Have you ever had someone stop being your friend on facebook?
It's quite reminiscent of junior high when you show up and you find out through the grapevine that your best friend has decided she's not friends with you anymore. What did you DO? You run through the things it might be. The next day you show up and BAM! She wants to be friends with you again, and it's such a relief that you totally jump in because yesterday was terrible. It hurt your stomach. But she tells you after you agree to your refriendship, that the two of you aren't going to be friends with Penelope over there.
Poor Penelope.
Did you know Steve wanted to name one of our kids Penelope? It's funny, because that's on the list of funny names I'd only consider as a joke. Or a blog post. Sorry, Penelopes.
It's too bad too, because when you are UNfriended, you must search for a reason. Did they quit facebook altogether? That must be it!
No, there they are. Shoot.
Did they start over with a new facebook account?! That must be it.
No, they still have 492 other friends.
Am I annoying?
Probably.
Ok, I'm annoying. They specifically chose me because I'm annoying. Perfect.
Well, I can accept this. Because.........I'm almost 30. 30 is rolling with the big dawgs.
I'm taking the time to write this here because someday all TOO soon, I'm sure the unfriending will start happening to my girls. I'm sure someone's going to torture them the same way. I'm sure they are going to freak out and examine every part of themselves to see what they did wrong. What is wrong with them? They'll wonder.
After a good inner self eval, look outward, girls. Sometimes, people just have to be mean. They have to put you down to feel better. Surround yourself with the good ones, the ones that make you laugh. The ones that you will be friends with still when you are 30, 40, 50.
Life is too short to worry so much about what other people think.
Chin up! It only took 30 years to convince myself of that. But I'd like to shave many, many years off of your total, girls.
That's my favorite part of turning 30. My very favorite part.
"Maybe now I've conquered all my adolescent fears, and I'll do it better my next 30 years. My next 30 years, I'm gonna settle all the scores. Cry a little less, laugh a little more. Find a world with happiness without the hate and fear. Figure out just what I'm doing here, in my next 30 years." -Tim McGraw
(She's country, girls). Sometimes.
Thursday, July 12, 2012
Saturday, July 7, 2012
For the nurse
Disclaimer: this is a healing post. It was written to purge from soul to paper. It has been sitting here, burning a hole in my drafts folder. So it will be posted. In remembrance.
Dear self, 5 years or so ago, when you were an aspiring nurse. Ready to take the world on, swallowing fear, facing the long days and nights head on? You can do this, right?
Aside from the long hours and difficult days, the angry patients and worse, the families! Watch out!!! I want to tell you that you will be blindsided by something soon. I want you to know that the career you have chosen will haunt you. It will change you, and I just wish you would've known.
You wouldn't trade being a nurse for anything. I can tell you that. It's who you are and who you were meant to be and you know it. I think you have taken a path that has led you away from the inevitable so far and this is why this hurts so much now. Losing a patient, or two, or three (all the old nurses out there will tell you it comes in threes).....it was coming your way someday. Now it's here. Were you ready?
You can try and wash your hands of what happened. You can sort through all the decisions you made or didn't make. You can force yourself to believe that it wasn't in your hands. You were just the nurse. It was their time. There wasn't much you could do at that point. But it's funny. That little thing (it's big really), that sits in the base of your soul and TELLS you....you could have done better. You should have done that sooner. You should have said it better. You should have you should have you could have.....you didn't.
You'll be told that God is in control and that it was "their time". Age 46, or 64, or 72 doesn't seem like "their time". It doesn't quite settle well in your stomach. And if it was their time, you will question that if the control is out of your hands, the work that you do day in and day out...what is it for? To prolong? To squeeze out whatever we might have left? I suppose. Oh, how very bleak a thought.
I want to tell you that although I don't know the answer completely, there is is one thing that I've learned from this pile of regrets. My regrets with each of these patients has taught me this:
Moments matter. Small ones. Ones that you think aren't significant. They can be the last. This will haunt you. It is scary. It'll bring a nasty fear from your gut that boils up and it burns your throat.
You are a lucky one though, because of your faith in God. And although you will question the last moments you had with that patient and the last words you said.....were they the right words? Remember, God is in control. Even if you biffed up something or said something you shouldn't have...even if you think you could have done better, BELIEVE the truth.
Believe that he is in heaven now.
