heartbreaks & heart rescues

Mar 8, 2020 by

Such a hard and beautiful and sacred day at the same time. Hard because Richard is in so much back pain. He cried multiple times from the pain today and let me tell you, holding your big, strong man while he sobs from pain is gut-wrenching.

Beautiful because we are surrounded with so much love. A friend was able to come and do a house call and give Richard a chiropractic adjustment to help his back. Two other friends came and gave him a priesthood blessing. Other friends brought dinner and caught Richard at his best moments of the day and were able to have a good visit with him. And another friend brought muffins and fellowship. We are so grateful for the love of God being made manifest in our lives through each of you. Thank you for being His hands and lifting us in mighty ways.

Sacred because I was able to sit in sacred spaces and feel God’s love for me, for us, for each of His children. One, partaking of the sacrament with my ward family after my son said the sacrament prayer felt like an enormous privilege. Two, sitting in my bedroom while Richard was given a beautiful priesthood blessing of healing. And, three, tonight Fisher was given permission to administer the sacrament to his father. There are not words to describe the joy and gratitude of having this young man put on a suit and tie at 9:45 at night, prepare the bread and water for his father, and then kneel down at the foot of our bed and say the sacred words of the sacrament prayers.

Today brought home the message that every single person is important to God. Richard’s pain and heartache and struggle matter to the God of heaven and earth and even though the pain was nearly unbearable today, we were not left comfortless, we were not left alone. He is walking this path with us.

read more

Related Posts

thankful thursdays 3/5

Mar 5, 2020 by

We have survived the first week since Richard’s brain tumor removal on February 27. It has been rough. And wonderful. And exhausting. And tender. And everything in between. Today is also his 50th birthday and there is something about birthdays, especially big, round numbers like fifty that bring on the introspection, at least for me.

  • I’m so grateful he is alive, that he made it through surgery and we were able to bring him home! This surgery doesn’t generally cause death, but thoughts of him dying have been quite present in my mind since his diagnosis.
  • This time with him is a gift to both of us. We haven’t been able to spend a lot of time together for a long, long time because of his working hours. Sitting with him, reading to him, laughing with him, and just watching him have been so wonderful. We love being together and spending time together is comfortable and soothing to both of us. It’s really nice to know we actually, factually like being together.
  • My heart is full to bursting with the good in this world. So many people have reached out to us with donations of money, food, words of encouragement, gift cards, hugs, and many other kindnesses. Piles and piles of goodness!
  • I’m so grateful to be a wife and mother. These were not roles I wanted to have, but oh, the soul-filling richness of loving these people is such a gift! I’m so thrilled God gave me this privilege even though I didn’t know enough to want it.
  • A few days ago, my friend, Jodie, came to the hospital with all sorts of yummy goodies and yes, that chocolate has gotten me through many a hard moment in the past few days, but more importantly, she brought her heart. She let me cry and talk about our babies. She listened while I tried to sort out the past few months in my mind. She gave Richard a hand & arm massage and me a foot massage and it was heavenly. HEAVENLY. She inspired me to show up to someone’s hospital room and give them a foot massage. Someday soon I will do just that.
  • Prayers. I’m so grateful to know people are praying for my husband and for our family. I’m grateful to hear our children’s prayers. I’m grateful to be able to pray and pour my heart out to God.
  • Orchids. I’m not really a flower person and I’ve never successfully kept a plant alive. My friend, Lisa, brought over two orchids for our babies we miscarried a few weeks ago and I gave Keziah the task of keeping them alive (and she has!). Coming home from the torture chamber of the hospital was a strange experience. It was as if everything in our lives had changed and that an entire lifetime had been experienced while we were gone. I didn’t know how to recalibrate to our new lives. Seeing the orchids on my kitchen windowsill brought me back to center. Somehow they helped me reintegrate this new post-surgery family with our pre-surgery family, my new role as caretaker of my husband with my old role as pregnant mama of twins and mother of young adults and teenagers. Somehow they helped me remember who I am and that these babies are ours forever even though it feels like a lifetime ago that we lost them instead of four short weeks.
  • I’m grateful for sunshine. We aren’t getting out in it much, but it sure is nice to see it shine through the windows and start melting the mounds of snow in our yard. It reminds me that the new growth is coming and we won’t be living in the cold, hardness of this winter forever. We will regrow as a family and figure out our new normal.

My heart is full. And broken. And growing. And aching. But mostly full of gratitude.

read more

Related Posts

happy 50th

Mar 5, 2020 by

Today is Richard’s 50th birthday. We are not having a big celebration or anything – Carl’s removal is his present, I guess? He is in a lot of pain and last night was as miserable as can be, but we are planning on having his favorite lemon meringue pie tonight.

In honor of his 50th, I’d like to share 50 fabulous things about him.

