Perfect Imperfection

So the imperfection about reading my blog is that I don't blog consistently, but you can bet it will always be from my heart and as genuine as I can capture it for you. 

 I've been quiet on here for a lot longer than I anticipated. Most days I just don't know what to say mostly because there is so much on my heart I cannot even begin to put it into words. There isn't a tweet or Facebook status or IG picture that can even come close. 

This "perfect imperfection" theme has popped up more than once the last week and I wonder if it's God trying to send me a little message. 

You see, I don't think people expect me to be perfect. I DO NOT feel anywhere near perfect and really hope they just see me as I am. Maybe deep down this is one of my childhood wounds that keeps popping up without me really knowing it. 

I debate a lot with what I share about my childhood and that is the sole reason that I haven't finished my book. I'm still figuring out how to present it all and, honestly, still trying to work through it all. Despite those that {thought} they knew my family, they definitely didn't see what was happening behind closed doors. It was difficult to go through and writing it all into words is proving to be even more difficult. 

My mom did expect perfection. I'm pretty sure if you ever talked to her you probably heard different. It was mostly in her actions and words if I happened to mess up even a little bit. My parents did run a tight ship, but for my mom there was a lot of anger with things not being perfect. I remember very often wondering why I would be grounded for something so simple as missing a room while vacuuming or for not loading the dishwasher to her level of expectation. 

I remember talking about anything that might not have been perfect was off the table even up until right before she passed. That included my brother's death, the plan upon either of them passing, the plans for the properties {in my name} that I wasn't allowed to visit alone, how to handle my brother's disabilities and his services or even our own relationship. 

It was like that pretty much my whole life. That's probably one of the reasons I've become an open book. If you are having a one-on-one conversation with me, I most likely will answer any question you can come up with. Cancer, adoption, death, divorce, grieving, faith, God, prayer.....

I so wanted to just be transparent with those around me, including my kids. I was tired of pretending that everything was great when it wasn't. So now I just go with what's happening and try to be as honest as I can while trudging through the valley. 

I do have some great support and have surrounded myself with those that I feel comfortable sharing my story or the story of now. But when I cannot even talk about the circumstances above without bursting into tears, I usually will just smile and come up with something nifty to say instead. If you happen to ask about my dad or brother, I usually can't answer you right away. I only get to talk to my brother once or twice a month and I only know what the drs/nurses tell me about my dad. I'm SUPER protective of sharing information about them right now especially publically on social media. 

There is NO WAY to spin the circumstances I'm in for the positive.  I mean, clearly, I know God is doing that for me even if I cannot see it, but humanly, all I see and feel is despair and desperation for this long season to be over. When I look back over my almost 40 years I see a lot of pain and struggling and wonder what I've been doing wrong or what I need to do different to get out of this desert. 

I am in this weird grieving stage right now that I know is normal. {been there done that many times before} 

I'm angry that I'm being left with so much to figure out when it all could've been avoided. I'm SUPER annoyed that all of these situations took a turn for the worse during my son's cancer treatment.  I'm sad that I cannot be closer to my dad or brother and that where they are is a much better situation than them being here with me in Texas. I'm sad that I cannot keep and preserve anything from my previous life, including the lake house that holds so many memories and moments. 

And then...

I am also grateful which makes it all even more weird. 

I'm so thankful that God has intervened in my life more times than I can even see or speak about. I'm so thankful for those at my church, at my work, and in my home that love me, encourage me, help me, guide me, cheer for me, pray for me, and allow me to go through all of these emotions at the same time. I'm thankful that NM takes better care of those that need assistance than TX does. I'm thankful for those who visit my brother and dad and help to take care of things they need. I'm grateful for the family I have and for all the days I get to see my kids grow and experience life. 

My gratitude really does overflow even when I'm sitting in the valley crying out for it to be all over. 

This morning I woke to a few empowering text messages: 

"You are AMAZING. You are BEAUTIFUL. You cannot be DEFEATED." 

"God has big plans for you and is going to use your pain to create gain in your life." 


Then, I headed to Instagram to scroll through some of my favorite feeds and found this gem from @pastorraley: 

{Ps. 37: The steps of the righteous or ordered of the Lord...David penned the words as a wise old king. Gone are the days of killing giants, military campaigns and youthful motivations. He now leads a powerful, united kingdom. His greatest weapon at this stage of his life is not a sling, a spear or a sword. His greatest weapon in his EXPERIENCE. He could look back on the goodness and faithfulness of Jehovah and realize that through it all, God had ordered his steps. There comes a point in life where your greatest advantage is the lessons you've learned through past battles and challenges. You come to realize you've actually been empowered by the journey.}

It's sort of miraculous how God uses others to confirm the message he put on my heart last night: 

God doesn't waste suffering. 

