"What Alice Forgot"

Normally, I don't "write" book reviews. I talk about books a lot with my friends, making suggestions about new ones to read or getting suggestions about ones to try. I read the Goodreads newsletter each month with a pen and paper ready to write down titles of new books to read. I get newsletters from Tyndale house, I read reviews in magazines. I am a bibliophile - I love books. I still haven't completely migrated to e-readers yet, but I have a small stash as my "back-up books". 

I am also not a genre snob - I have my favorites - inspirational fiction, general fiction, YA - yes, I read YA, and some non-fiction. If it sounds good, I'll read it. I also have a tough time quitting a book in mid-read - even if it horrible. There is something about the world that my imagination creates while I read - I can put away mine and fall into one that is completely different for a while. It's always been that way for me. I read so much as a child and it continued as I grew. I married a reader. Some of our children are readers.

My son (who is Autistic), is my only non-reader. He reads books, but they don't have the same power over him. I've been told that it's because Autistic people can't see the pictures in their heads the way other people do. They only see words, so why would reading be a magical adventure for them?

So, I had heard about the book, "What Alice Forgot", and I became curious. The summary is that a woman hit her head one day at the gym and forgot the past 10 years of her life. 

The story is told from Alice's perspective, her sister's, and at times her grandmother's. She was at a spin class, fell off the bike and bumped her head. When she came too, she thought it was 10 years earlier. What she doesn't know is that she is in the midst of a bitter divorce and custody fight over the 3 children. The last thing she remembers, she was pregnant with the 1st and very much in love. 

As you can imagine this leads to all sorts of issues. How do you respond to a spouse that despises you when the last thing you remember is being in love? How on earth do you manage a household full of children you don't remember, but who remember you? How do you live your life? Carry on relationships with people you don't know? And it goes on and on.

A lot of things seem to trace back to a friend of Alice's named Gina. They got too attached to each other - they were overly involved in each other's lives. Alice internalized Gina's issues and redirected them onto her husband. She pulled away from him and then when the pressures of life built, she took it out on him. Not that he was perfect himself by a long shot. It did make it easier for them to separate from each other though.

Watching her try to fight for the marriage during the book is bittersweet and heartbreaking all at the same time. She is still in love with him and he has to decide how he will interact with her. Like the Alice of 10 years ago, or the Alice that she doesn't remember being over the last 10 years.

Through the story, we also learn about the life stories of her family members and their struggles. I won't spoil all of the story, but it is worth the read.

What really got to me are the themes of redemption and forgiveness. The idea of how we change over time. What would life be like for me if I woke up and forgot 10 years of my life. My friends are different now, but my closest ones were still at least 2 years away from my meeting them. Life was so different for me. I had a newborn and a 2-year old girl. Just like Alice, I've lost the friend I was closest too at that time in my life.

Would I like to know the Amy that I grew into? What could I change if my perspective shifted - still holding onto my ideas of my early 30's while living with and interacting with the people in my life today.

I just love the idea of getting that chance to re-frame who you are. Isn't that what God gives us the chance to do repeatedly? As we live for Him, we change and grow - or at least we should. I know my faith was different 10 years ago - but where have I grown calloused over the years? What lessons have I managed to learn? What kind of witness have I turned into for Him? Would the people around me be able to reconcile the Amy I am now vs. the younger Amy? Alice's husband had to put aside a lot of  pain to decide how to interact with current Alice. So did a lot of other people. 

Give it a try. It's not from the "inspirational" shelf, but I bet it will inspire you too  - if you are open to the idea of second chances and recognizing the mercy God grants us to change and mature.

Curse You Monkey's Joe's!

Monkey Joe's has been a staple in my family for a long time. It's a fun place where kids can get their bounce on and parents can chill a bit and not worry about their kids escaping the building undetected.

Yes, there are the occasional obnoxious children that most parents would like to see removed from the jump areas, but it's not usually terrible. In fact, the one annoyance that I've had each time was guiding my children past the snack bar. Occasionally, Groupon comes out with the offers for admission and $4 at the snack bar.

