Heart Attack Reflections

Eyeballs...  Balloons...  Sharks... 

To the average person, these three words would have little, if anything, in common.  But to me, they all evoke the same feeling in my heart.  Fear.  I don't recall the exact moment any of these things started haunting my existence, but it was long before the man I married decided to make his profession one of slicing eyeballs; long before I had children who require balloons at every single birthday; and long, long before I moved to an apartment right on the beach where sharks are swimming entirely too close to me.  Facing these fears on a regular basis has not curbed their intensity... in fact, if anything the intensity has been inflated.  I now have rules about how much Brian can share about his day with me (no hand motions to describe procedures (only words), and I do not look into ANY eyes as he's talking about it).  I have rules about the presence of balloons in my house (ONLY on birthdays and NEVER in the car).  And I have rules about when I will and will not enter into the ocean.  My family and I laugh at the irrationality of these fears (mostly my family), but the laughter doesn't seem to curb their intensity either.

In addition to these silly and rather irrational fears, I have one very real and rational fear.  One that I don't laugh about (ever), sometimes cry about when I even think about it, and can actually remember the exact moment it hit my heart and latched itself there like a leech.  It was early spring.  I had just gotten engaged and heard a terrible story of a newlywed couple who, on their way on their honeymoon, got in a car accident which killed the groom.  (Why do people even share these stories?)  That was it.  A new fear had been born because I all the sudden had someone in my life that I loved in a whole new way and that I simply couldn't imagine living without.  And with each passing anniversary, each new child, each rocky path conquered, that fear of losing this man I love has only grown because now he's that person in my life that I love even more. And more. And more.

We have had a few kind notes and phone calls this past month from friends and family who are remembering the events of last Christmas.  Their messages are so appreciated and all have the same wonderful tone: thinking of you, and so happy you are all healthy together this Christmas season.  Of course, I've been reflecting about the last year because, that's what I do, and one memory keeps working its way to the front of my mind.  It was Christmas Eve, and the day had been so very emotional. After tucking the children into bed and leaving them in the care of Grandma and Grandpa, I drove to the hospital with a suitcase full of presents to set up in the hospital room.  (I must have looked terrible because more than one group of people stopped and asked if I was alright. No, I wanted to say.  My 32 year old husband had a severe heart attack a couple of days ago, I'm 7 months pregnant, and I have three small children at home, so... I'm scared... and I don't know what my future looks like. But of course I just smiled and nodded.  They smiled back and we shared a silent understanding.  You're here on Christmas Eve, too...)  I walked into Brian's room, so happy he'd been moved from the ICU that morning, and tried quite unsuccessfully to hide my emotional face.  I felt it so important to not worry him with my own feelings quite yet because I wanted him to focus on himself, so I explained them away by simply saying that I felt a bit overwhelmed.  I tried to set Christmas up quickly but, being the perfectionist that I am, I ended up staying too long and felt supremely guilty when Brian admitted that my preparations were stressing him out.  I left the rest 'undone', kissed him, and tearfully made my way to the door to leave him alone to rest.  As I opened the door I heard him say, "Oh, Linds," his tone was gentle and sounded as if he'd just realized something important. "I'm so sorry." I looked back at him, laying in that hospital bed and he continued, emphasizing each word, "This is your biggest fear."

I waved my hand to dismiss it, again, not wanting him to worry for me just yet.  "I'm fine, dear," I said.  Though, I most certainly was not and I'm sure my tears blew my cover.  "Get some sleep and I'll see you in the morning.  I love you."

Of course, I'm lucky that I didn't actually have to live through my biggest fear last Christmas.  But boy did I have to stare that ugly thing down face to face.  It came much too close.  Close enough to touch, to smell, to taste and, worst of all, to feel.

But, now I see that an unexpected thing has happened. 

Unlike my fears of eyeballs, balloons and sharks that intensify when faced, facing the fear of losing Brian has interestingly diminished it.  To be clear, it is still my biggest fear, and I pray every single morning that the Lord will protect him and keep him safe because that is certainly a trial I never want to live through.  But.  I'm not so afraid of it as I once was.  And it's because, through those indescribable hours where I wasn't sure he would ever be coming home with me again, I dug to the root of myself and somehow knew that I would be okay.  Call it faith or madness, but it is perhaps the most empowering feeling I've ever felt... the feeling of knowing that, even if my biggest fear happened... I would be okay. 

Maybe that's what the Lord wanted to teach me through all of this.  To have faith in myself.  To have faith in Him and to know that I could get through anything... anything... with His help.  How blessed I feel that the Lord could teach me that lesson without making me live through the real thing.

Oh gosh.  How blessed I feel in that.

 Sometimes the rest of the picture is just so great that your poo-face just has to take one for the team.

