Remodeling

Through this bathroom remodel, I am reminded of the metaphors of life. You see broken parts on the surface, so you try to repair them cosmetically. But, as you look under the layers of "band-aids" that have been used over the years, you see the real issue. The ugly, overwhelming, disgusting, scary issue. The real damage is way deeper than what you see on the surface, because by the time you're seeing it, it has already wreaked havoc and decayed in the core. Underneath those layers is rotting foundations. Now, you can patch it and add more layers of "pretty", or you can do the hard work, the demo, and you can get to the root of the problem and get that decay out of there, once and for all. Once the rot is gone, you have a clean slate. You can build back ANYTHING in it's place. You can build a modest abode or the freakin' Taj Mahal, knowing the foundation is strong! Your options are limitless! Or, you could just leave that rot, acting like it's not hurting anything. If you decide to put on a band aid, but rest assured that this "issue" WILL rear it's head again! May not be right away, but at some point, it will, and most likely will be ten times worse then if you had just handled it in it's entirety the first time you noticed it. Or, you could skip all of that and just bail. Sell the house, runaway, start over fresh somewhere else. With new issues, where the same repairs will eventually be needed, the paint colors just may be different. Or starting anew is always an option, sometimes the only option you feel like you have. You justify it, saying it'll cost more to repair then to just start over fresh... but I'm often nostalgic and I see potential where others see nothing.

I happen to be a fan of demo and rebuild. I'm not really into band aids. I love to get to the bottom of things and people!  I believe there is always something worth saving, no matter the depth of damage. Always. There is history there. Stories to be told. And happy endings to take place. Heartaches to overcome.  And then there is the mirrors.. Do you know how hard it is to find the perfect mirror?! Metaphorically speaking and literally.

(When we look for our mates, we always look for the perfect mirror, to help us see what we can't inside ourselves.) And I've been on the hunt for a perfect mirror for this bathroom. I never found it. So, guess what? I bought one with "great bones" and I'm gonna do some work.. I'm gonna paint that baby the beautiful gold i imagined, and see the beauty of a little work come to life. 

That's the truth of life, construction and our souls. We are all a work in progress. Always needing tending to and maintaining. 

Build, sand, refinish. 

It's the work that refines our spirit. 

In real life, You have to keep on loving and working, even when it's hard. Keep demoing, and remodelling when you find one with "good bones". Keep seeking the good in all things and all people. Put some gloves on. And don't be afraid of a little hard work. 

Valentine's Day

Sometimes your life changes in an ordinary place that would have no real meaning in your life, until it does.

 This is the parking lot that changed our life 8 years ago. Every year, I think, this is the year that I will be stronger, that it won't affect me in such an emotional manner. And every year, I take my kids to school with valentines in their backpacks and I leave them safely in their classrooms and walk out to this parking lot and it hits me. Every. Time. Like someone smacks me in the face. It takes my breath away. And I stop. And tears come. And I want to drop to my knees. Every. Time. And it is then that I start thanking God for miracles!!

This parking lot is where where my heart was almost ripped from my chest. This is where I was given a second chance to love even harder, fuller, more intentional. To be more present and filled with gratitude for the gifts I'd been given in my children. Where I was reminded that these extraordinary beings are on loan to me and can be returned to heaven at any moment. It is where I faced every moms deepest fear.

It's where I almost lost my son.

Every moment of that day plays over in my mind. In slow motion. I can see it, like I'm watching a movie. I see Evan crying that morning. Begging me to please take them to school instead if his auntie. {I was recovering from pneumonia. I just wanted to rest that morning so I would be ready for their valentines day parties that afternoon. His aunt and I took turns taking the kids to school. (My niece and my two oldest children.) It was so unlike him. He never cried. And he never begged me to take him to school. It was as if he had a sixth sense that this day was going to change our world completely.} 

I see my son, lying on the ground, under a car. I see my daughter, Juli, witnessing her brother being run over. Running towards him. Screaming. I see people running to help my son. Strangers to me. I see my sister in law sobbing. I see confusion. I see police. I see an ambulance. I see the teachers and school staff dreading the call to me, to tell me my son was "hit by a car" and he's being taken to a hospital, and I should hurry, and meet them there. I see all of it and I wasn't even there. 