That's where this tale starts. I purchased said deal a few months ago to have in my back pocket for a day that they needed something to do and I was out of ideas. Next week, I have to go back to work for my teacher workdays, so I was determined to make sure the kiddos have some fun this week. Today became the Monkey Joe's day since the weather was crappy, littlest one has some sort of summer cold, and I generally feel like I've been run over by a truck and dumped off a cliff.

We got inside, children were excited, and my oldest headed off to the "grown-up" area for the free WIFI. We even ran into someone we knew. I didn't notice them until she pointed them out to me. There, to my horror, was a bank of arcade games. AHHHHH! I don't know one parent that squeals with excitement when we spy these somewhere. Usually, we all eye roll in unison and do our very best to redirect our children, knowing in vain it won't work.

So, that's where my hell began. The girl had plenty of allowance saved, so I wasn't worried about her - plus, since she's 6, I still have a HUGE say in how she spends it. The issue was the boy. Yes - my Autistic boy who looks at spending money as a national pastime. In one breath, he's going to save his money to buy a new electric train, but as soon as any random thing catches his attention, he's spent the money. When we next venture out for errands, if he has no money burning a hole in his wallet, there are tears, pouting, and general jerkiness towards the youngest. It's gotten so bad, that I've been taking money away each week to save for the last series of Mixels, because he is obsessing about buying them, but if I don't he won't have the money when the time comes. Then we all endure the rantings that equal a teenage girl in all of her melodrama (which is not a fair portrayal of all teenage girls, but you get the drift).

So after the wheedling began to play games, I said in my best mommy voice that they had to pay for them out of their allowance. Quickly, they both agreed, eager to waste their money. Boy and I had a special conversation about what he could spend and not a penny more because we had to go to the shopping mecca of Target also. I've been on the receiving end of the bad behavior mentioned above one to many times to not have him spend his money before we go. Of course, he agreed so off we went.

Not only are they the garden variety arcade games, BUT, you have to get the money loaded onto the plastic card. Did I mention that they charge you $1 for said card? Fabulous right? I didn't even realize it until some nice lady in line told me about it - there is no signage about it anywhere.

Cards loaded, they were ready to go. It took all of 5 minutes to spend the money and rack up the tickets to "purchase" the dollar store junk in the front. Luckily, I was able to distract by pointing them to the snack bar. It didn't take long for the shiny beasts to beckon again. I let girl spend a few more dollars because frankly, she had it. There it began. I knew boy was on edge because he wanted more time with the shiny beasts. When little girl went to check her tickets numbers, he started crying. "It's not fair. Why does she get to play more?" I sent him to sit and her to play.

He was crying like a 2 year-old. I tried explaining. I tried redirecting, I tried telling him he was acting like a baby and that I wouldn't comfort him because he knew the rule. I told him it was ok to cry and to be upset, but that he was taking it to far. I entered "too many words" territory. I tried to stop talking. He ratcheted it up more, so I started threatening punishments.

I don't do that unless I mean it because I can't stand to watch those pushover parents. One day I'll tell yall all about the crying girl at gymnastics on the "pre-team" that is crying each time I go. And mercy, that girl has to practice 3 days a week, 2 hours a day. I don't know how that coach can stand it. I would have banned that child from "pre-team" by now.

Any who, boy was told that he'd lose electronics for the day if he didn't stop. It kept going. I threatened a new one this time, loss of allowance. He paused, but didn't stop. Little girl came and asked me for something, so I announced it was time to go. Boy wasn't having it. It was put up or shut up time, so I reminded him one more time about allowances lost. He cranked up, so I help up 1 finger (indicating one dollar). He screamed and didn't stop, so I held up a 2. By the time we got to the exit, he was on a 5. We got out the front door and he screamed like a banshee. There went 6, on the way to the parking lot and it was 7, at the car it was 8. Mind you, I kept telling him the consequences, but he was too wound up.

