A Precious Gift

Last night God gave me a gift most precious. I can't describe to you its worth, so I will tell you what happened.

I met my daughter.

Ten years ago July 17, I miscarried. Though we named her and treated her as part of our family, a part of me was unsure. Did I carry a spirit within me, or had my body just grown an empty vessel that had never belonged to anyone? (Even though I don't believe God does it that way, I still wondered)

But now I know.

Her image is already fading from my subconscious, but I'll describe her for you as best I can. She had long hair that was the lightest brown, almost blond. Her eyes were those of someone much older, much wiser, and I want to say they were blue.

Her favorite song was Tiffany's "Could've Been" and that's a bit more poignant than I want to dwell on right now.

In the dream, she was a child of about 8 or 9. In the dream, we had a special magic that we used once a year around Christmas to make an extra-special holiday for our family. It was the kind of magic that, if you told anyone about it, you would lose it. The woman we met through that magic knew my daughter. She spoke of her--her favorite places, her favorite things--and sparked a search. I wanted to find my daughter, to see her, to hold her--but I just kept missing her. I'd talk to people who had seen her.

But then, suddenly, she was right in front of me.

She crawled into my lap and let me hold her. And I was crying, just like I am right now. I knew in my heart this moment could not last. God had granted me a brief time with her. She knew it, too. That's when she asked me to sing for her. And I did, in my broken, emotion-choked voice.


I understand now, that while our time on earth was so brief, she's up there in Heaven waiting for me. She is a part of my family. She is a part of my eternal life.

And I can't wait to hold her again.

It's Pretty Here

It's been so long since I posted here I forgot how nice the blog looks. And, really, this post could go anywhere I blog--my personal blog (here), my author blog, or my Friday spot at MMW--but I'm posting it here because it's more a testament of what's going on in my life than what's happening in the writing world--even though writing is part of my world.

It all started June 22--you know, the day BRAVE came out in theaters. Bryan and I decided it would be fun to drive our girls up to the closest theater (30 miles away) and surprise them by seeing the movie. We made it about 20 miles and the car died. Just. Died. It made a weird whistling noise like it was a futuristic car powering down.

I had just barely started a new job, so I reasoned this challenge was a blessing in reality because if I DIDN'T have a job we'd have no hope of paying for repairs--and due to the nature of Bryan's job we have to have 2 cars. It's not a negotiable issue--though I would gladly do without the gas prices if I could. Blarg.

Besides, so many people stopped to help us it was really a reaffirming experience in the study of the human spirit.

So--now it's July 2. Since the car broke down (and sat at the shop because they were backed up and didn't have time to look at it), we lost our clothes dryer, the toilet broke, the twins' bunkbed broke, and Friday the driver's side passenger window on the Durango decided to stop rolling up.

Sunday I fasted. People ravaged by fires in their areas need rain. Then I drove the kids 30 miles to church with in the truck with a broken window. Here's the thing--it created a vacuum inside the vehicle that caused so much intense pain in my ears I almost couldn't drive. It took me 20 miles of that to figure out that if I rolled down another window it would ease the pressure. Yay me. Boo for the migraine I dealt with the rest of the day. Evidence this morning suggested I may be working on another sinus infection and I haven't figured out what my health benefits are yet.

So right now we have a borrowed car and a huge pile of laundry. Bryan goes back to work tomorrow and I'm not off again until Friday. The kids need clean clothes. My idea of doing small loads and air drying them seems like a ton of work now--but I'll (read we'll) probably do it anyway.

Sunday I looked at all this stuff and thought, "I'm about to release a book and all hell breaks loose. Coincidence? Of course not."

Here's the thing--I deal. It's who I am. Stuff happens, I get bummed or discouraged, and God pulls me out of it and we get stuff done. Oh, and it's not all bad news. We still haven't gotten our tax refund yet, which isn't much but will help. And I just found out I have some money in a retirement account from 2008 that I can access. And both Bryan and I still have jobs. We have family helping us. But sometimes, it's hard not to feel discouraged.

I don't post all this on FB because that's not the side I want to show the world. I don't want to whine, complain, or moan about life's challenges. Without challenge there is no growth.

So I'll just keep growing.

Today

Today I took my son to the ENT to evaluate his health. This has been a trip a long time coming. While he's been to the doctor many times for various issues, this is the first time he's had spectrum allergy testing and monitoring of his breathing both before and after a nebulizer treatment. While I'm grateful for the advances in medicine that will allow him to find everyday relief from things he's just learned to live with (like not tasting food, not being able to breathe through his nose, or not being able to go the night without his rescue inhaler), the visit was not easy.

They took blood. He got shaky, dizzy, and almost started hyperventilating.

They made him breathe into a little tube hooked to a computer several times. No, more than that. He almost passed out. He had to do this both before and after the nebulizer.