This past year has been shoved full of so many experiences and memories that, because of our humble feelings of mortality, have been absolutely cherished.  We have lived this year and I have a folder bursting full of pictures to show it.  Of course, we have struggled and cried and wrestled and woken up exhausted just as much or more than other years because, evidently that's just life, but we have also laughed and loved and played and dreamed. We've hugged more and listened more and navigated through our disagreements with more love.  Brian and I are having very different experiences this year - me living a sort of dream, and him living a sort of nightmare - and for all the friction that could cause in our lives, we've still managed to respect each others feelings, to stick together and to feel part of the same team through it all. 

He is such a good man, guys.  And I am one lucky lady.

Scrambled Thoughts IX

*Sometimes when I ask people to clean the playroom, they hide in giant beanbag covers and play the piano instead.

*Sometimes Carson can't tell the difference between his body and his shadow.

That boy is so connected to his shadow I feel like I need to make an extra plate of food for it.  I think it has something to do with the dream he has of being a robot dancer.  Really.  That's a real dream.  He watches his shadow as he jerks his limbs around in robot-fashion.  He's getting pretty good...

*Sometimes I wish I were a baby again and could get thrown up in the air and kissed and cuddled.

The laughs from TK prove how fun it is.  But then I get my face spit-up on and decide that being a baby wouldn't actually be that fun after all.

Oh, wait.  Does that actually mean that being the mom wouldn't actually be that fun?  Either way.  Spit-up is gross.

*Sometimes I give my kids heavy weights and throw them in the pool.

Now they think that the heavy weights are actual pool toys and are confused when I don't always let them tie the weights around their waists to help them walk along the bottom of the pool.  Also, I guess I'm not quite patient enough to stick with it to get a good picture.  Carson kept dropping his weight, and the other two kept needing to come up for breath.  I told them they didn't really need to breathe, but they didn't listen.  We'll try again another day.

*Sometimes I wonder why I have seven boxes of band-aids in my drawers. 

Then I remember about the magical properties of band-aids and how they can solve almost all of the world's problems.

*Sometimes Timothy fits in a little too well with the other kids.

And Mario doesn't seem to be the best option for the baby... believe me, I've tried.  He just eats the Wii remotes.

*McKenzie makes a creepy ghost.  

Creepy, huh?

*Sometimes when you make a rental car reservation, they forget to make sure a car is there for you when you need it. 

When Brian, TK and I landed in Vegas at 10:45pm (1:45am our time), we shuffled our tired bodies to the car rental place where we soon learned that there was a long line of people who had reserved cars... but there were no actual cars.  After standing in the line waiting for them to 'find' some for over an hour, we decided to cancel that reservation and pay a bit more to get a car from another company. 
"It's like that Seinfield episode where Jerry is in this same situation," Brian joked to the young man behind the counter of the alternate rental company.  "You know the one where Jerry is talking to the reservation desk and says, 'I know you know how to make a reservation.  I just don't think that you know how to keep a reservation.'"  The young man behind the counter smiled a little with confused eyebrows, glanced at Brian's face from the corner of his eye and said,
"How old are you?"
Turns out Seinfield is an older generation thing these days.

*Speaking of Brian.

This photo makes my heart feel warm every time I look at it.  Somehow the camera lens is more than invisible in this photo, it disappears for me, and I just see those tender eyes and that gentle smile looking right into my soul.  I know this look so. so. well.  It's this look I see when I'm feeling insecure or unloved by the world and the people in it.  How I ever got so lucky to have a man look at me like this is beyond me... but he loves me down to the deepest parts of my insecurities.

It's this reassuring look and the meaning behind it that give me wings to fly, "Silly Linds... you don't need to feel insecure.  I love you!  Oh.  So much."

And doesn't every girl need to hear that sometimes?!

While Daddy's Away

"We only have 7 months left here," he said.  His tone was the same as if he'd been saying he only had 7 more hip surgeries before he could walk again.  Overwhelmed, but ever looking forward to that end goal with a We Can Do This attitude.   "We only have 7 months left here," I repeated.  Though I said it as one might say she only has 7 more days left to live.

And, that about sums up our experiences in living in Miami so far.  Brian is enclosed in crowds of entitled people, and narrow traffic lanes clogged with battered cars and hot-headed drivers, in long work hours and work-a-holic peers, in searching for parking around our building every. single. night (and sometimes in walking the blocks home after finding one), in deciphering accents and dealing with people who can say little more in his native tongue than 'no English'.  The heat of the days seep under his white coat and make him sticky with sweat as he treats numerous fungal eye infections that fester in the humidity of this environment.

And me?  I'm enclosed in sand and sun, in ocean waves and pool days, in soothing breezes and cool showers... it makes sense why we feel differently about this halfway mark approaching.

