I miss you.

Diane,
I wish I could talk to you. You have been gone over two years and your birthmonth is approaching. I dread it. This grief is threatening to define me and I do not want that. You and God wouldn't either, I know. Maybe those are the only reasons I don't want it. And that my family deserves better. 

A lot has happened to me since you left that I wish I could have talked with you about. Big things have happened like deciding to move (truly a big thing by itself) and then actually moving.  Brian's job change has been so challenging. The adjustments  the kids have made are admirable. I became a mentor, which is simultaneously exciting and laughable. I am anxious about a medical exam and I could really use your guidance in how much grace I should give myself. See? Just that sentence would have set you off on a sermon. 

Max is graduating high school and turning 18. Eighteen!!  We are fast approaching the last day in all the world that I can say my son will be an adult in months!  Other big things is that a guy wanted to ask Madi out and Brian told him no. Then it happened again months later and Brian said yes. Then Madi said yes, so she is going to a high school dance this weekend. My little girl is going to a high school dance!  That is something this homeschooling momma never anticipated. Nor did I expect to have a 15 year old girl going on a date of any sort. I would like to talk with you about it all in excited rushes and in quiet confessionals. 

The kids are so full of personality. They make me laugh and I know you would love to listen to their ideas. They take becoming adults seriously, but attack the tasks from such different perspectives, it is fascinating. I would love your wisdom in how to best mother them through these transitions. 

My marriage is really good. Work, for sure, but shockingly, blessedly good. We are so thankful for the hand you still play in that truth. 

We are going to buy a car. Since we haven't done that in 15 years, that qualifies as a big thing, too. 

But even more pressing are all the little things. The nothings that do not even need to be talked about are what I want to talk about. I miss you much because of these. Yesterday my poop looked like a circumcised penis and I think you would have liked to have known that. I came up with a game show idea called 'Do You Trust Yourself?' and NO ONE has any interest in hammering out the details with me. Just because my initial plan involved wiping a contestant's memory. What's with that?  Ever since Caleb gave me whooping cough, whenever I get sick, my lungs snore. I want to tell you my thoughts on Grimm since you wanted me to watch the show so badly and I refused. I finished HIMYM just for you, too. I couldn't do Hawaii 5-0, though. 

Walking across the many bridges at my apartment complex in the rain scares the shit out of me. They are so slippery and I think falling would ruin more than my day. It rains every week here and never snows. It is an effort to not be burdened by that. It rains all day and all night. All night. 

Our new neighbors got two dogs and one is a pit!  Part of me wants to rip my shirt open in the ever-falling rain while collapsing to my knees and wailing 'Why?!?' to the sky, half hoping to drown like a stupid chicken. The other part is all fat little determined Disney fairy, determined to go all out Jesus on their asses. Like, I am gonna learn whatever lesson God has for me so that I never have to live under a fricken dog for the rest of my life!

Oh, I really want to tell you about Buttercup. She is precious. Glimpsing from my angle into the foster system stirs up so much in me, it would be such a help to talk it all out with you. There are quite a few things I cannot even bring myself to type that I would talk with you about. These things are so mysterious and confusing that I only whisper them to God and Brian. 

We started attending a new church. We want to be involved in a church family so much but we are terrible misfits wherever we go. I have hope and fear that I would really like to carry to the Throne with you. 

Brian is sick.  So....  you know. That sucks. 

I could really use your words, too. I want to hear about David and Kiso and Cher. How you are proud and when you are concerned? I want to pray for your friends who are moving through crises. I want to be inspired by your choices to grow. And I could stand to hear one more sermon on how great I am. 

I want to end this like David did, with praises to God. He supplies. He is faithful. He is loving. Yup. All true. But I still miss you. 

The Flash

My darling husband was looking up the reviews to the new The Flash TV show. I thought he meant Flash Gordon. No. Then I wondered if that was the dude whose green shirt Sheldon often wears on The Big Bang Theory. No. So, obviously I don't know who the Flash is. I change tactics.

Is The Flash friends with Superman or Captain America? Superman. A-ha!!  I dig deep in my geek-only-by-blood memory. Who else is friends with Superman?  Batman?  Yes!  Wonder Woman? Yes!  I am on a roll!!

The Twins?  What twins?  I can't lose my streak, so I insist: Wonder Twins unite!! Brian p-shaws. No, no no.

What's wrong? 

They were only in the cartoon; they’re not real! 

…..

Just what exactly is your definition of real, Babe?

Caregiving

Aside from my children, my two most favorite people are Brian my husband and Diane my sister. Aside from children, the only people for whom I have provided care are Brian and Diane. And, aside from the facts that they were in the position of needing care and needed it at the same time AND lived 2000 miles apart, the opportunity to provide care for each of them was ideal.

I love them. Neither had pointedly diminished mental capacities. Neither had (at the point when I was providing care) lost bladder or bowel control.  Both feel tenderly towards me. Both respond protectively towards me. I have a relationship with each that is intimate, relaxed and authentic.

Because of this, I repeat, caring for my 'patients' was ideal. I know professional caregivers are under different circumstances. I know family members have to care for less pleasant 'patients' than I have. And I know the care I have provided has been extremely short term. So, for the third and final time, my caregiving experiences are ideal.

Providing care merely was a natural response of love I have for two people who have loved me unconditionally since the day I met them. It was easy.

