The Good With the Bad

I realize that my posts of late have been themed a lot toward my dad and what he and my family are going through on our new journey into life with ALS. I cannot help that, so much. It is constantly on my mind. I know that they can also be a little bit dark. There are those scary thoughts and emotions tumbling through. I thought today could use a little bit of sunshine, as it were. :) Here is a (maybe short) list of some of the good that has come along with the bad.

1. Love. 
    We have a chance to tell our dad/husband/uncle/brother/son/friend how dearly he is loved in this world. He gets to know that he matters. He gets to know *why* he matters and what a difference he makes in our lives. We get to tell him how much we love him.

2. Goodbye
    We get to tell him goodbye. This is a privilege not everyone gets. By the time his soul leaves his body, we will have told him goodbye in a thousand ways. Sure, we aren't always saying the word. However, I believe in some way that every time we talk to him - no matter how normal the conversation - we are also saying a little piece of our goodbye. 

3. Family
    This kind of experience hits all of us in different ways at different moments. There are stressors like crazy. Through all of it, there is the drawing closer of our already-tightly-knit family. My sisters and mother, who I already love and would kill for, mean the world more to me now than before. I am clamping my heart tightly around each. We are hanging onto one another for dear life.

4. Faith
    I resist the idea that faith is personified in being okay and looking okay. I resist the idea that a person's testimony is at risk if they show how vulnerable and aching they are inside. To the contrary, verses through the Bible remind us that He is our strength during our weakness. We are reminded to lean on one another, to bear one another's burden. I do not trust people who put a high value on looking put-together even among their closest friends. These are not honest people. I hurt for them, closing themselves off from comfort. My faith is a rock, an anchor, a grounding point in a rough time. When I am not calm, my father is with me. This experience challenges and cements that faith in ways other points in my life have not. 

5. Friends
    Grief is awkward. It is awkward during and after any traumatic event. Grief will bring friends closer or drive them away. People contact you to tell you that you are loved or thought of. They come out of nowhere to support you. Going through this experience feels very isolating sometimes, it is true, but it also reminds us that we are not truly alone. There are people out there who care.

6. Prayer
    As if life itself wasn't hard enough to keep a person on their knees, along comes ALS. There is no specific way to pray. Sometimes you can only say a word ("Help!). Other times, my heart comes tumbling out in a million words and thoughts. Prayer is good for the soul. Prayer comforts. Prayer calms. Prayer breathes when the soul is suffocating. 

7. Children
    My babies have been precious beyond words from the years I lived before they ever came along. They are infinitely more precious to me now. I am determined to begin to take care of myself for their sakes. 

8. Health
    Number seven brought me to this one. This experience is teaching me that we don't always end up with expected illnesses. How careless I have been to allow my body to become so unhealthy. It truly does affect them. Pray me some strength on that one, because this is a struggle I've had now for years. 

9. Memories
    Living with such a harsh reality makes the memories we have already made with my dad, my parents, and my family as a whole so much sweeter. It makes each new memory that much more invaluable and coveted.

10. Time
      You've heard all of the cliches about time before. You already know that it is precious. Time right now is at a premium and we are all so very aware of it. It is a highly-valued currency more precious than gold. May we spend it wisely.

Anyway, that is all I have right this minute. I know there are more, but I really do have to run. This experience is painful on so many levels. Admitting that doesn't mean that I don't see the good. Hurting doesn't indicate a lack of trust or faith. Admitting to the things I fear does not mean that I am not also begging God for His mercy and seeing it where it shows itself. 

We (my family) are leaning heavily on the Lord, each other, friends, and family to get through this thing. It is tragic and beautiful. May we ever draw closer to one another and to God. May He be merciful to us all. May you, reader, see this and understand that we have not given up. <3 

We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on my parents' behalf. Please consider sharing it on social media.

See Them

Last night was somewhat frightening. 

