The Evolution of a Man

My husband has always been the hardest worker I know, the kind of man who comes home after a long day with oil on his clothes and mud on his boots.  His hands have always been rough and calloused and his skin has grown weathered over the years from his "rain or shine" career.  He is most comfortable outdoors, tools in his hands, building or fixing something, having something to look at after a long day and being able to say, "I did that".

For many years, Shawn worked on a multitude of off shore oil rigs in the Gulf of Mexico: Louisiana's most booming industry.  He worked away for two weeks at a time, leaving me at home to hold down the fort.  After he and his comrades completed each hitch, they'd hop on a helicopter and fly back to shore to race home to their families, wives and girlfriends and babies anxiously awaiting their return. It was a grueling career path that required much sacrifice: the conditions were dangerous, the weeks away were tough.  But we learned to enjoy the two weeks a month that he was home, adapting to the schedule shared by many families across the Deep South: two weeks on, two weeks off.  That was our life for many years.  We rescheduled holidays, postponed birthday parties, celebrated early when needed.  I cooked big homecoming dinners and we talked on the phone as much as possible.  We made the most of it and Shawn's unconventional schedule became our "normal".

People often told me, "I don't know how you do it".  But, there was no questions of if or how, the sacrifices were made because this was Shawn's passion. His career was fulfilling and though he hated leaving us for two weeks every month, the pros far outweighed the cons. He made a good living and provided our family with financial security, excellent health insurance, and a solid foundation for which to build our future on.  This was more than just a job.  It was a part of who he was.

But then the accident happened, and the injuries he sustained rendered him unable to ever work on an offshore oil rig again.  No matter how much nerve and muscular function Shawn regains in his arm and hand, he'll never be able to pass the physical required to work in the oil and gas industry again. Just like that, a decade of hard work and perseverance was over and my husband was forced to pull up his boot straps and move on to the next chapter of his life, those days out on the rig now a fond and distant memory.

He struggled with this reality for a very long time.  He mourned the loss of his career, a furious battle brewing inside his soul as he redefined who he was and what he stood for.  What kind of man was he now that he was no longer the primary breadwinner of our family?  What was he contributing now that he was no longer the invincible force he once was?  It is an incredibly humbling and frightening experience to witness a man become a vulnerable and broken version of himself, to watch him fight and kick and scream to start over while simultaneously holding on to what he once was.

But, time heals all wounds: in Shawn's case both physically and emotionally.  It started slowly, with him keeping Brees home from daycare a few days a week.  He saw it as a way to save money and spend extra one on one time with our girl.  I saw it as a way for him to nurture and love our youngest while also contributing to our family, contributing in a domesticated way that was completely new to him.  The few days a week slowly turned into four days and then, at Shawn's insistence, we pulled Brees out of daycare completely.  Those days that they spent together, the lunches he made, the laundry he folded, the running of our household while I was away at work: they were healing him.  He felt needed again, validated as a husband and father.  And I watched his eyes begin to shine again.

Those hands that once worked on machines were now being used to care for our children.  While I put in more hours at work and took on the role of the breadwinner, Shawn stepped up and gave our children his whole heart and soul.  He reassured me constantly through his actions that we were, in fact, a team, his old definitions of what a man should be shifting and evolving into something new.

When I was pregnant for River, I researched our child care options, worried that taking care of two little kids might be too much for my husband, wanting to protect him just as much as I protected the kids. Our babysitter informed me, however, that she was raising her tuition prices and changing her attendance policies, putting me in an absolute panic as I did the math and realized that there was no way we could afford to have two kids in daycare. I came home crying one day, explaining the numbers to Shawn, throwing my hands up and wondering what to do.  But he never broke a sweat, there was never even a moment of consideration.  He already knew.

"They're not going to daycare," Shawn told me with complete confidence.  "I'm going to keep both of them at home full time.  I'm a stay at home dad now, babe."

"Are you sure?" I asked over and over.  Are you sure?  It would be a big undertaking, staying home with two small kids.  But he was determined and excited, believing with every ounce of his being that this was what God had intended for our family all along.  Not for him to be traveling away for half the year, missing out on so much precious time with his family.  Those days were over and rightfully so. This chapter, this chapter was made for us to be together.  Our kids will know what it means to have a father home full time, to be privileged enough to have a stay at home parent.  And so we forged ahead with our new plan, determined to support each other in our new roles as a working mom and stay at home dad.

Now, when people ask me, "What does your husband do for a living?", I proudly tell them that he stays home with our kids.  I've gotten every reaction possible, from confused looks and raised eyebrows to pats on the back and praise and encouragement.  We try not to take the questions and comments too personally, being a stay at home dad just isn't a common occurrence in our community and people tend to need a little time to warm up to the idea.  I'm so proud of him, I tell them. He is the best father to our children and a true gift to our family.  He has taken on his new role with as much passion as he did when he used to fly off on that helicopter. He has rewritten his own personal definition of what a man should be, how he should love, what constitutes a hard day's work. These kids: they are his new adventure.  And he is serving them so well.

My husband is a living example that sometimes life throws you curve balls and knocks you on your ass.  When the going gets tough, you have to find enough courage inside yourself to let the things you once loved go so that you can make room for the things waiting for you.  Though we never imagined these changes, the shifting roles, the pain and struggle that came with it all, we would never take any of it back.  My husband has grown and changed in ways that have completely taken my breathe away and I am so humbled with the grace and patience in which he chooses to move forward.  He refuses to give up, to look back, to live with regret.  Instead, he embraces this journey and pushes me to embrace it right along with him.

I love you, Shawn.  I love the way you love.  Thank you for the many ways in which you teach me what life is truly all about.