1. He is patient with himself and others.
2. He sees the best in others and assumes the best of others’ behavior and intentions.
3. He is devoted to his wife and family.
4. He is an amazing fisherman.
5. He can eat anything. No matter how gross my food turns out, he eats it with a smile and grateful heart.
6. He naturally understands the process of learning and is an amazing teacher.
7. He doesn’t rush others.
8. He is willing to put in the hard work of learning new skills.
9. He gladly sacrifices his own well-being for his family’s.
10. He loves God with his whole soul.
11. He keeps his covenants.
12. He is humble.
13. He warms up my side of the bed so it is toasty when I come into bed.
14. He adores me.
15. He believes in my dreams, big and small.
16. The most important things to him in life are to be a good man, a good husband, and a good father.
17. He has never once raised his voice at me or our children. So incredible!
18. He takes our children backpacking and teaches them how to survive in the wilderness.
19. He was pretty much terrified of speaking to others until his mission. But he trusted God to help him and God gave him the words to say and changed him into someone who could talk to others. Now he has difficult conversations with distraught parents and frustrated teachers every single day.
20. He spends every Wednesday night with his dad helping him in the garage with whatever project they are currently working on.
21. He loves his parents and siblings.
22. He loves when I read to him.
23. For most of our marriage he has worked 60-90 hour weeks.
24. He listens to our children’s emotional upsets and is able to help them work through whatever ails them.
25. He cleans up all the throw up in our house.
26. His best therapy is walking a mountain stream with a fishing pole in his hand.
27. He wasn’t naturally good at baseball, but he wanted to play so much that he put in hours and hours and hours of extra practice time so he could compete with the other boys.
28. He loves physics. One of his dreams is to get a PhD in physics.
29. He has helped thousands of children and families with autism live more functional, productive, happier lives.
30. He is really, really good at understanding what children need to help them succeed.
31. He sees potential in everything, broken cars, homes, and most importantly, people.
32. He knows what can be done to fix those broken things.
33. He can laugh at himself.
34. He cooks all of our Sunday dinners. And many of our other dinners as well.
35. He likes to serve me breakfast in bed on Sundays.
36. He makes the best red potato-garlic mashed potatoes.
37. He loves hard labor like chopping wood, breaking down walls, and hoisting engines.
38. He loves babies. Pretty much all of them. And definitely all of ours. Between our living children and the ones we’ve lost there are seventeen and he tears up over those precious thirteen often.
39. He regularly stops to help people on the side of the road.
40. He forgives easily.
41. He loves watching his children do anything that is important to them.
42. He is gentle.
43. He is kind.
44. He is grateful for any kindness done to him or for his family.
45. He is honest.
46. He loves camping with his family in a tent in the middle of nowhere. The more rustic, the better.
47. He gets up day after day going to a job that doesn’t pay much and is full of really hard things because he knows God wants him to do it.
48. He is adaptable. Whatever life throws at him, he figures out how to work with it and does it with a smile.
49. He has great courage to overcome his weaknesses.
50. He loves all of his grandparents and was especially close to his Grandma Stella who he shared a birthday with. She always brought over a creamy fruit salad for just her and Richard to share. Today she would have been 113. With the loss of our little Stella, we are both thinking of Grandma Stella and little Stella a lot today.

He’s always wanted to live to be 100. So here’s to halfway!

read more

Related Posts

eight years

Feb 20, 2020 by

Today is the 8-year anniversary of my initial hip injury. For the first time, I don’t have a celebration planned. In past years, we have had dinner parties, breakfasts, walks, and bike rides, but I’m not up to it this year. I’m fighting some immense emotional battles and with the loss of our babies last week, I don’t really want to talk to anyone, much less celebrate with a party, but I am definitely still remembering that day. How could I forget the day that changed our lives forever?

I remember running around the greenbelt on the 17th and how good it felt. It was the first run I was able to successfully manage my breathing and actually enjoy instead of feeling like I was in some sort of torture machine of my own making. I remember the back handsprings I did that day in the gym, a whole string of them across the mat. I remember feeling like Keziah and I were going to have an epic year of training and participating in triathlons, laughing and growing and accomplishing hard things.

That all changed on our run on the 20th. A searing pain started in my hip joint that brought tears to my eyes. My steps became shorter and slower as I struggled to breathe through the pain. I was determined to finish my training schedule for that day and tried to limp-jog while physically pulling my leg forward with my hands. It did nothing for the pain and I slowed to a walk. Keziah told me I didn’t need to keep trying, she would run on her own and that I should go sit down. Refusing to give in, I kept trying to continue, but finally the pain was so great, it was all I could do to hobble over to our Suburban. With tears frozen to my cheeks and pain coursing through my body, I tried to talk myself out of thinking something was really wrong.

But something was really wrong. It took us weeks to find out that I had torn my labrum in my right hip socket. That injury started a cascade of many other injuries and damage to my nervous system. For about six years, I lived in a variety of braces, splints, and wheelchairs. The nervous system damage progressed to sympathetic nervous system responses which look and feel like seizures, but are not brain-mediated. In 2015, after months of my nervous system shutting down more and more and being unable to digest food, I was given a miraculous gift of treatments with Dr. Calzada in Tijuana, Mexico. Since then, I have gone seventeen times and received stem cell treatments along with chelation, magnet therapy, radionics. These treatments saved my life. I don’t know if I would have actually died or not, but they have definitely given me back the functioning of my body. I can now walk and ride my special forward-crank bike and kayak and hike and drive and so much more that I never knew I would be able to do again.