I see myself answering that call. 

I tell Bella, "get dressed, we have to go to the hospital, Evan was hit by a car." I hear her 3 year old voice ask, "is Evan gonna die mommy?" I wince. "Don't say that Bella." I can feel the tension in my body. 

 I see the Ambulance pull into the hospital parking lot where I have arrived with tiny Bella on my hip. I have no idea how I got there. I mean, I know I drove, but I don't recall the drive. It's like I just arrived there. I was home, and then I got a phone call, a devastating phone call, and then I was watching my son be rolled out of an ambulance on a gurney. I hear him crying "mommy, I just wanna go home. Mommy, please just take me home." I see him in the ER. I see all the doctors and nurses in organised chaos. I no longer have Bella. Someone has relieved me of her presence. Maybe it was my mom, or my sister in law and brother in law. I'm not sure. There's people in the waiting room waiting to know if he is okay. Parents of children that go to our school. Witnesses. Helpers. Angels. People who cared about a child they didn't know. 

Evan is crying, yelling. His stomach hurts. I can't see any blood. I'm not sure what happened. People start filling doctors in with the reports that eye witnesses gave. They cut his clothes off his 5 year old body. Machines are being attached to him. His blood pressure drops. Machines are Beeping. Lots of intense orders being given by a doctor. A man. I had never met him, but I trusted him. His presence was strong and reassuring. I was glad that he was there. Helping my son. They inject something. His blood pressure stabilizes. I just stand there watching, his father next to me. They say, "mom, come stand at his head. But don't move anywhere, so we can work." I stand there. My face next to his ear. Singing "you are my sunshine." I have no idea what to do except comfort my boy. I sing it over and over. And over. 

They say he has internal bleeding. He needs to go to CT scan. They give him morphine for his pain. His father tries to reassure me that he will be okay. I can't listen to him, I feel angry, like, can't you see my son is NOT okay?! The doctor says "sir, your son is badly injured." Then I see his fathers eyes change. He's afraid. 

They tell me I will need to keep Evan still so they can get a clear Scan of where the bleeding is coming from. They ask if I'm pregnant or not so I can get in the machine with him. I say, "does it matter?" No mom in her right mind would refuse getting in that machine with her child. They strap an apron on me anyway. Evan and I go in that machine. I sing to him. "You are my sunshine. My only sunshine. You make me happy, when skies are gray. You'll never know dear, how much I love you. Please don't take my sunshine away." We then count up to 20 and then backwards back to one. We repeat this until they tell me they got what they need.  When we go back in the ER room, some man, who I later learn is a chaplain, is standing to the side. I'm not sure why he is there. He is watching me.

The doctor tells us his injuries. His liver has lacerations and he is bleeding into his abdomen. His right lung is collapsed. The doctor says the next 6 hours are critical. If the bleeding doesn't stop, they will do surgery to attempt to stop the bleeding. The doctor is asking some questions. I think it's about blood type and donors. I can't understand him. I'm not in my right mind. Maybe Evans dad answers him. I'm not sure. 

I start to walk out of the room. I feel weird. I need my mom. You never stop needing your mom. The man asks where I'm going. I say to see my mom and check on my daughter. He follows me. 

I want people to pray. Pray with everything in them. I'm praying. Dear God help my son. Buddha, walk with me as I face this. I am in constant prayer and meditation from this moment forward. Constant. 

 I don't remember crying. 

 I go to the waiting room. The man comes with me. Tells me he will be helping me with anything I need. I'm numb. I tell our family of his injuries. My sister in law is inconsolable. My brother in law isn't speaking. He's so upset. He looks at the floor. Bella is with my mom. Our school principal is calling me on my phone.  She is new to our school that year. I've only ever said hello to her in passing in our school hallways.  She says she has Juli with her and has brought a therapy dog to school for her to help her calm down and she will be with the counselor and then she, herself, will bring her to the hospital to be with our family. I am so grateful for our principal. Love. Everyone is just stepping forward and filling in gaps to handle what needs handled. 