 

We Made It

Well, we made it!  We traveled to Houston and back in just over 24 hours and Shawn's
surgery was deemed, so far, a success!  It was quite the whirlwind of a week but we made
it.

We left early on Thursday morning and made the 4 1/2 hour drive to Houston, just Shawn
and I.  My beloved aunt kept the girls for us and I only cried for about a minute after
we dropped them off, a new record for me.  I overpacked, as usual, not knowing exactly
how long we would be in the hospital and not wanting to have a repeat of last year's
experience in which I was stuck at the hospital for 22 days with only two pairs of pants.
Not cool.  This time, I would have lots and lots of pants and plenty of books to read, too.

We arrived at the hospital in Houston with plenty of time to spare and only minimal
anxiety from the crazy traffic (country comes to town and all).  We were nervous but
excited to meet with the specialist and get a plan rolling.

The doctor came in with zero personality and even less bedside manner: characteristics
we have grown accustomed to from surgeons.  He confirmed that Shawn needed surgery
as soon as possible due to the nature of his injury but said that he would not be able to do
it until July 11 because his schedule was packed.  He told us what we already knew: that
July 11 was actually too late from the date of the injury to perform the surgery.  Tendon
repair must take place within 1-2 weeks of the injury or you risk scar tissue forming,
turning the surgery from a simple repair to a major reconstructive surgery.  The surgeon
was completely nonchalant about all of this, saying, "Sorry, that's just the way the dice
roll sometimes.  I'm a busy guy and this is a big hospital.  You'll just have to wait and hope
for the best".

Shawn, the case manager handling his case, and I all stared at this gigantic asshole of a
doctor with disbelief.  Learn anything about compassion in med school, doc?  The
case manager asked if the doctor would mind giving the case to another doctor, a doctor
who could hopefully perform the surgery sooner rather than later.  "I don't really care.
I'm packed regardless" he replied as he strolled out of the room without even looking at
Shawn again.  The case manager apologized emphatically, reassured us that she would
do everything in her power to get this all situated, and then left the room.

Shawn looked at me with his big brown eyes, "Babe, what....?".

"I know, I know.  Just pray.  Right now.  Pray hard".

And pray we did.  We both bowed our heads and I recited every single prayer I've ever
learned in my 33 years as a Catholic.  Please God, please let this work out.  Let Shawn get
the medical attention he needs.  Let us get through this.

And just as I was finishing yet another Our Father, a new doctor walked in.  He was
smiling, shook Shawn's hand, and got right to the point.  "Don't worry", he told us, "we're
going to squeeze him in tomorrow morning.  He needs this surgery as soon as possible
and we're going to make it happen".  He gave us a quick, concise summary of what the
surgery would entail, what the recovery would be like, and what we could expect down
the road.  He allowed us to ask a few questions before turning everything back over to the
case manager.  Shawn and locked eyes: we liked this guy immediately.  This was the kind
of surgeon we needed on our side.

Things moved pretty quickly after that as we were shuttled from one part of the hospital to
the next getting all of the pre-op requirements done.  By 5:30, we had everything on
the surgical checklist complete and were headed to our hotel to drop our things off
before going to dinner.  Shawn requested Tex-Mex, we were in Texas after all.  We ate
WAY too much, damn that no eating or drinking after midnight rule that makes patients
think they have to gorge as if they'll never eat again.  We paid for it later, dearly, with the
worst heart burn either of us has ever had.  And of course, even with all my overpacking,
I forgot to bring the damn bottle of Tums that has followed me everywhere for the last
month.  Pregnancy fail.  I spent most of the night awake, in the bathroom, swearing to myself
I will never eat salsa again.

We were up before the sun and the first people in the CVS parking lot: Tums and Pepto
and saltine crackers for the win.  We made it to the hospital at 7 am as instructed, all of
our paperwork complete.  And then we waited.  And waited.  And waited some more.  We
made friends in the waiting room, watched Court TV, and dozed on each other's shoulders
as we waited.  They finally got Shawn back into the pre-op holding area at 10:30 and we
fell into the familiar routine: gown open to the back, consents signed, allergies and
prior surgeries.  We were complimented multiple times for our calm and cool
demeanors.  "We've been through a lot worse", we said as we looked at each other
knowingly.  So much worse.

They ushered me into yet another waiting room as they wheeled Shawn away, one more
kiss for good luck.  And again I prayed for my husband's safety and well being.  And I waited.

By 2:30, the surgeon came out to greet me and reassure me that everything went well,
surgery went just as he'd hoped, and Shawn was doing great.  They performed a nerve block
on his arm which is basically like an epidural.  He would be pain free for the next 12 hours
or so.  I was allowed to visit him in the post-op holding area and he was wide awake,
drinking water like a champ.  "Can we go home tonight, please?  I'm just ready to be home
and in our bed and with our girls".  Since this was an outpatient procedure, the doctor gave
us permission to drive home that night and return a week later for a follow up
appointment.  Even though I was tired from my night of digestive hell and my day
of uncomfortable waiting room shuffling back and forth, I eagerly agreed to make the
drive home.  Nothing sounded better than waking up on Saturday morning in our own home.

And so while the nurses completed the post op requirements with Shawn, I ran downstairs
to fill his prescriptions, get the car, and stock up on water and Powerade.  He refused to
be wheeled out in a wheelchair, walking up to the car with steel determination,
or stubbornness, depending on how you look at it.  And off we drove.  The Lithium
channel cranked on Sirius, the passenger seat made comfy with pillows and his
favorite blanket, we cruised the 4 1/2 hours home.  He stayed awake the whole time,
wanting to keep me company despite my protests.  Wanting to take care of me just a little
bit, too.