Two of my sisters had talked to my dad earlier in the evening and found that he sounded completely terrible. He was so weak overall and had trouble speaking. They feared that it would be his last night on earth. We prayed... oh, how we prayed! Friends and family joined in with our request for prayer. 

Dad began to feel better. He even sounded better by the time I called. (I needed to know if my mother needed us on standby.) I was heartbroken inside but solid during the worry. 

What can I do? Call for prayer? Call for help? 

I have to have something to *do*.

It wasn't until after my dad answered the phone and told me he was starting to feel a bit better that I fell apart. I got off of the phone in a hurry (so I wouldn't wear him out all over again) and completely lost it.

It had hit me, you know? The realization that scares like this are going to happen again... and again... and again, until one day 'the real one' comes. 

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ALS is a brutal monster. We are living in this state of limbo. Life right now is a tree on the edge of a cliff with my dad hung precariously out over the ledge on a frail limb. As his body fails him, the limb becomes ever unstable. At some point, the weight of everything going wrong in his body is going to outweigh the strength of the limb protecting his life and he'll be gone. Forever.

I keep trying to change my course of thoughts with this disease. I am trying to change what I tell myself inside my head about what is happening to my dad. I muscle my way through the day for my children. I collapse into a heap when my husband comes home and offers me his arms. 

"He is LIVING with ALS," I tell myself. 

This is my mantra. He is living with ALS. He is living with ALS. He is *LIVING* with ALS. I tell myself this over and over some days. Focus on 'living'.

I have to tell myself this because otherwise I am stuck thinking the other thing. You know that thing... that harsh "my dad is dying" thing. :( 

My dad is DYING!? Is this true? Can he really be dying? Isn't he technically living? Shouldn't I be looking at this as living? He is alive, therefore he is living.

"He is LIVING with ALS."

He has to be living. The other thought is unthinkable. And yet, every phone call home says the opposite. Listening to the reality of my mother and his daily lives confirms it. This is not living. This is existing, not living. This is losing more of his life every single day in some micro way. This is dying... slowly. 

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What must my dad be feeling? What is my mom feeling? Mom is more open about her thoughts and emotions than he is. This is hard for her. No, hard isn't even the word. This is brutal. This is gut-wrenching. This is something you wouldn't put your enemies through, it is so cruel and painful.

"Just rest. Just stop everything else, sit down, and rest."

She can't, though. Not really. There are a million small things that she needs to do for him and for herself. Everything she does, even the minutia that adds up and eats up the entire day, is to make their lives easier. She is exhausting herself trying to make this whole thing easier for both of their sakes.

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Visits wear them out. I don't mean that they are tired after. I mean that it now takes two days for him to recover from the energy of a visit an hour long or better. When they have to leave the house for a doctor visit, it is even worse. The recovery time is longer. Because of this, visits with them need to be limited.

This is hard on both of them, too. He wants and needs to see people before he slips off into the beyond (someday?). We need to see him. We need to know that he knows how loved he is. There are family and friends who want to support them both. This is the way to do it. Put action to words and show up. Take that time to tell him you love him and care for him. He needs us.

She needs us too, though. People forget that.

She is doing this alone. She feels isolated and pushed so far past her breaking point. Everyone is here for him right now. Everyone wants to sit and chat with him. It is hard to see past him and look at her, even when you are staring her in the face. 

Can she get you a drink? Are you comfortable? Please take off your shoes before entering. Yes, it makes a difference. No, she cannot fight about that right now. Have a seat. Hang on a sec, she's got to get him this, get him that, etc.

When everyone leaves, she's back up and running. The floors need to be vacuumed. The furniture needs lint-rolled. Seriously, any allergen at all is bothersome. Cleaning, constant cleaning, wearing herself out so that at the end of the night they can both breathe. Calls, visits, exams, errands, meal prep, baths, helping move, dress, feed, wash, do laundry... virtually a million things keep her busy from the moment she wakes up to the moment she falls asleep, listening to make sure he is still breathing. Is tonight the night? 

We need people to see them both. 