The golden lining in all of this is that Brian is learning so much more about how to treat gross-looking eyeballs.  And the kids and I are working hard to have fun even while he's away.  It's hard sometimes because he really brings an infectious energy into the home that always makes things a lot more fun.  But once in a while I can get the kids enjoying a slide as much as they enjoy their dad.

Timbo watching the older kids, wishing he could play...

You're getting close, buddy... keep working on crawling, first.

And once the fun of the playground wears off...

We can fill the daddy-void with some cold sugar cereal for dinner. 

See?  I know how to keep it fun. 
After dinner we sometimes head back out to the beach to play away the sun.  (Well, we used to be able to do that before the combination of winter and daylight savings created a 5:30 sunset... so sad to lose those after dinner sunlight hours.)

This guy is starting to love the sand.

See how much?

He also loves eating things.  All things.  Blankets included.

And then when daddy finally makes it home, we celebrate by staring at each other for the rest of the night.

Evenings of Play

I'm used to Brian working long hours.  There have been years in our lives where we hardly see one another and, of course, this has been difficult.  But there has come a rather ironic silver lining from this that I've become aware of: we know how to spend time together.  What I mean by that is that we have had so many years of having just pockets of hours together that we got really good at making the most of those hours.  And since this has all happened through the first decade of our relationship, it has simply become the way things are.  When he is home, we are together.  We watch movies together or play games together.  We talk through the evening hours over a half gallon of ice cream and lately we sit and cuddle out on the balcony and talk about our future while the ocean rings in our ears and the breeze dances through our hair. 

I love this. 
And over the years he has become my best friend. 

So I miss him in years like this one where he is being worked so hard.  This year he gets home late and leaves early.  He takes call often and sleeps at the hospital a few times a month.  We've had worse years in terms of his schedule, but this one falls close to the top.  Even so, there are so many beautiful and wonderful things in this state that I'd like to experience as a family, so we try to make the most of his time with us by getting out and enjoying it when he comes home from work, which means a lot of evening outings.  And, you know what?  I think evening outings are becoming one of my favorite things about this year.  Sometimes I feel like my life is going by like a train on a railroad track.  Fast, straight, not many options for detours, just get from point A to point B as efficiently as possible.  Our evening routine certainly falls underneath the umbrella of this analogy.  An invisible railroad track connecting Dinner to Chores to Pj's to Scriptures to Teeth, Potty, Stories, Songs, and finally arriving at Kids Lights Out. I don't allow much room for flexibility or improvization during these hours because, frankly, I'm tired by this time of the day and it's much easier to let the railroad tracks take me down their well run course.  But... my life is not a train.  And I am free to stop and wander off the course as often as I like, to change up the schedule and to keep our scenery fresh and alive.  And this year, because of my desire to Get Out And Do while Brian is around, I've been forced off the evening tracks enough times to recognize that I really cherish those hours when we're out in the beautiful open air during a magical time of day. 

Anyway - here are some pictures of these types of detoured evenings.  After the work hours are over.

*John D. MacArthur State Park

I love this park.  There's a giant boardwalk that goes out over a smallish inlet and there is wildlife everywhere.

I'm not particularly fond of the spiders, but the park rangers say that they help keep the biting gnats at bay.  So... pick your poison, I guess.  After you leave the spider infested areas, the boardwalk leads you right down to the sand where you can find more creatures if you want to.

I love the beach at our apartment because it has a shallow bottom floor for yards and yards before dropping off in to the deep, but there is something about the depth of that blue water just over the breakers at this park that leaves me breathless. 

And terrified.  A little.  Sharks, you know.

Should-a brought swimming suits.  Always. Bring. Swimming suits.  And, is it just me cringing at McKenzie's rolled up shorts?  My goodness... that child will not stop growing, and those legs put almost as much terror in my heart as the thought of sharks in that deep blue water.

*Jupiter Beach

Should-a brought swimming suits.  Always. Bring. Swimming suits.  This park is so beautiful at sunset.  See the lighthouse in the background of the previous picture?  I keep seeing lighthouses around and then feeling like I should really spend some time thinking about them, because there is potential there for me to really fall in love with the symbolism behind them.  But they just don't do anything for me now.  I'm much more in love with the clouds and the sun and the water and how all three of those things combine in such... ways... it leaves me speechless.

See that reflecting light?!  Trust me, it was better in real life.  Still trying to figure out how to capture things as they actually are...

Lots of shallow water.

Lots of rocks, and just enough sand.

*Football Night
 

We realized something was terribly wrong with our parenting when the kids started using the words football, soccer ball, and basketball interchangeably.  Brian vowed to change that.  We are now the proud parents of football experts.  Not really.  But at least they know what a football is now.  I think.  And McKenzie and Carson seem to understand the rules well enough to enjoy the games.  This guy took a football to the face and decided moping in the grass would be a better activity for the evening.