In Between

I use to wonder where people went after something (usually "bad") happened in their lives. I remember corresponding and connecting with them often and then they sort of just fell away (mostly on social media) whether it was a divorce, loss of a loved one, or illness. I always said a prayer for them because I knew at an early age how those "bad" things can isolate you. 

Now I'm "that" person. I've distanced myself from a lot of things I never thought I would. I've become very selective with what I do and who I share things with. This is definitely not the person I was before Jace was sick or even really before my mom died. 

I was listening to the radio the other day and like many of the daily devotionals on Air 1 this particular thought really hit me. 

{paraphrasing} Sometimes God has you go through pain because not only do you draw nearer to Him, but because people pull nearer to you during that time. Your story could be helping them and you don't even know it. 

So often I hear "people just want to follow and hear your story." Even today, a very sweet, funny friend gave me the perspective I so needed. I am always very puzzled why people that I do not know or who rarely talk to me want to friend me on social media, mostly Facebook. She said, "People want to befriend you, follow you, read your posts, read about your journey because even if they don't say it, they can relate to you or are learning from you."

It's very hard for me to see myself the way others see me and even more difficult to see myself the way God sees me. It's truly a constant tug of war for me. I don't think I'm necessarily being strong in this moment in time. I feel more weak than I ever have. I feel more vulnerable and less trusting of others. I see my faults magnified. I don't think I have a lot to offer right now to anyone much less what it takes to really inspire people. 

I've struggled a lot with what I share about my family of origin recently. It seems I have no problem talking about my experience with Jace and childhood cancer and how that's changed our family, but because my family of origin has so much history, much of it painful, I'm very selective on what I talk about. I know one day that will evolve and I'll be able to talk more about it and hopefully help others who've gone through a similar situation.  

Now that I'm in that in-between place of grief and healing, I totally get where those other people went. They are in a state of healing. They are learning their new normal. They are trying to make sense of all that went wrong and how it will all be right again. They are navigating who to trust and how to live again. They are relearning what they love and even how to love. They are growing into the people that God meant for them to be. 

So, thank you to those of you who are truly meant to be in my life and are being patient with me, letting me be real & raw and waiting gently on me while I heal and move from that in-between. 

"The will of God will never take you where the grace of God will not protect you." 

Where God Has Me

Lord, piece me back together again with your unfailing love. 


I'm struggling a lot with where God has me right now. I sometimes don't realize the crushing impact of all that's happened the past 2 years (or my whole life for that matter) until I, verbally, have to give some stranger the cliff note's version of my life: 

"...cancer....2 years of treatment down....2 more to go....
...lost my mom last month.....dad had to be put in a facility for Alzheimer's a few days later because he was missing for a short time...
....brother is living with a new guardian one state over....."

I see people that I knew, friends who were in this technology world of mine and see how they've grown in their profession and career. I see people that I know that are meeting so many of their writing goals, or goals to start up that non-profit dream of theirs. 

And here I sit. 

Still. 

Just being here. 

Because God's interruptions in my life have been above and beyond. 


And all I see are pieces of my broken heart staring back at me from the floor. 


No, I'm not trying to be strong for anyone. (Ask those closest to me.)
 
No, I don't think I'm the only one who's gone through these things nor will I be the last. 

No, I don't have any regrets. 

No, I'm not always consumed by the pain and struggle. 

I am needing A LOT more time alone to grieve, reflect, sort, and pray. I need more time than I ever expected. Right now, God is the only one who can speak to me or who can put up with me. Truth. 

I know everyone goes on auto pilot and says whatever cliche' phrase they have at that moment because they don't know what else to say: 

"I'm praying for you." 

"God loves you." 

"He's working through you in this season." 

"Bigger things are in store." 

"Satan is just trying to throw you off." 

"You are strong." 

"This too shall pass."

"Sorry for your loss." 

"It's just a season." 

At this point, you know I've heard it ALL and I'm kind of done. I know all of that. I believe all of that. I just can't get there yet, you know?

I'm still having difficulty even responding to text messages. I have at least 10 that are on my phone from sweet friends checking up on me, sending me love and prayers. This is definitely a test for them, too, I'm sure. It's not easy being my friend these days. I hope they aren't taking it personally because it really isn't. I just sort of have nothing to say.......at least not in my usual spunky sort of way.