We got home a little after 10, Belle and my mom waiting for us at the door.  I washed him
up, gave him his meds, and put him straight to bed.  I sat with Belle and my mom in the
kitchen and told them everything that had happened, relieved that it was all over.  We made
it through another surgery, another trip, another part of this long story of recovery.
We laughed and enjoyed our time together regardless of the circumstances and we managed
to fall just a little deeper into love with each other. We made it, babe.  Now get some
rest.  You've got some healing to do before the baby gets here.

 

Leap Of Faith

Shawn and I are leaving for Houston in the morning to meet with the orthopedic specialist 
who will perform the surgery on the injured tendon in his arm.  We are still very unsure of 
the details surrounding this surgery but we will hopefully learn more tomorrow.  I've spent 
the whole afternoon packing and organizing and making sure that everyone has what they 
will need to get us through the next week only to laugh at myself and my overpacking, my 
only way to control a situation I have absolutely no control over.  Can you ever really 
prepare for life's uncertainties?  No, not really.  You can prepare your mind by remaining 
calm and level headed.  You can prepare your heart by vowing to be of service to those 
in need.  You can prepare your emotions by opening yourself up fully to the faith you 
have built your life on.  For we are strong enough.  We have all been given the tools we 
will need to get through this life, we have all been surrounded by the people who were meant 
to be in our lives for specific reasons.  We just have to believe in ourselves and the journey 
we were chosen for, we have to believe in the destiny we were chosen to fulfill.  I have 
no control over what will happen to my husband in the next few days.  But, I don't 
need control.  Not this time.  This time, I know what we are capable of.  This time, I know 
that we are strong enough.

We Stood Tall

We've been in the thick of things around these parts.  I've had a blanket of worry hanging
over me for the last 3 days and it hit me this afternoon that I need to release it, I need to 
write.  I need to let go of the words flooding my mind and maybe, just maybe, they will 
all begin to make sense.

To make an incredibly long story short, we found out this week that, due to a new
injury, Shawn will most likely have to have surgery again in the next few weeks.  The surgery
is relatively minor though it will involve some down time and a 6-8 week recovery period.
He will have to have a damaged tendon repaired in his bicep, a surgery everyone ensures us
is small potatoes compared to what he's already been through.  We are unsure of when
or where this will take place, there is a chance we will have to travel for the surgery due to
the need of a specialist to perform it.  We have spent the week on the phone, in waiting
rooms, having X-rays and MRIs performed: all things we have grown extremely accustomed
to over the last year.  I've advocated for my beloved husband to doctors and nurses
and technicians, begging them to pay attention and hurry the fuck up.  Time is precious
here, he is precious.  This can't wait for insignificant factors such as referrals and
insurance technicalities: this needs to happen now.

Shawn is, despite this turn of events, doing magnificently well.  He is healthy and happy
and remaining fearless despite this setback.  He is carrying our family on his
shoulders, bringing us through this storm with his optimism.  "We've been through so
much worse, we can't give up now".  I can't say that I've been so gracious.  I am thinking
about all of the details: how long will I have to take off work, who will keep the girls if we
have to travel, what about all of the preparations we still have to make for the baby, will he
still be recovering when the baby gets here?  These thoughts, these worries, my own
selfish needs have been getting in the way of my heart just filling up with faith.  Because
you can't just have faith and be strong and positive during the good times: you have to be all
of these things during the bad as well.  Especially during the bad.

But I am 30 weeks pregnant and my body and mind are moving inward, I am beginning
the instinctual process of nesting, my subconscious mind forcing me to slow down and
really begin focusing on the work of laboring and birthing this baby.  This upcoming
surgery and its aftermath: it is not something I had planned to occur in my last trimester
of pregnancy.  And I would be a complete liar if I didn't admit that my head has actually
gone there: I've actually allowed myself to be selfish enough to think that way.  To
think, "Who's going to take care of me?  How can I care for someone else when I'm in such
a vulnerable place myself?  Am I strong enough to do this again?".  But then, last night,
Brees woke up crying and needed to be comforted back to sleep.  Shawn hopped out of bed
and went up the stairs to her rescue, leaving me to rest in the bed we have shared for 13
years.  When he came back to my side after putting our youngest daughter back to sleep,
he laid his head against my belly, his arm wrapped around me, and every selfish thought
left me in a wave of relief.  In sickness and in health, we will be there for each other.  We
will help each other in every way that we can and we will pull through this time in which we
are both so fragile.  This is what marriage is all about, this is what makes our love so strong.

We don't have all of the answers right now, we are unsure of what the next few weeks will
hold.  But, we are sure of one true thing: we will make it through, together.  We have
good doctors, an amazing family, and faith in a God who has never steered us wrong.
Shawn's surgery will hopefully happen soon, involve no complications, and he will be
fully healed in time to cradle his newborn baby son.  His first son.  I will remain healthy
and strong enough to take care of things while my husband is down.  I will not be afraid, I
will not obsess over things beyond my control, I will not worry about a situation that I
know we will persevere through.  Shawn is so strong, he has proven that a million
times already.  And though it is in my nature to be in control and prepared at all times, I
will not worry about the little things.  I will ask for help when needed and I will let the
small stuff go.  We are as prepared as we have ever been to welcome our baby into the
world, surgery or not.  I really don't think he'll mind if I don't get around to hanging up the
rest of the art work in his nursery or  if I don't finish my pregnancy scrapbook to
perfection.  The only thing that matters is that we get through this time with gracious
spirits and hearts filled with love.  That is how we will survive this.

I cried on my way home from work today, big fat tears of frustration and exhaustion.
This song by Mumford and Sons came on the radio and I knew that they were singing to
me.  These words embody so much of what we are experiencing, they encouraged me in
so many ways:

And after the storm,
I run and run as the rains come
And I look up, I look up,
on my knees and out of luck,
I look up.

