Blog – Page 26 – Apron Strings for Emily

11 April 201113 June 2011

Soul Searcher

Just Maui'd — Hubby & Me on our Hawaiian Honeymoon in 1996

An unexpected trip to Chicago this past weekend had Hubby & me enjoying the nice warm weather mostly in the comforts of our car. But that was okay, since we had good tunes to listen to … and even better conversations.

Oh, and not to mention, a great dinner in Bucktown Saturday night followed by some delicious Dim Sum in Chinatown the next morning as we left the city.

The weekend wrapped up with a movie; a perfect way to keep cool on an unseasonably warm Spring Day. I had wanted to see something uplifting and inspirational, so Hubby & I decided to go see “Soul Surfer.”

Okay, so the inspirational part was more secondary to the fact that I just really wanted to see surfing. And Hawaii. I just love any movies with Hawaii as the backdrop. And it’s all because it brings back some incredible Honeymoon memories, oh so long ago. So yeah, a movie filmed in Hawaii would make a very happy Emily.

So yeah, uplifting and inspirational. And boy … did I get both.

For those that haven’t seen trailers or haven’t heard about this movie, it’s based on the true story of Bethany Hamilton. If the name doesn’t sound familiar, then this probably will: Bethany was the 13-year old girl who, in 2003 was bit by a shark while surfing in Hawaii. She had lost her arm to the shark, but had gone on to continue to surf even after that incident.

I won’t give much of the movie away here, but what I will say is that within 15-minutes of the movie I was crying. And I continued to cry (intermittently, that is) throughout the entire movie. It was that good.**

One particular part of the movie had seriously gotten under my skin. After sustaining her injury, Bethany obviously began to question herself; question what her bigger picture in life was. After all, surfing was her life … and what could she do now that she no longer could do it well enough to successfully compete? She had gone to her church’s youth group leader, Sarah Hill (played by Carrie Underwood, BTW) and asked her, “Why?” If she had been given this incredible gift, why would God do this to her?

In the midst of crying, Sarah told her exactly what I thought she would her: That there must be a bigger plan out there for her. And that only God knows what that plan is.

Yes, I can see all my IF friends rolling their eyes and saying, “Yep. Heard that one before.”

And I can tell you that, in the midst of tears, even *I* rolled my eyes. But it’s what Sarah said afterwards that had me crying even more:

First, she said “I don’t know what that plan is.” This always gets bonus points for me, since my experience with the “God must have a bigger plan” statement has always ended with just that one phrase.

If only one time, I could’ve heard the added phrase, “I don’t know what the plan is” from any well-intentioned family or friends … that would’ve lessened the burden in which I felt *I* had to carry this burden on my own. That one added piece would have given me the comfort of knowing that I wasn’t crazy for being so angry and so confused over something that no one (not even an IF Doctor) had control over.

Then Sarah goes on to say, “I don’t know why terrible things happen to us sometimes. But I have to believe that something good is gonna come out of this.” And that’s the statement that had me weeping.

See … that’s the one thing that had been missing once Hubby and I stopped all treatments for Infertility: The belief that there’s something better waiting around the corner for me. That there was something else I could look forward to.

In the midst of deciding what Hubby & my next steps would be after stopping treatments, I was too close – too involved – with the smaller picture, that I couldn’t see what the bigger picture was for me and Hubby. At first I couldn’t see past the anger and pain of being barren to see what else was in my “bigger picture.” But eventually, as the storm clouds pummeled through and the dust finally settled, we both took a step back and decided that living child-free was part of that bigger picture.

But now, almost two years later … I feel like I’m lost once again. If I can’t be a Mom, then what will I be? What can I do? How am I now going to be able to measure my “successes” in life … especially since other women and couples can measure there’s by the success of their children? ***

It’s no mystery that I’ve been experiencing an ongoing identity crisis. And that Infertility has played the biggest part into questioning who I am … or who I could become. I know that, as this movie portrays, I should have faith that God knows what my bigger plan is for my life. I just wish I had the strength and conviction that Bethany – despite being so young – has that something … anything good will come out of something like infertility.

