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Skipping Town

Hannah

Trying his best to make each special event an amazing memory for us, my sweet husband booked us an Airbnb for a short getaway a couple of cities away for our 19th wedding anniversary in November. This man; he is the king of making good plans, and the expert at rearranging them when life gets in the way. On our 19th wedding anniversary I was in inpatient hospice because my pain was so severe, and I was under quarantine because of a covid exposure. Draw a big scratch through those plans. He came up with a back up plan and made it wonderful and memorable, and I enjoyed every minute of it, but we still had these Vrbo reservations to see about.

Hubby reached out to the owner and explained our situation and asked for an exception, and they allowed us to move the dates of our Vrbo stay when I was out of the hospital. THEN I was invited by a friend to fly out and spend time with her getting her new condo set up in her brand new town. Now friends, my hubs is fiercely protective of our time together, but he is also the master of flexibility, and understands each moment and each possibility is truly a treasure for me and for my people right now. He reached out again, got another exception to change our Vrbo dates, double-masked me, and put me on a plane to make memories with my friend. My friend and I had a wonderful time, and then the day finally came that it was time for Mark and I to run away together. Giddy like a schoolgirl!

My husband is a rockstar at finding cool places for us to stay, and this weekend did not disappoint. He found us an apartment complex built in the earlier 1900’s that had so much class and charm, and was the perfect place to tuck away and socially distance for the weekend. He cooked for me, hauled around my heavy wheelchair whenever we needed it, let me sleep in, and gave me a heart full of special and lasting moments to tuck away.

We pretty much had the run of the place, hardly seeing anybody when we ventured down to play ping pong or snuggle in the hot tub. There were gorgeous details to catch your eye all throughout the building, but our apartment was simple and cozy and just the perfect place to hide away.

Throughout dating and on into our marriage Mark and I created a fun tradition of getting super dressed up and going out on a date. For our very first “formal” date over 20 years ago, we got dressed to the nines and Mark took me to a baseball game, build-a-bear, and then dinner at Morton’s; the best steakhouse ever. This weekend we were tickled to find just a few blocks from our apartment was a Morton’s, so naturally we made that our choice for our dressy dinner out again 20 years later! It was dreamy!

Morton’s Steakhouse
Filet perfection!

The wait for this trip was worth it, and thanks to Mark we had a wonderful and very special 19th anniversary. We celebrate often and we celebrate big; fully embracing each of these treasured moments I’m given.

Beautiful brickwork
Stunning
Each elevator door had a different dog picture!
Taking on our second puzzle
No kids + no cats = no missing pieces!
Pool, hot tub, and lots of bling
Me losing at ping pong
Hot tub with an amazing view!
Tallest shower ever, and it felt like standing in an actual rainstorm.
Beautiful time in a beautiful city

I’m so thankful to my man for working so hard to make sure we could do something fun but still accommodating for me. I’m thankful he still enjoys pursuing me, and lets me play dress up . I’m thankful most of all for the quiet, rejuvenating weekend we had together and the new memories made with the love of my life.

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Breaking

Hannah

These last few months have held some really intense challenges for my family and I. The kind that shake you down to your core and make you question everything about yourself, what you believe, and how you’re going to pick up and move forward.

I thought about telling you about how the seal broke on my inability to cry and how I big fat ugly sobbed for multiple days in a row, but what I really want to say is that these bottom-of-the-valley moments have reminded me so much how important it is to lean into our pain and feel it. Let it break you. Let it change you. Let it shake up everything you knew to be true because that’s the thing that makes you the incredibly strong, courageous, real person that you are.

These moments may feel impossible at the time, but they’re the very foundations upon which your strength grows from. Don’t let your heart grow weary; know that you are becoming the you that you were meant to be. Keep going. Keep leaning in. Keep letting it suck, because on the other side you are going to be stronger and braver and wiser than you could have ever imagined.

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Susan 🦋

Hannah

My heart feels crushed every time I remember that a hard goodbye is just around the corner. I am grieving having to say goodbye to an incredible woman. An Angel among us. I have been so blessed in life to have been given friends who leave such important footprints on my heart.