Night has always pushed up day
You must know life to see decay
But I won't rot, I won't rot
Not this mind and not this heart,
I won't rot.

And I took you by the hand
And we stood tall,
And remembered our own land,
What we lived for.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

And now I cling to what I knew
I saw exactly what was true
But oh no more.
That's why I hold,
That's why I hold with all I have.
That's why I hold.

And I won't die alone and be left there.
Well I guess I'll just go home,
Oh God knows where.
Because death is just so full and man so small.
Well I'm scared of what's behind and what's before.

And there will come a time, you'll see, with no more tears.
And love will not break your heart, but dismiss your fears.
Get over your hill and see what you find there,
With grace in your heart and flowers in your hair.

The Year That Changed It All

This week marked the one year anniversary of Shawn's accident: an event that was 
completely life changing in every way.

After his accident, Shawn had to relearn how to live his life: he had to teach himself to
perform simple, everyday tasks, how to move forward with the use of only one hand.
He sustained very severe nerve damage, the extent of which we are still uncertain.
Nerve regeneration is an extremely slow and arduous process and every one of
Shawn's doctors advised us to be patient: his recovery would take years and he would
more than likely never regain complete use of his left hand.

Because the slow process of his recovery could feel frustrating, because he sometimes felt
like he wasn't getting anywhere despite all of his hard work, we started capturing little
videos of his progress.  We grabbed our Iphones, our camera, our computer, whatever
was handy and we filmed each and every little milestone.  We cheered when he learned to
tie his shoes again, folded his own shirt, lugged full trash cans with one arm and picked up
our little girls.  We documented each and every hurdle that this amazing man jumped
through, each week bringing bigger and better things.

And now, one year later, he stands before us stronger, more determined, completely
inspiring and full of life.  He was given a second chance at life and he took it and ran with it.
He beat the odds, not by chance or good fortune but through hard work and perseverance.  
It wasn't easy and we were not without struggle.  We experienced every emotion,
felt powerless, hopeless, and full of despair.  We questioned our future and if we could
weather this particularly gruesome storm.  When a person loses who they are, when
every single part of their soul is stripped and they feel as though they would have been
better off dead, it is heart wrenching.  I had to accept that there was nothing I could do but
just be there: I couldn't fix him, I couldn't give him all the answers.  All I could offer was
my shoulder to lean on, my time and my heart.  Just my support and love had to be
enough.  And now, looking back, I see that he felt the same way.  He couldn't be the man to
me that he once was, he had to redefine himself and the ways in which he fulfilled the
various roles in his life.  But he was there for me, he was present, he showed me that he
wasn't going to give up.  And all that hard work and love and effort was enough.  It was all
I ever needed.

He once told me, "Everyone has always looked at me as a positive person, full of faith and
not afraid of anything.  Now, they get to see me live that.  They get to see that attitude
in action".  His outlook on life is one of the millions of reasons why I love him.  I still
think about that day in the desert, I'm not sure that I will ever forget it.  I thank God
every single day for sparing my soul one's life, for allowing me this time with him, for giving
us this second chance.  We are so blessed to know this kind of love and we do not take that
for granted.  Not ever.  Life is precious and, when lived with the knowledge that it can in fact
be taken from you at any given moment, it is beautiful.  Here's to second chances, to
starting over, and to making the most of each and every experience.

Where We Are Now

The last few months have brought many defining moments.  We have been tested
and stretched and brought to our knees, all while clinging desperately to the hope that
things would get better.  They have to get better.  We've never stopped to question
why, never wondered why this whole horrible accident and the aftermath that
followed happened to us.  Because, truly, if not us then who?  Shawn's accident is
something that happened, a day that was meant to be in some crazy cosmic way, and we
are living with the shock waves that still resonate deep inside us.  And scattered
throughout this long and winding road that has been the last six months, there have
been moments.  Moments that hang in the air and take your breathe away.  Moments
that make you cry and scream and change who you are and what you thought was
real.  These moments, they are a part of our forever story.

Shawn had a very important doctor's appointment last month: he had a nerve
conduction study done on his arm to determine the severity of  the nerve damage
he sustained during the accident.  It was an appointment we had been anxiously awaiting
for months, knowing that the outcome of this test would determine his prognosis.
Shawn was optimistic and strong, confident that we would be enveloped in good news
and a renewed sense of hope.

I knew better.  The nurse in me had long overtaken my role as a wife and I knew from
my experience with my patients that the outcome of this test would be bleak.  I never
told Shawn that but inside, I knew.  The doctor was quiet with a gentle spirit, his
hands operating the nerve conduction machine in swift, fluid motions.  What seemed
like hours actually took place over the course of 5 minutes, the monitor beeping
methodically as I resisted the temptation to bite off every one of my fingernails.  Shawn
lay on the table patiently, slow deep breathes making his chest rise and fall.  I had to take
my eyes off the monitor as I watched the screen display what I already knew.  I
watched Shawn's chest move up and down instead.

When the test was over, the doctor quietly turned the lights on in the exam room and
gave us the bad news: the nerve damage in Shawn's arm is irreparable, it is severe
and extensive.  While he has made significant improvements in his ability to move
his fingers, bend and lift his arm, and regain muscle strength, his arm and hand will
never, ever be the same.  He will never again have the same function in his left arm as
he once did.  Surgery is, as of now, not an option as the damage is too severe to hope
for much improvement.  The doctor encouraged Shawn to continue with his
physical therapy, continue exercising and stretching and working towards getting the
most function he possibly can with the limits that lie before him.

