a grateful heart

“A Grateful Heart”

Thanksgiving 2014

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about what it means to be thankful, and not because it’s that time of year again where we often stop, take a much-needed breath in our busy lives, and reflect.  What does it mean to have a grateful heart, not gilded by the need for reason and significance, expected in reciprocation for good deeds, or overshadowed by humbling loss or sacrifice?  How can I have a free and open heart, a peace that comes with trust – trust in oneself, trust in humanity, trust in a higher power?

Frankly, I think it’s easier to be thankful when it comes with parameters.  I am thankful today because, well, it’s Thanksgiving, a day to be thankful.  Or, I’m thankful in spite of… whatever circumstances we’re in at the moment.  And in life, there always are circumstances.  There’s suffering, there’s sadness.  There are the things we want and don’t have.  There’s a whole lot to understand, to gripe about, to push through, to make it to another, hopefully better, day.  Yet even then, I’m thankful that I’m healthier, safer, better off… because how does that saying go?  There’s always someone worse off than you.

But being thankful, with no strings attached… that can take alittle more.  Like a leap of faith.  A liberating proposition, being able to be content without being tied to obligation or supposition.

Our gospel lesson last Sunday was from Matthew 25, the parable of the sheep and goats.  At first glance, it seems that this message is about achieving salvation by doing good works.  Instead, we learn that the path of righteousness is not by keeping score, but by faith and loving one another, treating our neighbors with kindness and compassion, not by what we seek to gain by giving.

This passage reminds me that I am loved, simply and deeply, without attachments.  The thought is comforting because I realize that I can do the same.  To love, to want for nothing, to know that I am already blessed with so, so much.

So today, I am thankful.  I’m thankful for an adoring husband, who loves me like no one can.  I’m thankful for our angel babies, who’ve always been with us.  I’m thankful for my loving, supportive parents, who will forever take care of us, probably when we least expect it and especially when we need it.  I’m thankful for my beautiful sisters, both inside and out, who’ve been my sidekicks since they were born.  I’m thankful for my wonderfully generous in-laws, who really never stop giving or helping or cooking for us.  I’m thankful for my amazing sister-in-law, who’s shown me what it means to have courage and persistence.  I’m thankful for my resourceful brother-in-law who takes care of my sister and our family in his own understated way.  I’m thankful for an incredible grandmother who I can call my own, who manages to still surprise me and who always seeks a smile.

I’m thankful for family.  I’m thankful for those who are like family.

Today, I am thankful.

schooled

A year ago today, my water broke overnight and I was admitted directly to labor & delivery.  I was under careful watch for 48 hours and then sent straight home on bed rest.  A week later, I gave birth to Lily at 21 weeks, and 3 short days thereafter, Lucas followed his big sister to heaven.

It's been a hard week.  As much as I've wanted to delay this day from arriving, it showed up anyway, just as every new day does.  Acknowledging it is heart-wrenching, that an entire year has passed without the sounds of crying or cooing or chaos.  What would our daughter Lily look like now, with features that so distinctly mirrored mine?  Or Lucas, with his long, stringy limbs just like his father's?  I miss them terribly, every day.

I do, however, remember what it was like after we laid our babies to rest.  I couldn't comprehend making it the first year, time stretching impossibly before me.  Moving on felt alittle like leaving them behind, and I was terrified.  Yet I'm here now, walking forward from our loss and sharing some of my lessons learned.

Life is precious.  Well, duh, you're probably thinking.  But I've seen firsthand what a fragile balance it is, how one seemingly innocuous moment is made up of circumstance and consequence.  I can't remember how many times these past few months that I've pushed myself to be present with family and friends.  Not just to show up, but to make that time count.  To hug alittle more and awhile longer.  To send a note just because.  To say, "I love you."  To appreciate this miracle that's been given us.

Motherhood is forever.  I may have only been a mother for a couple of hours, but something innately kicked in when I held Lily's lifeless form in my arms.  When I heard Lucas's first cry, watched his little chest expand and contract until his last breath.  I knew then I was forever changed.  And motherhood doesn't stop because our babies are gone.  That first week after I left the hospital, I'd constantly touch my belly and belatedly realize, with a bone-aching sadness, how empty it felt without an answering flutter from the other side.  When my breast milk came in, being able to provide without actually being able to provide was more painful emotionally than it was physically.  And every day since the very last day with our twins has made me want to be a better person, to be wiser and stronger for our babies and hopefully, for our future kids.  It's because I'm no longer the same as I was before; I'm a mother.

