How Do I Love Thee? Let Me Count The Ways . . .

I know I tease and poke fun at my husband. He is not romantic. He is one sad man when he is sick. But this week I saw, really saw what an incredibly amazing man he is. As if I needed reminding of it.

He stood by me when I was in the deepest, darkest wells of my depression.

I know this.

He took care of our children, our home, the bills, and worked.

I know this.

What I didn't know was how he would spring into action at a look of panic from me, at three words, uttered in helplessness. I looked at him and said, "He needs help." And he was gone. Up, dressed, and out the door.  

My husband took care of a friend who is in a deep, dank well. He didn't question. He didn't judge. He just went.

Because he loves me. And he knows I love my friend.

This? I didn't know.

I didn't know that he loved me so much that he would help somebody else who was crying out.

And so . . .

I love you for your heart, which your rarely show to others.

For your quiet courage.

For you loud laugh.

For your love of Jesus and ability to get us to church every.single.Sunday.

For your sarcasm and dry sense of humor.

For your tenderness, which you try to hide. But I know, oh how I know.

For your love of our children.

For your eyes. They're pretty.

For your hard work and handy man abilities. Nothing is sexier than saying, "I could really use a shelf right here." And a shelf appearing right there 24 hours later.

For your intelligence. You hold real facts in your head. (I hold random trivia.)

For your willingness to act now and ask questions later.

For always doing the right thing, even when it may not be what you want to do.

For always putting family first.

[caption id="attachment_1112" align="alignleft" width="292" caption="The best things that ever happened to each other."][/caption]

For making me laugh, even when I'm really, really angry and don't want to laugh.

For making me love you.

For letting me make you love me.

So, I'm A Cryer

I've recently discovered a new personality quirk that is embarrassing, humbling, and life affirming. And also totally laughable.

I can cry at anything. Anything. A newborn baby? Watery eyes as the memories of my own little ones well up inside me. My friends one year old finally getting her first tooth? Shiny tears in the corner of my eyes as I remember those first teeth. Working the last stitches in the baby hat I'm praying will one day grace the head of a niece or nephew? Glistening tracks down my cheeks. Hearing Violet sing her part in the upcoming Holiday Magic Show? Tears, coursing down that I swipe away quickly with my sleeve. Watching Violet watch the older dancers as they move their bodies in the most beautiful, magnificent, fluid ways and her eyes follow them, and I see that she hopes to move that gracefully, that wonderfully some day? Full on ugly cry.

This? All happened in the span of about an hour. An hour, people.

Which got me thinking. When I was in the depths of my depression, I didn't cry at beautiful things. Ever. I cried out of fear, anxiety and despair. But I never saw beauty so I never reacted to it. Now that I am healing and am out of that black, roiling place, I see beauty and grace everywhere I turn. I appreciate it. I think I appreciate it even more because I was so horribly blind to it for so long.

My feelings were also so incredibly turned 'off' during that time period, that now, as they awaken, it's as though my nerves are exposed. I feel things with more intensity. They are more powerful. A hug from  Sarah can send my heart racing, make my entire day. I don't mean, "Oh, that just made my day!" But, literally, change my entire outlook on the day. A hug. Her two little arms reaching around my neck, her sweet scent, and BAM! The day is fixed. Before, a hug was like putting a band aid on huge gash. It worked just fine, until I moved.

I used to escape into books. (I still read voraciously. Don't get me wrong.) I'd get so angry if I was interrupted because the book was my one chance to be whole, to be normal. The other day I was reading and was at an awesome spot when John wormed his way up next to me. He dragged the blanket over himself, snuggled next to me, grabbed my face with his little hands and kissed me. Then laid back and watched t.v. I put the book down, wrapped us up and watched the show with him. We talked and giggled the whole way through it. And I cried.

I can be driving down the street and see a father walking with his son, holding hands, and I well up. The site of my three kids holding hands, spontaneously, this summer put me over the edge. The way my friends dog greeted me the other night. Such unbridled love. And oddly enough, that is when I realized what I have been feeling.

First, I've started feeling again. And that was absent for so long. So long that it physically hurts to think about it. Second, I'm feeling unbridled love. I'm not analyzing it. I'm not saying, "Why?" I'm not asking, "Should I be feeling this?" I'm not running away from it. I'm just . . . feeling. Yes, it is sometimes frightening. For so long I medicated away every emotion, every tear, that now when I actually have these authentic feelings my first response is, "Oh God, I'm cracking up again!" But then I realize that people feel things. They are happy. Sad. Angry. Scared. And I can feel all of these, and more, and not be ready for the hospital again.

So, lately? I've been one big cry baby. And I think I'll stay that way for a while.

A Purpose Driven Life

Irene, Matthew, Violet, Elizabeth Christams '05

What is the purpose? I've been asking myself this question a lot the past few weeks. What is the purpose for my depression? It was and is so huge. I lost such a large piece of time to it. Now that I am healing and learning, there must be a reason for it. I do not believe that I went through all that despair and anxiety to come out on the other end and do nothing with the knowledge. I believe there is a purpose.

Sometimes we learn the purpose for something immediately, other times it takes years to see it. Whenever I start to doubt that there is a purpose I think back to when I had my first miscarriage. 

We kind of planned for that baby, in that we did nothing to prevent him or her from being created. So when I didn't feel well and took a pregnancy test, we weren't exactly shocked at the positive result. Violet was nine months old and we were ecstatic about having another baby. We quickly told the world. 

My friend, Jill, came over to watch Violet while I went for my ultra sound appointment, alone. We wouldn't be hearing a heartbeat or anything like that during the ultrasound, (it was too early) so I insisted my husband go to work. 

I'm not going to get into the details of the appointment in this post.

Although there was a sac, there wasn't a baby. To say I came unglued would be an understatement. I only remember crying and shaking, and people staring at me. They escorted me out a back door so I didn't pass back through the waiting room full of pregnant moms. Because I was no longer pregnant.

My husband came and got me, took me home. Then he and Jill went back to get my car. On the way back to our house he called his mom. We needed her to come help us watch Violet when I went back to the hospital for the procedure.

My mother in law is an incredible woman. I simply adore her. She is probably the most organized person I've ever met. She's practical, well planned and scheduled. She's kind and quietly loving, gentle and thoughtful.

My husband called her at 11 o'clock, told her what had happened and could she help? I expected her around 7 o'clock. She was at work, lives an hour and half from us, needed to finish the day, get home, pack, fix my father in law dinner and drive here.

So at 2 o'clock I was a bit surprised when I heard a noise, looked up and saw my mother in law rushing at me with open arms. She wrapped me in a huge hug and held me while I sobbed. I'd been on the phone with my mom, but it wasn't the same, you know? I needed to be touched. To feel. To connect. And there Irene was, just holding me, letting me sob and snot all over her.

For the next three days Irene stayed with us, cooking for us, taking Violet when I was short tempered or the sadness welled up inside me and even my baby couldn't soothe it.

We sat and had pots of tea in pretty cups, talked about marriage and babies and love and sorrow and cried. I'd known her for just about three years at that point, but during those three days I actually got to know her. I got to know the woman that is my husbands mother. The woman that carried him in her belly. That felt him move for the first time and felt joy in it. Loved him first. Held all his hopes and dreams in her heart. I never knew this woman. But in that time of great sorrow came a great knowledge. And I've taken that knowledge with me.

It's no secret that the past few years have been difficult, to say the least. When I have been humiliated and horrified by what I have had to ask of my family, Irene has always shown up at my door. When I flinch away I am reminded of this time, this time when we sat and cried over that first lost babe and I really got to love her. And for that, I am thankful. That is the purpose.

Kim