You Raised Me Up

You Raised Me Up 

At 3:27 p.m., I got a text from a dear friend, "Hey Audri.  We missed you last night, but I sure hope you are feeling much better!"  He was checking in on me, knowing I had been sick with Covid for a few days.  At 4:17 p.m., I texted him, "I am physically, but please pray for me.  I feel emotionally depleted and can't stop crying."  

At 5:45 p.m., when he hadn't responded, I was gripped with guilt.  I suddenly wished I could stuff those words back into my heart.  My transparent vulnerability had laid my burden squarely on the shoulders of someone I cared about.  I immediately texted him, "I'm sorry.  I shouldn't have put that on you.  I'm okay."  I lied.  All I could think was that he, too, couldn't let me be weak and was also willing to just let me go unseen.  Maybe like everyone else, he was assuming my strength.  I'm supposed to be the one others lean on, not the other way around.  He's also a leader in our church.  I'd said too much.  Now I would never be trusted to lead or minister to others.  I sank. 

At 6:39 p.m., he finally replied.  "No, Audri don't feel sorry at all!  I appreciate you sharing that with me so I can pray for you.  Is there anything else I can do for you to help with these feelings?"

Immediately, I replied, "I don't know, aside from prayer.  I appreciate your heart though."  I was already convinced that he was really too busy and was responding out of obligation, not because he actually cared.  My mind had already convinced me that no one really did.  Now I was just trying to push him away.  (I couldn't live in grace in those moments - couldn't recognize that his delayed response was nothing more than him living life, and serving others.  He was busy loving other people.  My broken heart couldn't see clearly.)

At 7:26 p.m., I left my house with no destination in mind.  I just needed to get away.  The walls felt like they were closing in on me.  Despite four other people being in the house, I felt completely unseen, and I had been withdrawing over the previous three weeks.  My noise-canceling earbuds lived in my ears.  They filled my mind with music that reinforced a growing sense of hopelessness.  At the time, I couldn't fully articulate why I was collapsing.  I kept losing myself and creating growing distance between me and my husband, me and my kids, me and everyone who loves me.  Every hurt, every sense of abandonment, every foothold of darkness and self-doubt seemed to land on me simultaneously.  My mind began to convince me that nothing would change.  I would continue to be invisible to those who were supposed to see me and care enough to do something about it.  My spiral wasn't their fault.  I wanted to disappear.  My mind began conjuring all the ways I could make that happen.  How could I die with the least impact on others?  Storm clouds formed in my mind, and within two blocks of my house, I could hardly drive through growing sobs of despair.  In hindsight, I came to realize that I was under spiritual attack.

At 7:27 p.m., as I pulled up to a stop sign, my friend finally replied.  "Of course, Audri.  I would love to get a coffee with you sometime and just catch up on how you've been post-Germany."  Over the summer, we had served together on a missions trip to Germany that had radically changed me.

At 7:46 p.m., I replied, "Germany was amazing.  God has worked on my heart so much since then.  I've never prayed so fervently in my life as then and now.  So much has changed inside me.  In a way, I feel like I woke up.  I feel like God is doing something in me.  And I'm fighting a spiritual battle.  I'm praying, singing, writing, and leaning into God more than I ever have, but...I can't eat.  I'm not sleeping.  I've lost weight.  I got Covid.  My marriage is under attack.  And I can't tell you how desperate I feel right now."  

No reply.

At 7:48 p.m., my husband called.  "Where do you go.  You sound melancholy."  I lied.  "I just needed to get out and take a walk, and I'm going to the store.  Text me what you need."  It was everything I could do to hold in tears to get him off the phone.

At 7:55 p.m., I was convinced that I didn't really matter.  I texted my friend a final, "I'm so sorry."  By then, I was sitting in a random parking lot with a death grip on my steering wheel.  I really wanted to go where no one would ever find me, and all I could do was sob.  I was done and was trying to formulate a plan to take my life.  Even then, it was tearing my heart apart.  I work with those whose loved ones have died by suicide.  The thought of the trail of destruction I would leave behind only made me cry harder, only made me more despairing.  Within less than a minute, my phone rang.  

"Audri, what's going on?"  

"Zach, I can't breathe!"

This is where it started.  We spoke for 15 minutes, during all of which I sobbed.  I poured my heart out, but I honestly can only remember feeling like my heart and mind were imploding.  He listened and encouraged.  Then I said it.  I wanted to die.  I don't think he hesitated.  He knew I wasn't safe.  

"Audri, where are you?  Drop me a pin.  I'm on my way."  

I dropped him the pin and waited, sobbing uncontrollably and holding on.  

At 8:36 p.m., Zach pulled into the parking spot next to me.  He brought reinforcements - God and two other friends from church, Wes and Caitlin.

I melted out of my van and into the arms of my friends.  All I could think to say was, "You came for me."  Even now, I'm overwhelmed nearly to the point of tears, recalling the sense of relief and love I felt.

"Of course, we came."