Trust in God's plan.  This has been my biggest challenge to date.  As someone who only feels comfortable planning everything to a tee, you can imagine how difficult it's been accepting life's hurdles.  The thing is, as perfect and packaged as I want everything to be, in the end, it's never been my design.  Even when I struggle to understand, I remind myself that I may not be meant to.  That's what faith, in my opinion, is all about -- giving myself up to be completely free knowing God will show me His way.  And I do believe His way is good.

Love is limitless.  The outpouring of love Anthony and I have received is proof of that.  Love knows no bounds.  It's my mom taking care of me physically so I can be strong in body and mind.  It's my dad christening our babies with Chinese names.  It's my in-laws planting flowers by the twins' graves.  It's my sisters crying gut-wrenching, sloppy tears with me.  It's my sis-in-law sending a note because she knows I need it.  The list goes on and on, because love -- powerful, indestructible love -- never ends.

Be honest with yourself.  Healing comes from within.  Anthony and I needed each other to get through this year, but I had to be willing to dig deep and pull myself out of the abyss to truly start anew.  If that meant avoiding baby showers or giving myself a private moment when I really wasn't in the frame of mind to celebrate, that was okay.  It was learning to forgive myself.  It was trying to shake it off.  And it was taking each day one at a time, the good along with the bad.  Because that's all a part of searching for truth.

Empathize.  We're in this human experience together, so why not share it with each other?  I've always subscribed to the notion that saying something is better than nothing.  Silence, I've found, can be deafening.  This was amplified tenfold after my pregnancy loss.  A simple, "I'm thinking of you," would have been enough.  The unfortunate thing is that it's the wordlessness which sticks and hurts the most.  So whenever someone I know is going through a difficult time, I make sure I'm there.  Even when I don't know what to say, I understand that trying to is what matters.

Other takeaways?  It's okay to edit as I go along.  And despite the hardships and challenges that inevitably turn up, there are always pure, unadulterated glimpses of joy and contentment that shine through.  Do those instances make up for what we've lost?  No.  Do they make our struggles worthwhile?  Probably.  Do they show us life can be indescribably beautiful?  Definitely.

floor plan

while hubbie was out in the yard today, my bff came over to help me tear up the floor -- literally.  

our house was built in 1989, and hubbie and i are pretty sure the linoleum tiles were put down by the original owners.  being that it's 25 years later, the tiles have been gradually chipping to the point where even i felt the need to do something.  we have many items on the DIY home improvement list, but as neither of us are particularly handy, this is probably one of our biggest projects to date.

i could tell hubbie was pretty skeptical about how much my bff and i would accomplish.  when i mentioned that we'd need to move the refrigerator out of the way, he eyed the floor and pretty much said we'd get to that when the time came.

but i was a woman on a mission, and my bff came to work.  the scraping, hammering, prying, and chipping was therapeutic.  within a few hours, we had most of the floor up.  when hubbie came in to check on us, he seemed a bit surprised by the progress -- but true to his word, he moved the fridge and jumped in to help.

so part 1 of the project is done!  more to come...

on the job

whenever someone asks me about my job, it's kind of hard to explain.  if i don't feel like clarifying, i'll say i'm in medical records, and usually the conversation ends there.  i'll bet an image of me filing papers comes up, which is enough for anyone to stop asking.  (and btw, the last time i filed papers was when i was a clerk fresh out of school).

my role, though, involves so much more: management principles, business operations, information technology applications, electronic health records, data analysis and integrity, quality and patient care... i also play a supportive role for our internal customers.  physicians, for example.

it's not uncommon for me to be paged in the evenings to take care of something.  i do what i have to do, because ultimately the service we provide affects our patients, and that is our #1 priority.  whenever i think of it like that, it's what has me returning the page that much quicker.

when i called a doctor back tonight to confirm details of a report with him, he was extremely appreciative.  and in his words, not mine: "especially at almost 8 o'clock... on a friday."  it's nice to have that acknowledgment once in awhile.  that even though i'm the helper, the supporter... there's gratitude for the part i play.  it surely makes my job worthwhile.

busy bee

work has been a blur of activity... it's that time of year where a number of things happen at once: end of fiscal year stuff, start of new fiscal year stuff, new and visiting residents starting = volumes pick up, which is a domino effect of its own.  so in other words, yeah, it's busy.

add to that a number of projects, test plans, meeting after meeting in preparation for a whole new EHR... and yeah, you can call it crazy busy.

