Over-thinking 8/20/12

An old post that couldn't be posted when it was written...thank you, God, for bringing us to a NEW season of life and no more watchers!

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I'm really sick of having to over-think everything.  Life is complicated enough, trying to get everything done that needs to be done in a manner and by a person or people by whom every such thing can be done.  Yes, I am purposely being obscure (and obtuse?) here.

You see, that sheetrock did not do itself.  Of course not.  Apparently however, if I am going to mention something in passing (with which I was seeking to make more of a spiritual application than a literal physical one...again with the obscure...), I need to also make sure to be very specific about what was or wasn't done and by whom.

Or else just not speak/type/write at all.

Someday, this will be done.  Maybe then I can live without people watching my every move again.  Not that it will change one iota of my/our life.  Other than having to deal with deliberate obtusity (is that a word?  it is now.).

In the meantime.  I will not shut up.  I will not go away.  I will not cease to be me.  I will not stop living and talking about my life, either.  For you see, this blog is for me.  It's a somewhat creative outlet.  A journal of sorts.  A history of my life that my loved ones will be able to read long after I am gone. 

It's not about you.  It's not about Brian.  It's about me and about minute connections God allows between my life in the present and an eternal God who knows all things.  And sometimes...it's just about life.  Life as it is.  That's it.  I'm sorry if I forget to explain every detail of life in a way that leaves no one questioning anything ever.  No, scratch that...I'm actually not sorry.  So there.

So now I have a little story to tell you...please don't assume this story is actually about me, because maybe it is, maybe it's not.  But here it is...once upon a time, a room needed to be sheetrocked.  The man who lived in the house was not able to do the job himself.  He directed two pre/mid-pubescent boys in the destruction and disposal of the old sheetrock, but did not do the actual work himself.  At the store, the employees of said store loaded the trailer.  At home, the wife, son, and friend of the man unloaded the sheets of sheetROCK (hey, is this why they are so heavy??  I may or may not know from personal experience though.  Can't say.).  The man rented a sheetrock lift and had more friends come over to put the sheetrock up, along with the wife and son (again).  See, he was a smart man and knew that that sheetrock wasn't going to lift itself and neither was he going to be able to lift the sheetrock.  Not a lot of thought went into this, however, as the man has not been able to do such things for over 4 years now.  The sheetrock is still not complete (almost though!).  All readers of this story will rest assured that this man is still well aware that he cannot/may not/will not do this job himself, as he would have in the past.  See, this is the story of life now for this man...calling other people to help him out.  So when the wife wrote about this instance, she may have neglected to mention exactly how this sheetrock job was going to be completed, because for her, this is all just life now.  It's not even something that was thought about.  It's kind of a "duh" thing in this woman's house...as in...duh, of course this man who is not able to do these things is not the one doing these things.

Duh.

P.S.  He also never once climbed through the window.  He simply waited until the job (which he did NOT perform) was at a point where the plastic could come down.  And then?  He walked through the doorway, as he always does.  With a terrible limp and lack of balance.  But he didn't really notice that either...because this is just life for the man now.

Tractorversary and other things...

These were the 5 repeated phrases from the VBS our church just finished:
Day 1:  No matter who you are...trust God!
Day 2: No matter how you feel...trust God!
Day 3: No matter what people do...trust God!
Day 4: No matter what happens...trust God!
Day 5: No matter where you are...trust God!

Do you see a common theme there? ;)  I was a crew leader (aka helper) in the preschool.  I felt kind of obligated to be there because both of my kids were there and one of them is a super duper handful (take a wild guess...starts with an L).  It was (mostly) a good time though and I was very often reminded that I need to trust God with every tiny detail in my life.  All of them.  Just trust Him.

You wouldn't think trust would be such a hard thing.  After all, God has never ever ever proven Himself untrustworthy in my life.  In the past, every hard thing, even the really terrible things, have been used by God for my good.  I can see it, looking back.  Why then, is it so very difficult to see the good in the "now" hard things?  I guess it's all a matter of faith, of constantly choosing to see the end result is going to be good...even when what I see now is terribly hard and definitely not good.

The 4th tractor-versary of Brian's accident was last Friday.  I meant to post something here that day, but it was the last day of VBS.  And my 13 year old cat died the night before.  And I had a massive headache all day from a "flying truck" incident at Day 4 VBS.  So...I let the day go by, just trying to hold on and get through it.  Which I did, in case you're wondering.

I've come to realize that for Brian and I, life will always be split into two sections...before and after.  I've also come to realize that, except for those who are very close to us, other people don't see our lives that way.  For them, 4 years is long enough that Brian just "is" the way he is.  The accident is water that has long ago passed under the bridge.  There is no then and now, no before and after.  I think they don't even remember him/us before.  They don't live it every day, so I can't really blame them. 