Neither one us said very much, there weren't many questions left to ask.  We have
asked them all to the dozens of doctors we have already seen.  We shook hands and
the doctor turned to leave, stopping briefly at the door and turning around to look
my husband in the eyes.  He said, "You know, Shawn, I really think that God has a plan
for you, that what you were doing before was not it.  There is a lot in store for you, there
IS a plan." And he turned and left the room.

Shawn and I stood up and I began helping him put his shirt back on, buttoning each
button without looking up at him, not able to stare into those big brown eyes.  He pulled
me to him and we held each other, our faces buried in each other's necks as the tears
finally came, big silent heaving tears that traveled through us like waves.  Months of
tears, long nights of fear, all flowing together in one big, defining moment.  This was it,
this was our reality, and as we stood in that doctor's office, just the two of us, we knew
that it was time to move on.  It was time to face the truth that this story might not have
a miracle happy ending.  We had to move forward and accept that things will never be
the same.

I love you.
I love you, too.

And we walked out of the room, hand in hand, ready to begin the next chapter.

That day was a turning point for us, the hardest blow yet.  The words that doctor spoke to
us were a reminder that our lives have been forever changed.  One moment, one second,
one fun filled ride in the desert changed it all.  We have struggled with this new reality
since the day it all began: fighting to keep our family together, our daughters protected,
our happiness intact, our sanity in check.  But he's here and he's alive, he is healing
and getting stronger each and every day.  We have settled into a new groove, the girls
so happy to have their daddy home, my heart filled to the brim with the love I have for
this man.  What started as 21 days in a hospital hundreds of miles from home has
now become a second chance, an opportunity to begin a new and exciting chapter in
our journey together as a family.

There is a part of me that will never be the same, a part of me that died on the day of
that accident right along with the nerves in Shawn's arm.  The girl who once lived with
no fear, arms wide open and ready for anything is now more guarded, fearful of anything
else happening that may cause harm to the people I love so deeply.  I've seen things I
am still struggling to process, images that run through my head and keep me up at night.
I am more afraid of being vulnerable, not as willing to share my emotions as I once was.
I'm more fragile than I have ever been, protecting myself and my heart like a warrior
who has just returned from battle.  Shawn and I are both living with PTSD, learning
to process the trauma we experienced as best we can. I've accepted that there is no
rule book for this kind of grief, no instruction manual on how to live through this
properly.  You just live each day as best you can, holding onto your hope and faith and
letting your inner strength be your guide. 

I often go back to this photo, this moment captured that perfectly depicts this year in
our lives: Shawn with all his strength and determination, Liv by his side, our servant
hearts shining through.  This was the year we learned how strong we actually were, the
year we stopped talking and planning and actually started doing.  This photo: it is real
and raw and beautiful.  It is love.

I know that the hurt I feel will transform into a part of my soul that will serve me for the
rest of my life, I will continue to heal emotionally just as Shawn has healed physically.
I've always been the caregiver: perfectly content to put my own feelings and needs aside
to help someone else.  I feel most alive when I am nurturing another soul, using my
heart and good intentions to make another person's life better.  That is what has carried
me through this: the ability to turn my own emotions off for the greater good of my
family.  The days when I wasn't sure how I would get out of bed, how I would take care
of everyone and everything, those were the days I just had to DO IT.  Don't think,
don't worry, don't cry, just DO IT.  And now, as the dust is clearing and the storm
is beginning to settle, I am finally allowing myself the space and time to process and feel
and pick through the emotions I have stuffed so deep inside myself.

Shawn and I often say that the last 6 months were all about survival and recovery.
We made the best out of our situation and worked hard to get through the most
difficult days.  Now, as a new year looms ahead of us, we know that the months to come
will be about rebuilding.  It is time to take our new reality, our scars and wounds and
the changes they have brought us, and build a new us.  The future we once envisioned
has changed, the plans we made are beginning to take on a new form.  And that doctor
was right: God has a plan for us, a plan more amazing than we could ever imagine.  The
fears and anxieties will subside and I will soon, someday, be the fearless girl I once was.
I will continue to sit with my emotions and face them head on, all while holding the hands
of the man I was always meant to walk alongside.  Though part of us died that day in
the desert, we are now more alive than ever.

Twelve Years

Twelve years ago,I married my best friend.  Of all the journeys our love has taken us on, I
feel that this was the year we learned what marriage is truly all about.  In sickness and
in health, for better or for worse, we have found ourselves clinging to one another for dear
life, willing ourselves and our love to be stronger than the tragedy that threatened to tear
us down.  I will never forget that day in the desert and the feeling I had when I thought that
I may never see my husband again.  As I knelt in the dirt and the rocks and the sand, my
legs and arms and hands covered in his blood, literally holding his life in my hands, I felt like
a piece of my heart was slowly dying right alongside his.  The man I have loved since I was
19 years old, who has taught me to love myself as much as he has loved me, was moments
away from dying and all I could do was pray and scream and will him to stay awake.  I
knew that if he died, if he left me on this earth without his companionship, I knew that part
of me would die as well.

But he didn't die.  He lived, he made it through the most horrific accident I have ever
seen. And we are so blessed to be able to celebrate yet another year of marriage together.  

Twelve years of marriage and everything has changed: everything we thought would
happen, everything we planned for came crashing down the day of the accident.  We
were stripped bare as a family, the emotional toll of this experience heavier than we
could have ever expected.  I pushed myself to the absolute limit: working to pay the
bills, caring for Shawn and his multitude of injuries, running our home, raising our girls.
And Shawn pushed himself as well, struggling to get well despite an uncertain future and
a terrible prognosis.  He has always been so strong and invincible and this accident tore
him apart both mentally and physically.  There were days when he felt like I was doing
too much and he wasn't doing enough, he felt inadequate and insecure.  And I told him,
"Your only job right now is to focus on getting better.  Until you're ready to pick up part of
the load, I've got this".