It was hard. In helping them with basic needs--meds, toilet, shower, clothes, memory, bed--there was nothing awkward about being together, but their very need made them each vulnerable and somehow reduced. There is an almost innate loss of dignity in being unable to independently do the self-care tasks we mastered in our first years of life. As a caregiver, it seems important to give yourself to a degree to BE the person for whom you are caring. A caregiver needs to BE the 'patient's' hands, doing for them what they cannot. There is a corresponding non-physical element of self that is turned over to the patient to help restore that dignity. It is unspoken and even undefined.

This unspoken component is a forever bond between caregiver and patient. I actually see this play out more in the care that my other family members are giving my sister. Through bits and pieces that are revealed, I am seeing only that there are large portions closely held in obscurity. I myself shield Diane and Brian by never speaking about some of our time together.

Caregiving seems such a quiet thing. Even the one being cared for will never know what the caregiver does. They don't need to. It isn't about you, and they are going through plenty without needing to comfort the caregiver.

This moratorium on discussion may be no burden to some, but for those of us who tend to process life through the use of words, it can be a challenge. But that is the nature of caregiving: it is all about self-sacrifice. The motto? "It's not about you."

For the purpose of caregiving, these are the facts, whether they are true or not: You are not sick. You are strong. You are well-rested. You have energy to give. You are clear headed and organized. You are patient. You are clean. You don't have anyplace more important to be.

I found that even when there were truths to contradict these facts, the facts remained. I may have been tired, but it didn't matter when the meds alarm goes off in the middle of the night.  I may be behind in my own med schedule and feeling a little wobbly, but if they were in immediate need, I was going to be able to wait until their need was met.

And the ultimate fact that supersedes all others? You never judge.

I may not choose something for myself, but I just could NOT stand in judgment of their choices. It would have jeopardized the trust that was essential to providing the best possible care. They were already so vulnerable. You simply don't pick at someone when they are compelled to such extreme exposure.  If you have any issue with that, all it takes is half a second of imagining someone into your own most personal world.

Caregiving is holy. It is what Jesus does. It is ultimate scut- and servant work. You do the work so intimate that you are bonded by non-disclosure agreements--before there was ever such a thing. You are a living sacrifice, you lay down your life for a friend. There is no greater act of love. (Romans 12:1, John 15:13)

There is a caveat, of course. Since we aren't actually Jesus, we cannot give ourselves wholly in the way He can and does. We do have needs and we do have weaknesses--one of which is an ability to turn caregiving into something unhealthy. How like humanity to twist something so good and holy!  But that is what co-dependence and enabling are: perverted caregiving.

It is important to set boundaries.  We must rely on God and direct our patients to do the same. We must keep our eyes on the goal of health, for ourselves and our patients. That plays out in taking care of our own needs and pursuing activities that maintain our full personhood. It means not designing a situation that sets us up as being irreplaceable. For our patients, we must encourage their self-care in the instances that they can carry out the tasks. We must strike the balance of being dependable without creating a false dependence to stroke any personal desires to feel needed. While we may rest comfortably in the role of servant, we cannot allow our identity to be bound up in being any person's provider. We each have one Provider, and trying to step into His shoes is folly best avoided.

Nevertheless, I see caregivers as secret superheroes and feel as though if one were to look long enough, ethereal capes would become visible and flap inaudibly in otherwise imperceptible breezes. Those capes shield their charges and mask the unspoken provision one person is humble-honored to do for another in need. The cape elevates the superhero above the busy distractions of this life to an unseen dominion that reminds us of what life is all about: relationships, interdependence and love.

Nerdy

Check out the photo I found on Pinterest below (Don’t you just love Pinterest?).  I have a whole board that celebrates nerds.  Nerd hasn’t always been an embraceable term, though.  When I was growing up, to be called a nerd was pretty disparaging.  I took it upon myself to do the eighth-grade essay-hack and looked up the word on Dictionary.com.  Even though I knew there would be unfavorable points, I was shocked at number one: “a stupid, irritating, ineffectual, or unattractive person.” Wow. Number two is slightly less insulting: “an intelligent but single-minded person obsessed with a nonsocial hobby or pursuit.”   The kindest sentiment and seeming only saving grace was from the proverbial mother advising her girl to be kind to the nerds, since they will be rich one day.

Thankfully, our progressive society has cultivated a more enlightened perspective on the formerly beleaguered nerd.  New definitions have popped up, some I much prefer over others. This picture is my most favorite definition.  I find it to be inspiringly beautiful and liberating.  Fantastic, yes?

I have to say, my entire family is a collection of nerds.  Our bookshelves and DVD collections would betray us if we were ever trying to mask it.  Our shelves sag under books exploring apologetics, science fiction, fantasy and trivia. We own every superhero movie ever made (well, maybe not, but it sure seems like it).  My daughter has had to devise a new laugh just to express her near inexpressible joy at her various ‘nonsocial hobbies and pursuits.’  My son practically vibrates when he can nitpick the techno-babble of his favorite shows.  An example is when, in episode 4 of Doctor Who, “Aliens of London,” news crews announce a crashed UFO, my son is quick to point out that the ship is in fact identified, and very much not flying, so it is pretty much just an O.  This tickles him to no end.

I posted on Facebook earlier this week how my husband and kids got into a rather detailed discussion about the differences between zombies and mummies.  Much to my surprise, my sister and niece both popped in to enhance the conversation!  I can’t escape! 

But, when I look at it from the perspective of the quote above, I must wonder. What could be better than being surrounded by nerds?  I want to be enthusiastic about life!  How boring to be too cool to really get into the things that might excite you.  With that as an alternative, give me a life-full of nerds any day!