I just wish I could, at the very least, get a glimpse of that big picture.

So with that said … go see “Soul Surfer.” Not only will you see beautiful shots of Hawaii (Kauai, in fact … my favorite of the islands we’ve visted) … but you will see an incredible story of a girl who overcame her fears to do something that was within her soul.

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** Okay, so the acting wasn’t exactly stellar, but the story was.

*** And when I mean success, I mean those milestones in their kids’ lives. First word, first step, first day of school, first date … it can go on and on and on. Graduation, wedding, grandchildren … need I go on more?

07 April 201113 June 2011

Dream A Little Dream

dad flowers — Like the hat? We also had his golf putter and a TV remote placed with him!

I saw my Dad the other night. Well … actually, I saw him in my dreams anyway.

I guess it was only a matter of time that Dad would show up in my slumber. After all, it’s been 4 months and he’s (obviously) been weighing heavily on my mind since then. Except his presence in this dream took me completely by surprise.

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Dad appeared to me in a dream that involved staying at a hotel in Las Vegas for a conference with some co-workers (both past and present). In the dream, a former co-worker confronted me regarding a statement I had made about being excluded from some team activity. She had asked me if this was going to affect our working relationship. And just as I was about to answer her, I looked up from where I was seated and saw my Dad standing right by the hotel room door. Plain as day; wearing a set of khaki trousers and a dark red collared sweater … something I could see him wearing whenever we’d go out to dinner together.

But Dad wasn’t alone. He was with a person, whose face looked so familiar; perhaps a family friend from back in his home town that I had met at one of those Canadian “reunion” picnics we’d go to every year. Whoever it was, I couldn’t place the name.

As soon as I saw Dad, I jumped out of my seat and ran up to him and wrapped my arms around him tightly. “I’ve missed you,” I told him.

“I know,” Dad said to me. “I’ve missed you, too.” And then we started talking as if he’d been on a trip back to the Philippines, rather than being physically gone from the earth. What we had talked about, I can’t really remember; but I do recall feeling sad when he told me that they had to go now.

“Okay,” I told Dad. “I’ll walk you guys to the elevator.” And so we walked down the hall and I watched him and this family friend step into the elevator. As the elevator doors started to close, I started to feel panicked; my heart began to race and I suddenly felt bereft.

So I stuck my hand out to stop the elevator door from closing and jumped in. Except when I got inside, my Dad wasn’t there. I looked about the elevator and saw the family friend that had previously accompanied my Dad. I asked where Dad was, but all I got was a shrug of the shoulders.

Once we got to the hotel lobby, I got off the elevator and decided to wait for another elevator car to arrive; thinking that Dad had jumped onto another car instead. After a couple cars came up empty for Dad, I walked towards the hotel entrance intending to sit on one of the couches in the lobby and cry. After all, I had this sick feeling that I’d never get to see him again … even though in the dream it felt like he was just going to walk around the Vegas Strip.

But as I walked toward the lobby, I felt a tap on my shoulder. And when I turned around, I saw my Dad standing there. He engulfed me in another bear hug and said, “You didn’t think I’d leave you, did you?”

I nodded my head, the tears streaming down my face. “I’ll always be with you,” Dad told me. “Don’t ever forget that.”

And that’s when I woke up.

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Strangely, my pillow wasn’t wet with tears, even though my eyes felt as if they had been crying. And the rest of my body just felt extremely tired. And sad … extremely sad. I had remembered waking up briefly in the midst of the dream to tell Hubby that I saw Dad. But by the time I woke up after the dream was over, Hubby had already left for work.

dad vegas — During our last trip to Vegas ... Dad was "pole-dancing" on the tram! LOL!

