I Just Can't Do This Anymore

I've been trying to help my mom (read more here).  But I can't anymore.

She wanted anti-anxiety meds.
Her psychiatrist didn't want her to have them and wouldn't prescribe them (I agree with his reasons).
She went to another doctor and asked him.
He saw the psychiatrist's note in her file and said he couldn't give them to her.
She went to a nurse practitioner.
The nurse practitioner gave them to her.

After my mom got them, she offered me one.

And she thinks the system is out to get her and no one wants to help her.

And I just can't do this anymore.  So today I sent her the following text, because via text is the only way she hears what I say:

I am sorry, mom.  I love you.  But I can't help with this stuff anymore.  I think the way you are doctor shopping and not following your doctors' and therapists' instructions is dangerous to you.  I can't keep helping it happen.  I know you disagree with me.  I am sorry if this hurts you.  I will let dad know that I am taking myself out of the picture.  I hope you find a way to feel better.

I also sent emails to her therapist and psychiatrist letting them know my decision and why.

Right choice or wrong choice, I know I hurt her.

I had a dream the other night.  I was back in time about twenty years.  My mom was there.  She was happy and healthy.  I am grateful for that dream.  It reminded me who she used to be.  That helped me act with love.

But I still feel like a horrible daughter.

It's just so sad.

Avoiding the News

Today is one of those days.  It's one of those days when I just can't watch or listen to or read the news.  I'll need to go without news for a day or two.

I've spent the morning listening to news of the shooting in Aurora, Colorado.  It's gut wrenching.  Heart breaking.  Horrific.  It's making me sick.  So I have to stop for a bit.

As a general rule I watch the national news every night.  I download it and watch it on my computer.  I usually play solitaire or something while I half watch it.  The reason I do it this way is because too often there are things shown on the news that I just can't stomach.  When I can tell a story like that is coming, like Syria, I maximize the game window.  I still get informed, but those images aren't burned into my brain.

Some days that's enough.  Listening but not watching.  Getting the info but not the images.

But not on days like today.

I've been kind of a news junkie since high school.  I remember spending hours watching news stories unfold as more information came in.  All day long checking in, waiting to get the whole story.  Sometimes it took many days.

I just can't do that anymore.  It's not that I don't have the time or the access.  I don't have the stomach.  I just can't take it.

Today I am heart-sick thinking of the families involved, those still struggling for their lives in hospitals, those who were in the theater who will deal with post-traumatic stress for years, and all of the people trying to make sense of it.  Which is impossible.  It was senseless.

My heart and prayers are with anyone touched by this event.  May they find strength, peace, and comfort.  I pray that the goodness of people will shine through rather than the ugly.  I pray that it will unite rather than divide.  I pray that we will all heal.  And I know it will take time.

Fly, Baby Bird

No one could have prepared me for how difficult it would be.  I had no way to know how much my heart would ache.

A little over a week ago, my oldest daughter left for Russia.  She will spend four months there, teaching English to young children.  And I miss her so much.

I am not generally an emotional person.  I have even been accused of being Vulcan because I don't get emotional when people think I should.

Because of this, I thought I'd be okay.  I knew I would worry and I would miss her.  I had no idea I'd be a basket case.

She's been planning this trip for over a year.  She's worked so hard to save the money and get everything done.  She's been so grown up in handling the details. 

But she's still my baby.  I don't care if she's twenty years old; she will always be my baby.

The days leading up to her leaving are still kind of a blur.  I was very busy with other things and other children.  That was a blessing.  Because every time I had a minute to think about it my heart would seize up with fear.  And pain.  And loss.

I thought it would get better after I knew she'd arrived safely.  And part of it did.  But there is so much more that still hurts.

Please don't misunderstand.  I am so thrilled that she gets to have this opportunity.  I know it is good for her.  I know it will help her to become an independent adult who will flourish on her own.  And I want that for her.

But my heart hurts.  And I am scared.

I worry that something will happen and she will need help and I won't be there to fix it.  I worry that she will be sad and scared.  I worry that she will get hurt.  And I worry that she will get a taste for adventure and make things like this a regular part of her future.

She needs to choose her own path.  She is so wise and chooses well.  I have to trust that.  But I will admit, I would be happier if she chose to live down the street for the rest of her life.

There was a time at the airport when we had to go our separate ways.  She entered the cattle lines waiting to go through security (after I finally quit hugging her).  We waited and watched.  She would move out of our vision and then, as the line progressed, back into it.  Around and around.  And each time she would look to find us and wave with a big smile on her face.  And we would wave back, letting her know we were still there.  Still watching out for her.

And I thought back to years ago, when she was on the carousel.  She would move out of our sight for a while.  Then when she came back she would wave and we would wave.  Each time she went around we would reconnect, knowing it would be over soon and we would be back together again.

But this time, when the round and round ended, she didn't come back to us.  She flew away.  To the other side of the world.  And my heart breaks missing her.

I trust her.  And I trust that God is watching over her.  But I want her back.

So, fly, baby bird.  Just remember where the nest is.

The Worst Day of My Life -- When My Husband Left the Church

I have wanted to write this post for a long time.  I have also avoided writing this post for a long time.

It happened almost five years ago, but it is still so tender.

I worry that I won't be able to capture the devastation I felt.  That I still feel when I think about it.  Because, truthfully, I try not to think about it too often.  It's still so painful.

Five years ago was a difficult time in my life.  I was working.  My health was getting worse.  And my marriage was in trouble.  We'd been in therapy for a while and things were getting better.  At least, our relationship was getting better.

But it was at this time that my husband had a crisis of faith.