Thursday, I, truly, didn't think I'd be able to make it to work. The day before sort of crumbled on top of me in the middle of a long run. 

At the end of the day, no matter what, I'm still in charge of A LOT of people and A LOT of decisions. 

I'm still in the search for an attorney to help me with paperwork for our non-profit. I'm still trying to figure out what to do with certain properties and belongings and when to plan trips away from home to take care of all the things that need my attention. 

Then, on top of all of the decision-making for my dad, any small, daily life set-back just knocks me back to the ground. 

Last week it was potato soup. Yes, potato soup......that turned into mashed potatoes. It did not turn out well and let's be honest, it wasn't about the potato soup. 

*sigh*

In between the "when-is-the-next-chemo-pill" and "thank-you-for-calling-to-update-me about-my-dad," I'm learning that I do better sitting with and talking with those who are IN the arena with me: those who've been down that cancer road; those who've lost a mom; those who are in the grief right now; those who are dealing with Alzheimer's; those who are doing all of those things and are young like me. 

Granted, there are those friends that just flat out make me LAUGH and laugh HARD. They don't even know they are the ones pulling me along each day and getting me through. 

All of the heavy "life" stuff didn't take away my humorous side. Yes, I'm still sad a lot of the time, but anytime I come across someone being snarky, it just makes me laugh-from-my-belly hard. 

I know many of you read here and don't comment. So, I know I'm not just talking to myself. (I'm at least hoping so)

I'm learning that no matter what your relationship with a parent was/is once they are gone every stage of grief is fair game. 

I'm learning that it's very hard to concentrate on the gratitudes and joys even when you're aware of them, especially in the middle of the grief-fog. (we are on day 35 of the #40daysofthanks challenge)

I'm learning that I have to be patient with myself and REALLY patient with others. 

I'm learning that you can be hard-pressed on every side, literally. 

I'm learning that grief is a part of life in so many ways and that just like all things in life you have no control over that process. 

I'm learning that stepping back from social media is good medicine for the soul. 

I'm learning that no matter what season I'm thrown into I can still be authentic about it all. 

I'm learning that my conversations with God aren't always rainbows and happiness and He doesn't expect them to be. 

I'm learning more about what He expects from me and, in the end, that is really all that matters because He has me exactly where He needs me. 

The World is Not my Friend

This past weekend we took a family camping trip to a place called Camp John Marc. We went last year during Jace's first year of treatment. It's an oncology camp for kids and their families who are being treated at Children's Medical Center. 

I admit it. I wasn't really excited about going this year. It's a place that makes you vulnerable. It reminds you of the club you're a part of - the one none of us asked to join. 

I was already vulnerable. I was already emotionally raw. This grieving thing is not easy and I've already done it so many times, I should be a pro. 

I'm not. 

I came home Sunday tired and sore (that kickball game was hardcore competitive). I also came back with a new perspective and a reminder that I need to schedule fun and play into my very daunting and emotionally difficult schedule. It reminded me to check out from technology. We had no reception for 3 days and it was the best thing to happen to me. 

In times of stress, I'm a doer. When Jace first got sick, I set to work organizing and working a plan. Thankfully, I've taken the Kendall Life Language Assessment and have a little more insight into who and what I am. So, while the world would think being a "doer" is a good thing, I know it's just another way to numb myself from all that is going on with me in this moment. 

I have to work at being still and calm. This week was a little worse because I was in "single mom mode" since Jason had long training hours in Dallas. 

The world is not my friend because the world and it's demands do not allow time for me to be still or calm. There is no time in my day to find solitude. I have to be very intentional about finding moments of stillness. 

The world is not my friend because it tells me that numbing my grief and stress is the better way. I know it's not. It's a lie. I need time and space to grieve. 

The world is not my friend because it tells me I need to be "connected" online most of my day. Also a lie. For me, I need genuine, authentic, face-to-face connections a few times in my day. 

The world is not my friend because it tells me being alone is bad. Not true. I know that I need time alone each day to breathe, reflect, and rest. 

The world is not my friend because it tells me I have to be a slave to my phone, email, other people's expectations and demands. Whatever. Don't be offended if I don't respond to you right away, especially now. Some times I'm not in a good place to even have a good text message conversation. 

The world is not my friend because this world is not my destination. I was not meant to stay here forever. It was not meant to give me a comfortable experience. 

So many questions still swirl around in my head and it, honestly, doesn't matter what anyone else feels or thinks about my questions. They are my questions. This is my moment. This is what my grief looks like. This is my story. And as hard as it is, I will rebel against everything the world tells me because it is not the truth. 

