Breaking

This is what trauma looks like at times.  An 8 year old boy, hiding under the dining room table with his face planted in his arms.  While we may originally observe this as defiance, an attitude, a revolt, this is what anxiety, stress, fear, and loss can actually look like for a child that does not have the words to express how he truly feels.

Last week I received a call from my 8 year old foster son’s elementary school teacher.  He was having a rough day at school.  My heart sunk as his teacher told me how his day was going because I knew it meant a possible rough night at home.  This has happened a few times where he goes to school and just shuts down.  His teacher who is amazing gives everything she has to motivate him, but some days he just sits there with his head down, non-responsive and unable to do the work.  Tristan and I have created a rule in our house that if our boys don’t do the work in school, or are simply unable to listen that day to their teacher, school now comes home with them and our kitchen table is now their classroom.    As I drove home that night, I was rehearsing in my head what I might say to him.   I knew my husband had him sitting quietly in his room, and the rest of the night would be homework, dinner and bed time.  Nothing fun happens at home when they waste time at school so I knew we were in for some tears and a revolt. 

  One of the hardest challenges as a parent of two boys that we basically just met is trying to find something, anything at all that they may connect with and understand that will hopefully go with them into the world and help them whether that’s at school, daycare, on the soccer field, in their interactions with others, in a job one day.  What words can we speak to them that will implant into their brains and spark a light bulb when needed?  How do we ensure they don't repeat the same cycle that they came from?  Saying to a 6 year old, “you must respect your teacher” means nothing to him.  For the majority of his life adults never respected him or his body, his feelings, his heart.  He has no idea what respect is or what it looks like.  We’ve realized in those moments that we have to take about 10 steps back before the word “ respect” can even be partly understood.  We have to model it in our marriage and in our own interactions with the boys and we are not perfect at it.  We give them controlled choices, we ask permission to play with them and their legos, we ask them what books they would like to read, we try and help them feel valued and show them that we care about their thoughts and feelings.  We go to therapy with them.  What we would expect a 6 and 8 year old to understand, a lot of times our boys simply don’t and its not their fault.  We are constantly asking ourselves if our words and actions are helping them or triggering trauma.  I raised my voice the other night with my 6 year old who was having a melt down.  My voice and body temperature escalated with his cries and "I hate yous" and my immediate reaction was to snap him out of the cry fit he was heading towards with my words.  He grabbed his newborn blanket and started suckling it with fearful eyes.  My parents raised their voice with me and I got in line immediately, we raise our voices with our boys sometimes and I think they wonder if we’re going to hurt them.  It breaks me.  It breaks Tristan.  I constantly question myself and what in the world I am doing everyday.

The night of my 8 year old’s bad day, I walked into his room and sat on the floor.  He climbed up on his bed and put his head down.  He couldn’t tell me why he had a bad day.  He knows how to do the work, he just chose not to that day.  Any question I threw his way, “Help me understand?  Are you nervous about writing?  Do you not feel well?  Are you sad?”  He had no answer which is frustrating as a parent.  Even when he is acting at his worst, when I sit there with him, I can see his brokenness and many times I have no idea how to help him.   I stopped asking questions and took a different approach.  I looked at him and told him to look at me.  He looked up and locked eyes with me and what I said next made me want to turn away and crawl out of the room.  I told him that my first husband was killed and I had to visit his body in a morgue.  I told him that he was lifeless and cold and all I had when I left was a trash bag of wet gear.  I told him that it was the saddest thing I’ve ever seen and experienced in my life and I walk with that memory attached to me like a crippled leg every single day.  I told him that when I was 8 years old my family was almost ripped apart by drugs and I got to visit my dad in a rehab facility and that kids made fun of me.  I told him that Tristan and I lost two babies and went through emergency surgeries that could have killed me.  I told him that with all of those moments in my life, the world gave me no hand-outs, free passes, get out of jail cards, nothing.  The world kept going, things were not put on hold for my short comings.  I told him that he’s a foster kid and his mother failed him and she gave him away, and the pain he must feel from that rejection and complete abandonment I cannot imagine.  I told him that even with that card he’s been dealt, if he goes throughout his life expecting the world to give him special favors or treatment, he is going to be set-up for a life time of disappointment and emptiness.  I told him the world doesn’t care and this is not the only time in his life that he will feel pain or loss.  We are in a constant state of being broken and rebuilt.  I told him that my hope for him is that one day he will help other kids because of what happened to him, that he will be an incredible husband and dad because of what happened to him, that he will become stronger, smarter, tougher, more resilient, he’ll see his creator because of what happened to him.  Being a foster kid does not mean you get a free pass at school, the school work still has to get done and like my husband always tells him, “you have to try.” I told him that I had to keep trying and so does he.  