I met Sue in a roundabout kind of way; we were both following the same blog, and the blog author had asked for prayers for Susan’s granddaughter, Delainey, who was having complications from Trisomy 18. In the end, we lost our daughter Ellianna, and she lost her granddaughter Delainy just a few months apart. Thus began an unexpected friendship; raw, real, beautiful, and based on the bare bones truth of treating people gently when they need to be loved.

Sue and I carried the heaviness of grieving our little ones side by side even though we were states apart. She was always accepting of whatever stage I was in, and gave me space to feel and express all that I needed to. Do y’all know how rare that is? It is an indescribable gift to have a person like that! Even in her own grieving, Sue found ways to speak to my hurts and mend my broken pieces with her gentle words and kind heart.

From right: Susan, Delainey, Delainey’s mom Christy

Susan is a relentless encourager. If I look at my “friendship” on Facebook I will be scrolling through page after page of scripture, encouraging quotes, and meaningful articles she would send on to me. And that woman must have liked and commented on every one of my pictures for like five years. She was always looking for ways to build me up.

I only got to be with Sue in person one time, and that makes me a little sad. She was traveling near my town and made it a point to stop and meet up with us so we could finally meet in the flesh and have a good meal together. It is a treasured memory, an experience that really made me realize how gentle and kind of a person she is. She is calm and sure of herself, content in the moment, unlike how I sometimes come roaring in in a hot frazzled mess.

How blessed I am to have shared in such an uplifting and encouraging friendship at a time we both so deeply needed it. My heart aches that this world will not have Sue anymore, but my soul rejoices wildly at the thought of her scooping up her Delainey once again, and snuggling her close for all of eternity. How happy she will be. Once again she will be paving the way for me through a new unknown.

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Truth be Told

Hannah

I’m sorry that you had to say “ok” when they asked you how you were doing today. I’m even more sorry that when you paused they took that “ok” and assumed you meant “good” and bulldozed right on past it. I’m sorry because I know the truth, and the truth is you were not doing ok. The truth is today is hard and you had to pep talk yourself into even leaving the house today. The truth is your pieces are breaking into pieces, and it is going to be awhile before things feel “ok.” I saw you though; you wanted to say this out loud, and you couldn’t. No, the truth is that people just want to hear that you are ok; not that things are messy or painful or hard.

I’m sorry that the world is not ready to accept your truth. Or anyone’s really. We all have this never ending undercurrent of just smoothing things over and pretending everything is ok. The truth is, that could not be farther from the truth.

What if we created a community where when we asked how someone is doing we truly wanted the honest answer; good, bad, or ugly? What if we made it ok to say I am here but I am struggling? What if we did not feel pressed to know what to say to smooth it over, but were ok with accepting that things are hard and people hurt and not everything is tied up in a pretty little bow? What if we made it ok for people to share their truth instead of what we want to hear?

I know I can not change the world, but I can change myself, and maybe even the culture around me. When I ask how you are doing, I really want *your* God-honest truth. You do not have to pretend for me, because guess what… I’m hurting too. Maybe it is ok to not be ok, and maybe the very comfort we need is the people around us accepting us where we are at. It seems like a good place to start.

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Blue and Pink October

Hannah

October is miscarriage and infant loss awareness month. I do not quite know how I feel about awareness months. I think some of them help raise needed money for research and hopefully better medicine. I think some of them actually do shed light on things we were previously oblivious to. The thing about miscarriage and infant loss though is that there is no “research and cure” for it, and most people already know it happens, or even know someone who has been through it. Dedicating a month to it does not necessarily do anything for it except perhaps stir a lot more emotion for the families who have survived it. Maybe more people are sharing their own stories because of this month, and that’s good, they need to be told.

At my roots I’m a fixer, and if there is going to be a month dedicated to it, I want it to be productive. I do not know how to do that. What do you do when throwing money at it or doing walks in matching t-shirts and selling rubber bracelets does not bring babies back from death or prevent it from happening in the future?