So instead I told a good friend that I had met for lunch later on in the day. This friend had also lost her father earlier last year and had been there to comfort me during the days following Dad’s death. Without giving her any details about the dream, she told me that it was my Dad’s way visiting me; of showing his presence to me. And we left it at that.

Later on that evening, I told Hubby about the dream and what my friend had said to me. In between the sobs I had let out, he held me tightly and wished that he could make the pain go away.

Then over the phone, I relayed the same thing to my Mom. She too, believed that my Dad had come to visit me and in turn asked me whether or not he looked happy. At first I had told her that Dad’s belly appeared fuller, and we both laughed. “Obviously he’s being fed well up there,” my Mom said, both of us knowing how much my Dad loved to eat.

But then Mom asked me again, “Did he look happy?” After all, other than some “random” events that have taken place at the house, Mom had yet to see Dad face-to-face.

I thought about it for a moment; thought about our conversation and the words Dad had said to me in the hotel lobby. And I answered, “Yes. He looked content.”

“That’s good,” Mom had said. “That just means he’s at peace.”

And as strange as that statement sounded, I believed Mom. And it comforted me … especially knowing that my Dad said he’d always be with me.

03 April 201113 June 2011

Cemetery Gates

I visited my Dad’s grave alone for the first time last week. It wasn’t something I specifically went out of my way to do … I just felt compelled to go there one cold morning.

I had just dropped Hubby off at his new place of employment and had nothing on my own work schedule until a 12:00 pm meeting. And since I had been in Chicago, I hadn’t had a chance to visit Dad for the past two weeks.

I don’t know what the “etiquette” (if there is one)** for how often one should visit a loved one’s gravesite. I’ve never had to deal with a direct relative’s (let alone a parent) passing before; never had a relative buried in close proximity to where we lived.

The closest experience I had to losing someone I felt incredibly close to was well over 20 years ago. And when I look back now, I have to believe that being part of my Godmother‘s journey — especially that last year when I was a Senior in High School — is what pushed me to believe I could make a good nurse. Or at the very least, she taught me to be compassionate in the midst of pain and sorrow.

After her passing, my Mom and I made it a point to visit her at least once a month. But as I had started university that fall, I must admit that the visits started to become more scarce. In fact, the last time I visited her grave was 11 years ago during the funeral of another close family friend. Even after all those years of not visiting my Godmother, I couldn’t help but open those floodgates once I saw her gravestone.

Since my Dad’s passing, I’ve made it a point to try to visit him once a week. Usually it’s on a Sunday after Mass with my Mom, followed by brunch and a trip out to the cemetery. Regardless of the weather … and believe me, there were those horrible Snow-maggedon days this past winter … I’d be at the cemetery. Hubby even went with me during the three weeks my Mom was in the Philippiness, just so that I wasn’t alone.

It’s now been close to 4 months now, since my Dad died. Every time we’ve been to the cemetery, I still feel the unexpected loss of my Dad. I might not shed a tear when I’m physically there at his grave site (perhaps to appear “strong” in front of my Mom?), but once we’re a distance from the cemetery, I still break down in tears. I still feel the intense sadness I did the first time I visited Dad’s new living quarters; which happened in the dark of night, less than a week after his burial.

This week I believe that I was compelled to go to the cemetery on my own; not because I hadn’t gone in two weeks. But rather, because I wanted to test how strong I could be; if I could survive going at it alone. I wanted to know if I could be strong enough to cry in front of him and still be able to pick myself up and drive away. After all, if it wasn’t for my Hubby during that first late-night visit, I might have spent the night on top of Dad’s grave.

So with a cup of Tim Horton’s coffee in my hand (it was 20-some degrees outside at 8:30 am, after all), I walked from my car to Dad’s grave. I told him some funny stories and told him how much I missed him. And I cried. And cried. And cried.

Afterwards, I picked myself up, said a few prayers, and walked back to my car. I sat in the car for a bit, warming myself up and drying my face off from my frozen tears. And after a few minutes, I drove away.