I believe that when you take on the responsibility of another human being, you have to accept the breakage that is about to occur on your heart, mind and body.  My husband with his own brokenness came to me the other night and said, “the boys are not a reflection of me, yet I am becoming a reflection of them and their trauma, and I don’t like how I feel.”  I have felt the same way through parenting.  You can’t help but internalize their behavior which is really trauma coming out in all kinds of forms.  When you witness those moments, you start to become one with it and I know for both me and Tristan, we don’t always like who we’ve become.  We feel angry, frustrated, drained.  I start to really think about what they went through and envision the way they were treated and it makes me physically ill.  There are times we have no idea how to help them and feel useless.  Sometimes we feel like terrible parents.  There are times we feel like we’re winning and have it all figured out.  Each positive day comes with 3 set back days.   It is exhausting.  I say this as I’m flying back on a plane from a work trip while my husband has had the boys for 4 days all alone.  He is a champion.  

  I’m starting to really believe that God is drawing out things in both Tristan and I that are ugly, that were there the entire time, that need to be removed.  I believe we’re being asked to face our own demons, our own angers, regrets, sadness, our own trauma that we have probably repressed for years.  I believe when we as humans move through these moments with our creator, that we start to elevate to something higher, we draw closer to the light that put us here and things start to feel peaceful again even through the chaos of life.  I’m realizing that the only way to elevate is to break.  Breaking can feel scary because when we break we don’t always feel in control.  I am watching my boys be broken as we break with them.  I’m starting to feel that we needed them just as much as they needed us and that one day we may all elevate together.  When we’re in the trenches and trying to reason with the unreasonable it’s hard to see that but we have to see it, we have to start envisioning it and speaking truth to it.  I believe as parents we have to tell our children the truth, that life doesn’t always feel great.   Loss, hurt, regret, rage, sadness are all things they will feel over and over again, for to be a human is to feel pain.  That in those moments of pain if we can learn to sit with ourselves and to really feel it in all of its rawness, we start to elevate.

  About a month into foster care I wanted to give up on our boys and find them a different placement. I could not deal with the pain it was causing me.  Becoming an immediate parent had an effect on me that was frightening.  I lost 15 pounds, I was depressed, I couldn’t even look at our boys some mornings, and they knew it.   Tristan is the reason I didn’t give up, he coached me through the anxiety and pain and helped me sit with it and start to elevate. Through him elevating me he started to break himself.   I am so glad I didn’t quit when the pain become unbearable.  I have to keep breaking.  

  So I kept eye contact with my 8-year old son as painful as it was to tell him that there will be more moments of pain, more shifts throughout his life that will hurt like hell, yet there will be beautiful moments in his life if he allows it, if he takes all that hurt and uses it to elevate and connect to the loving source that put him here.  So as a family while we are in a season of breaking, I know that joy is coming, I can feel it coming and for that I know that we have to keep going.  We have to keep breaking.

Double Restoration

"Instead of your shame there shall be a double portion; instead of dishonor they shall rejoice in their lot; therefore in their land they shall possess a double portion, they shall have everlasting joy." 

Isaiah 61:7

I met my two sons for the first time one night during a face time conversation.  I can't explain it, but the moment I saw them, I knew they were mine.  It was like a light switch.  The desire and fear for missing out on a small baby was suddenly gone.  Once face-time ended, Tristan and I looked at each other and said, "those are our kids."  My boys are 5 and 8 years old.  They are beautiful, blonde haired, blue eyed little boys with incredible personalities.  They are survivors.  They are incredibly tough. They are my hero's.  The first time I met my 5-year old face to face, he yelled "they're here!" and jumped into my arms.  My 8-year old asked me if we would keep him forever.