Once in the car, it was all about how he'd never love us again and that he was going to leave. I told him we'd always love him, then I asked where he was going to go, he told me in his room forever and ever. He clearly hasn't thought through what leaving forever means - I'm grateful for that. The little girl has threatened to pack up and leave before.

He also told me he wanted to punch me over and over. It sounds horrifying, but it's better than acting on the impulse. We've been working on kicking out at things, throwing things, and slamming doors for a while. After he threatened to hit me, I calmly told him that he better rethink it or things were going to get a lot worse for him.

Eventually, he calmed down. I told him I still loved him. I told him I was never angry (a little untrue). I told him that I was proud he got control. I told him that I understood how scary it was too feel so out of control. I also told him I'd let him do "special chores" to earn back some allowance this week. I am a bit of a pushover when it comes to him. It's the mommy guilt because of the Autism.

I take the easy road and blame Monkey Joe's for those damn arcade games. Mark one more place on my list of places not to go anymore.

Grief the stalker that no one talks about

Grief stalks me like the paparazzi stalks the latest star having a melt down (latest example being Shia Labeouf).

In some ways, it is also like a door-to-door solicitor. I sit and wait quietly pretending I'm not home. Just when I think I've managed to avoid it, it rings the bell until I answer. I don't want to let it in, but it seems I have no choice.

Grief exists in this world just like sin, death, anger, arrogance, and all of the other bad things around. In this life, there is no freedom from these things. Everyone we know will be impacted in some way eventually. The only true freedom will be in heaven one day. Thankfully, God does give us a reprieve from time to time. A chance to experience love, joy, peace, and beauty.

Still, I do not want to visit with grief. I want to pretend it never knocked on my door. It's been at my door too many times already. When I let it come in to visit, I cry. I get angry. I feel the emptiness in my womb.

People will tell you they understand. Meaning to be supportive, they'll say things like "it's for the best", or "most of those babies lost had something wrong and it was a greater mercy". I find out next week if something was "wrong" with my baby. I suspect not. The last one I lost was perfect.

Then there are the people that don't even acknowledge that you've gone through this terrible loss. Whether out of embarrassment because they don't know what to say, or thinking that bringing it up will only make it worse. The ignoring is worse. Where I work, around the same time I lost my baby, another person found out that she was going to have one. I hugged her and told her truthfully that I was happy for her. Yet, from some of the people that I've known for 11 years, not one thing has been said. I don't think they are trying to be mean, but I wonder if they realize how hurtful it is that they pretended it never happened.

While people can empathize with me, unless they've experienced this type of loss, they don't know. They don't understand that as my body changes back - slowly - I weep because I'll never see the benefit of the changes. As my belly flattens back out (well at least shrinks down some), I feel so much emptiness inside. They won't understand that I feel like I've failed in some way because I couldn't nurture and protect this precious life inside. During the recovery of the D&E, I am reminded daily of what I've lost. When I finally think I've finished the recovery process, my body decides that it's not quite over.

One day, everyone will experience the dichotomy of a loving God that allows us to endure this life complete with grief, joy, loss, and love.. Maybe, they will allow Him to grant us His grace as He walks through it with us - probably dragging and carrying us along.

I don't know why this happened. If I try to answer it, I will make myself crazy. The closest I can come right now is the song "Press On". I just try to let grief come in and visit. I know eventually it will leave and I won't have to entertain it again for a while. When it finally goes, I'll see that God did show me mercy and love during this time. That in all likelihood, there are drag marks in the proverbial sand where He was with me.

When the sad news comes

"I'm sorry, but there is no heartbeat". So, I was told on Monday as we went to the doctor for my OB check-up.

This pregnancy was a shock to say the least. I was filled with anxiety, yet I was convinced this was God's gift, so He would see us through it. I was becoming adjusted to the thought that our family was expanding (again), and while I had no idea how we would handle it financially or physically, I was also at peace because I knew He would provide everything we needed.

