It Does Get Better...

Me with my Grandpa Lee Taylor after I came home from the hospital.

"The pain never really goes away, but it does get better."
I remember a co-worker encouraging me with these words after my Grandpa Taylor died over three years ago. At the time, the idea of anything ever feeling "better" seemed impossible, yet I clung to that thought. It wasn't extremely profound or eloquent but it gave me hope.
Hope that the aching in my heart would lessen.
Hope that I could think back on my Grandpa without feeling nauseous because he was gone.
Hope that the memories of his last breathes wouldn't haunt me on a daily basis. I needed to cling onto that idea that "it does get better."

 Yesterday would have been my Grandpa Taylor's 92nd birthday, he would have been so excited. He really loved birthdays and getting older. He saw birthdays as a time to rejoice in years the Lord had given him; how precious it would've been to celebrate with him yesterday.  I miss him; that will never change.  As the days and years pass it has become less painful.  When I feel the pain becoming unbearable I think of the things I know: he is with the Lord and his prayers are still with me. He told me so many times that he had prayed for each phase of my life, that the Lord would guide me through it all. So when I miss him I think on these things and it almost, just almost, makes me feel like he is here with me.  It gives me a sense of comfort.

Yes, it does get better, but it will always hurt. Do I really ever want it to stop hurting and fade away? I don't think so. I don't want to get to the point of feeling comfortable. The pain reminds me of how much I loved him and how much he loved me. If I didn't feel this hurt maybe I would be prone to forget, not think back on the Grandfather I loved. Maybe, just maybe, the grief that never goes away is simply a memorial on our hearts to the ones we have lost. When I see the pain that lingers in this light it seems beautiful and almost, just almost, welcomed.

Cute Babies & Bias Parents

(Meeting my son Lee for the first time 06/30/12. )

It's always hard to know what to say when you meet a friend's newborn baby that looks... well... like he or she has gone through battle. "Oh he is so...big!" You hold your tongue, heaven forbid you break the love stuck trance of your friend who can't take her eyes off the little alien-like creature. Despite the cone shaped head, jaundiced skin, and old man hands that newborns are famous for, there is nothing more beautiful to a parent then the sight of their own flesh and blood.

I know the feeling. I vividly remember the first time I saw Lee.  I was anxious, my stomach was in knots and my heart was racing--I was about to meet my son. I was robbed of meeting him immediately after his birth due to his failure to breathe on his own. Out of habit, my hands caressed my belly over a green hospital gown - but there was no baby there anymore. I was wheeled in my hospital bed from recovery to the NICU (Neonatal Intensive Care Unit) after my emergency C-section.

As I came into the NICU, my eyes immediately scanned the room. Finally I saw my baby. He was laying quietly in a tiny bed, just ahead. His piercing bright blue eyes, beautiful pale face, and dark hair were the first things I noticed. Everything else faded away--I was in love.  He was looking up and around, trying to make sense of this new world. His first few hours of life were traumatic--a complicated labor which led to a C-section and a 2 hour post-birth intubation. As my hospital bed stopped in front of his cradle the nurse lifted him up so he could see me. He started crying, then I cried. I started to talk to him, he stopped, listened, and looked at me. In that moment I knew he was the most perfect baby in the world, and no one could tell me different. Aside from the IV cords in his tiny hands, his gourd shaped head that couldn't keep his cap on, and the tape residue left on his face from being intubated he was perfect.  Nothing compares to a parents bias.

So you can imagine my bias when entering Lee into a "cute" baby contest. "Of course he will win, he is the cutest baby ever." And yes, I do know my son is the cutest, but apparently so do 730 other parents.  After voting for my son, I surveyed Lee's rivals on the Star 94.1 website. (btw feel free to vote for Lee at http://www.star941fm.com/pages/star-baby/vote-entrants.php?ag=&gid=3#10) Then I thought, "wow each one of these parents entered their baby because they truly believed their precious one is the cutest." Then, I wanted to cry--cry because they are all so cute. And cry because I know how much each parent adores their little one. I wanted to cry because they have a story, a life--I wanted them all to win.  Then, in that moment, I was overwhelmed.

I am told all parents are biased--stop and think about that. How beautiful, that most everyone is so utterly taken with their children. How amazing that our children never earned our adoration.  Unconditional love took on a whole new meaning in my life when I met Lee. Looking at him for the first time, I knew I had never loved another so deeply and intensely. With Easter Sunday coming tomorrow, it is impossible not to ponder on the Lord's great sacrifice of His own son for us. He felt a perfect, passionate, and intense love for His son--yet he deemed us worthy of the sacrifice. I can't imagine giving Lee's life for another,  especially one that is undeserving. It is unfathomable. I have a whole new thankfulness to the Lord.

What a beautiful gift the Lord gave us, the capacity to love another purely. It leaves me completely breathless that Lee came into this world and stole my heart immedately without doing anything--just by simply being. To think that this intense love is something that was never earned or deserved, it simply was.  No wonder a parent's bias is so strong and lasting. And that, my friends, is love at first sight.