In order for this to make sense, you must know a few things about our faith.  I am a member of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints (Mormon).  I have been my whole life.  While there was a time when I was young that I followed along because it was all I knew, that's not what it is now.  I have long since quit relying on the testimony of others.  I am a member of this faith because it makes my heart happy.  It brings me peace.  I believe this is what I was taught before I came to this world.

One of the elements of our faith is a belief in a pre-earth life, this life, and a post-earth life.  We believe this life is just a tiny portion of our existence.  Most of what we do here is in preparation for the next life.  As part of that, in our temples we perform ordinances that we believe carry on into the next life.  In particular, sealings.  We believe that if we are sealed together in the temple, and live the best life we can, that families can be together forever.  We believe we are sealed for time and all eternity.

I believe this.  And I grew up believing this.  This is why I was careful about the boys I dated.  This is why I chose to live my life according to God's commandments.  As a child and teen, getting sealed in the temple to a worthy man who loved me was my main goal.  I tried to do everything I'd been taught to make that happen.

And it did.  I married a returned missionary who took me to the temple.  We were sealed for time and all eternity.  Because of this sealing power, our children were sealed to us also.  There was such safety in knowing that. 

When things got ugly between my husband and me, I knew that things would get sorted out with time and we could still be together forever.  We would find our way back to God and would do so together.

And then he said he had questions.  He wasn't sure anymore that certain parts of our faith were true.  He shared his concerns, we talked about them, and he was reassured and found his footing again.  Then he had more questions, bigger struggles.  We worked through those, too.  Then it went beyond questions and doubts.  He came to a point where he no longer believed it was true.  In fact, he felt it was harmful.  He wanted out and he wanted to take his family with him.  The months that we worked through this were incredibly difficult.  It was hard not to push him to choose the church for me, to make me happy.  Or for anyone else.  I believe in honesty.  He was honest with me and I am grateful for that.

He started blogging about his feelings, denouncing the church.  He made accusations and claims that were anti-Mormon in nature.  We were in counseling with our bishop (pastor) during this time.  I told him of the blog.  He discussed it with my husband and said that if it continued, because of the things he was writing (preaching against the church), his membership in the church would be in jeopardy.  We returned to visit with him a month later, he asked about the blog and was told it was still up, my husband was still adding to it and had no intention of stopping.  And we were at a decision point.

My husband was given two choices.  He could withdraw his name from the church records or the bishop could start proceedings to have him removed.  My husband asked which of these would be easier on the bishop.  I admire that.  My husband chose to have his name removed from the records of the church.

It had been a while coming and I thought I was prepared.

But the day the letter came saying that he was no longer a member of the church I died a little.  My heart broke into a thousand pieces.

It came while he was at work.  I called to tell him it was there.  He asked me to open it and read it to him.  I did.  He said okay and that was that.

But not for me.  I held that letter.  I stared at it.  It didn't matter that I knew it was coming; I was not prepared.

How would we tell the children?  Our families?  Our friends?

And what did this mean for me?  I was unsure about who I was now.  We had been one and now we were two.  I was unsure about eternity now.  I didn't know how I fit in.  I didn't want the attention and sympathy that I knew I would receive.  I fit into a new classification now.  I was a woman married to a non-member.

It was the most lonely day I have ever experienced.  I had this information that seemed to stop the world from spinning and I couldn't talk to anyone about it.  The person I usually talked to about things that made me sad was my husband and he didn't understand.  He was happy and relieved about it.  I felt like a widow.  I walked around in a daze that day.  I cried a lot.  I felt so lost.

I had a friend whose husband died around this time.  I remember feeling like she was lucky because he was living a righteous life when he died and at least she knew her sealing was intact, she knew he would be waiting for her.  I am ashamed of that feeling.  I was jealous of her ending as opposed to mine.

It felt like an end. 

He and I are in a better place.  He is more kind about the church and the fact that the children and I still participate.  But something is gone.  There is a spiritual intimacy that is no longer there.  It died that day.  And I don't know if I will ever be done mourning its loss.

Letter to a Friend

Activity 1:  Write a letter to a friend as if she is sitting beside you.  How is this writing different from your blog posts?

This prompt immediately brought to mind an incident from high school.  A time when my life was in flux and I chose to exclude a friend.  I did not get the chance to resolve it then; I would like to address it now.

**********

Dear Carol,

What would I say to you if you were here now?  I have regretted my decision for so long, but I don't know if I could find the words.  I don't know if I could even speak.  I think I would have difficulty looking at you because of my shame.

The guilt of our decision, our pact, was weighing heavily on me.  I couldn't keep silent any longer.  I couldn't keep lying.  I knew I needed to tell the truth.

But I should have talked to you before I did so.  Instead, I hung you out to dry.

Why didn't I talk to you first?  I'm not sure.  I think maybe I was afraid.  I was afraid you would get angry with me.  I was afraid you would disagree and talk me out of it.  I was afraid I was too weak to stand up to you.

And I was selfish.  I was more worried about clearing my conscience than protecting my friend.

I don't know how we lost each other so quickly.  One minute we were inseperable.  The next minute you were gone.

I have searched for you.  I have watched for you.  I think of you often, and my heart is filled with regret.

I may never see you again.  I may never have the opportunity to make things right.

But if you were here now, I would tell you that I am so very, very sorry.

Love still,
Robin

The Person

Everyone has one.  That pivotal person.  The one who changed your life.  The one who helped define you.  The one without whom you wouldn't be who you are.  Hopefully, the one who taught you to believe in yourself.

For me, that was my grandma.  And today would be her 100th birthday.  I miss her.