But I remember. 
I remember a father who loved to hike off trails with his kids. 
I remember a father who could kick or throw a ball without pain.
I remember a father who could relieve me every night, even after he worked all day. 
I remember a father who would climb the stairs every night and put the kids to bed.
I remember a father who rough-housed with the kids, rolling on the floor with them, roaring with laughter.

Some of my kids don't and won't remember that dad.  I am glad they still *have* a dad.  Don't get me wrong.  But it breaks my heart to think of all the "can't dos". 

I remember a Paul Bunyan of a man...logging and cutting up our heat for the winter.
I remember a man who liked to rollerblade and ride a bike.
I remember a husband who could go for a walk around the block.
I remember a husband who wasn't afraid of anything.
I remember a man who really didn't know what pain was.

God has done great and amazing things in our life since the accident.  And yet...so much is left undone still, even 4 years later.  I never imagined we would be floating in limbo this long, not sure of what to do or where to go next. 

I would have though by now, God, You would have reached down, and wiped our tears away.

God is still good.  Life is still good, even if it takes a little longer to find the good.  We will make it through this, even if "this" is the rest of our lives, as it appears to be.  I must daily choose to trust the One Who knows my name, the One Who sees my hurt, the One Who loves me.  There really is no other option, besides despair.

I'll walk with you

It's something I have noticed about myself for years.  Something I am not proud of.  Something that makes me heartsick whenever it happens.  Something I always say I'm going to keep watch of and not do any more.

I walk ahead of my husband.

I know, it doesn't seem like a major infraction, a sin worthy of guilt and shame.  But for me, it is.

Right after Brian's accident, I was always behind him pushing his wheelchair, or next to him, if he was propelling himself as he liked to do when he was able to use both arms.  This was nearly a year.  When he advanced to crutches, I struggled to keep up, he got so fast!  This was over a year.  And then...his leg finally healed and he learned to walk, first with a cane, and then with nothing but a lift in his shoe to adjust for the leg length discrepancy. 

Now...he is slow.  Very slow.  On top of that, he has to stop and rest often because his back and leg hurt so badly.  And so my problem began.  I blamed the children for a while, because I needed to keep up with the little ones to make sure they were safe.  This was true, but I would notice it when Brian and I were out alone also.  It was painful for me to lumber along with Brian.  Not physically painful, but emotionally difficult to realize that for some reason I do not understand, my husband is forever called to a slower pace of life now.  Brian has no choice but to accept this slower pace, but I, with my undying need to sprint ahead and plan out all of life, have had a harder time with acceptance. 

I do not like to see him struggle.  I especially cannot stand this thought that his difficulties (aka disabilities) are permanent.  Forever.  At least until the next life, when we receive our new, perfect bodies in Heaven.  I don't know whether "forever" will be one more week or 60 more years.  I do know that the one I love, the one who is a part of myself, is stuck in his body as it is.   I, however, am not stuck with him.  I could walk away, walk so far ahead that we are no longer together.  I can walk away from the struggle of his "new" body.  He can't.  I won't.  I won't leave my other half to walk alone.  Figuratively or literally. 

And so, I must learn to walk beside my Brian.  I must choose to take life at a slower pace.  I must even teach my children to slow down, so their Dad doesn't miss so much of what they have to share.  Someday though, our children will have lives of their own.  I hope they still choose to spend some time slowing down with Dad.  I hope I still choose to walk beside my Love. 

Slowing down means...smelling more roses.  Enjoying more of the beauty in the world.  Enjoying each other.  Being thankful for the little things in life.  Letting the little things be enough.  Thanking God that He knows what is best for us.  Trusting God for the grace for each day to come.

Mixed-up Grieving

Grieving is strange.  You start out grieving one thing, usually the obvious thing.  In this case, the loss of someone you loved.  But then you find that you are grieving so much more. 

Brian's dad is gone.  He died three weeks ago today, laying in his bed, watching TV.  We had almost a year warning, as he was diagnosed with terminal cancer in his tongue and mouth last year.  You're still never ready to lose a parent, and no one realized he was as close as he was to meeting Jesus.

Complicating that grief is...knowing that the turmoil-filled relationship Brian and his dad had when he was a child mirrors the relationship Brian has with Nick, in a lot of ways.  It's pretty eerie, actually.  Oh, how we love and miss that boy...but the decision we made was what is best for all of us.  I hope someday he will understand.  Brian did come to understand why his dad "gave up" on him, many years later.  I still remember the day Brian's dad sobbed while he told Brian he was sorry for all that happened.  I'm glad he had that chance.