We need them to see him and to show love to him. We also need people to love on her. Ask if there is something you can do while you are there. Make your visit about her comfort, too. He gets priority, I get that. I really do. He has less life left in him than she does right now. His time is limited. But don't forget something. When you are married, this is not a journey only one spouse takes.

She is dying with him but then she has to keep living after. 

He will move on to Jesus and she will be left, shattered. With fatal disease, the time is *now*. We will be caring for her exclusively after he is gone, that is true. However, we cannot afford to care for him exclusively while he is still here. She *needs* care, too. His feelings must be considered *and* her feelings must be considered. She is his caretaker. Whatever we can do to strengthen her immediately benefits him. Seriously. Literally, everything we can do to help her directly helps him. Caring for her *is* caring for him.

She's had four hours 'off' in all of this time. Four hours where she wasn't caring for him in months. It is doing her in, emotionally and physically. Exhausted isn't even a strong enough word to adequately convey what being a full-time care-giver does to a person. Nobody can handle that alone. I've got to step up my game. 

Look at her. 

See her. 

Help her. 

Be there for her as much as for him.

See her.

See them. 

See the person who is suffering from the disease.

See the caretakers.

See them.

Help them too.

We have started a GoFundMe Campaign on behalf of my parents. Please consider sharing it on social media. 

Depression is NOT a Sin

Severe Depression Hidden Beneath a Smile

I was raised in a world where religion conflicts with the general consensus of society. 

Please understand, this statement is NOT to bash or undermine the value of spirituality in one's life. Rather, it is more a statement of the obvious. Religion and the world at large tend to clash. 

Sometimes that clash comes in the form of a lack of understanding about certain issues. At the time, depression was one of those issues. I do not remember anyone directly stating  that depression is a sin, but the idea I left childhood with was that it was. I believed that depression is a trick of the devil, and is something a 'good' Christian would not allow themselves to experience. The idea that somehow having enough of the Word of God in your heart would hold depression at bay. 

Then it happened. My husband and I moved. Someone in a position of authority over us was wreaking havoc in our personal life. Our daughter was born in such a horrific and traumatic way that I had never even heard of the possibility of a birth going so wrong. We moved away from the place of pain, and spent nine months living with different family members. It. Was. All. Too. Much. 

I was already in denial and avoiding the reality of depression and PTSD after my birth trauma. The denial lasted for about a year. By the time the two year mark rolled around, I was increasingly overwhelmed with both, but had such intense shame that I remained untreated. The people in my 'religious' world were oblivious to my pain. Two ladies from religions very different than my own randomly and briefly entered my life. Both of them saw it, and both of them caused me to break down and cry. It was almost another full year (3 years in, if you are counting) after that before I went to see a doctor. I knew I was depressed, but I was hoping not to be told that. The answer came back swiftly. The chemicals in my brain were imbalanced, and I had full blown MDD and anxiety. The doctor put me on Cymbalta, and I - so desperate for help - was too afraid to take it. 

Acknowledging what I resisted for so long opened the flood gates. I quit going out. I quit seeing people. I mechanically went through the motions of being a mother - something I had SO coveted after infertility and loss. I felt so cheated that this thing I wanted most in the world had brought me so much mental torture and pain. I felt guilty that I had not 'given' my sweet and happy daughter the perfect entrance into the world she so deserved; guilty that her birth was literally the worst day of my life instead of the best. 

I desperately hid my suicidal misery from everyone I could think of, for fear of being judged a weak Christian. The truth is that I have never sought God more fervently in my life. Reading Scripture filled as much of my spare time as possible. Prayer was a continuous inward cry of God, PLEASE HELP!! It was vital to my life in a way it hasn't been before, but even then I could not pray the depression away. It was NOT a demonic problem. It was a physical problem. My husband and doctor would convince me to get on my medication, and then I would confide in someone who would say "If it were me, I would not take it." so I would quit cold turkey, and become suicidal all over again. 