Our sons are moving in with us in just 3 days.  Tristan and I have been pouring our blood, sweat and tears into getting our home and our lives ready for them for the past few months.  We're not sure what happened to summer.  We have not taken time for ourselves.   Oddly, we are fine with this.  We saw their faces and we knew what needed to be done.  Summer has been preparing for them.

Tristan and I have spent some time with our boys, including a trip to their current foster home, a trip to Fayetteville, a weekend overnight and multiple face times.  I felt so much joy in watching them have fun and experience things for the first time.  I've never felt that before.  We took them to the lake and introduced them to stand up paddle boarding.  My 8-year old who told me he would NEVER step foot in a lake was doing back-flips off of the stand up paddle board by the end of the day and asking to swim without a life jacket. My 5-year old turned to me as we paddled towards the beach and said, "this is so much fun!"  I felt something in those moments I had never felt in my life.  Seeing joy through the eyes of these boys.  Seeing the future of adventures and so many new introductions.

My boys have food anxiety.  They have a fear of physical abuse.  They wonder if we will keep them.  The things they have seen and experienced in their short time on earth are things that most adults never have experienced and never will.  Yet they are so resilient.  They still laugh and joke and play.  I've never seen them cry.  They are different then many children I have met.

I see John in my two sons.  I see the loss of my children in my two sons.  I see Tristan in every part of them.  I see my family.   I see myself.  I see God.

Foster children tend to have an unwarranted spotlight put on them.  You would be amazed at the things people have said to us.

"Do you actually plan to adopt them?  You can't possibly commit to that.  They may be violent."

"I could never do anything like that, those kids come with all kinds of issues."

"Will they be kind to your animals?"

"You're going to miss so much, first words, first steps, you're giving up all of that by not having a baby."

"You are going to inherit a boat load of crazy issues."

"Why would you not just do IVF?  Why not private adoption?"'

These are all fear based thoughts.  I know that.  My boys don't need a spot light, they need love.  They need people that believe in them and can speak truth to the fine young men they will become. Tristan and I will fight for that every day.  Their current foster parents have fought for that every day.  I know the community of friends and family we expose them to will fight for that every day.

I am about to be a mom and words can't express how much I feel God at the center of all of this.  There are so many ways to be a parent.  My moment came to me in the eyes of two little boys that needed us.  We are the definition of an instant family.  I look forward to seeing the amazing things these two will do in this broken world we live in.  I even look forward to the challenges they will put me through, the questions they will ask, the questions they won't ask, the inevitable melt downs.  I look forward to gaining their trust. Their flaws are something to be admired and respected.  We need them. 

It will be a while before we can apply for an adoption, but that's OK.  I want to speak truth to their future right now, to attach myself right now, to call them my two boys immediately.  They were never ours to begin with, they belong to something so much greater, a universal love we will never be able to provide but can only experience.  They are simply a gift that was withering the day they were born.  I want to remember that every day.

To my two sons, oh how we love you so much already.  We've been speaking truth to you, praying for you and holding you at the center of our hearts.  We can't wait to see all the incredible things you will do with your lives.  May the spot lights be off, and the love of the universe be turned on for my two sons, for they are a true reflection of the love our creator has for all of us.

Through every loss, through my own brokenness, I have been restored double over and over again throughout my life by the loving light that put me here.  It's now coming to me in the form of motherhood.

Lori

I met Lori while paddling the North Fork of the Smith River in Northern California in January 2014.  I had never been on a river as beautiful as this one and Lori happened to be in the large group that John and I joined that day.  We were still very new to Oregon and were invited to go on this trip on a beautiful winter Sunday.  It was a wonderful day on the river with so many friendly people that immediately welcomed us into the group.  Lori and I exchanged numbers that day.  I knew immediately I wanted to be her friend.  She was every person’s cheerleader that day and literally smiled through every rapid.  If someone felt nervous or gripped, you’d see Lori paddling over to them, telling them they were capable of getting through each rapid.  She had an energy to her that was contagious to others and her laugh could be heard throughout the entire canyon that day.  I needed more of that in my life.

