Our Version of Normal

I've never been completely comfortable with the saying "Time heals all wounds." I understand why people say it, but the older I get, the less convinced I am. One of the things grief has taught me is that it doesn't follow a manual. It doesn't move neatly from one stage to the next. It doesn't keep a schedule or ask permission before showing up.  Maybe that's okay.  I've had enough scars—both visible and invisible—to know that healing isn't the same as erasing. Some scars fade until you barely notice them. Others remind you they're still there when you move a certain way. Grief has felt a lot like that for me.  I have had four c-sections. I've always formed keloid scars, both internally and externally, from those surgeries. Even now, I can have sharp ripping pain if I turn a certain way or get up too quickly from lying or sitting down. That's what grief has often felt like for me. Most days I don't notice it. Then something shifts—a...

Over the last few years, I've noticed something. Without really intending to, I've been feeding my soul. It has looked different than I expected. It started with walking around two lakes near my house.  At first, I was walking to get exercise or to my brother's house to be with my mom. As I walked, I started noticing all the beauty around me.  Swans, ducks and white pelicans gliding gracefully on one of the lakes. Otters, gators and spoonbills in the other.  There were bald eagles soaring overhead, ospreys circling or even hovering midair before diving into the water for their dinner and oh my, the Florida sunsets are breathtaking. I don't need a beach nearby to witness incredible sunsets. Florida seems to supply them pretty much anywhere.  On these walks, I started praying more. A rosary, a chaplet or even just a prayer that was on repeat in my mind and heart that needed to be said... again.  Around the same time, I noticed other things changing too. I found my...

  During the Stations of the Cross, it's easy to picture Jesus carrying a heavy wooden cross. I've pictured that scene countless times. The weight. The pain. The surrender. But recently I heard Fr. Jonathan Meyer (a priest from Indiana I follow online) describe something from a live Stations of the Cross that made me look at the Cross in a new way. As they reenacted Jesus carrying the Cross, one person carried another person on his shoulders rather than carrying the wooden cross. He said people were moved because they didn't just see a person being carried. They saw their own crosses— the suffering of the people they love, the brokenness of the world around them, and the burdens they carry every day. Then he asked a question that I couldn't stop thinking about.  What if Jesus wasn't just carrying the Cross?  What if, in a way I'll never fully understand, He was carrying all of us? He carried our sins. Our grief. Our fears. Our illnesses. Our betrayals.  Our lone...

For years, meeting new people came with a little (a lot) of anxiety. The conversations usually started out simple enough. "How many kids do you have?" "How old are they?" But with a bunch of kids, autism, Down syndrome, therapies, and a life that looked different from most families, my answers were rarely simple. On the drive home, I would replay every word. Did I say too much? Did I scare them away? Did they wish they hadn't asked? I don't think I even realized how much energy I spent trying to make my story easier for other people to understand. Recently, I found myself sitting around a table laughing with a group of women I hadn't known three years ago. At some point during the conversation, something caught me by surprise. I wasn't trying to figure out how to fit in.  Looking around at these women, I noticed I wasn't spending the evening worrying about what to say next. I wasn't wondering whether I was talking too much or too little. I wa...

I've been wrong about a lot of things. Big things. At one time or another, I was certain I knew how my life was supposed to unfold. The things I was sure would happen. The things I was afraid would happen. The things I thought I had figured out.  Looking back, some of the greatest blessings in my life came disguised as disappointments, detours, and diagnoses.  More than once, I looked at a situation and thought I already knew how the story would end. More than once, God proved me wrong. Recently, I've been reading old blog posts and wondering how we survived. The surgeries. The diagnoses. The therapies. The waiting rooms. The crises that seemed to pile on before we'd recovered from the last one.  Reading those words now, I honestly don't know how we carried the weight of it all. Maybe we didn't. Maybe God carried us. We often ask God to change our circumstances. Sometimes He changes our understanding instead. One of the things I've learned about God is that He r...

Fourteen years ago, I wrote a blog post called Feeling a Bit Lost in a "Perfect" World . I recently read that post again for the first time in years. As I read it, I didn't want to change a word.  She wrote honestly about what she knew then. And she was right. She just wasn't finished. If I could sit down with the younger version of myself today, I don't think I'd have all the answers for her. But there are a few things I'd want her to know.  She couldn't have known then that acceptance isn't a place you arrive. It's something that keeps growing, quietly, often without you even noticing.  I'd tell her that joy and grief aren't opposites. Sometimes they sit side by side at the same kitchen table.  One day she'll understand that. She'll grieve leaving Indiana and the home and life we've built there. At the very same time, she'll receive the priceless gift of helping care for my mom during the last year and a half of her li...