And this guy just sat on a blanket and looked cute enough to eat.

So...
What should we do tonight?

An Accidental Party

August 17th this year started bright and beautiful.  I woke next to Brian who was lazily scrolling away on his iPad and smiled a happy, content smile.  I love Saturdays.  I rolled over and put my head on Brian's chest to read the article he was reading.  No rush to get out of bed.  No pressure for Brian to get showered and out the door.  He kissed my head and we wondered aloud how long we could pretend to be asleep before the clomping and stomping outside our door came in.

Turned out to be a minute or two.  Not bad.

Soon we were all in our swimming suits rubbing sunscreen into our skin.

We were excited to get down to the beach to try out Carson's new birthday presents.  "We're totally the most popular family on the beach today," Brian joked as we watched the interest mount in our hamster wheel.

Don't worry, it only took Brian and I over 30 minutes to blow the beast up and, after our heads stopped swimming in lightheadedness, it was ready to be used.

It was definitely fun.

I took a few minutes to try to get a shot of the waves breaking over the camera, but the waves weren't quite big enough to be curling... they were more sliding like an avalanche so this was the best I got.

We eventually got hungry, so we decided to go inside for a fun, crabby lunch.

After which, we all settled down for an afternoon of quiet.  Timothy napped, the kids watched a movie, Brian read a book, I plopped the computer down on my lap and worked on pictures, and we enjoyed an hour and a half of quiet before Timothy woke again and started stirring the energy once again.  Right towards the end of our quiet time, my cell phone rang and I answered the call from my mother-in-law, Jean.

"Well, hello, Linds!" she said.
"Hi, Jean!"  I answered.
"Does your sweet husband get to be home with you today?"
"Yep - he's here.  We've just had a great morning at the beach."
"That's so wonderful.  I was just calling to say Happy Anniversary to you guys and to sing Brian my Happy Anniversary song." ... ... ... Um... What? ... ...  

Oh... 
my... 
goodness...

"That is today isn't it?" she asked after my silent pause.  I recovered quickly.
"Yep, it sure is!  Thank you so much!"  I wasn't sure whether to let her in on the secret that I had completely forgotten about my anniversary and that I was quite sure her son had, too, or to pretend.  We had been so focused on planning Carson's birthday which had been the day before that we had forgotten to think of ourselves. 
"Well, in just a minute, I want to talk to Brian, but first we want to talk to Carson to see how his birthday went," she finished.  I handed the phone to my oldest son and walked into the bedroom where Brian was reading and rocking a sleepy Timothy.

"Hey..." I said as I leaned in closer to him.  "Just so you know... your mom is on the phone and wants to wish you a happy anniversary."

His eyes widened in shock.  Yep, that's what I thought.

We laughed.  We gave each other a hug and a kiss.  We laughed again.  And then we continued on with the rest of our day as scheduled.

I've been thinking about this for the past month.  How weird it was that I forgot our anniversary when, first, it was such an uncharacteristic thing for me to have done at all and, second, it happened to be the anniversary immediately following his heart attack, which I would think would give this anniversary an even greater need to be celebrated.  And I've realized a few things.

We didn't really need a day this year to refocus on our relationship.  Refocusing is kind of what I love about anniversaries because my life has a way of pulling me into its details and trapping my thoughts among them.  It's too easy for me to spend my life thinking about what's for dinner or how I'm going to get the floor mopped today, or even when I'm going to schedule my next date night.  So an entire day spent in remembering the broad picture of our relationship and love is usually a welcome change.  But, this year we didn't need that day because we've spent the last eight months doing that very thing.

Right now, we are so happy to have each other on a mundane Tuesday that having each other on our anniversary didn't feel like that much of a difference.  And, if this feeling fades over time (which it, unfortunately, probably will as the weeds of daily life get bigger and stronger) then I will be right back to throwing myself into our anniversary.  But it was nice to realize that, for this year, we didn't need one.

I also realized again that, even though these boys look concerned below (which is why I love these pictures so much!), we are having fun this year. 

Without any extra planning, our anniversary was spent cuddling in the morning, playing on the beach 'till lunch, relaxing the afternoon away, and barbequing through the evening with the very people in this world that we love best.

I see that the pendulum of our lives has swung back to the side of happiness and joy.  And that the difficulties and trials we went through last year just gave the ball more and more and more potential energy so that when it was released, we would soar to a happiness never before reached.  I'm certain it will swing back someday and we'll be called upon to wrestle through something else (even today a bit as I feel a tugging loneliness for changing leaves and crisp air)...

But right now, this feels pretty magical.