So now I know: I am strong enough to go to the cemetery on my own. However, I also know that I’m still raw inside; I’m still tender around my heart.

And I wonder if it’s ever going to go away***.

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** What do you think, oh Internets? Anybody who has had experience in losing a parent … how often did you visit them in the beginning? And …

*** Will the intensity of how I feel right now ever go away?

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One of my favorite songs by one of my favorite bands. EVER.

30 March 201113 June 2011

Knot Envious of IF

I’ve been having the worst knots on my neck and shoulder muscles lately.

Okay, so that isn’t really anything new. Truth be told, I’ve always been tense in shoulders and neck; that’s where my stressors manifest itself in a physical form.

I compare it much as to how all the unhealthy foods I eat physically manifest onto my butt. After all, a moment on the lips …

See, the thing is … no matter if Hubby does manage to find the knot on my back and attempts to massage it away (he’s good to me like that), the knot always manages to find its way back within a day or two. It’s not until we manage to go to a licensed massage therapist (or hey, you physical therapists are great for this, too!), who can get all the muscle knots out in a short 1-hr session, that all the tension is released from my neck and shoulders for a longer period of time.

As a Registered Nurse, I logically know that it’s because the pain I feel on one knot is likely related to another knot elsewhere on my neck or shoulders. And in order to get rid of one knot, I need to find the original source of the pain.

In the medical world, the type of pain I feel in this situation is called referred pain. It’s much like a person who is having a heart attack can have jaw/neck/left arm pain rather than actually feeling pain in the chest, where the source of the pain originates from. In order to “fix” the pain in the arm or neck or jaw, the physician needs to treat the problems going on with the person’s heart.

As I sat in front of my laptop today, mentally complaining about a particularly painful knot in my shoulder, I thought about referred pain can relate not only to physical pain but emotional pain, as well. In my case, I thought about the emotional pain that I’ve endured throughout my Infertility journey; of which ultimately ended in our decision to live child-free.

Contrary to popular belief, Hubby and I did not just “give up“ on our quest to have children. In a way, the option to live child-free after infertility was much like one of those knots on my back. It was an area that needed to be (and, at time still needs to be) massaged over and over again.

Next to that “Child-Free Knot” was the “Adoption Knot” … Again, another knot that kept returning despite all efforts to release that muscle tension. In a way, the Adoption Knot was the one that frequently resurfaced time and time again; especially when well-meaning friends and family would elicit their advice on how Hubby & I should “just adopt” to “cure” us from infertility. Yes … that knot was a particularly stubborn knot.

On top of the Adoption Knot (because you know how knots can have knots as well?) was the “Medical Treatment Knot.” This particular knot … although not the “sharpest” pain (at least not in my situation**) … was the most chronic knot. It was the knot that had lasted with me for well over 8 years, until Hubby & I consciously decided to untie that knot. Or at least massage the h*ll out of it until the Adoption Knot bubbled to the surface.

Underneath all those knots was the original knot; the reason why I kept having “knots” to begin with. You see, those knots were just “symptoms” of the underlying problem; the reason for all that referred emotional pain. Deep inside of me, I knew I had to treat all the sadness and anger that came with my diagnosis of Infertility.

I knew I had to get to the root of the problem. But when you’re in the throes of pain, the last thing you want to think of is fixing the “cause” of the pain. You just want the pain to go away – whether it’s by jumping right into the next medical treatment … or even blindly heading into the adoption process before you’re emotionally ready to do so. OR you ask for pain medication to help treat the immediate problem and leave it at that – perhaps thinking that the immediate hurt is gone so you don’t have to deal with the real issues that are actually causing the pain.

I’m here to tell you that “fixing” the immediate problem without delving deeper into the root cause of your emotional pain does NOT work … at least in the long run.

This is why it took Hubby & I years to decide to live child-free.