Brian is doing the same job his dad did for 23 years...driving a truck.  I hope that is a comfort to him, but it is so hard on us here at home.  The kids need him.  I need him.  And he needs us.  But a man's got to do what a man's got to do...

And then there is the accident crap.  We're sneaking up on four years.  FOUR YEARS.  It's really hard to believe it's been that long.  On the other hand, it seems this has been our life forever now.  I find myself not focusing so much on what once was, with just the occasional glimpse back to what we didn't know was a simpler time.

All of these things are all balled up in one big ball of grief.  There are so many days it is just one foot in front of the other for us.  Most days are that way for me lately.  We'll keep moving forward though.  There's not really another option.

Our hope is in the One Who knows how it will all come together for good...

"Don't get your hopes up"

Twice in a week, I have been told this..."don't get your hopes up".  This is in regard to Brian looking for a trucking job.  Both people have (thankfully) been just acquaintances, not good friends or anything.

But don't get your hopes up?  Seriously?  We've done pretty well with that on our own the past few years.  Knowing everytime we went to a doctor, it was probably not going to be good news.  Knowing that we had more surgeries to come.  Not seeing a lot of improvement, and any we did see being painfully slow.

To the man who said this tonight, I wish I had put my head up, looked you in the eye, and said, "Don't get our hopes up??  Do you know my husband?  The man will do what he sets out to do.  And I will be cheering him on the whole way.  Don't get my hopes up?  Mumble, mumble, mumble...why don't you go suck on a lemon?"

And if I don't get my hopes up...what then?  Do I just hope we get to live on foodstamps the rest of our lives?  What about when SSDI stops coming in...in 10 days?  Just suck it up, live with it.  Live in defeat?  We will not.  I will not.

My hope comes from the Lord, the Maker of heaven and earth.  I will lift my eyes to HIM alone.  Now get thee behind me, satan.  You won't have this man, and you won't have this family.

Tractor-versary

It's the third tractorversary of my Brian's life-changing accident.

On the first tractorversary, I was wishing we had gone away for the day.  It was "just another day" for everyone else, and definitely not for us.  Sadly, a friend of a friend also died on this day, in a car accident.  He had 5 children, too.

On the second tractorversary, we went to preop for Brian's 9th surgery.  It was a quiet, somber day, wondering why this had to last so long, and why his stupid bones wouldn't heal.

On this day, the third tractorversary...bones are healed.  Brian is trying with all of his might to reenter the workforce.  His body is still not the same, and never will be, but we are finally able to look toward the future! 

Truthfully, I woke up this morning not remembering this was "the day" until I saw someone else post on facebook about it.  That day three years ago, I almost lost my husband.  My children almost lost their father.  But we didn't.  And so...life goes on now.  Finally.  It has stood pretty still these past few years, and though change is scary, I'm glad time is moving forward for us once again. 

A terrible dream

I've been hoping that I will wake up soon and find this all has been a terrible dream. 

Brian will be getting up to work at 6 am every day, and come home after a full day of work, smelling like stinky, sweaty, concrete covered man.

We'll collect a paycheck once a week that will pay the bills, and a hefty tax return once a year that will pay for all those "extras" like a couple simple camping trips, homeschool curriculum, new tires/vehicle maintenance, and whatever new gadgets we've been looking at.

Brian will complain of minor back pain from working hard 40-55 hours a week.  He won't know what it is like to have major pain all day every day.  He won't know what it is like to wish he could work, but not be able.

I will complain of all my time alone with the kids, wishing Brian could help more.  I won't know what it is like to take care of the kids AND my husband after his many surgeries.  I won't know what it is like to have to leave the house to go to school or work, knowing this was not the plan for this time in our lives.

The kids won't know what it is like to watch a Daddy in pain.  We'll go on hikes in the woods.  Long hikes, on and off trails.  I'll get to hike up that waterfall I missed out on because Hannah and Levi were too little.

We won't have to deal with Nick's mother being all greedy, thinking all of our pain and upheavel should get her something.  We will still have Nick as we always did, and complain of it not being enough time with him, never knowing what it is like to be without him for 8 months.

We won't have to take food stamps.  Or the "looks" from those who can't possibly know or understand our story.  We won't have to ask people for help with things we can do on our own.  We won't even know how good we have it.

We will be able to help other people again.  Someone's moving?  Brian will be the first one there and the last one to leave.  Someone needs help with their house or car?  Brian will be there, even after working all day long.  In fact, he will help people so much that I will get annoyed and be the nagging wife I was.

