Great Expectations

so this is kindof a sad post. I'm just warnin ya - i don't necessarily enjoy sharing personal details - especially in writing - especially when they aren't cute or funny - but I've kindof gotten into the blogging thing and it seems like it might help.

See, I've been wracking my brain - trying to understand why I would discard three years of grad school, three more years of supervision, a year of test taking and licensure craziness (in three different states, mind you) and then a bunch of paperwork to be able to accept insurance. Why won't I practice? I thought I would love being a therapist. Even though I chickened out and applied for my MSW instead of a PhD in clinical Pych, I thought all along that I wanted to be a therapist. I knew clinicians with social work backgrounds and couldn't wait to get to that point. Family therapy, couples counseling - it all sounded facinating and helpful and lucrative.

I guess the long and short of it is that I didn't know my sister would die.

That's awful, isn't it? But the truth is, I've pretty much always had to work at staying above the depression line and all the pain shared in the course of therapy - combined with my own grief - made it really difficult. Pain doesn't always remind me of her - but it reminds me of the feelings I feel about her; because of her death.

My friend Jenny just wrote a book about parents grieving the death of their children - thru miscarraige, stillbirth, or infant death. She talks about grief - the kindof pain that hurts so bad at first - she compares the initial pain to labor - it's that intense. But later - weeks, months, years later - the pain hangs around. It levels your insides and although you can rebuild them, they show the cracks. I'm much more fearful now. I know how bad things can get and there's never a day that I don't recognize what's possible.

The gift in this - and I know this doesn't happen for everyone - is that I feel desperate for Christ. There was some weird comforting peace I experienced in the midst of Tiffany's death - especially in that first week - like someone was helping me hold up my head. It was God, I have no doubt.

But without that - without God - it would have been torture. That veil between heaven and earth seems thin to me now - and so to go to Church - to participate in the Liturgy - to remember all of those who have suffered - to be reminded of a purpose! That's really what keeps me above that depression line.

So how could I practice therapy and see people in that despair and not offer them that life raft? What other hope is there? Friends definitely help as does my wonderful family - but if you feel life is meaningless, they only go so far.

Ok - so I realize now that I can't be a therapist. But, even that makes me sad. The truth is that I really love people and wanted to be able to sit with them in that painful place. I thought that was my gift - I thought my grief would help! But I can now admit that despite the time and money invested, it is not the career for me - at least not now. And not without being able to offer the Church as a refuge!

So... I embark on a new career. One in which I have no schooling or experience - but one that I enjoy. I want to promote books. Specifically, I want to promote my husband's books. And those of precious sister-in-law - and hopefully more. I've asked my genius brother to move up here temporarily and help me get started. I've asked my artist sister for graphic design input, my business sister for contacts, and for advice from my other sister who just has an eye for beauty and balance.

Anyway - I write this, I guess, as a turning point. The permission to officially let go of the guilt and weirdness tied up in not practicing therapy. I thought, for a while, that I just had a problem "working." That I just really wanted and needed to stay home. This is in part, true. But it's also true that having something else besides parenting to think about seems to help me think about parenting (and actually parent) better. Anyway - I'm going to give it a shot. And I'm thinking about calling it, "Great Expectations."

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So on February 25th, Tiffany would be 34. A healthy Tiffany would have had kids near my girls' age. We could have called each other and laughed about the ridiculous things our 2 year olds did today (mine refused to wear a coat, boots, and seatbelt - despite doing these things no problem everyday for the past 40 days). I like to think what I would have gotten for her for her birthday - morbid, I guess - but I know she would have loved Anthropology.

But even as I write this sad post, I feel a little bit grateful - that I got sick and had to rethink things. That I'm not sitting in a therapy office with people I don't know - but am instead at home, with my family, a part of my church, closer to my friends, more full of love and respect for my precious parents and in-laws. I also think that this time in Bobby's and my life is kind of exciting. It's fun to start a new business - Bobby's new job with AFR is amazing. The girls are growing and learning. In many respects, It is a hopeful time.

I guess it's just that, as the years pass, the pain of grief - although lighter - comes along, too. And while I am no longer a therapist - perhaps because of that sting, I can be a bit more present to friends/family/neighbors in need than I otherwise would have been.

Party

For heaven's sake, the snow is FINALLY MELTING. Isabelle woke me up this morning yelling that the snow was shrinking. And true enough - the snow mounds were being replaced by icy puddles (the down side being that about 50 piles of Lola's poop were now mushy and visible). But focusing on the half-full glass, we embraced the "warm" day - and headed out for gymnasics/ballet without coats!

See, this was an especially glorious day, because in addition to bright sunshine, we were hosting a "Fancy Nancy" party. Big times here at the Maddex home. We sent out fancy pink evites to the two families we know (one being our relatives) and prepared by reading the Fancy Nancy book and making tiny pink cakes. Now I know that Martha Stewart actutally hosted Jane O'Connor (Fancy nancy's author) and discussed proper ways of hosting Fancy Nancy themed birthday parties. But really - our party was out of desperation. The girls and I were so tired of being stuck here in the house - and we had just received a huge bag of fancy dress-up clothes from our priest's wife. What else were we supposed to do?

Here is some more evidence of our fanciness:

jane started gymnastics today. She was so brave, so respectful to her teachers, so polite to the other children and so excited about the outfit. As far as the actual gymnastics...hmmm.