I won’t go into detail about how I got rid of those knots … well, at least the most intense pain that’s associated with the knots. I think you’ve all heard my story before (and if not, click here). However, know this:

It’s up to you to decide how you’ll deal with that referred pain – those knots, if you may … BUT in order to completely deal with the pain, you will have to address the underlying reason for that pain. Otherwise those d*mn knots will resurface whether you like it or not.

…..

Oh, and one more thing. Those knots won’t ever completely go away. There are those days when some “surface knots” can appear; for example: birthdays, anniversaries, other pregnancies, etc. But just so you know … the pain won’t be nearly as sharp as they were before.

You’ll just need to get one H*LL of a massage therapist to get rid of them on an ongoing basis.

As if I need another reason to go for a full-body massage …

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** I know many IF friends who went through multiple and varied medical treatments, whose “knot” may have been the sharpest pain they’ve ever felt.

26 March 201113 June 2011

Ticket To Ride

Almost a week without a post. Yes, I’m trying to get better at writing at least one post a week here. At least thats my goal.

As it turns out, I’m on a train heading back to Detroit from Chicago. Hubby and I drove back to Chicago in mid-March, but he had to get back to Detroit before I returned from my Boston work trip this past week. Anyway, this just means that I have a little window of opportunity to sit and write without being distracted.

Being a “Road Warrior” for work has given me the opportunity to spend more time listening to music on my digital library. After all, many times I find myself in airports for just enough time to check my email, but not enough time respond to them. Or else I’m literally on the road driving to a location hours away from where I started. Either way, music is my constant companion at these times.

It’s refreshing for me, because music has always been part of my life. One that only recently re-entered at full force after years of focusing on a career. Or trying to get pregnant.

My parents always had music on in the house and in the car. In fact, many of those road trips we’d take as a family involved worn out cassette tapes or — gasp! — old 8-tracks.

One of my favorite memories is my first trip to Disneyworld at the age of 6. My parents packed my brother, my cousin (who would later be known as LJC) & me in our tan wood-paneled station wagon along with our two grandmothers and an uncle and drove down from Detroit to Orlando. During that trip, I believe my parents only took a handful of 8-tracks; ones that we would constantly repeat, only because we couldn’t get any radio reception when driving through the mountains.

Let’s just say that by the end of our trip, the three kids knew all the words to every Neil Sedaka song, as well as all the singing parts to the Grease soundtrack. And it’s apparently a memory that keeps on giving, because Hubby can attest that I was recently able to identify a Neil Sedaka tune!

Another 8-track that was in the wagon during that trip was one of many Beatles compilations that my Dad threw together. It was from that home-made “playlist” (created circa 1978) that I learned the words to most of the Beatles songs. And to this day, every time I hear “Ticket To Ride” I have this incredible urge to belt out the song.

3_img065 — The 1978 Road Warriors (minus Mom)

It’s one of those childhood memories I keep stored close to my heart. And one that usually surfaces whenever I hear any song that reminds me of road trips and spontaneous singing.

For instance: Today on the train, “Tiny Dancer” came up in “shuffle-mode.” The first image that came to mind was my favorite scene in “Almost Famous.”

Or the other day I thought of “Harold & Kumar” when hearing Wilson Phillips “Hold On” on the radio.

Regardless of the song, each one brought me back to my own road trip memories and how much fun they were when music was thrown into the mix. And hearing each song certainly gave me the urge to break out into spontaneous singing. Loudly. And at the top of my lungs.

And, in the midst of the chaos that my life has become of late … It made me happy.

So even though I might not be an American Idol contestant, I think I might just sing aloud. At least in the privacy of my own home. Or car. Or shower.

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Your turn, oh Internets … What song makes you think of road trips? Or what song makes you break out your singing voice?

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Related Posts:

Emily’s Living Journal

Emily hears her Own Voice

Emily’s Pitch is a little Black