Depression doesn’t follow the rules. It doesn’t stay away when our kids are around and need us happy. It doesn’t stay away when the weather is nice and it seems everyone else is enjoying the sun.
Depression doesn’t always look like it ought. It doesn’t always present a sad face. It doesn’t always bring tears. It can’t always be seen outwardly.
Depression can’t always be talked away. It is good to hear, “you are worth it.” “You are valuable.” But honestly, the depression might not be telling you that you are not those things. It might just be there.
Depression might be the shroud hanging around you. It might just be this feeling of needing to be somewhere safe, with or without suicidal thoughts. It might be a fear that has you looking around every corner for the weight of darkness you won’t be able to shake.
Depression doesn’t look the same for everyone. It doesn’t look the same every time it descends. It doesn’t provide a road map for how to escape. It doesn’t just shake off.
Depression doesn’t play fair.
I was thinking today about Patrice and how attached she is to her speech therapist and Caitlyn’s teacher. It was a quick connection for her. She adores them.
I worry about the day those associations end.
I also make quick connections and get too attached.
Take my midwife. I adore her. She’s been instrumental in bringing our three girls into this world. She helped me when no one would after Patrice was born. But I highly doubt she cares about me as much as I care about her.
It makes me feel desperate and unworthy. I’ve always struggled with friendships.
How do I guide my girls to strong, healthy relationships?
How do you help your kids learn how to build friendships?
The last week and a half has been full of too much death.
On a national level, Annette Funicello, Margaret Thatcher, those attacked by cowards at the Boston Marathon, George Beverly Shea, and on a personal level, a long-time bus driver from my growing up years and a long-time coworker from my previous job.
And this stirs up feelings of loss from my dad’s death almost 9 years ago. My sister posted a picture on facebook of our dad with her kids. It came up in my timeline today. I saw his amazing eyes amidst all his bushy hair and my heart stopped. And honestly, it doesn’t feel like it has restarted.
I see you in my dreams daddy
My dad died just after I got engaged to my husband. He didn’t see my wedding, he hasn’t met any of my girls. I have talked about him some. He’s known as my dead dad. Every time we make a chocolate cake, my dad’s favorite, Sue asks if it’s for my dead dad. I tell her no, except on a few special days, but I think from now on, the answer will be yes.
Here’s our latest creation daddy.
My aunt, my dad’s sister, once reminded me, the best tribute to my dad, and what he would want me to do, would be to live my life, and I have, but today, I pause, for him and for the many who have died recently and for those who loved them. May your memories bring you peace and healing.
I recently found a project on Pinterest I thought the girls would enjoy. You take foam letters or shapes, we call them stickies, and put them on bottle lids, we used Gatorade. Side note, one benefit of the stomach virus that never, ever, ever, ever leaves, suddenly you have a lot of gatorade bottle lids.
It turned out ok. At first, I wasn’t sure if it might be my third pinterest flop of the week, but the girls worked on their technique and got some pretty designs. They voted we keep our “stamps” to play with again. That is about as good as it gets, right? Maybe next time we will try with stamp pads. As soon as I figure out a cheap place to get some of those…
Is it possible to make a friend by reading a book they wrote? I believe so. I believe Annette Funicello became a friend of mine when I read her book, A Dream is a Wish Your Heart Makes. I didn’t relate to her fame or fortune obviously, but I related to her battle with Multiple Sclerosis.
I read her book in 1994 a few years after I was diagnosed at the age of 15. It felt so good to read her words and to find someone who understood. Someone who was bringing light to a disease that was often hidden and misunderstood.
I battled MS many, many years. I did many of the injectable medications, 15 hospital stays in 3 years and 2 years of IV steroids in a freestanding clinic.
In that time I finished high school, put myself through college, spent a couple years on the mission field, met and got engaged to a miserable jerk, thankfully got dumped, met a great guy and got married.
Then suddenly I received the golden ticket of MS. I went into spontaneous remission. We started a family. I have been in remission now for almost 7 years.
My girls don’t know a mama in a wheelchair. They don’t know a mama sick from powerful steroids and medications. They know a mama that can play with them. They know a mama who is getting back to running. They know a mama who was greatly inspired by Annette Funicello. She gave their mama hope when she needed it. She let a young girl know she was not alone with this crummy disease.
I have cried so much since I saw the tweet about Annette passing away Monday at the age of 70 from complications of the MS. I don’t know what to do to honor my friend, but there must be something. Some way, I can join the many who will seek to honor her in any number of fashions. I don’t know what that will look like, but know, my friend, you will not be forgotten.My Patrice wearing her Disney jacket (she, at age 2, is in no way interested in standing still for a picture)
Normally Easter is rush, rush, hurry around here. We have breakfast and church, and egg hunt and then time with family. Yesterday did not include all of that. We still did the breakfast, colorful waffles and the egg hunt, but otherwise, the neverending stomach virus kept us home.
Home, home, home.
Again, again, again.
I cried. I pouted. I sulked.
But we did have some fun. Grandma dropped off presents, at the door, and ran.
Daddy tied Easter grass in the girls’ hair.
Daddy did an age appropriate lesson on Easter.
We gave them very small peices, but luckily, none of them got sick last night, so maybe now, 4 weeks into this virus, we are coming out the other side…Maybe.
Honestly, I hope your Easter was better than ours, but we were home, fed and safe, celebrating Jesus.