Measure Me

I had a meeting this morning Lucy's school--the teacher, the counselor and the administrator.  We were trying to determine how  best to move forward since neither Lucy nor Keith and I are thrilled with the part of the high school she's in.  We are looking to move her and see if we can't get a better fit with challenging classes and electives that she can enjoy.  It was a good meeting.  I think they really want what's best.

After the official  part was over and it was just us and the counselor, I told her that I hope she can help Lucy with her emotions--frustration, anger, and grief.  We  talked about how she is doing.  Then the counselor asked how we were doing.

There's only ever one answer--unless I'm lying--"We're doing."  I choked up.  Just a tiny bit.  Then we were interrupted and I left.

There isn't an answer to that question.  There is no sliding scale with which to measure.  How do I know what is fine or good or bad or terrible.  There is no way to mark it on the door and watch it's passing.  All the quantitative things in the world have a way to be measured.  Not this.  Am I doing good if I haven't tried to commit suicide or abandoned my faith?  Am I doing horrible if I cry every damn day?  How in the world can I answer that question?  It would be great if there was  a  pattern or measuring stick or scale to measure against.  At least I think it would be.  Maybe it would just be one more way to judge myself.  Probably that.

I'm tired of trying to figure out how to answer that question.   Partly because many people who ask don't really want to know;  partly because I don't believe anyone should have to understand how I really feel;  and partly because I don't know how I am.

A grief yardstick.  That's what I need.  That way I could say,  "Well, yesterday I got to 30, but today,   I'm more like a 12 or a 700."  It could be universal and everyone would understand the scale--not like the metric system. 

I love my boy to a 6,000,000,000 and it's hurts like a 47,000,000,000.  Or vice versa.

Escalator



When I saw this photo  I just couldn't resist it.




I  had to read a few hours today to finish the book for book club tonight.  I really enjoyed the book.  It was light and even though the idea of a ghost being one of the main characters didn't thrill me at first, it was entertaining.  It was called  Twenties Girl  by Sophie Kinsella. 

Though there were lots of messages within the covers, I picked one to write just a sentence or two about.  At first, the main character,  Lara's life isn't too great.  She has relationship troubles;  career troubles; and lots of family troubles.  Her father gives her some advice.  He says,  (paraphrasing)  "Life is an escalator.  It keeps moving whether you want it to or not.  Make the best of it."

What a great visual.  When you see an escalator,  some people are standing still.  Some people are walking even though it's already moving.  Some people even think they can beat it and  try to see if they can go the wrong  way on it. 

There are a million conclusions to draw and analyses of every person you know.  All I will say is that when I  picture my escalator in my head it's an "UP".

Game Day

Well, Iwas going to write a deeply thought out post about what I read in the scriptures today but,  as it turns out,  I just finished watching another nail-biter Red Sox game.  I love the Red Sox.  I really love them.

My first professional baseball game included the view of the green monsterand the Citgo sign.  I've taken the T to Kenmore and walked to the park.  I've eaten the Fenway dog and even bought a jersey.  I love the Red Sox.  I was lucky enough to move back to New England and share my Red Sox with Keith and Ian and Lucy. 

I don't know whether Mikey ever got to experience Fenway or not.  We moved when he was 5 months old, so either way, he doesn't remember it.  But he has a ball hit by Big Pappy in the coliseum in Oakland.

Keith and I even spent our 15th anniversary at an A's / Red Sox game a few years ago, much to the surprise of his coworkers who thought he was nuts to buy sports tickets for his wife on a special occasion. 

As I watched the legendary closer Jonathan Papelbon end the game tonight,  all I could think about was how Ian would be commentating the game sitting next to me.  He loved Papelbon. And Lester.  And Wakefield.  And Beckett.  And Schilling.  And oh yeah Pedro Martinez.  Just to name the pitchers.  Then there's all the others.  He knew them all--and everything about them.

I got that  pit in my stomach.  I was thinking "What will I do when they are all gone?"   When all the players we watched together are gone I won't be able to feel like he's right there with me when I watch.  Those players are still connecting us.  When I watch them,  I see my son smiling.  I see him excited.  I see him engaged in something he loved.  I'm so proud that we shared the Red Sox.  It's so silly, but for a mom,  I'm so glad he loved my team.  He wanted to play sports so bad.  I'm glad we shared sports really the only way his body would allow.

I was glad last year when the Sox didn't make the post season.  I didn't want to see them.  It hurt too much.  But,  this year, they give me the connection I need.  I hope they can win tomorrow and clinch the wild card.

Heartwalk

The heartwalk used to mean hope to our family.  It used to be about being thankful for all the research that made it possible for us to have Ian.  It was different this year.  It was about determination.  It was about resilience.  It was about proving to Ian that we won't give up the fight.  It was a way to show we haven't forgotten his struggle and how incredibly tough he was.  I suppose I could still say it is about being thankful for the research--we got 16 years longer than we would have because of medical advancements and  those who came (and went) before.

Almost at the finish line with the Ian's Superstar Sign

We had 100 T-shirts and we came home with 8.  We were very pleased and so grateful for good friends.  It was a sea of orange.  The volunteers all being dressed in the UOP orange T-shirts didn't hurt either.

The girls in Young Womens

 A couple more girls came after the photo was taken.  And in primary on Sunday, there were only 3 kids that didn't raise there hands when the primary president asked who had fun walking the day before.  Luckily they were the 3 who weren't there.