But it's not going to happen.  This isn't all a terrible dream.  This is life.  My life.  Our life. 

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Soon after the accident, Brian told me he didn't want us to come through this without God changing us, because if we just went back to life as we knew it, what would be the point of the pain?  There has to be a point.  Surely, there does.  God wouldn't just allow all of this for nothing, right?

And yet, here I sit, wishing we could go back.  Things were simpler then.  At least in hindsight.  But were they really?  Probably not.  We still had problems.  They were just not THESE problems.

If we really ask to go back to those days, I'd say we're an awful lot like the Israelites demanding to go back to Egypt after God freed them.  This is our time in the wilderness, I have no doubt.  But will it go on 40 years?  I sure hope not.  Oh how I long to see our Promised Land...

Dear stupid...

Dear stupid car accident,
     I wish you would have never happened.
     Thanks a lot for taking my man and crushing first his body and then his spirit.
     Thanks a lot for leaving my kids with a Dad who can't climb mountains with them, or run and play soccer, or even walk through the grocery store most days.
     Thanks for leaving me with a husband who never feels good enough, no matter what I do or say.
     Thanks for ensuring that our future is full of doctors and surgeries.
     Thank you for removing pretty much everything that was simple in life.

     I could be whining about totally different things right now, never knowing how good I had it...
        
     So really, thank you.  I've learned not to take for granted the life that we had.  Can we have it back now?  No?  Thanks a lot.





PS to readers...yes, I know we have tons of things to be thankful for.  That doesn't mean that a whole lot of things don't just plain suck.  Sometimes I get tired of making lemonade.

Forgiveness and bologna sandwiches

I think I have been overthinking the concept of forgiveness, thinking it had to be some spiritual event and certainly had to result in an epiphany of kindhearted feelings on my part.  Lately, I'm thinking it's much simpler.

Forgiveness is...doing something nice for my husband when he's just shown me his oh-so-human side.

Forgiveness is...allowing every day to be a new day for my children.

Forgiveness is...giving friends the same grace I hope they will give me when I need it.

Forgiveness is...making bologna sandwiches for Tractor Man.*

Forgiveness is...meaning it when I tell him to have a great day.

Forgiveness is...knowing God has my future under control, and I don't need to hold onto the anger.

Forgiveness is...knowing that God can handle the justice part, and I don't need to.

Forgiveness is...remembering that I am one of those Jesus was referring to when he said, "Father, forgive them.  They know not what they do."

I don't have it all figured out, but I think being open to learning is all that is required here...


*Tractor Man...used interchangeably for the man who drove the tractor that hit Brian, and also for the farmer that owns the tractor.

Two years ago...

Brian's body was broken and smashed by a big stupid green tractor which was driven down the wrong side of the road.

I went looking for my MIA husband, and found a terrible accident scene.  I'm not sure those images will ever leave me.  When I think about it, I can see it all so clearly, and me running holding my big pregnant belly.

Hearing his screams, and being told I could not ride with him in the ambulance.  Driving back to the church alone, knowing that if I could just get back there, someone would take me to Syracuse so I could be with Brian.

The crazy ride with Tammy and Maria.  Their oh so normal and soothing conversation while I prayed over and over...please, God, no internal injuries and no head injury.

The ER nurse handed me a brown bag of bloody, cut up clothes, covered in tiny cubes of auto glass.  I fished his wallet out of the mess and washed the blood off it in the ER bathroom.

Staying with Brian as much as they would allow, constantly asking for more pain meds for him.  It was 9 hours between the accident and when they brought him into surgery.  Nine hours of bones sticking out of his skin, moaning in pain with no real relief.  He doesn't remember it, but I sure do.

Brian going into the OR, and Jenny staying with me until he got out around 1 am even though there was VBS first thing in the morning.  Six hours in surgery, putting Humpty Dumpty back together.

Finally laying down to sleep on the OR waiting room floor, where the contractions I had had all day intensified.  I told my unborn baby that now was really not a good time and to please stay inside.  And she did.

God touches that day...
Brian being alone in that car.
Brian living through the impact.
No internal or brain injuries.
The stranger that climbed in the car with Brian and stayed with him while the volunteer fire department freed him from the car.
The blanket of peace that fell over me and stayed there for a long time.  Maybe it was shock...but it was what I needed at that time, so I could do what needed doing.
Friends and family who instantly filled in the gaps where ever they appeared.

It's been a long two years.  God is faithful.  God is good.  Always.
Always.
Even when bones don't heal.
Even when a strong man sobs with pain.
Even when there is pain every day.
Even when there is no speedy justice.
Even when we hurt.
Always.  Always God is good and faithful.

To Him be the glory...