the kind of busy where i don't realize it's afternoon until i glance down at the clock.  the kind of busy where i somehow find myself in 7 hours of meetings with literally 9 minutes to gobble down lunch in between, stuffing my face with one hand while jotting down notes in the other.  the kind of busy where i don't get up to pee until i absolutely can not hold it any longer.  the kind of busy where i've lost track of what day it is, and then realize it's already... thursday?  the kind of busy where i work straight through 10 hours, come home, get paged after 11:30 p.m. just as i'm starting to unwind, and am now blogging after 1 a.m. because i'm waiting for a stat report to be completed.

but busy is good.  busy is what always makes me feel like myself again, the person who throws herself into work and isn't all that bothered by having to be on-call or feeling somewhat... needed.  essential.  productive.  busy, i've found, can be rather healing.

(especially following a week of being not-so-busy - per doctor's orders).

battle wounds

list of things i've come to dislike about surgery:

• the IV.  especially in the hand.  especially when i have to be poked more than once.

• having to take off my glasses before walking to the OR.. because i can't really see anything, including the people working on me.
• how incredibly chilly the OR is.  i mean, i understand why, but it's freezing!  and all i get is this little gown and a robe i can't even keep on!
• being strapped down to the OR table.  yes, i get it, but it always feels a bit odd.
• feeling like i have no control over when i go under.  every time i've had anesthesia, i have this weird thought in my head that it won't work, and then... nothing.
• waking up later, as if from sleep, and realizing there's a chunk of my life that's missing.  and the fact that things were being done to my body, and what those things were, i have no idea.  probably for the best.
• recovery.  "taking it easy" is not an easy thing to do.

tough skin

last week, i had an endometrial biopsy done in the office.  standard procedure, i was told.  results wouldn't be back for a few days.

as someone who's been poked and prodded and biopsied for years now, i didn't dwell too much on it.  admittedly, there was a niggle, yeah.  but there's always a niggle of worry in the back of my mind.  standard procedure, sure, but i've never really been "normal" when it comes to these tests.

after a few days of nothing, in which i've established "no news is good news," that's when i received the call.

"it's not cancer," my nurse stated, and repeated it again probably to make sure that that had registered.

not cancer, i thought, cool as can be.  but it was something.

i wasn't in shock or anything.  this wasn't my first rodeo.  outwardly i reacted with a surreal sense of calm and déjà vu.  after all, i'd been here before.  three times before, to be exact.

perhaps this is the type of reaction that someone has when they're accustomed to hearing bad news.  the kind of someone whose skin has grown so tough it's nearly impenetrable.

and so, i did what any logical girl does.  focused on getting the time off.  on the flurry of scheduling to get me in as soon as possible.  another pre-op, another surgery, another thing among several things of "been there, done that" which has really just managed to test my patience.  and my faith, yet again.

afterwards, i took a breath.  and realized i was shaking.  packed up my things, got in my car... and burst into tears.

still not quite invincible, i suppose.  dang it.

my papa

My father has always been my hero.  Not because of his military service or his numerous patents and contributions to science or his devotion to mission trips and scheduling family vacations.  It is because he has always been the guiding force in my life -- and he does so with persistence and humility.

I have often been compared to my dad, both in appearance and demeanor.  As a child I understood that to mean because he was quiet and analytic and I was studious and contemplative, we were different from my mom and younger sisters.  Over the years though, I cherished the remarks as compliments, realizing that we are innately connected in our makeup.  We find refuge in our thoughts, importance in choosing the right words, significance in expression and perception.

Throughout school, my father pushed me to be my best, not in a patronizing way but much like a coach would lead a team.  And there was a team -- my family -- and as the eldest he instilled in me an obligation to lead by example like he always has.  His patience, too, is unparalleled.  When I struggled with calculus, he set up shop at the dining room table, explaining and re-explaining theorems and formulas until, out of frustration, I literally cried.  I knew that he was aware of the answers but would wait for me to work them out myself.  After we went through this exercise late into the night and he felt I'd had enough, he'd stay up long after I went to bed to write the problems out, step by step, neatly onto a page so I would understand how he'd completed them.  Then he would wait for me in the morning before heading to work to brief me on his conclusions until I showed a flicker of understanding.  This used to make me feel like he was dragging me along, but now I think he saw something in me that I clearly didn't.  And he was really dragging that part of me to the surface, the part where I got it, the part that gave me confidence.