Now that chance at a revised plan for my life has changed (again), I am left saddened by the loss of possibility. Not that this is the first time this has happened. This will be my 3rd miscarriage. The doctor was baffled by the loss since I was nearly in the 2nd trimester. It was the same time frame for the other 2 as well. I have to keep reminding myself that I am also capable of bearing life because I have had 3 live births. One of the things I hate the most is that feeling I'll have when I wake up from the procedure. That hollow emptiness.

I don't know why God does this. The cost was higher this time. All 3 kiddos knew about the baby, lots of other people knew about the baby. Now we had to explain that it died to the kids. That's a hard idea to explain, yet their lives had not yet been impacted by the baby. Their lives go on as normal.

Meanwhile, I am also fielding questions for the youngest about whether we will be able to bury the baby in the backyard like we did the pets as they died. Hubs explained that they won't let us bury the baby in the backyard. I was inwardly screaming, "why not?. It's our baby, our loss. State law doesn't recognize that it was a person worthy of burial until it's 20 weeks old. Why can't I take it and show it the respect it deserves? Now it will be disposed of in some ghastly way. This breaks my heart into pieces because to our family, this was a person with a soul, not simply tissue. In our faith, we believe this was a God inspired person. Now it is reduced to being called tissue.

It feels profane to me that this is the end. Our final remembrance of the life lost. I want to ask why this happened, what the meaning was in all of this. A good friend told me to not worry about the meaning right now. To sit with the anger and sadness and just let it be.

Usually when I am confronted by huge change or loss, I shut down. I tune out everyone and retreat to my own private thoughts. This time, I am trying not to do that. I am trying to remember that this is a loss felt by my husband, our children, our extended family, and even our friends. Most of all, I am trying hard to view God as the source of my comfort instead of the cause of my grief. There is a song I love called "Your Grace Finds Me". I am constantly reminding myself of one verse over and over again. This is what I am trying to hold onto this time.

"I'm breathing in your grace,

And I'm breathing out Your praise

Your grace finds me "

Feuding Siblings

 Okay, this isn't really a fair representation of my children, but it's close. They don't actually hurt each other, or actively snatch, but that doesn't stop the verbal mess. I know this is some sort of karmic payback from my mom. I can't tell you how many times a day I hear "stop", "I can't see", or the all time favorite of the indignant "HEYYYYYY". 

My youngest frequently tells me and other people that her brother doesn't love her. Yet son gets along fabulouly with the older daughter. The fabulous doctor says it's because my son (with Autism) doesn't see that the younger daughter has anything to teach him, so she is in effect, useless to him. This breaks my heart. Younger daughter is very sensitive and I hate her thinking her brother doesn't love her. But secretly, sometimes I think that son is being a butt. Not that daughter is innocent, but most times she doesn't seem to be trying to irritate him. Her simple presence seems to irritate him.

There are some days I feel more like a referee than anything else. I've tried tuning them out. I've tried ignoring. I even tried the "get along shirt". They tore it. Enough said.

Then there are the times when I see son trying. Like the other day when he shared his Smarties with younger daughter. Granted, he prefaced it with "I don't really like these", but then he said "I'll let her have then instead". There are days when he would have eaten them to spite her, or he would have offered them to anyone else but her. 

I love summer because it's my time off (I teach), but I hate the fact that I have to constantly entertain my kids and referee the arguments. Don't even get me started on how much they want to eat. All. Day.

Before you start saying that no one needs 12 weeks off in a row, let me tell you, I bust my butt. I work weekends trying to lesson plan. I am always prepping for class, or another program, or an open house, etc. I love my job, but non-teachers have no idea what kind of time and money we spend in the education of their darling children. I wish there was some way that teachers could be off, but their kids still be in school. Sort of like a second-string teacher line-up.

Could someone get on board and get others thinking that's a great concept?

Shame and freedom

I have worn shame like a coat for most of my life. Shame for my own actions, shame because of things done to me by others.

