May this encourage you, dear sisters. You are not alone. You are not alone.
#1- I love that we are just plain weird. We passed ‘quirky’ long ago. As my Brookie loves to say, “Who wants to be normal anyways? That sounds so boring” That’s right, sister. Rock on.
It would be easier to tell you that it’s required and I have to as part of my schooling program, but its not. Continue reading
I have been reading posts on a Facebook page called Breathing for Laura. It’s one man’s journey, losing his young wife and raising two little girls on his own. I love his posts. Continue reading
We are that muddy family
Here we are; muddy as they come. On our best day, we can put on a show for about ten minutes that is until one of the kids pours water down the other ones back or my son decides to tackle one of his sisters. We are messy- muddy- but aren’t we all? Continue reading
In 2012 Karin and I wrote a series of books. They are letters as if God is writing directly to you. They are personal. They give Him skin. As I have struggled lately with moments that seem more than I can bear, I have found these letters to be my source of encouragement and comfort. Continue reading
Karin, my kindred spirit and bosom buddy(think Anne Shirley and Diana Barry), was looking over the blog.The thought of making my life public made me a little nauseous, so I desperately needed her feedback. I might be loud and boisterous, but when it comes to my private life I am, well, private.
“What do you think,” I asked, scrutinizing what I had written.
“Well, do you want it to be all about Bob,” she asked, taking off her glasses in a way that always makes her look way more wise than I.
“Not really, but that is where I am right now.”
“Agreed, but Alisa, you are so much more than this,” she encouraged… and ya know what, she is right.
Bob might be what is growing and stretching me, but if I were to neglect to share all of the joys I have in the midst of tragedy this would be just another sad story about a miracle waiting to happen. I read them all the time. It seems there is a new Facebook page everyday, “Praying for this person or that person.” They update the world on their latest treatments or news. My heart breaks for them, their loss, their pain. It does, but this is not all there is to me. The kids and I are silly- down right goofy- and we laugh well together. If I were only to share with you the sorrows, you would only be getting part of the story. Yes, I’m wrestling with hard issues and trying to understand how God is good in all of this. I cry. I cry quite a bit. But, I also love well and laugh beautifully. I adore my children, my family, my friends and most of all my Lord.
This space is to share it all; how my 13-year-old son was mistaken as my boyfriend because he is 6 feet tall (that was just plain weird); how I sat in my car and cried because I was scared; how the last date I went on was so disastrous that I had to switch into ‘counselor’ mode just to help him make it through the evening; how I ran through the sprinklers of a stranger’s yard just to make my kids laugh. Only to return to the car to have them lock me out!! These are the memories that I have when I close my eyes and I see my life.
Life- joy- sorrow- ups- downs- Life
I scheduled my MRI and follow up appointment with my neurologist yesterday. We are set for October 13 and 15, respectively. Yes, it made me afraid. Even when I hung up the phone, I just wanted to crawl into someone’s arms and close my eyes. Funny, how we have these moments in life where we feel like a child again.
I’m scared, pop.
Arms would feel so safe right about now.
I tried to prepare my kids that I might be more emotional as I approach these appointments. We were driving home after school (three different schools to be exact)“Guys, I just want to give you a heads up. I might be a little more weepy-emotional- than I usually am.” It was quiet for a second, then my middle one jumped in. “Mom, I just don’t see how that is possible. I mean really, last night you cried while we were watching the Chipmunks movie.” “Yeah,” my son quipped, “ we love you ma, but I’m not sure how much more you can cry.” Hmmm. They had a point. I started laughing as they brought up all the ridiculous things that I have cried over. When Mulan cuts her hair and join the army. A Johnny Test episode.(yep, definitely a low point) Any commercial with a soldier returning home. Oh, I love my babies. They keep me grounded, which is exactly where I need to be.
After putting together my dream team which consisted of my sister Tasia and sweet friend Swati (note- if you are ever in this type of situation I would strongly advise taking exceptionally intelligent and remarkably beautiful women with you. Let’s just say we were treated VERY well), I switched my treatment over to Cedar Sinai. In May of this year I underwent a Gamma-Knife radiation treatment. This was their first option since I was allergic to pain medication and the tumor was small enough to attempt at ‘freezing’ it rather than removing it.
The Night Before Treatment
My older two children were with my folks in Hawaii and my youngest was with my sister and sister-in-law. I was grateful that they were taken care of, but being home by myself was, well, lonely. It was a sad reminder that there was no one there. After being married for 12 years, I still feel the loss of no one lying next to me in bed. I suppose I always will to some extent. I knew there would be two of us receiving the treatment the next day, and as I laid there in bed I thought about who he/she was and how they must be feeling. Lord, comfort them. I know they are scared. Lord, let them feel that you are near.
Boy, this was a tough one. My sister Lea and Swati went with me. The doctors were upbeat and lively. “We decided to do you first.” Wonderful. “We figured since you have had three kids, you will handle the pain better than the other guy.” Fantastic. Talk about pressure; I felt like I had to perform. “I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” I smiled broad and confident, acting as if this was a piece of cake. Bad choice. Wrong choice. In this particular procedure, they screw in four bolts down to your skull. This will hold a metal halo in place that is needed to correctly administer the radiation. Let’s just say that I only remember the first one going in before I passed out. Yep. Out cold. So much for birthing three babies.
I eventually made it through the entire day, but I won’t be the same. I won’t ever be the same. More sober. More quiet. I am not sure how to explain it quite yet, but it changed me. Life seemed more fragile. It was all so surreal; life could be taken at any moment. It was at that point I began to slow down.
He began to slow me down.
Lord, I can’t say I understand or that I see this as good, but nonetheless, here I am. I am listening.