       

Shortly after this trip, John lost his life on the upper South Fork of the Smith River.  John went missing around 12pm on March 9th.  After search and rescue called it quits around 9pm that evening, and after Jared and I called it quits around midnight, we called those within the kayaking community for help.  Lori showed up the next morning around 4am to help search for John.  She was the only female in the group of four that found him and led the rescue mission.  She was one of the main reasons that his body was recovered from the river allowing me to see him and touch him and kiss him one last time. What Lori had to go through that day, I simply could not.  Lori quickly became someone I looked up to and developed a deep respect for on and off the river as a woman that held her own.

Lori showed up at my house about a week after losing John in her beat up truck with additional girls, her ukulele, wine and ice cream.  She stayed with me for a few weeks, and did everything from walking my dog Jake to watering my plants, cooking meals, laundry, to just sitting with me in silence.    I met some of my best friends because of Lori.  In my shock and anger and grief and devastation, Lori surrounded me with strong minded women that poured their love and support into me as if we had known each other for centuries.  These women became my family out west and to this day are loves of my life.

When I felt brave enough to get back in my boat again and paddle the last river John and I had paddled together, Lori led the mission and rallied these warrior women to paddle along side me.  They all stood with me as I climbed the rock John and I had last sat together and released his ashes.  It was a moment of honor and respect from these women and the river that I will never forget.

A year later, Lori who had never mountain biked explored an epic 15 mile red wood trail mission with me in Northern California.  This was the kind of riding where you climb forever in hopes of finding a rewarding down hill.  She had no bike helmet so she wore her kayak helmet instead.  She made the entire thing look easy that day.

Lori took John with her to the Grand Canyon and made a point to spread him in the most beautiful places.

Lori took me on my first multi-day river trip on the Wild and Scenic Rogue River in Oregon.  She gave me a boat, gear, and paddled along side me in those moments were I felt John so close.  She did a 13 mile hike with me just so we could find the perfect water fall to release more of John.  Every single person on this trip made me feel like family and the love and excitement they had for the beauty all around us was something I had to get more of.  Lori always seemed to be in the center of that energy.

When I think about my dear friend, she truly picked me up off of the ground when I couldn’t pick myself up.  We had only met each other once before John’s death and exchanged numbers, yet she showed up and did the unthinkable when I could not.  She treated me like a sister and helped me feel alive again.  When breathing hurt, Lori told me to keep breathing, keep paddling, keep exploring, find my next adventure.  Lori knew how to bring women together.  She understood the importance of this incredible bond and it was something I took with me when I moved to Fayetteville.  It was something I kept close to my heart when I left Oregon.  It is a value that changed me and really made me into the woman I discovered after losing my first husband.  Surround yourself with badass women always.  I would not have survived without Lori’s love and friendship and I am so grateful for the life long friendships I made through her.  

I miss my friend.  I don’t want to live in a world without Lori.  I feel angry, empty, guilty and shocked by the loss of her.  Lori was always there for me when I needed her.  Her excitement for life, adventure and laughter was contagious.  I always wanted more of it when I was around her.  She knew how to make people laugh, yet she was the kind of friend you wanted around in your darkest moments.  To be both of those to someone is an art and takes a different soul.  Lori had that.  She was always a woman I wanted to be more like.   

Lori, I love you and I am so sorry.   You will always be a warrior woman to me and every time I walk among the trees, I’ll remember you dear friend.  I picture you now smiling, with all your curly red hair, pushing off into a river, laughing the entire way down each rapid.  We all need more of that and I am so grateful to have known your wild soul.  I love you always and forever.  