( Make sure to vote for Lee ! http://www.star941fm.com/pages/star-baby/vote-entrants.php?ag=&gid=3#10 )

Milestones

Jer proposing to me on March 30th 2009 

Milestones. Life is made up of many of them. I remember when I first understood the concept. I was sitting in the back of my family's old blue and white mini van we cruised around in the 90's. My family had spent the day exploring the city of San Francisco with my Grandma and Grandpa who were natives to the area. "So you will be ten next month, Shannon," my Grandma Talyor said to me as she turned to face me in the back of the car. She always was and is so good at coming down to my level and treating me with respect. "You know, that is a milestone in your life." I remember feeling excited, smiling ear to ear in the dark van with the faint glow of the dome light. I remember looking out the window and feeling important, I was almost to a milestone.

Little did I know that soon my life would be bombarded with milestones. I turned ten, then I became a teenager, was sweet sixteen, graduated high school, started college, turned 21, got engaged, graduated college, said "I do," became a mom... It keeps going, each one becoming a little more exciting.  So now I look back at my 25 years of life and see a road of beautiful milestones.

Today I had been thinking about milestones, since March 30th is a day to celebrate a milestone and to make one. On March 30th, 2009, Jeremiah Whitten got down on one knee to propose marriage to me in the chapel my grandparents were married in 65 years prior. I can't believe it has been three years since that beautiful day. Now milestones are a part of everyday life at the Whitten house. Today my son Lee turned 9 months old. His toothy smile and active lifestyle reminds me that my little boy is making the transition from an infant to a toddler.

I love remembering to celebrate and create our milestones. To reflect on what we have accomplished, and to look forward to the next great milestones that will define our lives and shape our experiences.  Each one represents a beautiful aspect of life that makes up who we are and where we are going. We looked back at the path and see all the points and how they align--how the Lord used those places to make us into the person we are now.  In the words of the late Steve Jobs, "You can't connect the dots looking forward; you can only connect them looking backwards."

Milestones show where you have been,
and help shape who you will be.
Celebrate and remember them.

Lee at 9 months

In Sickness and in Health..

I am blessed. Yesterday Jer and I celebrated our second wedding anniversary. Unfortunately, the day was a little tainted by the fact I had suffered from food poisoning the night before. So you can imagine my disappointment when all of Jer's "secret planning" would have to be postponed as I rested all day. Despite the fact that my day was full of naps and watching TV I felt blessed. Blessed to have a husband, after saying "I do" two years ago, still takes such good care of me in sickness. It may seem simple, but it is romantic to me. It is romantic that in my less than glamrous state my husband spent his spring breaking caring for me and our son with such love and tenderness and making me feel like the most beautiful girl in the world. I am blessed by an amazing man who does the large romantic guestures as well as nursing me back to health. I didn't think when standing up in front of all our friends at the alter that I would be suffering from food posioning two years later (not sure if anyone in the world has ever thought that). Obviously, this is such a small health issue, but it warms my heart that my husband's love and devotion is constant in every aspect of our marriage. It wasn't the romantic evening Jer had planned, but what is a marriage to only be in love in those moments? The love and joy Jer brings to every aspect of our life together is truly beautiful. The wedding day is gone, the flowers have died, the food has been eaten, the guests have left, the pictures remind us of what happened, but Jer's unconditional love is what has lasted. And that is why I am blessed.

Patterns of Habit vs. Change

I used to hate change, the thought of it would put my stomach in knots. Now I have a new philosophy: change is good. In fact, sometimes I feel like it is down right necessary for survival. I watch myself slowly drawn into life's montage of habits; days passing without my conscious knowledge. Of course, one could argue this would be attributed to the fact that I am a mother of an 8 month old bouncing boy. My brain is simply in "survival mode," creating patterns is a part of the criteria of motherhood. Wake up, feed the baby, change him, play with him, put him down for a nap, try to clean the house while he is sleeping, check facebook, Jer comes home, try to connect, make dinner, put the baby to bed, watch tv, go to sleep. Did I mention I have become a creature of habit? In fact, at times, my brain doesn't even realize I have completed this finely tuned regiment until I am head down in my pillow. The day is over.

Then there is the shock, that is the only way to get out of a regiment. My Papa died. Yes, death does it to you. In that moment when you are sitting on the germ filled hospital ground, your tears puddled around you. In those moments you have clarity, you realize "Yes we all die and yes we all only live once." And you can't help but embrace change- it becomes your new best friend because it makes you feel alive. Feeling truly alive becomes your obsession when you are face to face with death.

So what did I do? I embraced change. In one frantic day I went vegetarian, stored my microwave in the garage, officially quit my business, decided to run a 5K, and bought  all new furniture. I embraced change. It made me feel alive.  Maybe change is simply my coping mechanism for my grief, but it makes my brain light up and think consciously of each moment. In those moments I feel alive, released from the bondage of routine. In that moment I am free of my habits and the doors open up for new experiences; I am living life to its fullest. So change, who used to be my most dreaded enemy has now become my close friend. Ironic.

