The Last Few (Hard) Weeks

 I'm back. It's time to write. This is a piece of life that has been hard in a way that I have not known before now. 

I was the first to receive the text that the son of a friend had ended his life. He was part of my kids' lives at church. We knew him. He has been at our house, we have been at his house. It was a shock...a tragedy....a trauma. I made two phone calls to the pastor and his wife who were with my children at separate boys and girls Bible studies. I showed Jeremy the text, threw on shoes in the dark and made a beeline to where Aliza and Anna were. I had to be there when they found out. It's brutal to watch your children hurt in a way they have never hurt before. The boys arrived to where the girls were and we sat, cried, prayed, and cried some more together. I was there way too long before I realized that I had put on two different shoes!

We cried our way through that first weekend. I visited my friend who lost her son--maybe one of the hardest, scariest things I've ever done. 

Tuesday that week was a beautiful day. We skipped school and went to the Cove.

The children played together. I caught Aliza singing and dancing a little. It was good to be in the sun and fresh air in a place that we already had family memories together.

As that first week went on, I realized that the others who were as close or closer to this situation than I was were settling down, while my body was still completely in overdrive--anxiety and panic. In the process of me realizing this, Jeremy received a box of these books that his employees are reading together. He promptly gave me one. I had to laugh.

With my doctor, I made the decision to increase the anxiety medication that I have taken (without change) for many years. I remain convinced that my body had a chemical reaction to the shock and trauma that it could not recover from on its own. What I didn't know was that it would get worse before it got better. For several days my Mom stayed with me during the day. She did all the extra house things so that I could help with whatever schoolwork I could get the kids through. It was day 11 that I felt relief from the anxiety. I know that people have stories that last much longer than this...this was long enough for me to have all the thoughts of when and if ever I would feel like myself again. 

Given that it was someone else's mental health crisis that set off this chain of events in my life, I decided that it would be darkly ironic for me to keep my own mental health struggle a secret. I have been honest when anyone has checked on me. I've had to say no to things I would normally say yes to. I had to get a substitute teacher for my ESL class. I had to be honest with my children and tell them things about myself that they didn't know. 

I'm learning and growing from these weeks. I've learned that I don't have healthy emotional boundaries with friends. I try to carry burdens that aren't mine to carry in the name of friendship. I don't have an answer for that one yet. 

I found a spot in our bedroom that is my prayer spot--on my knees, face on the ground, desperate for God to show up because I found the end of myself. I had gotten ahead of myself, doing far too much on my own, in my own strength. Only God is big enough to carry the pain that life in this broken world brings. 

I've learned that I need my husband, my Mom, my Mom-in-law, my sisters, and my friends more than I had imagined. 

And, finally, I've watched my children be incredibly resilient. They cried and grieved hard. But they have also carried on and with great joy. Aliza still has moments of sadness, but they are short lived. She, too, has a small army of friends and adults around her to support and encourage and walk with her. 

I move forward from here with more gratitude for life to live and more awareness and mindfulness of the people around me.