Amanda and the Hendersons

Recently it seems as though I am always searching. For something... For anything... For answers... For closure... For fun, For rest, For peace.... A turmoil bubbling inside. Like a washing machine that never reaches the drain cycle. Ever bubbling, Ever swishing about. Sometimes the answer,  The solution, The reason.... is right before us. Maybe it's because we are blinded by the light of what is shining so blatantly in front of our face. Maybe its because we close our eyes... Maybe its because we don't want to see... or we try to overcomplicate things. Ive been feeling less like me lately, more like  a tired, desperate, woman. Less like the light hearted,  faith filled, fun loving, woman...that Ive always been. And why? For quite some time I tried to pinpoint what was missing... What was I not seeing, or doing.. And then a girlfriend said the most simple words to me. "I think you need to write again." The words felt like being hit in the face with a pile of leaves......

It sure has been some time. Time since I sat before this blank page that used to bring me such comfort.  Time since I shared deep feelings.. Time since I opened the curtain into my heart, for all to see. Time ticks by. Ever quickly. They say that time heals all wounds... I think anyone who has suffered a broken heart, knows thats not the truth, Who are they  anyway? Time forms. Like the hands of the potter... moving, moulding, squeezing, pinching. As the clay spins, the potter changes it. It isn't healed, it is... becoming something new. That is what time does. It changes us. Into something new. Forms. Different. Pressure is no stranger to me. My life has been woven with the thread of pain, of squeezing discomfort. Tension. Difficulties, Heartache. I recently found myself in thought about who I was. Who I have been.. The little girl, the teenager, the new wife, the young mother, the hospital mom, the friend, the estranged, the sister. I. Have. Changed. I am new. I am different...

 Writing is what I should've been doing every day for the last year and a half.  Writing is my escape... my joy.. my pleasure. But. It has been tainted. Turned around and become a fuel for my anxiety.  What if?  What if my words are misunderstood....what if people are offended by my thoughts, what if they think Im saying something I am not..... Again. What if.... There have been depths of pain the past few months that I have never known. And MY GOD ....thats saying something. and speaking of God..... I dont feel much like talking to Him lately.  I try  to. BUT  tears fill the spaces where the words should be. Nothing to say, but a billion WHY'S.... So tonight....I write for me.  I write....and I trust that these words are enough..LOUD enough for God to hear....and raw enough for them to count...as the prayer I cannot muster. So many stories of heartache and pain have been woven into the days, hours.... minutes....seconds of the passing months...

 "I stood up in the shower today." That sentence might seem like too much information, or weird...strange even.. I get that.  But I said that sentence out loud to myself over 50 times on Friday.  "I stood up." "I stood up." "I STOOD." You see, its been many many months since that seemingly small occurrence has happened.... January.  Thats the last time. Over 11 months ago. Every time I have showered since then, I have done anything but stand. I have slipped into the water and fallen to my knees... or climbed in from the bathroom floor to the shower floor.  I have laid down like a small child. I have sat there. Water pouring over my whole self and falling to the tub floor, mixing there with my tears.  I have sat....silently crying...shaking. Other days unable to stop the sound... Crying loudly and praying that the dropping of the water around me would soften the noise. I have been so so low. I have prayed... I have tried to hold myself together al...

Traditions..... I am one who holds tight to traditions. Like white knuckle tight. I love them I love the certainty and the assurance that comes from the known. In the world I have lived in for many years, often the unknown drives the car. So any little bits of known that I can hold onto, I do. Many years ago, when Paysen was about 3 or so..we started a tradition. He was old enough to realize when I was leaving with Parklen to the hospital, and old enough to know that neither of us knew how long we'd be apart. I have visions of his face as I would pull out of town, fear, sadness, tears. So one morning, whilst loading my suitcase into the car I had an idea. I took out a black sharpie and I drew a small heart on his wrist and then placed a copy on mine. I held it up and said, "Now when you look at this you will know I am looking at mine too...you can remember how much I love you and miss you. It can be a small way to keep us together while w...

I have spent some time in reflection over the last few months, deep deep reflection....wading the waters of feelings and resting on the shore of faith.... Recent happenings in our world have really thrown me to the waves of uncertainty...the salty waters of anxiety and the crashing waters of fear..... I am sure I am not alone in this. I imagine many mommas out there struggling. Talking with a "hospital friend," the other day, although a short conversation...brought me much comfort. She said it best, this is PTSD.....this is just like what we've lived. The current demands on our country, feel a lot like taking care of a sick kiddo.....hearing the news talk about social distancing takes me swiftly back to Parklen's sickest days.... Days when we didn't allow visitors into our home, Parklen's kindergarten teacher wore a mask and gloves and scrubbed things down before she could sit with him for his schooling..... We had a station where we all cleaned up r...