Twelve years of marriage and we have learned so much more about each other: our
strengths, our weaknesses, our deepest and darkest fears all came rushing forward.  We
yelled and screamed and cried and hurt each other, the stress and overwhelming
exhaustion sometimes getting the best of us.  But then we threw all that aside and picked
each other back up, wrapping our arms around the hope and promise that we would make
it through, one way or another.  We found strength and comfort in the constant that is
our love, believing that nothing could tear us apart, not even this.

Twelve years of marriage and I am so thankful for our friendship.  The fact that we not
only LOVE each other but we actually LIKE each other has carried us through some very
dark times.  I will never forget those late nights in the hospital: sneaking down to the
cafeteria for ice cream, cuddling up in Shawn's hospital bed, watching reality TV and
laughing so loudly that the nurses would pop their heads into our room to see what all the
fuss was about.  We experienced a new level of intimacy as I learned to shave my
husband's beard, washed the blood and pain off his body, held his broken hand as he
walked down the hall for the first time.  I experienced the deepest sense of pride as I
witnessed him fight for his life, willing himself to get through this ordeal so that he could
return home to the three women who love him.

Twelve years of marriage and we know now more than ever how precious life is,
how necessary it is to appreciate each day and live it to the fullest.  Last year, I reflected
on how much we appreciate our alone time as well as being together.  These last few
months, however, we are inseparable.  We follow each other around the house, talking
and touching and staying connected.  Not because we have to, but because we want to.
We need each other right now, we need the security of our companionship.  Never has
holding my husband's hand felt so significant: I held his hand at the accident, held it in
the hospital, I held his hand as we drove home to Louisiana, held it in dozens of
doctor's offices.  And I will continue to hold his hand as we fight through this time, fight for
our marriage and our family and the life we were given a second chance to live.  Twelve
years of marriage and I am sure of one true thing: we were always and forever meant to
be, hands bound, Shawn and Liv together.  And our story is only beginning.

Shawn Is Free

Today, Shawn got his neck brace off and the very exciting news that the fracture in his neck 
is almost completely healed.  I finally get to wrap my arms around my husband's neck, lay 
my head on his chest, and watch him smile with the sweet relief of knowing that yet 
another injury is behind us.  This weekend, we will celebrate our 12 year wedding 
anniversary.  Have I mentioned how head over heels in love I am with this handsome 
guy?  Here's to a weekend of celebration: for all that we have, for all that we are, and 
for sticking together through it all.

Strumming

One day this week, as I was buzzing around the house, methodically performing my daily
tasks, my ears perked up at the sound of something that has been missing from our home
for months: the sound of my husband's guitar.  I dropped my basket, ran into the den,
and gasped when I saw Shawn, strumming his beloved guitar.  Isabelle had wandered into
the room as well and immediately sat down in front of the drums, keeping time to her
Daddy's steady beat.

Strum, strum, strum with one hand.  And with each strum you feel more alive, more
like yourself.  With each strum, you believe that you will rise again.  As the sounds of
the Squier  noisily fill the room, you forget the quiet, dark hours that have stolen your
days.  You forget, if but for a moment, where you are and what has happened.  You just
do what you know how to do: you strum.  With one hand, you make do.  You create
something beautiful with what you have been given.  Because that is who you are.  You
are bound and determined to write a new song, to play a new tune, to strum your guitar
like you were born to do, one way or another.

And we were there to witness this moment.  Isabelle, with her natural gift of rhythm,
thumped on those drums to keep up with your sound.  "Keep going, Daddy.  You've got
this", she cheered you on.  Clapping, singing, arms held high: you've got this.
Keep strumming, you rambling man.  Your song is not yet finished.

 

Wiping the Dust Away

This weekend, we were able to spend time with some of our very best friends.  My
dear, beautiful Ashley brought us a baked spaghetti casserole, saving me from making
dinner on Saturday.  The kids went swimming for probably the last weekend of the
summer and kept each other happily entertained for hours.  And when Shawn announced
that he felt stronger and more energetic than he has in months, my girlfriends
recruited husbands and fathers and brothers to come over and help him drag an old
cabinet out of the barn for him to refurbish.  Watching that husband of mine work out in
the yard, sweating and lifting and hammering away side by side with this selfless group of
men was enough to make me cry tears of joy.

I feel like we woke up a little bit this weekend, we wiped a layer of dust off our windshield
and moved forward just an inch.  We gave our home so much needed attention, spent time
with amazing friends, and crossed a few things off our list.  On Sunday night, after a long
day out in the sun, Shawn went to bed early with Brees right next to him.  Ashley took
Isabelle for a play date with her girls and I suddenly found myself with a few hours all
to myself.  I took a long shower, made myself a cup of tea, and curled up on the sofa with
a book.  It was quiet and relaxing and I felt so at peace.  After a long week of work,
hurricanes, and sickness, having a few moments to myself was the most amazing gift
Ashley could have given me.

I've been thinking lately about the grief we have experienced since Shawn's accident,
the complete and total loss that has hung over us and become a new reality.  He is alive and
we are thankful but there is still a deep sadness that accompanies such trauma.  With so
many uncertainties on the horizon and the role changes that have occurred because of
his inability to function as he once did, we have been in a state of mourning.  We have
experienced denial, anger, and depression: all of these emotions swirling and changing
and sometimes occurring at the same time.  But I felt a shift this weekend, a pull on my
heart that is telling me not to sit in this grief for too long.  It is important to experience it,
to know it and feel it and make it a part of who I am.  But then you have to stand up and
move forward, shake the grief off and allow the blessings to take center stage.
Allowing ourselves the space and freedom to own our emotions and experience them fully
is essential to healing.  And so we go through this incredibly emotional process, this
soul rocking phase.  One day at a time, little baby steps forward and, occasionally, a couple
of steps back.  This weekend, I am so grateful for good friends, hard work, and a DIY
project to keep us busy.