The group from Ian's School



It made me so happy to see kid's we didn't even know there walking and remembering Ian, even after not seeing him for over a year.  That may sound stupid, but teenagers have a pretty short attention span these days.

Keith and Chad--Ian's best friend

Even friends that couldn't walk with us made the day special.  When we went out to the car, we found candy messages, superhero symbols and our team logo on the van.  It was a great start to the day.

Johnsons are great!

It was a good day.  Once again, the anticipation and the let down after were worse than the actual event itself.  Except for seeing Ian's 4th grade girlfriend, that was rough.  Seeing her as a high school junior with her whole life ahead of her stung a little bit.  I'd like to think she wasn't just there as a volunteer for her school though, that some part of her was there to remember the day she walked it with Ian several years ago.

I'm One of His Children

I was canning stewed tomatoes again this morning and I needed the TV on to have some noise.  (Yes, the kids were home, but they were doing their homework.)  I turned on the View.  It was a tribute to the soap opera, All My Children because it's going off the air today.  It's been 100 years since I watched a soap opera, but some of the scenes they were showing were from the early 80's and I recognized the characters.

One  of the interviewers seemed to remember all the plot lines and  relate more to the characters than the actors.  It was weird to watch.  The creator of the show was there too--41 years later.  One thing all the actors kept saying really struck me.  They kept thanking her for creating theirs characters and giving them such great roles to play.

It made me think about thanking my creator for the role he's given me.  No--I don't think I'm just acting out a part that's already written for me, or that everything I say and do is predetermined.   I am just very thankful for the life I've been given:  the parents;  the time and location of my birth;  all the incredible experiences I've had all through my life;  my husband;  my children;  all of it.  I'm really grateful to the Father in Heaven who gave me this adventure.  There's a lot I wouldn't have picked, and some that I would trade, and a few things I'd like to ask questions about, but still, I'm glad it's mine and I get to experience it all.

Not Sweeping Changes, But Creeping Ones

The name of this blog means a lot to me.  It's implication is that God is in charge and I yield to him.  However, There are certain things I would like to have control over, but can't.  I can't control  whether my house is worth anything.  I can't control what my tax dollars are spent on.  I can't control who my kids make friends with.  I can't control how other  people drive.

The thing  that worries me the most is that I can't control the changes in the world that are bombarding my kids.  They don't even know they are being bombarded.  They don't know how things used to be.  They don't know that the simple principles of the gospel of Jesus Christ used to be everywhere.

I was flabbergasted this week to find out that Mikey is being taught a different set of names for the dating system that has served generations.  B.C. and A.D. are being phased out and B.C.E. and C.E. are replacing them.  Before Christ is now being taught as Before Common Era and Anno Domini (Latin for Year of the Lord) is now Common Era.  So, not only has Christ's name been removed, but it has been replaced by the word 'common'.  Could there be a more offensive alternative?

One explanation I found on the internet says it is in deference to archaeologists that are not Christian.  Political correctness and multiculturalism rear their ugly heads again.  I guess I should understand what's going on--Satan is taking more and more control over the minds and hearts of this world.  Evil is everywhere.  It doesn't have to scream.  The more subtle it is, the better--for him.  Things like this change are so quiet and presented only to children, who don't understand that it's a big deal,  without parents even knowing that it's happening.  It makes me wonder who has to approve a change like that.  Who says, "Yeah, that's a great idea, let's start with 10 year olds?"

This is only one example.  They are everywhere.  They are frightening.

Full of Sh**

I deal with a digestive issue on and off--mostly on.  Constipation.  I know, why in the world would I write that?  Well, there's a reason that I think is a pretty good one.  It parallels something else that's more significant than digestion.

When I'm really stressed out or really busy, my body doesn't work like it should.  If we are traveling, forget it--for many days.  Okay, enough of that.  It's just the metaphor.

When I'm really stressed or upset about something that I don't want to write about or I think I shouldn't write about, everything stops.  I am completely blocked.  Not even just on this blog but everything--my conversations with myself in the car;  my thoughts going to sleep;  everything.  And I really think it's actually good for me to take the time to write about things that are on my mind to clear it out once in a while --in many cases I go back and don't even remember what I've written about--which can be good.

Here's the disclaimer:  This is only my side of an issue.  I realize it's not the only side and know that I'm way off the perfect target.

I told my brother-in-law what I thought about him not ever trying to get involved with the Heartwalk and hurting Keith's feelings.

He lashed out at me so intensely that I can't seem to get away from it.  He wrote me an email which included things like how he tried to tell me how to care for Ian and it just "fell on deaf ears."   He said  he learned things at Ian's funeral about him that he didn't know before.  (Is that my fault?)  He said he and his wife--"of all people"--could understand all Keith and I were going through all those years with medicine regimens and doctor visits etc--why didn't we come to them?  (How could he possibly have any idea?)  That certainly wasn't all.  

Okay, so here's the deal.  How could anyone do that to me?  How could anyone choose now to criticize what I devoted myself to for so many years?  How could anyone--anyone--not know that those comments are out of bounds?  That they would stay with me and add to my already mountainous guilt over not being able to save my son.  How could anyone hate me that much? 

I just don't have the energy to play the game any more.  My mind and my digestive system need a rest.