twine ball: just write

just write

I do not handle adversity well. I get mad at it, actually.

I mean, I can write pretty and poetic about it. but really, I am just plain bad at it.

really, it annoys me that I am a single parent right now. My dear husband just had a tumor cut out of him, and last week I was hanging on for dear life- and this week, I am like- really, I have to take the trash out?


not to mention the gazillion times I got out of bed last night with amelia.
I mean, really, I could write this entire blog post in italics because I am just being that ridiculous.


But I dig deep and find the mercy and try to hold on to that. I forgive myself- because I depend on the fact I am indeed forgiven.

I don't know what happened when I turned 30, but no one told me that the unraveling starts there. that slow untwisting of the twine. And if the unraveling weren't threatening enough, you actually drop the twine and it unrolls across the kitchen floor. You spend the next 5 minutes rolling that ball up again.

I guess that's what I am doing. Getting my twine in order. after an epic unraveling last week.
I am here sitting on my kitchen floor, making a twine ball.

this is free writing, in case I lost you on the whole twine ball thing.

anyway. I would rather be doing something else. something easy.

My 20's were spent with glorious notions of a life I only dreamed about. they were awesome.

dreams are good. I still have a few.

But My 30's have taught me the real lessons.

loss. fragility. compassion. empathy. love. vulnerability.

I am still bad at adversity. I hope next time I stare it in the face, I will not be so cowardly.

I hope I will hear God better. You know, like the way he always had to hound Israel.

"remember when? remember this. and remember that? that was because I loved you." (the brooke jared abbreviated version)


but for now. I have two words for you.


twine ball.

what a difference a week makes

 My house is so quiet right now I can hear the bubbles fizzing in my diet dr. pepper can. The kiddos are josh's parents until tomorrow. I've been helping Josh along at home, though I am happy to report to you that he is doing fantastic.

I still feel a bit stunned by the emotional drama of the past two weeks. It is not an easy thing to be given a list of possible scenarios, only one of which was desirable. I had moments where I thought things would be ok, but then- as I feel like I have mentioned, the air would just get knocked out of me. and then tears.

I know for certain that I was only held up (and Josh, too), by your prayers.

I wanted to share a little bit about Josh's surgeon. He is very good. I had worked with him some when I worked in surgery, and I knew that he was the one who needed to operate on Josh. He is not a warm and fuzzy guy, but he is kind enough, and professional, with a bearable ego.

The day after Josh's surgery, Dr. H went and spoke with Josh. (Josh was in too much pain the day before). He told Josh that he prayed before his surgery, and was blown away at how easy the tumor was to resect. He told Josh that the way his tumor presented and was able to be removed was "a blessing from God".

I appreciate that in a surgeon. He, and we, knew this could have been much different.

We have much to be thankful for. If you prayed for us, please know we are forever in your debt.

Happy Thanksgiving.
Brooke

a thousand seconds: just write

* written for just write.

longest week of my life.

every sentence he uttered would trail off into a thousand seconds.

"is that the last time I will hear him like this, again?....Will it all be different? Is life as we know it changing this fast? I'm not ready. I'm not strong enough. I don't want this life without him."


tumor. spine. probably benign. may not be. life changing surgery. neuro deficits. chemo. radiation.

these were the things we were told.

I functioned. I changed the poopy diapers. I cried on my spin bike. I drank a lot of coffee. I burst into tears in the middle of a delivery at work.

it comes, and goes. the grief of the unknown.

I sit here, in this ICU room.

he can barely move. it hurts like hell. I see this.

and he's ok. he is totally ok.

that tumor in a jar somewhere. the haunting, gone.

I know. I know. I am lucky. We are lucky. spared.

The Lord had mercy.

The Lord had mercy.

The Lord had mercy.

grateful

I wish I could say that I handled this week with grace and unwavering faith, but I cannot.

I was scared, sad, speechless, at times gasping for any kind of air to fill my lungs.

I desperately wanted to believe that we would be ok, but I struggled to believe it.

We asked everyone to pray for specific things, and they all were answered. Today, the surgeon was able to remove Josh's entire spinal tumor. The pathology was benign. And Josh seems to be neurologically fine.

I am still kind of in a state of shock.

So, I am sitting here in the dark of the neuro intensive care unit. Josh is doped up on some serious pain meds, and I am humbled by the gift we were given today.

Thank you for praying for Josh.