Power tools + gardening = Liv in heaven...

 

The Power of the Positive and Hurricanes

Just in time for Hurricane Isaac, Shawn returned home from the hospital yesterday.  We
are all together again, home, a family complete.  I have barely been able to hug him as the 
girls have permanently attached themselves to his legs, his arms, and any other body part 
they can squeeze, hug, and kiss.  He walks from room to room, breathing in the familiar 
smells, his hand grazing over the furniture, soaking in the soothing energy of home.  
Though he is physically and mentally exhausted from all that he has been through, his 
spirit screams loudly from somewhere deep inside his soul.  "I am here!  I am alive!".  I see 
it in his eyes, hear it in the way he says my name.  He is here, we are moving forward.

This hurricane comes to Louisiana at a time when I can fully identify with its strength
and destruction.  The last two months have felt like a devastating storm, a catastrophic
event that has rocked our world and shaken us to our core.  But we are here, we are
still standing.  Our family reminds me of the hundred year old oak trees in the back yard:
their strong, solid branches swaying in the breeze, their leaves blowing wildly through the
air as the wind whips through.  They are taking a beating as the storm blows past, bending
as the weather attempts to tear them from the ground.  But their roots are strong, their hold
on the earth invincible.  They absorb the impact and stand firm: no storm is gonna bring
them down.  

And so our family will stand firm through this storm as well, both figuratively and literally.
We will stand watch through this difficult time and wait for the hurricane to blow through.
We are as prepared as we could possibly be but know that, in the end, there are some things
in life you just can't control.  Hurricane Isaac will not break us and neither will
Shawn's accident.  Even though the flame of our candle seems to be burning low, we will
stand firm.  Flashlights and lanterns, bottled water, books, and board games: we are
ready.  God bless Louisiana and the strength of this land.  We are together again and ready
for phase two.

The Power of the Positive and Brees

I have buried myself in the love and support of family and friends this weekend.  I have
read and re-read all of your comments, emails, and text messages.  My responses have
been scarce as I have just not had the energy to tell the story over and over again, to talk
 about the harsh reality that Shawn has had this set back.  He is still in the hospital but
doing very well, in great spirits and working hard to get back to a healthy place.  I
cherish every single moment with him, every conversation, every love letter we pass
back and forth.  It is impossible to think of all we've been through these last few
months.  Every time I try to wrap my mind around all that has happened, I feel my chest
begin to ache.  But we are here, we are alive, and we have each other.  That is more than
I could ever ask for.

This weekend, I took my Brees outside to sit in the sun and enjoy a popscicle: a simple
summer activity that has become way too scarce these days.  With everything that has
been going on, I feel myself holding onto these moments for dear life, soaking them in
and memorizing every detail.  She walked back and forth across the patio, sharing her
treat with the dogs, making puddles and then playing in them.  Every few minutes or so,
she walked back to me to kiss me and hug my legs, to climb into my lap with her sticky
hands.  And then she would climb down to walk around and play some more.

Gravitating around me, she played like that for a long while.  She was so happy to just play
and be with her mama, to give an endless amount of love.  I am so thankful for this little
girl and the way her heart knows no bounds.  I am so thankful to be her mama.
When loneliness attempts to overpower my heart and the sadness I feel over what Shawn
is going through makes me feel helpless, Brees always seems to sense my pain.  She hugs
me just a little bit longer and smiles right deep into my soul.  Her positive spirit strengthens
me and keeps me going each and every day.  

 

The Power of the Positive

This week is ending on an unexpected note: Shawn is back in the hospital, getting
further treatment as we work hard to help him recover from his devastating accident.  I
am a hundred different emotions right now, my mind and heart working together to form
a solid ground, struggling to remain strong and sure.  This accident has changed our lives
and tested our strength but we remain ever confident that we CAN and WILL make it
through to the other side.  I am with our girls, holding down the fort, the three of us
holding onto each other as we cheer Shawn on to good health.  He is stable, in good spirits,
and working hard at, once again, returning home.

This blog is and always has been my special little treasure box, the place I come to reflect
on all of the good and amazing things in my life.  While I am away focusing on Shawn and
our girls, I plan to continue writing and reflecting, to remind myself of all that we have to
live for.  Join me as I get through these days counting my blessings, using the power of 
positive thinking and love to strengthen our family.  Join me in reflecting on the good.  For 
I can assure you, dear friends, that these times are so much more manageable when you 
take the time to remind yourself each and every day why this life is so beautiful.

 

Surviving

source

My parents were high school sweethearts, the kind of story you hear about often in 

small towns such as the one we live in.  They got married soon after graduation, saved 

their money and bought a little white house in the center of town.  Daddy went to work

 for a bread company and Mama stayed home and had a little baby Liv.  She cooked

 three meals a day, hung her laundry up on the line, and took care of her family with 

great pride.  Every afternoon, she and I would sit on the front porch and watch for his 

truck to pull up in the drive after a long day at work, a mama living out her dreams of 

being home with her little one.  A few years later, their love grew even more as my

 little brother made his arrival.  A family of four: the life she had always dreamed of.

But, their love story soon took a turn when my dad left us one day, breaking her heart 

and changing our lives forever.  My mama was only 22 years old, two babies, no 

college education, not enough money saved to support two children on her own.  The 

family she had taken such pride in was suddenly broken and she was left to pick up 

the pieces, alone.