I have a new friend who recently experienced the stillbirth of their son, and just sitting in the thick of how raw and earth-shattering that pain is reminds me that the only thing that can and needs to be done is circle around that sweet family and let them feel what they need to feel, because there is no campaign or 5K or colored ribbon that is going to take away that pain. Know what? That is perfectly ok. It is ok for people to hurt. It is ok for them to take all the time and feel all the feelings they need to without anyone rushing that along, regardless of how uncomfortable that may make the rest of us feel.

I guess what I have then is a list of do’s and don’ts. Maybe you have not walked with someone through miscarriage or infant loss, or maybe you have and you want to do it better next time. I hope that coming from the heart of a mama who has lost babies I had not met yet, as well as a baby who lived earth-side with us will help those of you looking outside in, wondering what to do.

DO acknowledge that it happened. You cannot just keep trying to carry on with business as usual and hope that your person will be over it soon enough. They lost a huge chunk of their heart; hopes, dreams, memories, and they need you to tell them that you realize they are going through that.

DON’T try to compare their loss to, well, anything else. Their loss and their grief is completely unique to them, and believe it or not, it does not help them feel better to hear about your friend’s mom’s sister who lost a baby and how they handled it. Let their story be /their/ story, and let them share it with you through their own lense, not the one you had ideas about before this.

DO make specific offers of help. Saying “call if you need anything,” will never actually result in a phone call. You need to take the wheel here. Tell them you are making them a meal and ask what night is best. Tell them you are heading to the grocery and ask what can you pick up for them. Go over and rake their leaves/cut their grass. Tell them you’d like to help with some housecleaning and give them a choice of days to choose from. It is very hard to ask for help. Period. You need to not offer it, but to actually just give it and help with the decision making.

DON’T rush them into the future. Never ask if they’ll try for another baby or if they’ve ever thought about adoption, or reassure them that at least they are young and can try again. I do not want to have to explain this one. Just don’t do it.

DO continue being supportive well into the weeks, months, years ahead, not just right now during the “crisis period.” This is a hurt that is always going to stay with them, and there will be triggers for the rest of time such as holidays, birthdays, anniversaries, random Mondays. Remind them throughout time that you remember and are thinking of their little one. Use their baby’s name; it means the world to hear it.

DON’T use platitudes like, “God just needed another angel,” “everything happens for a reason,” “you can always have another,” “now you have an angel looking after you,” or anything that begins with the words “at least…”.

DO say “I’m sorry,” “my presence is unconditional,” “do you need anything?” “[baby’s name] will be greatly missed,” “this was not your fault,” “just take the moments one at a time.”

It is ok to tell your person you are at a loss for words, and have no idea what they are going through. Assure them that you want to be there for them, and then follow through and show up. They will help you know what they need if your eyes are open and your heart is receptive.

Miscarriage and infant loss are sad and hard and uncomfortable, but if you can look past your own discomfort and come alongside a friend or a family member who is going through it, you will not only bless the socks off of them, you will learn a lot of good things about yourself as well.

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Being Brave

Hannah

It gets said a lot; you are so brave. When it is said to me I think to myself, “I am not brave, I am barely hanging on.” I have always self-described bravery as purposely doing something big and scary. Like something voluntary I think. I have always felt like brave is more of a choice rather than something you just are.

Recently my pastor came and sat at my bedside. His enormous hand swallowed mine, and he looked me in the eyes and said, “you are so brave.” I responded by telling him I don’t /feel/ brave; I feel like my anger and my fear and my disappointment is the opposite of brave. It planted a seed in my mind though. I started wondering what brave actually means.

Back in my day, before Google, we had these things called dictionaries. They were huge books that had the definitions of practically every word you could think of. So, I dictionaried the word Brave. Yes, I am making a new word because in this day and age of everything being looked up by Siri I feel like the good old dictionary deserves its own new description that I can convince my kids is real. Dictionaried. That’s what I did. The Oxford Dictionary said this under the word brave:

“Ready to face and endure danger or pain.”

It did not say you come looking for the danger or pain, but are simply ready to face it; assuming it has instead come looking for you. It was such a simple definition, but it resonated in my bones. It did not say that bravery is a lack of fear. Wow. This changed my whole perspective. It is ok for us to show up shaking and sobbing and scared out of our ever-loving minds, but being brave simply means being ready for the fight.