Epic

My last vision of John was 5 years ago.  It was a quick nod, and then watching him bush whack with his kayak down to a roaring flood stage river.  I stood there in the rain until his helmet disappeared behind the last tree.  60 minutes later my life would become abruptly different.  John would be dead, but we would search for him well into the next day.  I knew before I really knew.  I mean, don’t we all?  It’s the same story every time.  Flood stage rivers are huge, contain trees, bus eating holes, implode spray skirts, are completely unpredictable, and kill people.  The river that day was climbing roughly 2000 CFS per hour.  I remember reading the gauge on American Whitewater as we drove towards the Smith that day and my fear alarm went off.  I expressed my concern to him, “do you think this is a good idea?  We have no way of knowing what its going to be like at the rate it's climbing.”  I was told to relax, to let go of my paranoia, that “THIS.WOULD.BE.EPIC.”  Every now and then I think to myself, in his last moments of life did the thought ever occur to him, “my wife was right.”  It took me a long time to admit this to anyone.  I defended him for years, “he was perfectly capable of being out there.”  No, he wasn’t, no one was, and every year on March 9^th, I seem to go back to that, and then the rage I’ve buried deep into my gut ignites.  One must not stay this way for long.

John came to see me last night in my dreams.  This time he had incurable cancer.  I realized in this moment I would watch him die all over again and felt instant sadness.  When John was alive, he was terrified of getting old and eventually sick.  He constantly talked about how he did not want to grow old, and the thought of his body shutting down was frightening to him.  In the dream, he gave me all his belongings, along with a letter that he told me to read once he was gone.  He then gave me a huge hug, and told me he was going to go summit a huge mountain so he could watch the sunrise for the last time.  I begged him to stay with me, but he couldn’t, he had to get to the top of this mountain.  He said with a big smile, “it will be epic.”  I watched him leave, as I sat in a pile among all his things, all over again.

I think those that go before us never are completely gone.  I think their energy stays with us as we continue onward.  We find them in our dreams, in triggers that spark a memory, in our own frustrations or joys, they are always there.  John’s story was always going to be this, he was never going to grow old, and somewhere in his gut, I often feel that he knew this.  I think his drive to find his epic moments in life whether on the river or at the top of a large mountain drove his heart.  For the longest time I internalized this and felt that I came second to these moments.  I’ve realized over the years that this was John’s connection to his creator, to the source that put him here.  He felt his best in these moments, because it was his connection to God, to the love that no human could give him.  The visual that there is something beyond us.  He had to have more of that feeling, every day. 

While the death of a loved one can stay with us every day, there is something about a death date that can ask us to go back in time, revisit the events of that day, reflect on decisions made, face regret over words not said, find our inner rage over how quickly things were lost.   After John left this world, I asked myself, what is my version of epic?  I’ve learned with time that it does not quite look like his version, but its epic to me because it is where I find my own peace, my own worth, my own purpose, my connection to my creator.  It doesn’t involve Class 5 rivers anymore or 14,000-foot mountains, but I have a life in the mountains that brings me joy and peace and that alone feels epic to me.  I realized for years I was living a life that spoke to John's epicness, not so much mine.

A few things I’ve learned over the years...

Don’t idolize people and let them take the place of God.  They are withering and so are you, so am I.   We make great humans, we don’t make great Gods.  John was my “God” for years, and he was terrible at it, as he should be.  When we put people before the love light that put us here, we tend to feel completely lost when those people leave us.  We feel that we can’t survive without them, yet we can, and we must when they are gone. 

When something doesn’t feel right, speak.  When you have something to say, speak.  I found my voice after John died, just ask my husband Tristan.  Look at your husbands, look at your wives and speak.  When you have an argument with your partner, argue with passion and complete vulnerability, with complete openness to each other.  This is how you survive together, how you connect to something bigger together.

Love yourself.  Love sitting with yourself.  Find moments of solitude and silence every day.  If you love others more than you love yourself, you may not be able to love others without fear.  Loving yourself is not selfish, it’s essential to connect to something bigger.  Loving yourself allows your partner to see your most authentic self.  When we see that in each other, we see God.

When someone leaves this world, when they leave you and you loved them, recognize that their death is their story, it is not fully yours, it’s simply a part of your life experience.  Sometimes we have to cast off our ego to recognize the difference between those two worlds.  People use to refer to me as “John’s widow.”  I found comfort in this for a while, because I idolized him.   I realized at some point that I was never his, and he was never mine, we both belong to something greater.  We’re all here independently and the love we find for another is a beautiful part of the life experience, and that is here and now.