My mother is not a real drown-in-your-sorrows kind of gal: she is tough and hard and 

knows how to get things done.  With the help of her family, she went to night school 

and worked two jobs to support us.  We made sacrifices and learned to live without 

certain luxuries.  She made ends meet even when the pieces grew shorter and 

shorter, teaching us to do the same.

And we survived.  I remember riding the school bus in elementary school one afternoon 

and being bullied by an older girl.  She called me "poor", taunting me in front of the

 other kids.  I went home that day, confused, asking my mother, "Is that true?  Are 

we poor?". Growing up, I had no idea that we were struggling in any way.  When I 

looked around at my life and my family, the big open fields my cousins and I rode our 

bikes through, the fishing holes and creatively constructed forts we built in the woods: I

 felt so rich.  My life was filled with love and curiosity and the great outdoors.  What had 

that girl meant, that I was poor?

And I let that mentality grow into my foundation.  My mother instilled values in me 

from day one, teaching me the importance of being self sufficient, hard working, 

and independent.  She would never let her little girl grow into the kind of woman 

who depended on a man for support.  Instead, I would have a quality education and the 

drive to be whomever I wanted to be.  I would have options and a back-up plan.  I 

would never be left alone, scared or afraid.  I would be able to survive.  The hurt she

 had suffered at the hands of the man she loved became the model in which she raised 

me: she would never let me be in the same situation she had found herself in.  I would 

have the capability to make me own money.

My mama eventually met and married my step-father, the man who would step in when 

my biological father could not.  My Pop took my brother and I in as though we were his 

own, loving us from the most sincere part of his heart and always putting our best 

interests before his own.  He was a smart man with a good job, a house he had built on 

his own and a few small luxuries.  Together, my parents pushed me through school to be 

the best that I could be, encouraging me to join the military, cheering me on through 

college.  My Pop shared the same views as my mama and wanted me to be independent.

  He wanted me to be strong.

Since Shawn's accident, I have been reflecting so much on my upbringing and how it 

has saved me through my most trying moments.  My father leaving us was not the 

greatest tragedy of my life, though it was devastating at the time.  That turn of 

events created a series of moments that led me to where I am today, prepared me for 

the day when I would have to pull up my own boot straps and make things happen.  

Because my mother had to fend for herself and her children, I am able to fend for mine.

I volunteered to work for a couple of hours on Saturday morning, extra income to put a

 little padding in our savings account.  As I drove home to my family that day, I felt 

an amazing sense of pride.  This is what my mother worked so hard to provide, this is 

the reason she pushed me to make good grades and get after school jobs, this is the

 example she set for me.  While my husband is down and unable to work, I have the ability

 to step up to the plate and provide for my family, I have the ability to survive.  Those 

long hours she put in studying and working and stretching herself thin: they were

 all preparing me for times in my life such as these.

I am a wife and a mother and I value those roles more than anything in the world.  But, 

when push comes to shove, I am also a survivor.  I can cook a good meal, maintain a

 clean home, and earn a decent living, all while invoking a strong sense of self.  I am a 

modern American woman, the product of a mother who refused to lie down and play the 

role of the victim.  I watched my mother make the most of life after her husband left

 her, witnessed her start completely over on her own.  It strengthened and inspired

 me, prepared me for life's toughest moments.  Shawn and I, our little family, we will 

be okay.  We will work hard and save money and get through this time.  I will go to work 

for as many hours as it takes to get the bills paid and the babies fed and we will be okay.  

My mama raised me right.  My mama raised a survivor.

Good Company

This weekend, we were blessed with the company of Shawn's cousin, Troy, who flew in

 from Arizona to spend a few days with us.  To say I feel eternally grateful to Troy would

 be an understatement.  He was a blessing in disguise to us the day of the accident:

 inviting me to switch vehicles and ride with him for the second leg of our trip, thereby 

saving me from being in the accident.  He was the first to hear about the accident on

 his headset, remaining focused and calm as he drove me to Shawn.  He stayed with me 

at the scene, listening to me as I barked out orders and keeping us all on task.  Troy and 

his mother, Aunt Lisa, drove me to the hospital as Shawn flew ahead of us on the

 helicopter.  They stayed with me during one of the longest nights of my life, keeping me 

sane and providing me with the strength I needed to go on.  He helped me give Shawn 

his first bath, stood by my side as doctors came and went, took phone calls when I 

didn't have the strength to tell the story one more time.  Troy came to the 

hospital throughout the 3 weeks we were there, bringing us food and good cheer.  He

 was there for us during one of the most difficult times we have ever endured and 

continues to do so today.  He will forever hold a special place in our hearts.

The weekend was spent much like every other weekend has gone these last few weeks: 

our family together, the kitchen busy and full, time outdoors, chaos and noise, work and 

rest.  We spent time out in the yard as soon as the girls woke up, attempting to beat 

the intense summer heat that has long outworn its welcome.  Shawn and Troy took 

over dinner duty on Friday night and gave me a break from the kitchen and I honestly

 didn't know what to do with myself.  As much as I love to cook, having a break from time 

to time is priceless.  I sat at the kitchen table while they prepared a delicious Mexican 

feast, propping my feet up with a cup of tea.  We watched movies, drank cold beer, 

and enjoyed each other's company.  It was a great weekend.

Our friends and family often ask me what they can do to help us through this time.  

My answer has been consistent from day one: just be there with us.  Give Shawn a call 

and an encouraging word, let him know you are thinking of him.  Drop by for a visit, tell us 

all about your day.  The best way to help is just to be present.  We have been so blessed 

that the people around us have happily obliged.