Because that's where I picture you, my old friend. You are finally happy, and you aren't angry anymore. Your body works perfectly and best of all, you have gained what all of us desperately want and search for but cannot find: perspective. The WHY. Why? You can see it! You know the answer now, and I still don't. But this is good news for me, because you must know now how I feel about you, how I felt about you. You know that I regret our last conversation on the phone then. I wish I could have helped you more. I'm sorry I was frustrated with you. That being said, you must also know that you were a grumpy old man and quite difficult at moments.
Dear self, 5 years ago. Be strong. Rebuild your knowledge. Start fresh. You've got this. Do your best. Focus. Be cautious. Most of all, please pay attention to the small moments that suddenly and painfully become so, so big. Honor yourself and other nurses. Remember you have them and they you and you can tell them that this day hurt and they will understand the loss you feel, the empathy you have for that patient that you couldn't help, the situation that you just couldn't make better for them. How heavy it can be on the soul. Share this heavy load with them, because they have felt it too.
You can cry. The ride home is perfect for that. Wash it away. Bask in the grace of a new day.
Remember respectfully those that have gone and then learn, somehow, how to move forward.
It's the only thing to do. Move forward.
In memory of my friend, that I never expected to make...I am lucky to have known you. Thank you for teaching me that sometimes, friendship finds you.
Dear self, 5 years or so ago, when you were an aspiring nurse. Ready to take the world on, swallowing fear, facing the long days and nights head on? You can do this, right?
Aside from the long hours and difficult days, the angry patients and worse, the families! Watch out!!! I want to tell you that you will be blindsided by something soon. I want you to know that the career you have chosen will haunt you. It will change you, and I just wish you would've known.
You wouldn't trade being a nurse for anything. I can tell you that. It's who you are and who you were meant to be and you know it. I think you have taken a path that has led you away from the inevitable so far and this is why this hurts so much now. Losing a patient, or two, or three (all the old nurses out there will tell you it comes in threes).....it was coming your way someday. Now it's here. Were you ready?
You can try and wash your hands of what happened. You can sort through all the decisions you made or didn't make. You can force yourself to believe that it wasn't in your hands. You were just the nurse. It was their time. There wasn't much you could do at that point. But it's funny. That little thing (it's big really), that sits in the base of your soul and TELLS you....you could have done better. You should have done that sooner. You should have said it better. You should have you should have you could have.....you didn't.
You'll be told that God is in control and that it was "their time". Age 46, or 64, or 72 doesn't seem like "their time". It doesn't quite settle well in your stomach. And if it was their time, you will question that if the control is out of your hands, the work that you do day in and day out...what is it for? To prolong? To squeeze out whatever we might have left? I suppose. Oh, how very bleak a thought.
I want to tell you that although I don't know the answer completely, there is is one thing that I've learned from this pile of regrets. My regrets with each of these patients has taught me this:
Moments matter. Small ones. Ones that you think aren't significant. They can be the last. This will haunt you. It is scary. It'll bring a nasty fear from your gut that boils up and it burns your throat.
You are a lucky one though, because of your faith in God. And although you will question the last moments you had with that patient and the last words you said.....were they the right words? Remember, God is in control. Even if you biffed up something or said something you shouldn't have...even if you think you could have done better, BELIEVE the truth.
Believe that he is in heaven now.
Because that's where I picture you, my old friend. You are finally happy, and you aren't angry anymore. Your body works perfectly and best of all, you have gained what all of us desperately want and search for but cannot find: perspective. The WHY. Why? You can see it! You know the answer now, and I still don't. But this is good news for me, because you must know now how I feel about you, how I felt about you. You know that I regret our last conversation on the phone then. I wish I could have helped you more. I'm sorry I was frustrated with you. That being said, you must also know that you were a grumpy old man and quite difficult at moments.
Dear self, 5 years ago. Be strong. Rebuild your knowledge. Start fresh. You've got this. Do your best. Focus. Be cautious. Most of all, please pay attention to the small moments that suddenly and painfully become so, so big. Honor yourself and other nurses. Remember you have them and they you and you can tell them that this day hurt and they will understand the loss you feel, the empathy you have for that patient that you couldn't help, the situation that you just couldn't make better for them. How heavy it can be on the soul. Share this heavy load with them, because they have felt it too.
You can cry. The ride home is perfect for that. Wash it away. Bask in the grace of a new day.
Remember respectfully those that have gone and then learn, somehow, how to move forward.
It's the only thing to do. Move forward.
In memory of my friend, that I never expected to make...I am lucky to have known you. Thank you for teaching me that sometimes, friendship finds you.
I was alone
I was alone this week.....kind of.
Actually, I was down to a mere one child. Olivia and Sophie spent the week at Bam's house. It's a summer tradition for them and they love it. They look forward to it. They just can't wait!