Because he's a 13 yr old boy, I was able to easily rectify any discomfort or distress he experienced with a quick trip to the store. Soon he was on his way home with a pack of donuts, root beer, and beef jerky.  I figured he could use the blood sugar boost and the rare treat increased his happy spirits.

I doubt the appointment for his nasal imaging or the follow up appointment to discuss his issues and treatments will be as traumatic as this one. We walked out of there with 3 new prescriptions for daily maintenance/prevention and a strong antibiotic to clear up any lingering infection from his being so sick a couple weeks ago.

As I sat there watching the doctor analyze and evaluate my son, it occurred to me how much of what she was doing I could benefit from. Though I did finally have my deviated septum fixed, I still have my tonsils and adenoids, have chronic breathing trouble, and still snore at night (apparently quite a lot). I doubt they'll do anything for my tonsils anymore because of the increased risk doing the operation on adults, but sometimes it'd be nice to breathe, or maybe not snore so much. Still, this is something that I've just learned to live with. It's how my body is.

Maybe, just maybe, we can do for my son now so he won't suffer from these problems so much as he gets older.

Intermittent

I'm going to back off blogging here, as I hardly get any comments I don't think you'll miss much, because I've discovered something about myself. Writing blog posts every week satisfies that instant urge to write that I should be using to write my books.

I'll still be around, though you won't hear from me every week anymore. It will probably be for the best, since you're more likely to get thoughtful, poignant posts if I wait for the inspiration to strike.

I'll still keep you posted on what the kids are doing, and stuff like that. NO worries.

Baking

Yesterday and today I'm baking gifts for friends and loved ones. I'm out of money to mail things, but I've got lots of love to spread out here, so it's all good. Yesterday I made batches and batches of cookies. Today, it's breadsticks. I'm going to put a little Christmas poem in with each package and deliver them tonight. Fun, fun. You can click HERE for the Christmas poem. I posted it on my author blog.

I have some news, but I'm going to wait to share it next week. Let's get through Christmas first, for goodness sake!

Focus

The shopping frenzy is done. Now it's time to remember what this holiday is really about.

I'd love to say I purposely saved my baking and gift mailing for next week because the kids will be home and they can help me share the spirit of Christmas with our faraway friends and loved ones. I'd really be feeling like an amazing mom if I could say that. But let's be real. I'm me. And the truth is I am making secret presents this week and have no time for baking and mailing. The kids will be able to help and share in all that by default.

I take no credit for it. But, I still think it will be fun.

We do make an effort every year to remind the kids what the gifts actually represent. I'm fortunate enough to have kids who don't put a lot of emphasis on what they WANT for Christmas. So many times I'm the one asking them because I'm not sure what to buy, or what to suggest to family. Sometimes I feel like I'm raising kids too tender for this world. They understand the spiritual nature of our roles here so well.

For the record, I don't take credit for that either. They are simply amazing, even though they have the ability to completely frazzle my nerves and dance on my last shred of patience. I mean, they are children. Let's be fair.

I hope all of you can take a bit of time this crazy season to let a little truth into your hearts. That sweet manger scene isn't just a prop after all.

December 7

It's December 7, and all my Christmas shopping is done. Yes, I'm bragging--but only a little. I mean, last year I had book signings all month and only had time to do my Christmas shopping in the few days before the actual holiday. It. was. madness. SO glad to be done!

Of course, December 7 has a different significance. This is the day in 1941 that the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, and our response as a nation drew us into WWII. My grandfather served in WWII. He was always a man I loved and admired--and not just because of that. He was a most remarkable man. He passed away around Christmas time, so I always have a tender spot for him this time of year.

My grandfather, Walter Charles Rohan, lived a full life. He met my grandmother--a divorced woman with three young children--while she worked as a waitress in a cafe. They began a cautious relationship until her son--my father--looked up at Walt and asked, "When are you going to marry my mother?" He was ten years old.

Walt not only married Ella, but he legally adopted all three children. They went on to have two children of their own, and built a house up on SLC's East Bench (which grandma sold for a tidy sum just before the housing market crashed).

Grandpa never distinguished his "real" children from his adopted children. They were all his. In fact, I didn't even know my dad was adopted until I was 16, at which time the family consensus was, "I thought you knew." It was one of those things the family didn't discuss, not because it was meant to be a secret but simply because it didn't matter.

Walt was a quiet man in his older years--when I knew him. As a young child, I remember he could drive, but he became legally blind and could no longer operate a car. Grandma never learned to drive. Grandpa survived cancer. Eventually his body gave in. It had become too tired to carry on. I remember when my brother called me to tell me Grandpa had passed. He cried. I cried because he cried. We knew it was for the best, that he was no longer in pain and now Grandma didn't have to care for him round the clock--but we would miss his quiet, gentle ways. His constant presence on the couch at so many family gatherings. His calming influence on those around him.

He outlived my father by twenty years. It had to have been hard to lose a son, but it wasn't something he talked about. Grandpa came from that generation that doesn't talk about those things. I miss him. I miss them both, sometimes.