And so today, my heart is grateful. So, so grateful for the many friends and family members who have taken care of me time and time again when I was unable to take care of myself during seizures or injuries. I’m so grateful for the nurturing our family has received, especially the love and support our children have been given as they had to adjust their lives to having a mama regularly pass out, shake uncontrollably in front of their eyes, and spend much of her time in bed. I’m so grateful for the life my friends have helped me to live by including me in their activities even when it wasn’t convenient to haul me around. I’m so grateful for the amazing treatments I have been blessed with that have strengthened my ligaments and calmed my nervous system.

I’m so grateful for Richard. He has taken care of me for the past eight years with so much patience and tenderness. Not a single time has he been frustrated with me for getting injured again or passing out or causing our family great inconvenience. He has willingly served and loved and filled me with hope and laughter again and again. He has sacrificed much, working 60-80 hours a week to provide for our family and then coming home exhausted and willing to keep working here to make up for all the things I couldn’t do. His heart and hands are always ready for one more conversation, one more act of service, one more challenging situation.

And now he needs us. In one short week he is having brain surgery to remove a vestibular schwannoma. We have no idea how surgery will turn out. It is quite possible he will never be able to work in his current profession again. Our lives are about to change dramatically. At times that feels absolutely overwhelming, but most of the time, we are filled with peace. We know we are in God’s tender hands. We know we are not alone. We know we have an army of people who love us. We know we have each other and that we can weather fierce storms together.

So we are sailing forward, with courage, hope, and faith, not in an outcome that everything will be okay, but in confidence that God is with us, that our covenants are eternal, and that somehow, someway, we will come out the other side.

read more

Related Posts

i never saw this coming

Feb 10, 2020 by

Oh my goodness, how to even start here again. I need to, because I want to remember these days forever and I want our children to have a record of this time of our lives. So much has happened since I last posted in May of 2019.

We had a glorious summer of adventure, camping and kayaking together as a family. I felt and functioned the best I have in nine years and we played as hard as we possibly could. Then September came and I completely fell apart emotionally. For seven weeks I barely functioned as I dealt with the death of our dear nephew, Kyler, mountains of survivor’s guilt, and deep personal pain.

In December we discovered we were miraculously pregnant. And on January 8, Richard was diagnosed with a brain tumor.

The last four weeks have been a blur. We are surviving and holding on to faith and hope and love and each other. But the days roll on, one after another, and I can barely keep up. The first four weeks were busy, all day, every day, with phone calls and doctor’s appointments. The last few days, since his surgery to remove it has finally been scheduled, have been much needed balms for my soul. The fight for surgery with our preferred neurosurgery team and insurance to cover it was intense and now that that fight is over, I feel like I can finally breathe again.

This journey needs documented and I’m going to give it my best effort, which at this point my best is sorely lacking, but I am going to really try.

read more

Related Posts

the beginning of goodbyes

May 5, 2019 by

My mother’s oldest sister passed away today. She is the first one of the nine siblings to leave us. My heart is a jumble of emotions.

I am happy for her. Really truly happy for her to be out of pain and to be able to spend time with her son, Gary, who passed away as a little boy. I am tickled that she gets to be with her mama, my dear, dear grandma, and her father. We have a huge family of people that I know she is reuniting with and big hugs are being shared.

At the same time, there is something about her death I’m just not ready for. For a long time, our family has been a stable, steady force in my life. My aunts and uncles have always been there for me. Have always loved me. Have always listened. My childhood was surrounded by their tender care. We had frequent family gatherings at my grandparents’ home along with nearly constant interaction at our family business. If I ever needed to talk, one of them would listen.

Louise’s passing feels like the entering of a new era. One in which many people I care about are going to leave this sphere. One in which I will miss them fiercely. One in which I will have to figure out how to be a grown up, the grown up. I’m not ready for any of this. Which seems strange to me. I certainly would have thought that I would be fully into adulthood by now. But it just doesn’t feel like it. I am turning 45 on Tuesday and I still feel like a little kid in many ways.

Of my mother’s 38 first cousins, only two of them have passed away and those have both been recent deaths. This generation of relatives has been a force for good in my life and in the world my entire life. The thought of them leaving us takes my breath away. Literally. Gasping. I cannot imagine life here on earth without them.

And I really, really can’t imagine life without my mama. Taking care of her last month during her surgery was beautiful and emotionally gut-wrenching. The pain on her face brought me face to face with her mortality. She could die. She almost did die in the days following her surgery. And some day she will. And I don’t have any idea how I will live without this woman who has taught me how to live with courage and faith and forgiveness.

Several more of my aunts and uncles are in poor health and I don’t know how many more visits I will have with them. I am so not ready for any of this. I’ve never been good at goodbyes. Even temporary ones.

read more

Related Posts