In college, he single-handedly helped me pass organic chemistry, serving as a private tutor despite his busy schedule.  Even after I decided to change majors halfway through my program, he didn't react with an air of disappointment or berate me for wasting time or money.  Instead, he helped me find a track more suited to my skill sets which allowed me to shine.  I learned then, that even as an incorrigible planner, it's okay to step back and revise once in awhile.

One time, out of curiosity, I asked my dad if he had ever wished for a son.  Without missing a beat, he responded, "I have everything I need."

To a man who has always understood what I've needed and given it selflessly – Happy Father's Day.

my momma

When I was in high school, my mom signed me up to volunteer at our local hospital.  As a painfully shy teenager, the thought of caring for strangers was equally dreadful and terrifying.  She told me, in no uncertain terms, to suck it up, because it would be a valuable and memorable experience.  It not only cracked open my shell but sparked my interest in healthcare and helping people.

She knew when it was time to let me go.

A few years ago, my mom was diagnosed with breast cancer.  She accepted it even before the family fully had, and navigated her journey head-on from surgery to recovery the same way she does everything -- with conviction, fearlessness, and optimism.

She showed me that hope can be stronger than fear.

Late last summer, my husband and I unexpectedly lost our twins at 21 weeks.  My mom was the one who was home with me when my daughter was born, who helped perform CPR on my baby, who rode with me to the hospital, who stayed nearby for the next 3 days before I gave birth to my son.  She was also the one who was there after, to cook for me, to accompany me on walks, to take me out, to help me feel like myself again.  And she was the person to urge me to talk about it, to cry with me, to share my grief, and to pull me out of my sorrow so that I could begin to heal.

That's when I realized that inspiration doesn't always shine through facing life's struggles.  It's about kindness, and empathy, and unconditional love.

So Happy Mother's Day to one exceptional mother -- one who knows when to give me a nudge, who reminds me of my blessings, who embraces me when I need it.

name wars

i can't remember what hubbie and i were talking about this afternoon, but he mentioned a conversation we'd had when we were naming our twins.  when i had been considering the name lucas, he had agreed rather easily.  and then in the next breath he'd suggested, not so subtly, the name leia for our daughter.  it only took me another second to realize why.  and another to nix that idea.

"he had said it like a joke, but not really," i told his mother today, and we all had a big ol' laugh.

"and i thought it would have been perfect -- i mean, they were twins!" my husband added.

it felt nice to be able to smile at the memory.

100 days of happy

a friend of mine shared a happiness challenge that seemed right up my alley.  it involves posting a picture every day of something that makes me happy.  seems easy enough, right?  well then, join me and spread the happy!

http://100happydays.com/

#100daysofhappy

the crazy bunch

(better sung in the brady bunch tune..)

here's the story

of a crazy couple

who lived in the woods with a driveway packed in snow

there was an ice storm

that caused some freezing

and they were all alone

so this morning when the man tried out the driveway

his car was stuck and couldn't move another inch

then he woke his sleeping wife

at 5 o'clock

for her SUV to push him out (which was a cinch)

but when it was time to turn the SUV toward home

it got stuck upon a hill and wouldn't budge

so they backed out

into a ditch

and had to call the tow truck, oh yes, oh fudge

the crazy bunch, the crazy bunch

that's the way we became the crazy bunch..

on the edge

i've been noticing an edge to myself that at times i find difficult to reel in.  the thing about having a child (or two) and then losing them, is that you still have to deal with the after-effects of everything, despite the fact that they're no longer living.

insurance, for example.  i recently received a letter about services rendered for lily and my insurance company requesting more information.  so i called to ask about it.  

"i only see you and your husband under your plan," the attendant said.

"then what do i do?  these services were for my daughter," i replied.

"you didn't enroll your daughter in your plan."

here i could feel the pressure building, but tried to keep my voice calm and even -- i didn't enroll my daughter in our plan because she passed away."  even to my own ears the words had come out alittle snippy, despite my best efforts.

"oh."  she went on to explain, gentler now (or had she backtracked?), what i needed to do.  and then, "i'm sorry."

but after hanging up, i was the one who was feeling sorry.  it hadn't been her fault that she didn't know what had gone on in my life.

perhaps the anger that i thought was nonexistent is starting to show its face.

at least if i know that, then i can fight twice as hard to squelch it.

birthday note

is there anything cooler than one of your favorite authors leaving you a surprise birthday note?

no, i don't think there is.