"Do not be transformed by the patterns of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind." Romans 12:12

Unraveling

"Are the days getting any better?"
"Just wanted to check on you. It seems like you're struggling a lot lately." 

I'm so thankful for people who are brave enough to actually check in on me. I know my life and it's struggles can be overwhelming to others, even intimidating.  (it is for me, too)

i sit. 

i cry out. 

i pray. 

i praise. 

There's so much of my story that I haven't shared yet. So many details of my own iceberg that isn't visible to the rest of the world. So many things I've wanted to share, but was silenced because of shame or fear. 

I am grieving the death of my mom. But that's not all. 

I'm grieving having to put my dad in a facility 500 miles away from me because of Alzheimer's and dementia. 

I'm grieving my brother having to have his own guardian now who is not a family member. 

I'm grieving my family. 

I'm grieving the unraveling. 

The truth is that so many things with my family of origin was a facade. More things than you can even imagine. Things that I know. Things that I saw. Things that I experienced. Things that if I told them to you, you'd probably tell me I was making it all up. 

Boy, do I wish I was. 

Someone asked me last week if I felt alone. 

Yes. I do feel alone a lot, but it's not a new feeling. I felt that way long before this season. I know that feelings are not the truth, though. 

The truth is that I am struggling. 

The truth is behind this face, this smile, this attitude of gratitude, I do struggle with this season. I wonder why. I wonder when I will find a time of rest. I wonder why me. 

I don't share all of this with you so you will pity me. 

I simply share it with you because I want someone out there, someone like me, someone struggling to know they are not alone. 

I share all of this with you so that my fear and shame will no longer have a voice. 

In my truth and in my story, I'm finding authenticity. 

All the while still going on this journey with Jace. Yesterday during chemo, we found out his end-of-treatment date. Yes, I'm thankful we have an end date. At the same time, I'm grieving the expectation I had that the date was sooner and the expectation I had for his kindergarten year. 

Without revealing the date (we want Jace to do that himself), I will say that he will be in treatment for his entire kindergarten school year. My hope was that he would be able to enjoy at least part of it as a "normal" kid. 

The truth is I am thankful through it all. I am praising even through the tears and the grief. 

God is good. I want those that read my story or see me in person to know that is always the bottom line for me. 

He has shown me His faithfulness and love time and time again. I never want my grief or my struggle or my pain to overpower that bottom line. 

I am not alone.

I am loved. 

I am highly favored. 

...and so are you. 

xoxo

My Soul Weeps

I will always wonder who you would have been. 
What would you look like now? 
What would your favorite food be? 
What kind of music would you listen to? 
Would you be married? With kids? 
Would our family be closer because you stayed? 


Grief is a rollercoaster ride that you cannot get off.  Sometimes it slams into you without any warning. Other times the ride is slow enough that you can slightly open your eyes and look around.

My soul weeps because of grief. Strengthen me according to Your word. ~Psalm 119:28

Some years go by and I am able to make it through the anniversary week with only love and lots of comfort. 

Other years go by and that week is full of nightmares, flashbacks, and unanswered questions. 

This year I was not prepared for the grief that surrounded my heart. 

All I wanted to do was jump in the car and drive back to the last place I saw you. 

July 26, a day etched in my memory forever.

My memory plays the same scenes over and over and I do my best to overcome them. 

Watching you walk out the door, Knowing you wouldn't be back. Feeling paralyzed and scared, yet knowing without a doubt that God was there in that moment with all of us.
Seeing the cyclist riding by our house and realizing that his life was normal, but my life had just changed forever. 

My grief is not just for a brother I lost, but for a family, for a future that we didn't have, for parents who lost a son, for the realization that my innocent thoughts about life were taken way too soon. 

Maybe it's because I now realize that I could've lost my own son, too, just last year on January 26 (I'm not a fan of the #26). 

The thing about death and grief is that even after almost 30 years, I'm still consumed by grief some days. It's not as it was in the beginning. The pain has dulled over the years, but it's still present and hits me out of the blue. 

As this week went by and my subconscious knew what week it was, I decided to not be consumed by it. I gave myself a day. Then, I picked myself up and started making plans. 

I got my hair professionally colored for the first time. 
I made 2 dinner dates with friends. 
I spent more time laughing. 
I wrote down all of the good from the week. 
I surrounded myself with those who love me. 
I started some new projects. 
I reminded myself - I AM STRONG. 

Because even though this week (read brief story here) marked how long I've lived without you, I know that you would want me to LIVE LOUD and keep going. 

