More Clearly Blossomed

Swinging

Shifting from weighty to weightless

and back again.

Our senses revived

through the tender breeze and sway

and her suppressed laughter

opened and overflowed

allowing her childishness

to simply be.

Eyes lifted,

hers and mine together.

Forcing burdens to seep

into the earthy ground,

planting seeds of lessons learned

more clearly blossomed 

in future reflection,

but forever harvested.

The Holy Among the Messy

The sterile, but not so sterile-looking hospital shower has been my emotional-release refuge.  A 3' X 3' tile box--the only place protected from the unending intervention of well intended intruders. And my way of protecting our chickadee from seeing her mother's moments of weakness.  The spraying water is my advocate as is it muffles my sobs and relaxes my shaking shoulders.  

Three messy weeks have been mounting into these emotional episodes:  MD in a Utah hospital with multiple infections in multiple organs.  Brendon back in Qatar packing up our home and trying to figure out his career's future.  Clark with Grandma and Grandpa Knudsen wondering where his mommy and daddy are. And I am here with Mary Deane trying to keep my head above water.  The four of us are apart and homeless.  Despite the chaos, which seems to be multiplying, there is a surprising underlying peace.  It's been interesting to learn that such an oxymoron can exist, and should exist.  

There is holy among the messy in each of our lives requiring us to pray for it and look for it:  A refuge in a tile box.  A realization of love in miles of distance.  A handhold from me to give her courage to battle this disease. An appreciation for the small things when problems seem big.  An "I love you" when her pain subsides.  A gratitude of life in a betraying body.  A calming father's blessing despite a noisy hospital room.  A spontaneous air kiss even when I make her do hard things.  And ultimately, a faith in God in a world of heartache. 

Because I Love You

Up until this week I had never asked why. You know, that ever doubtful and infamous why that betrays your faith and courage. I knew better than to ask such a debilitating question when faced with all of CF's difficulties. But this week, while alone for a moment I asked it aloud accompanied by my sobbing voice. Why does this have to happen? Can't it stop, can't it change? In response, I bowed my head and let my hands cover my face, trailing the tears until they fell at my side. Rather than feeling ashamed as I thought I would, I just felt a leaden sadness. After that moment I didn't allow myself to mull over all the why's. Maybe as a coping mechanism--nonetheless, it was still there in my mind like a light fog that blurs only slightly but not enough to make you blind.

A few days later, that blurring fog was lifted in the most pleasant and unexpected way. Towards the end of our stay, we were allowed to take Mary Deane home from the hospital for a few hours in hopes of getting her to eat (she had been refusing for almost 3 days) and to give a much needed bath. My spirits were up, cheered by being home with my chickadee and my boys. We were standing in the bathroom, she on her little stool, both of us facing the mirror. I took my time carefully braiding her gold hair relishing this simple task and not wanting to take it for granted ever again. I wanted to prepare her for our return back to the hospital so, in curiosity, I asked if she wanted to go back. My eyes left the growing braid to watch her response in the mirror. With a tilt of her head, she simply said yes. Surprised, I asked how come? She looked down at the running water, her head still tilted, and said Because I love you. The rush of emotions seemed to be echoed by the rushing faucet. I immediately melted to her side and kissed her cheek. She smiled, wiped my tears--something she has done since infancy--and said It's okay, mommy. Don't be sad. I told her that I wasn't sad but that I loved her so much that it made me cry. And it was this very moment that my 3 year old daughter taught me a great lesson and answered those leadening why's: Because I love Him. It was as simple as that. And it is as profound as that.

Growing Up

MD has slept in "the big big bed" the past two nights per her request. Such a tiny body for such a big bed! It's fun to see our chickadee growing up but I think it's poked some tender parts of her daddy's heart. He loves his little girl. There is nothing like seeing two people you dearly love love each other (talk about poking the tender parts of MY heart!).

Goofball

I adore the goofy side of MD!

From a March to a Meander

Mary Deane and I discovered a picturesque little trail this week--a little forest hidden among the neighborhood streets. It started out as a determined vigorous walk with MD in stroller, but neither one of us could ignore all the little surrounding discoveries. So, out came MD and our march slowed to a meander. MD discovered the delight of throwing a helicopter seed in the air and watching it whirl to her toes (I remember my mother teaching me this same phenomenon). She deadheaded her first dandelion(s), squawked at scampering squirrels, and rooted about until she found herself a rock (which her hand vigilantly cupped the whole way home). We love our nature walks.

Co-Partner

Only two hours into our slumber I heard the most worrisome sound--MD’s cough. We have only recently finished a two-week schedule of vigorous treatments every 3-4 hours even through the night at times. The hard work payed off, she had stopped coughing and was her happy, enthusiastic self. It only lasted two days. We lay there, listening to her cough, breathe, rustle and repeat. I may have only been quietly laying there but I was having a mental battle: swallowing my pride. I knew I needed to get up and give her a neb and a chest PT but my selfish justification was beginning its list: I’m exhausted, nauseous, pregnant, we just got her better, etc.. As bitter as these lumps of excuses were, going down my throat, it felt good to get them down and out of the way.

I made my way to her room, picked her up, and took her out to the kitchen table where she sat quietly as she breathed in her meds. I took the mask off, she looked up at me and beat her fingertips to her chest--she knew her chest thumping was next. This was when I got my tender mercy. We sat together on the couch, with her head laying on my chest and there she stayed only repositioning now and then to get comfortable (she is her wiggle worm mother’s daughter, after all). Now, normally she needs her dose of Elmo giving one of his third-person-spouts about why he rides his bicycle in order to make it through a PT session. Tonight, she simply cooperated. I turned her over to her back to get the front of her chest and as she lay there on the pile of blanket, with her arms spread eagle, she gave me the sweetest smile followed by an air-smooch, it made me cry and laugh at once. She then asked “that funny?” and did it three more times.

So many times, as a mother, I feel like I swallow those bitter bites of my selfish pride. Gratefully, it’s not always as difficult as it was last night. I feel myself getting better, not in a boastful sort of way, but I feel that Heavenly Father blesses me as a mother to do what I need to do to take care of his sweet MD in the best way possible. He greatly blesses mothers, He really does.

“Th[e] ability and willingness properly to rear children, the gift to love, and eagerness, yes, longing to express it in soul development, make motherhood the noblest office or calling in the word...In her high duty and service to humanity, endowing with immortality eternal spirits, [a mother] is co-partner with the creator himself.” --David O. McKay