It's a week that they get to be themselves, all on their own, without mom and dad, without the responsibilities that they have here. Wait. Do they have any responsibilities? Anyway....they think it's all for fun. And me? I call it yearly rehab.
What they don't know is that my Mom is on my side. She reminds them how lucky they are to have us, how much we love them and adore them. How they should treat us and each other. (Did I mention she is a counselor for children in real life)? BONUS! She builds them up and teaches them lessons. She takes them on adventures to caves and forests and beaches. They can be kids there, in Bam's home and garden paradise.
While they were off gallivanting, I learned a lot around here.
1. For one, and at a savings of a lot more than one, shockingly, all the groceries I had bought the day before they left were STILL THERE at the end of the week.
2. There was a bowl and a glass in the sink each night, and that's about it. Contrast that with the sinkful/counter-ful treat we all fight over after dinner most nights. This was a shock to the system.
3. Steve and I ate around 8 pm every night. Times didn't matter much. (Eli stuck to his strict 5:15 supper schedule). We caught up later.
4. I spend a lot of time freaking out about what's next when my kids are around. Not so much when they were away. My mom and I had an interesting discussion about this because she felt the same way. It's funny what these little people can do to their older counterparts.
5. It is QUIET around here. Even Eli didn't know what to do with himself. "Sissys?" he'd say as he walked into the door each day. "Yaya? Dophie? Where is she?" With his palms up. "Where are they?"
6. I love throwing away their stuff while they are gone. Who needs all these weird plastic toys? What are they anyway? Can we finally toss this broken ruler? Perfect. See? No one argued with me.
7. I love wine coolers. I don't care what you think.
8. Finally, the largest lesson I learned is this: They complete my being.They are what I live for. They give me purpose and dreams and hopes and personality. They help me love life and appreciate the things around me. The bring LIFE wherever they go. When they are gone....it is noticeable. But they are in oh-so-good hands. Hanging with the Iowa City crew. Aunt Lianna, Uncle Shawn, cuz Lenora, GG Truesdell, Aunt Jo and the twins....life is good. They were missed. Now they're back, and all is complete again.
A big thank you to our Bam. We love you!
Actually, I was down to a mere one child. Olivia and Sophie spent the week at Bam's house. It's a summer tradition for them and they love it. They look forward to it. They just can't wait!
It's a week that they get to be themselves, all on their own, without mom and dad, without the responsibilities that they have here. Wait. Do they have any responsibilities? Anyway....they think it's all for fun. And me? I call it yearly rehab.
What they don't know is that my Mom is on my side. She reminds them how lucky they are to have us, how much we love them and adore them. How they should treat us and each other. (Did I mention she is a counselor for children in real life)? BONUS! She builds them up and teaches them lessons. She takes them on adventures to caves and forests and beaches. They can be kids there, in Bam's home and garden paradise.
While they were off gallivanting, I learned a lot around here.
1. For one, and at a savings of a lot more than one, shockingly, all the groceries I had bought the day before they left were STILL THERE at the end of the week.
2. There was a bowl and a glass in the sink each night, and that's about it. Contrast that with the sinkful/counter-ful treat we all fight over after dinner most nights. This was a shock to the system.
3. Steve and I ate around 8 pm every night. Times didn't matter much. (Eli stuck to his strict 5:15 supper schedule). We caught up later.
4. I spend a lot of time freaking out about what's next when my kids are around. Not so much when they were away. My mom and I had an interesting discussion about this because she felt the same way. It's funny what these little people can do to their older counterparts.
5. It is QUIET around here. Even Eli didn't know what to do with himself. "Sissys?" he'd say as he walked into the door each day. "Yaya? Dophie? Where is she?" With his palms up. "Where are they?"
6. I love throwing away their stuff while they are gone. Who needs all these weird plastic toys? What are they anyway? Can we finally toss this broken ruler? Perfect. See? No one argued with me.
7. I love wine coolers. I don't care what you think.
8. Finally, the largest lesson I learned is this: They complete my being.They are what I live for. They give me purpose and dreams and hopes and personality. They help me love life and appreciate the things around me. The bring LIFE wherever they go. When they are gone....it is noticeable. But they are in oh-so-good hands. Hanging with the Iowa City crew. Aunt Lianna, Uncle Shawn, cuz Lenora, GG Truesdell, Aunt Jo and the twins....life is good. They were missed. Now they're back, and all is complete again.
A big thank you to our Bam. We love you!
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