Feelings of anger towards others, energy towards confrontation, rage over something in the past, this puts you into a karmic cycle that you will revisit over and over again until you resolve it.  When we choose these feelings, we choose to carry that energy within us.  We carry the burden of negativity.  This affects us both emotionally and physically and it pulls us further and further away from the love light that put us here.  Cast off your ego.  Let.It.GO.  Love each other.  Love yourself.  Love your Creator.

My day of epicness consisted of a long slush snow hike with my love Tristan and our two dogs, a tag team on the much-needed cleaning of our house, lunch with some friends, and sitting in the quietness of our house by a fire.  Tristan met me wherever I decided to be today, but he didn’t carry the burden of John’s death, because it’s not his to carry and its not mine either. 

I will always and forever love my husband John.   I miss him every day, and when I’m not here anymore, I look forward to a real hug from him, wherever that may be beyond all of this.  He lived a life of adventure and it was fun to watch him connect with something bigger every time he pushed off onto a river.  He found his epicness.  I am finding mine every day.  Don't try and live someone else's epic life, go find yours and speak truth to it. 

A Safe Place, A Happy Place

“Love has inflicted so many pains on me, but that’s how my life became blessed.”  Rumi

After losing our second baby in November, I felt defeated with my body.  Two emergency surgeries within 4 months due to two ectopic pregnancies now in two different tubes.  These facts were pretty much unheard of according to case studies, my doctor, the hospital.  Yet they were my facts that encompassed me and my experience with pregnancy.  The day of Thanksgiving I sat on our couch reading a story that a good friend had sent me about a woman that had a near death experience and saw the image of a little girl twirling on her feet while holding her hands.  Years later she adopted a little girl who later twirled on her feet while holding her mother’s hands.  The little girl told her mother that she was always hers, she just couldn’t get to her through her belly, as her body could not do it.

I read this story to Tristan and sobbed.  Well, truthfully I ugly cried hard into his beard while he wrapped his arms around me and let me use his face as my new handkerchief.  We talked about the facts and what this meant for our future.  Pregnancy had transitioned from what was supposed to be a beautiful experience to something that was now potentially life threatening to me.  We had no answers as to why this was happening, no one did.  We talked about the options of IVF, IUI, genetic testing, etc.  None of it felt right to us.  I personally did not feel pulled to even consider it.  We both felt strongly that God was asking us to go a different way, take a new path.

I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know a few women over the last year who have had their own pregnancy struggles.  These women took a different path and still found their children.  I find strength in their stories, and many of these women have become such a wonderful support to me in my own journey.  They are strong women, and incredible mothers.

Tristan and I are going to be foster parents.  It feels good to say that.  We’ve been in the process for about a month now and over the next few months, we’ll complete a series of classes, certifications, and home studies so that we’re available to help when the time comes.  What we have discovered so far about foster children in West Virginia is heart breaking.  We feel these children will imprint on us just as much as we hope to make a positive imprint on them.  I believe we may save each other.

I think about the two souls I lost within me every day.  I think about John every day.  As we’ve slowly started to tell people about this new journey, some often say “I could never do that, losing those children back to their parents would be just too hard after getting attached.”  I’m starting to feel that my experiences with loss may actually make me perfect for this role, a role I was probably always meant to take on.  I believe it is a role meant for Tristan and his huge heart too.  I think we both know how to love without fear, for we're all withering, we're all temporary, so why hold back.

I plan to share our story with others as we move through it.  I plan to be as honest as I can be in hopes that others may feel called to do this as well one day.  There is a huge need.  There are many children.  There are many misconceptions with these children.  They are, just children, some way beyond their years for the experiences they've endured.  Knowing some of their stories already, I feel blessed in my own pain experiences, for it is nothing compared to them.

For now, I've enjoyed sitting in this room in our house quietly while the rain comes down, praying over the child that I believe is coming to us in God's perfect timing.  This is a safe place, a happy place, where a child can find joy, laughter, and peace with the mountains right outside their door, even in the midst of pain.  I know Tristan and I will give everything we have to lead them to that experience.

Thank you to my mom and sisters for helping me create such a fun and peaceful room.  Warrior women, I love you.