The Art of Waiting...

2:00, 1:59, 1:58... Two minutes seemed like an eternity. I can still vividly remember standing in front of the microwave when I was a child, watching the red analog numbers tick down. Two minutes was the time it took to heat up a mug of water for my Mom's instant coffee she somehow loved.  I would often have the duty of making the stuff while she was in the middle of a project or occupied with one of my younger siblings. It was not at all uncommon to hear my Mom call (from somewhere in the house) "Shannon, can you make me a cup of coffee?" and of course I would oblige her dreaded request.  The mere though of watching those red numbers on our 1980's brown microwave decrease would make me want to scream. How could two minutes feel like eternity? It did. 1:00, 00:59, 00:58... Many times I would reach up and frustratedly swing the door open, practically ripping off the silver handle, to check if by some miracle the water  had heated up faster this time. No matter how many times I tried this, the result was always the same--lukewarm water. I even remember trying to pass this coffee off as the real deal. I can still see my Mom, turning from the project on her computer desk, grabbing the pink  flowered"mom" coffee mug, and taking a huge sip which lead to a surprised face and the question,  "Did you heat this up all the way?"  I learned at a young age as unfair as it seemed, some things in life cannot be rushed; even instant coffee. So I would wait 00.30, 00.29, 00.28...

 1 day, 2 days, 3 days, 4 days, 5 days, 6 days, 7 days....  Patience is a virtue, I suppose this virtue  has been my bane since childhood.  If I had only mastered this trait early on, my life would feel less frustrating right about now. Today my son is officially seven days overdue, or at least according to the doctor's calculations. It is super ironic that this child is late, since my doctor was completely convinced he would be at least two and half weeks early due to his size.  So I excitedly jumped on the "motherly instincts" bandwagon and convinced myself that I had a "feeling" he would be early. It is funny how easily convinced I can become by the guess work of another person. Well I will not be taking my motherly instincts to the bank, they are not worth much about now.

7 days and 1 hour, 7 days and 2 hours, 7 days and 3 hours.... Why is being patient so hard? I suppose I set myself up for failure by foolishly blocking out a time for baby. Why not? Isn't that the way our fast paced, iphone scheduled culture has taught us?  In my mind, I thought "Well, he will most likely come this week so I will plan nothing for this time." I laugh at myself as these last two weeks have been the longest I have every experienced, mostly due to that fact that my days are usually overwhelmed with work and events and then...... nothing. As I watch the hours turn into days and the days turn into weeks, I realize I have that familiar and annoying feeling of watching those hideous red numbers tick down on the microwave.

7 days and 10 hours, 7 days and 11 hours, 7 days and 12 hours...  So after fighting the "old friend," I decided to force myself to embrace the waiting period. To simply take a breathe and 'be' in this moment. Never again will I be here, sitting with Jer, waiting for our son.  The business of life will soon pick up where it left it off, but these moments of waiting are beautiful and rare- I will enjoy them.

 7 days and 14 hours, 7 days and 15 hours, 7 days and 16 hours... and so the waiting continues, I pray the impatience does not.  I want to, once and for all, eliminate that childhood anxiety of watching the microwave and take in beauty of this moment that will never come my way again.

The Anticipation of the Unknown

  40 Week Belly

"So anything happening?" My Dad answered frantically as he picked up the phone. This has become the norm for most phone calls from our family members. I replied with what I knew would produce disappointment, "Nope, baby seems to be staying put today," I said, rubbing my big belly as I rocked back in forth in the glider I will soon spend hours on with my son.

Today, June 17th, is my due date.  The longing for this day has been my primary focus for the last 8 1/2 months. Now the day has arrived and I find myself pleasantly content while waiting for this life changing day. It is funny that in our planned out society there are still elements out of our control.  The day I meet my son will be one of the greatest of my life, yet I have no say in when that day comes.

Lately, while making any plans I am quick to say "sounds great, unless of course the baby comes." It is impossible for me to plan anything without this disclaimer. This baby has become my main focus and captor of my thoughts. Despite the fact I have not even met him yet, the excitement and joy I experience because of him is overwhelming.  Every morning I wake and think "maybe today is the day I will meet my son!" Even at the end of the day, when I realize I will have to wait to see what tomorrow offers, the thought that I am a little closer to meeting my son is exciting.

Living in this state of mind, "sounds great, unless of course the baby comes," has given mr a perspective of the Lord's return I never had before. He is coming back, the time (contrary to Harold Camping's claims) is complete unknown to all. Yet  I should wake up thinking, "maybe today Christ will return," and go to bed thinking "tomorrow I am a day closer to His return."

It was hard for me personally, before this last month of pregnancy, to understand how to truly anticipate the unknown with an attitude of excitement.  Now since my life is in this constant state it is easy to see the outlook we should have as believers.  In a world where all the great moments of our life are carefully planned out and organized, it is beautiful and freeing to truly relish in the anticipation of the unknown.