Let me make this clear to everyone who says that suicide is a choice. It is ONLY a choice in the barest possible sense of the word. Lynn Wells, person,  would NEVER in a million years take her life. Lynn Wells, sufferer of depression, believed that the world was better off without her... that someone could be a better mother to her child, a better wife to her husband, a better friend to her friends. The list goes on. Depression cripples you. It lies to you. It changes you. Suicide is never the rational choice, but depression isn't rational. It just isn't.

Thank the Lord, my pastor stepped up to bat for me. He explained to me that there are some outdated ideas about depression - not just in religious circles, but in the world at large. He explained to me that we are now aware that depression IS an illness. It is something that often (as in my case) is determined by chemicals in the body. He, along with three other people I love tremendously (one being my husband) became my core support, and made me understand that it was OKAY that I was sick. I timidly allowed a few more people to know what I was going through on a lesser level. To my shock, in a time when I initially felt that I was letting down everyone and could trust no one, I found myself graced and braced with a support system. 

About ten months after I was prescribed medication, I weaned off of it. I had prayed non-stop that the medicine would make me sick as it worked so I would know when to step down. It began making me ill about six months in, I think, and the doctor reduced my dose. When it made me sick again later on, I was able to come off of it. I could laugh again. I could smile without forcing it. I felt weak and vulnerable, but I was clearly recovering. People began to tell me "You sound so good!" instead of asking "Are you okay?" :)

Something important happened during that better part of a year when I was receiving help and treatment. I finally came out of my denial and acknowledged the pain I had been going through the past three years. I grieved over my birth experience. I grieved over the person who had nearly brought ruin to my marriage (not a female... nothing like that). I grieved over the friend who walked away from me when I needed a friend the most. I grieved, and grieved, and grieved, and at the end of that grief I rediscovered joy and peace. 

Could I have prayed away the depression? No. It was chemical. It required medication. Did I 'choose' to be depressed? No. NOBODY in the world wants to feel that. If you've been sad and figure you therefore understand true depression, I promise you that you do not. I still get sad sometimes. I still get the blues sometimes. Winter scares me to this day because I am most likely to develop days and days in a row of sadness. None of these things is the same as true depression. I hope to never experience it again, but I am glad that I am aware now that it exists. I am able to extend understanding and grace to those suffering, where before I could only do what essentially boiled down to praying for them to fix themselves. I am deeply ashamed of that.

I know this has been a long blog, but it bears repeating. I am NOT speaking out against religion. I am NOT saying that Christians are bad people who don't get it. Why? Because I was young and ignorant when I had those views, and since I have been through it myself, my eyes have been opened to an entire world of other Christians who have also been through it. We DO cling to our Lord and Savior when we are despairing. We DO look to His Word for comfort, and comfort may be found. I had a very young and arrogant view of life, but that has changed now. 

If, somehow, you find yourself among the small fraction of people left who think depression is a sin, please reconsider. 

Depression is not a sin. It is not a demonic possession or oppression. It is not a choice that any person would make for himself. Depression is serious, and when believers turn their back on one another (again, the few that do - I am in no way indicting everyone), then they ARE sinning. 

We are called to "Be kindly affectioned one to another with brotherly love; in honour preferring one another;". (Romans 12:10) Yes, there are verses about reproving, rebuking, and exhorting (2 Tim 4:2) and a verse stating "faithful are the wounds of a friend" (Prov 27:6), but those verses would be grossly misapplied in this situation. An uncaring person focuses solely on reproving, rebuking, and wounding but ignores the edifying, affection, brotherly love, honor or the many, many commands the Lord has given to treat one another with love, compassion, and grace. 

In this time of renewed national attention on depression, may we Christians not brush it off as a 'worldly' problem or as a symptom of failing faith. Let us discover those in the church pews who are suffering, and wrap ourselves around them in support. When people fall ill or are struck with tragedy, we step up for them. When that tragedy or illness leads to depression, let us not back away. God forbid we should be condemning, but instead be stabilizing, supportive, and renewing. These are true hallmarks of Christianity.