My danger and pain today is facing Botox. It is injected into my hamstrings and some of the muscles in my legs to loosen the spasms and help me retain more range of motion. The last time we did this I passed right out on the very last injection. Naturally that bad experience has me feeling extra apprehensive this time around. I know however, that I am putting up the fight of my life. That is my brave; still being afraid of what is going to happen, but showing up anyway because I know good will come of it. Courage is not fearlessness.

Friends, whatever you are facing today, just getting up and facing it makes you brave. You do not have to have good feelings about it, you just need to show up with the ability to endure. The world knows you are afraid, but you love more than you fear, and that is what we all remember about you. Let’s take on today, shall we?

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You’re Doing it too

Hannah

It’s funny what got this thought started in my head. I was sitting on the floor of my shower, exfoliating my feet. Yep, I know; gross. For my men who don’t what that is, it’s when you use something abrasive to scrub off the scratchy dead skin and make it soft and smooth again. Trust me, you are glad we do it. Anyway, there I was scrubbing my feet and I thought, “It seems like just yesterday I was scrubbing my feet to get them pretty for summer flip flops and bare feet in the sand.” Then I felt a pang of sadness. Summer is over. It slipped right by while we were clinging to our masks and holding our breath that the pool and the theme park would open and we would galavant about in the sunshine like we usually do. Those things never happened, and here we are ankle-deep in colored leaves already with not a tan line to show for it.

I know I’m not the only one wondering where summer went and what we have to show for it. Thankfully we were able to spend some time away at our family camp site, and we sneaked away for a short trip when some things started opening back up, but there are a lot of “normals” that we missed out on this summer, and it wasn’t just us. People everywhere had to miss family reunions, vacations, trips they had been planning forever, even time visiting grandparents in their skilled nursing facilities. There was a lot of loss, even if we didn’t realize that’s what it was.

If ever there was a time to be gentle with each other, it’s now. As a whole we are grieving. The more comfortable life we knew before COVID. The peace of mind to be closely with our people and not worry about getting them sick. The moments in the sunshine and the grocery and the swimming pool that maybe we took for granted last year, but are trying to fill with something else in their absence now. Perhaps we can not see enough of an eye crinkle above your mask to know you are smiling, but it’s a perfect time to shout a good morning, to give an unexpected compliment, to bring some warmth to the cold parts we are all experiencing.

If I’m orange from self-tanner by December, you will know why, and if my eyes look weary because we still have to wear a mask to get into the grocery, you will understand that too. But I’ll be trying to bring a little more light to your day, and I hope you will be doing the same.

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These Boots

Hannah

Today I lost another Paramedic friend. I say another because it’s not the first time. I fear it will not be the last. I do not really know what to say about it, so these are the words that came to mind.

These boots are the ones that were picked out so new and shiny and untouched.

These boots are the ones that were nervously shined for the first day on the job.

These boots are the ones that got drowned in soap bubbles washing the trucks as a probie.

These boots are the ones that held nervous feet running their first call.

These boots are the ones that climbed endless stairs to bring your loved ones down to be cared for.

These boots are the ones that got cuts and scuffs from asphalt and rocks and ice and twisted metal, and those darn stretcher wheels.

These boots are the ones that trudged through dry fields for hours, looking for a woman who was lost.

These boots are the ones that rested on the dash in hopes of a few minutes break on a busy shift.

These boots are the ones that were the first thing many patients looked up and saw.

These boots are the ones that crunched through broken glass to get your loved one out of the car.

These boots are the ones that stood in a homeless man’s urine as he was tenderly helped to his feet.

These boots are the ones that were polished again and again in attempt to cover the scars and scrapes.

These boots are the ones that ran an achey elbow call right after performing CPR on a baby that wasn’t coming back.

These boots are the ones that were splattered in blood as every effort was made to make it stop.

These boots are the ones that stood there while you were told we had done everything we could do.

These boots are the ones that saw far more pain and heartache and destruction in a day than most people see in their lifetime.

These boots are the ones that sit empty, still bearing the scars and scrapes that never could be erased from your heart.