I go back to Evan. The man is still with me. Evan is stablized and we are being taken to pediatric intensive care. Six hours feels like days when your child's well-being hangs in the balance. Evan begs for water. The morphine is effecting his tiny body. He is not allowed anything. Nothing. In case he needs to be rushed to surgery. My child is crying for water. I cannot do anything. I beg the nurses, "please. My son is crying. He is so thirsty." They give me a little swab on a stick and allow me to get it wet and then squeeze out all of the liquid and just run the dampness on his lips. They watch me, like I'm in prison, to be sure I don't give him more than that. If they hadn't watched me, I would have given him more. They knew that.  It's horrible. I now have gained compassion for any mother who is ever unable to provide the basic necessity of water to her child. Wow. It was brutal to Grasp that. 

He is so unhappy. He cannot move. He must remain lying flat, in hopes of stopping the bleeding. He cries for water, repeatedly. Begs me to just please take him home.  I sing. I rub his hair. I press my forehead against his. So many people come to be by our side. My sister in law. Her heart is heavy with sorrow and blame. I forgave her the moment I saw her face in the waiting room. We love each other's children as if they were our own. No differentiation. It was an accident. An awful accident. 

People are praying. Prayer chains have spread across the globe for him. (This is pre-social media for our family, so it was all done via telephone or in person.)

I am humbled by prayer. Priests, monks, pastors, lay people, friends, family, hospital staff. People prayed upon his body. Over the phone with me. Via text, email, you name it. 

The bleeding stopped. 

He never needed surgery. 

The doctors warned me, "mom, he will be severely bruised by tomorrow. Please don't be alarmed. His body has been run over by a car, across his abdomen, twice. It's going to show the physical signs of this and it will be hard for you to see."

He NEVER bruised

They kept sending more and more doctors to see him. All baffled at how his body showed no outward signs of injury. He continued to be miraculous and heal. We were transferred to a different hospital. I rode in the back of the ambulance with him.  I'll never forget seeing the "Steffens" dairy cow out of the back of the ambulance window and pointing it out to Evan, in hopes of distracting him from the bumps. Each vibration caused him pain in his abdomen. The new hospital was amazing. The staff, truly incredible. When Evan was able to move, I would carry him everyday to the "bath" room and allow him to be in a warm bath and ease some of his pain. He would get a dose of pain meds right before, to ease the pain of movement. Then I would carry him back to his bed when we finished, where he would need to remain lying down. People continued to visit us daily. Praying for us. Supporting us. Bringing him toys. Me food. Us laughter. We were supported. I would go home each day to shower and have a few minutes to myself and then I would return. I slept in his hospital bed with him every night. He would rub my arm over and over, to the point that my skin hurt from his repeated caressing. I didn't care. 

A mothers love. 

They were unsure of what long term effects we would be dealing with, as his pancreas and gall bladder were also effected.  He is perfect. His lung healed. His liver healed. His enzyme levels returned to normal. He is a miracle.  

We left the hospital in 7 days. 

He was on bed rest for 6 weeks afterward to allow his liver and lung to heal fully. FYI- a 5 year old boy on bed rest is an oxymoron. 

He has no outstanding effects. He healed perfect, in every way. Don't ever doubt the power of prayer. Ever. 

I'll never forget the friends who stood by us through this. Who were my support. To this day, they are still my closest friends. They are my family. 

My mom. 

Jawad. 

Brooke. 

The Taylor Family. 

All of my ex husbands family. 

You never forget those who hold you up in your moments where God is showing you who you are. 

Valentines day we celebrate love and Evans "life day". I'm grateful every day, but especially today.  

If you've ever been given a second chance, you don't waste it.

Ever. 

You are intentional, and grateful, and purposeful with the gift you've been given, not once but twice. There is never enough time in this life to take those you love for granted. Never.

As I often say, Tomorrow is never promised to anyone.

Live life now. I love you Evan. All the way to the moon and back. And I'm so, so grateful you're still here with me. 

Happy Valentines Day.