Behind Closed Doors

It's been a few weeks since I've blogged. The last post "Unapologetic" had a lot more response than I expected. I got messages from so many people, comments, and emails came through from many of you who "get it." Or many of you who couldn't believe that people would actually be nasty and negative during an already exhausting journey. 

You can rest assured that I am not angry. I wasn't angry for very long, but as a "mama bear" when I hear what people have been saying to my girls, well, that's another version of Tisha that you'll see. 

Moving on. . . 

The last month has been a struggle. A struggle is an understatement even as we know the struggle IS worth it. Honestly, in this moment of this journey, when most everyone has disappeared, stopped interacting with us, stopped daily reading, this is the hardest. 

I knew this, though. 

Many of you know that I've been down this type of journey before. Losing a young brother at a young age, I saw a lot more and learned a lot more than I wanted to about grief, tragedy, emotional trauma, and people. 

My heart has always ached for those going through grief. I've always had a nudge in my heart to help people like me. 

I didn't expect this journey to feel the same and it does. I knew I would feel vulnerable, just as I did before, but this time I'm so much more aware of it all. 

So often people will comment "You're one day closer to the end!" 

Nope. Anyone who has gone through any trauma in their lives knows that is a myth. 

There is no end. This doesn't just stop. Chemo continues for another 1 1/2 years. So, yeah, that'll be over, but to say THIS will be over. Nope. 

I've been doing some research on this and have learned that many who have gone through this cancer journey also have to overcome what many deal with as post traumatic stress disorder. I've never really tied the two together, but an amazing conversation with 2 amazing women who've also experienced loss pointed it out to me. 

There will always be anxiety about dr appointments, blood tests, simple illnesses....We will always feel the need to "look over our shoulder" in a sense. 

We will always be working through the emotional trauma of all of this. 

What I know now after a LOT of talks with our 13 year old is this: Not everyone will be able to handle being our friend. Not everyone will want to. It's a heavy load to be a friend during this heavy time. Don't hold it against them. Just know that God will bring to you who He knows you need in the exact time you need it. 

#AWARENESS 

{Our day yesterday}

Picnic Day. 

Jace: What's a picnic? 

Yep. It's been that long since we've gone on one. 

After we pulled into the parking space at a pretty cool park, Jace looked around and said "Can we go somewhere with less people? It's so crowded. It scares me." 

Once at the smaller park with no people, we eat. I can see the anxiety on his face. He even says, "Are you sure this is a good idea?" 

We eat, clean up and the girls shriek in delight to go play. 

"Mama, I don't want to to do that. I'll fall."
"I don't want to swing again, It scares me."

My heart drops. He's missed out on so much and this has affected more than just his body. Lord, please give me the wisdom and tools to be able to help these little people through all of this BIG stuff. 

It's already been a long steroid week. His food of choice = Chick Fil A. 15 miles away one way. 

Though, the month has already been better than the last (catch up here www.facebook.com/graceforjace), it's still not easy. Being "alert" every second of every day is exhausting for all of us. 

He yells more. He hits more. He sleeps less. His outbursts cannot be predicted which means we are very strategic about where we go and what we do. 

Steroid week usually means he wants Jason at night to sleep with him (on the floor) and during the day it's me or Avery that he insists on having at his beck and call. 

All the while, we remind ourselves -- it's the steroids. 

So, we pack up to go to our next stop. The girls had been excited about a thrift store visit.
We went in and their faces already seemed defeated. 

5 minutes in and Jace started crying that his feet hurt and he needed to be carried. So, we load up to leave. 

These are the moments no one knows about. The pull as a mom on the one hand wanting to make the week break fun for the girls and the other pull as a mom to get Jace through this week - again. The stress on siblings having to change what they want to do at a moment's notice. 

We drive home in silence. Jace gets angry. More silence. We all know we are at the end of our rope. 

Thankfully, Maddie had a sleepover. We dropped her off. Jace was mad about that, too. 

We got home and collapsed. 

Before the night is over, I think of a way to redeem some time with Avery. So, we head off to the store alone. We have a great time shopping and laughing. The drive home is hysterical as it always is with her. 

Then. 

The call. Jason: Jace has a fever. Again. 

The unspoken rules fall into play. The laughter stops. Plans have to be made just in case. Packing has to start just in case. 

This is our life. Everyday. 

"It's scary, mama, when Jace has a fever or is sick. It scares me when he has to go to the hospital or clinic. We always have to be separated and pack and don't know what's going to happen. It's hard doing this journey. " 

How I ended my night was rocking my girl who was crying through her words. 

Over? It has never once stopped. 

Neither has our love for each other or for him. It never will.