingly teased one another. I listened as their Nana lovingly played with these two little girls who couldn't wait to show off how much they'd learned for her and to my daughter who seemed to have an entirely new life all together.

For a brief moment, time stood still and things felt like old times again. But the sad reality is that those days are gone. The memories of them all together will inevitably become more rare as the years pass, and things will never again be as they once were. Before we know it, they will have families of their own, accompanied by their own obligations and responsibilities.

This Thanksgiving I was truly thankful. Thankful for every holiday God has ever blessed us with as a family. Thankful for every single memory I've ever had the honor of being a part of with my children. Thankful for having a mother in law who thinks we are worth spending her holiday time off work, driving that far to visit us for a few days, only to then have to make the long trip back.

Sadly, it's quiet again. Everyone has gone home and we already miss them. As I sit here reflecting in the silence and thanking God for their safe travels, I am reminded of what really matters in this world and how relevant these precious moments with our children really are. Time marches on, as the old song goes. In the end, we'll all be left missing the noise.

Our Family Complete

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We were able to pay my daughter's friends to help us move everything next door. The move went relatively well. We loved the house! All the extra space made us feel so much more at home. It was the nicest place we had ever lived.

My daughter was able to move on to the next competition. This time she'd be competing against adults and master's level college kids as well. She got 2nd place, securing another $3,000. She decided to start looking at business as a potential college major. We were so proud of her.

I soon made it to the point my cerclage could be removed. It was quite painful this time. We knew there was a chance I could immediately start dilating and go into labor. We waited for a few hours at the hospital, but nothing. I was released. Everything still looked good.

Work was becoming more and more difficult. I was so tired all the time and so uncomfortable. Every step took effort. Everything ached. I was so grateful the baby was now considered to be out of danger and so ready to no longer be pregnant!

I took a nice long bath and woke up to my water breaking at 6 a.m. I waited and waited, but no contractions. I called my doctor's office when they opened and they asked me to come on in. They checked me around 10 a.m. and verified I had begun dilating. I wanted to go home and wait until the contractions got stronger. We only lived 10 minutes from the hospital. They were adamant it could happen quickly and sent me to the hospital instead.

Of course, it didn't happen quickly. Labor went on for hours. Again I declined meds as long as I could stand it. Finally, I was shaking so bad in pain, I decided to give the epideral another try. Once again, several tries to finally get it in correctly, then nothing. It didn't help at all.

Finally the doctor checked me and said I was dilated to 7. In misery, I told him she was coming. He said if I felt like I needed to push I should try. As soon as I started pushing I immidiately dialted to 10 and she was on her way. I couldn't continue. I had nothing left.

He then took my hand and pulled it forward. I felt this tiny little head. He told me she couldn't stay like that long, safely. It was kind of scary, but it was the motivation I needed. I pushed 2-3 more times and it was over. She was beautiful! She was healthy and so very perfect. We named her Mallory, and combined my husband's mother Janet and Grandmother Geneva's names for her middle name Janeva.

I'll never forget watching our other children take turns holding her for the 1st time. This beautiful, wrinkled little creature, that was actually living inside my body just moments before. God had once again got us through another milestone in our lives and we were leaving there with our family complete.