Winter Doldrums

Those close to me know that despite my melancholy adolescence, I'm a fairly upbeat person - pretty optimistic - especially in the last couple of years. This week, however, has been a challenge to my sunny disposition. No doubt the weather has played a role. I mean come on - sub-zero temperatures, interminable gray skies, snow piled upon snow (pretty much keeping us homebound) was taking a toll. "Hmm, got the winter dull-drums?" my husband said (sort of mockingly - him who could live just fine on the north pole - but give him Texas sun and he breaks out in hives).

But I did - have the winter doldrums. Nothing seemed to be working - like one of those bad dreams that you run with all of your might, but get nowhere - sweeping the floor just produced more dust and crumbs, disciplining Jane just resulted in more tantrums and our new puppy (who seemed to have mastered the housebreaking thing) had suddenly taking to pooping in the girls' pink fairy tent.

So when I woke this morning, I expected more of the same - I had, after all, heard that today's high was expected to reach a whopping -2 (that's just ridiculous). But something had shifted. As I was editing an AFR podcast last night, Dn Michael Hyatt referred to the Old Testament story regarding the Arc of the Covenant. I guess one of David's men had tried to help out and was immediately struck down dead. Sort of seems like a raw deal - but as Dn Michael points out - God doesn't need our help. That reminder lodged itself in my brain - and I awoke this morning feeling a little lighter. Of course it's not that we don't work - we do - and hard work feels good - but we don't control. Trying to control the things around me results in depression every time.

And so I will try - to pottytrain this dog and my two year old - too winterwize my old drafty house - to get the word out about Molly's amazing book - to feed my family local, wholesome foods - to teach Isabelle how to read....and on and on... but I can't and won't be able to control the outcome of my efforts. I may still find poop in the tent - but, truly, a little poop beats depression any day.


p.s - just because today really did get better, I had to post a couple more pictures. I mean, my neighbor shoveled my walkway, for goodness sake. And - Isabelle and jane got dressed all by themselves - and the sun is shining. Things are certainly looking up.

The Hubby Family

Just a little shout out to my precious family in Tx. It's 20 degrees here in the greater Chicago area and snowing - again. Lola, Jane and I are freezing.

January 6

"The word 'theophany' means 'the manifestation of God' or the 'showing forth of God'. The Orthodox Feast of Theophany is a remembrance of the Baptism of Jesus Christ by John the Baptist in the waters of the Jordan river, (Mt.3:13-17; Mark 1:9-11; Luke 3:21-22), and, more generally, a celebration of the public manifestation of the Incarnate Word to the world."










We got back from our Christmas trek to Texas last night - late. I woke today to the gray cold mess that I know will last for many months; trying to recapture the thrill the cold air gave me as i decorated and baked cookies a few weeks ago. it's not that our trip wasn't great - it was - it's just that living 1136 miles away from my parents, sisters and brother is a really long way. I think often of something a blogger friend wrote a few months ago about living under one roof with all of those she loves - drinking coffee until 3:00 and switching to wine after that - it sounded glorious. My fantasy is more like the compound on Big Love (sans polygamy and ugly clothes). I would love to live across the street from my sisters and mom - sharing meals with ingredients we've grown in our own gardens - I'm even trying to talk my brother into becoming a farmer (he doesn't realize that he also has to move to Indiana and live next door to me).

But I'm back home now - and everything seems foreign and overwhelming. It's like this when I've come from my mom's - like I've completely forgotten how to do laundry and make food (fortunately my amazing in-laws took us out to lunch) - unpacking the car seems in the realm of running a marathon or passing the bar. Yet despite the Talking Heads song repeating itself in my head, this is my house, and around 4:00 this afternoon I force myself to unzip a suitcase.

I guess I just feel a bit down after Christmas. I love it so much and think I run a bit on adrenaline and coffee - only to realize after the fact that I should have taken several more naps along the way. It's also two days before Isabelle's 5th birthday. "Didn't we just get you a bunch of gifts?" doesn't really sit well with a 4 almost 5 year old who wants a legitimate birthday. I think of my two close friends whose birthdays are just before and after Christmas - and I resolve to "gear up" and make the day special for my precious daughter.

This morning our priest's homily referred to Christ's fulfillment of the Old Testament prophesies not only by His birth but by His ministry. Christmas is just the beginning. As I started putting away t-shirts, swimsuits (yes it can get pretty warm in Tx) and other remnants of our trip a small feeling of determination began to take root. Our priest reminded us of the value of doing the Lord's work despite "rewards." "Get busy," he seemed to be saying - not in the frenzied, manic way I'd carried out some of my holiday preparations, but in a steady, real way - "keeping our eyes fixed on the prize."

Isabelle was born on january 6th; Theophany. The longer I'm Orthodox, the more I'm realizing just how special that is. Isabelle was born just a few months after my sister Tiffany died. Her birth was ray of hope for my family. We realized that life would and could go on. Theophany - the "showing forth of God." How amazing is that?

St. Nicholas Day

A picture of the girls with St. Nicholas at the celebration at St. Mary's in Merrillville.

We thought the girls would be shy - especially without their cousins who were home sick - but both girls kept inching closer as he spoke about the life of the precious Saint who sacrificed his inheritance for those in need around him.

Granted, Isabelle particularly, remains somewhat confused about the details (does St. Nicholas have a sleigh?, etc.) but I feel, at least, that we're moving in the right direction!

Joyous Feast!