The latest round started a few years ago. I was suffering terrible back pain. The doctors at the ER dismissed me, sent me home barely able to walk with a "follow-up" to a specialist. He could not find the problem, so I was shuffled around some more. A few months later, I resigned myself to asking for a referral to a pain clinic. There, one doctor found a source and treated it, yet the symptoms continued. After he began suggesting more and more ridiculous ideas, I decided I would try one more time for help at a nearby hospital. Fast forward several months and a cause was found, treatment was given. The rest I will live with for the rest of my life, but I was finally mobile and gaining strength. The shame I felt that year was immense. Even though a cause was found, I felt trapped by it.

All seemed fine for a year or so. Then one day, the week of Halloween last year, I suffered a stroke. After going to the nearest ER (yes, the one that shuffled me off a year later), I was sent home and told to follow-up with a neurologist. My physician sent me to someone outside of the hospital system. There, I could see the skepticism in his eye (an MRI was never done at the hospital, only a CT). In an attempt to appease, he recommended an MRI, but suggested that I was suffering from Conversion Disorder. For those of you that don't know what that is, it's the modern name for hysteria. Basically, my mind was so broken, it was mimicking symptoms of a stroke.

We left the doctor that day in disbelief. God bless my husband who refused to accept this disorder. At the urging of a good friend, and the recommendation of a therapist, I had the MRI done a few days later. I can not describe the crushing weight of shame I felt. So many people were trying to help my family, praying for us, bringing meals, etc. I felt like had betrayed everyone because I was broken. I didn't deserve the love, care, or prayers. When the results came back that, yes, I had indeed had a stroke, I knew I should feel vindicated, but I didn't. I still felt like I let everyone down somehow. That I was in fact, so broken mentally, that things would never be the same.

Fast forward 8 months. I have mostly recovered. I still feel the shame and battle it even now. Then came the next round of news. I found out I am pregnant. It was not by design, but deep in my heart, I knew it was meant to be a blessing from God. Yet, I still felt shame. The doctors warned me not to get pregnant. The list of medical issues and risks are long. The reactions from people were shock and then the timid questions about how I felt about it. I tried to keep in my heart that God ordained this and He had a reason for this also.

Yesterday, I told one more person because I knew that my youngest would tell her friend. To my surprise, this mother's her face lit up and she told me how happy she was for me. I was stunned. This was not the reaction I was expecting. I have braced myself for the looks and the questions. Yet, here she was, handing me a lifeline saying all of the things I had been telling myself. When I saw her today, I told her how much her support meant to me - I even started to cry. On the way home, I mulled over the conversation. Her total belief that this was a blessing and that things would be ok. That she was excited to be able to watch the progression of the pregnancy. She was celebrating for me and genuinely hoped that I would be free to enjoy it also.

I felt bad that I had let myself fall into the pattern of letting others dictate, to some extent, how I felt. I started to ask the Lord, why I have felt so ashamed all of this time. I began to recognize the pattern over the course of my life.

During this 2 year period of my life, I have taken great solace from a passage from the Bible. There was a father whose child had been tormented for years from a demon. He asked the disciples for help, but they were unable to cast it out. The father asked Jesus, that if he could do anything to help, to please do so. Jesus responded that all things were possible if you can believe. To that the father cried out, "I believe, help my unbelief". How many times have we done something similar? Faith allows us to believe, but the mind and other people erode that belief.

I have struggled with my unbelief. I believe Jesus can do anything - but mainly for other people. I carry my baggage somehow believing he can't really help me. What arrogance on my part. How am I so special, that even the Lord of the universe can not help me? Yet, He is patient and loving and waits for me to come back to Him, crying out, "I believe, help my unbelief".

So today, I asked Him to free me from the shame. Help me live with the knowledge that I AM free. To see the lingering physical problems from the stroke, not as a curse of shame, but of a blessing to remind me of His grace and mercy. To accept that He has already set me free. There is no room for shame in His story for my life.

Then the quiet urging came, "You are already free". Just like the prisoners in the Bible that were unchained by the angels, I have to take the steps out of the prison. I am at the doorway now, trying to make my feet move forward. I think I see the other side now!