They poured into me.  They all hugged me and held on until I could let go.  At one point, I doubled over with tears, shame, guilt, and the weight of everything falling on me.  As pain poured out of my heart, my words struck a chord of fear.  Serving with these people in our church was where God had placed me, and all I could think was, "Now they will know I'm not fit to serve."  The darkness in me had me convinced that I'd said too much.  With penetrating eyes that spoke to me of their own conviction, they told me that all these things were a lie.  They saw me.  They heard me.  They held me.  As I fought my own mind, they fought with me.  They.  Fought.  For.  Me.

For an hour, God surrounded us in that parking lot.  We talked.  We listened.  We prayed.  Believe it or not, we ultimately laughed.  In the end, I told them, "I need to pray."  They had already prayed over me.  Now, it was my turn.  I don't recall my prayer, but I recall the peace that poured out of me by then.  The tears had flowed away.  I could stand.  I could breathe.  I could hope.  I could pray.  And God met me there in that parking lot, with three people who love me deeply.

Now I sit here listening to "You Raise Me Up" by Josh Groban.

When I am down and, oh my soul, so weary
When troubles come and my heart burdened be
Then, I am still and wait here in the silence
Until You come and sit awhile with me.

You raise me up, so I can stand on mountains
You raise me up, to walk on stormy seas
I am strong, when I am on your shoulders
You raise me up to more than I can be

Zach, Wes, and Caitlin raised me up.  When I couldn't breathe.  When I couldn't pray.  When I couldn't see God.  They saw Him for me.  They held me up until I could feel His presence again.  I will never be the same again because of what God brought me through.  They continue to pray for me.  And we continue to serve God together.

Wes reminded me five days later that God can use me more because I emptied myself out that night - and that God then filled me up.  

I can't adequately express the importance of being in community, surrounding yourself with people who love God, and allowing yourself to be vulnerable and seen.  I sang "You Raise Me Up" in a karaoke bar 14 years ago because it was a beautiful song.  Now I will sing it because of these three friends whose love lifted me to God when I needed it most.  I love them more than I could ever show.

Fast forward...

At the time of this spiritual attack, I was working my way through a Certified Biblical Counseling course.  It felt that the closer I came to being finished, the harder life became.  The day I submitted my final paper to become certified, the storm cloud lifted.  It was literally as if a switch flipped in my brain.  Joy returned to my heart.  I could breathe.  I began to look back and almost felt silly that I was so overwhelmed.  There was simply no reason for me to have been experiencing that level of desperation.  It was unprecedented in my life.  God is so good.  He has restored me.  Personally understanding the nature of spiritual attacks has been something I have leaned on that has strengthened how God has used me in counseling ministry since this time.  I continue to be in awe of what he's done and is doing in my life.  What a mighty and faithful God we serve.  

Seeing and Being Seen

People feel invisible. 

Sometimes I am that person. 

I want to be seen and to see.  Both require something of me - to open my aperture.  It starts with my own choices.

Our perspective can be painfully microscopic, and we lose (or fail to develop) a sensitivity to those around us.  We get busy moving through the world, focused on ourselves, and often miss truly seeing people.  The truth is we frequently don't even see ourselves in the sea of expectations. While we can’t know everyone and the burdens they carry, we can have a heart that is open to seeing people how God sees them, and ask God to put people in our path whom we can acknowledge and encourage.  We can try to see the person God sees - both their brokenness and their potential. 

In those moments, both big and small, who we are called to be is not a mystery.  Jesus calls us to love others. God loves them.  He has always loved them, even the Sauls and the Matthews of the world, those who have persecuted others and taken advantage of people.  We are called to love them and we frequently forget that God loves us too, even through our sins. One way to love others is to see their struggles and their needs.  I don’t want to be invisible, so I will start by ensuring those around me know that I see them.  But how do I “see” them?

The chorus of the song “Give Me Your Eyes” by Brandon Heath, says:

Give me Your eyes for just one second

Give me Your eyes so I can see

Everything that I keep missin'

Give me Your love for humanity

Give me Your arms for the broken-hearted

The ones that are far beyond my reach

Give me Your heart for the ones forgotten

Give me Your eyes so I can see  

God “sees” us.  Psalms 121:7-8 says, “The Lord will keep you from all harm—he will watch over your life; the Lord will watch over your coming and going both now and forevermore.”   

We can start by asking God to make us sensitive and compassionate toward others around us.  Our prayer can be that God would slow us down so that we don’t miss opportunities to see others, and that when we do see them, God would show us how to love them better in a million different ways through our words and actions.  Is it a kind word?  Maybe a hug?  Perhaps a moment of prayer?  May we never be too busy for the Holy Spirit to speak to us and urge us toward another person, and for our response to be one of obedience and compassion.  Our ever-present prayer can be “give me your eyes, God.”   

Baseball Gloves and Jesus

I was getting ready for bed after a day at baseball camp during our mission trip to Germany.  As I contemplated the devotional I would give the following morning, an image of a baseball glove, with a baseball nestled snugly in the pocket, came into my mental view.  The Holy Spirit spoke to my heart, “You are hidden in Christ.”

This led me to Colossians 3:1-4

“Since then, you have been raised with Christ, set your hearts on things above, where Christ is, seated at the right hand of God.  Set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.  For you died, and your life is now hidden with Christ in God. When Christ, who is your life, appears, then you also will appear with him in glory.”

What does it mean to be hidden in Christ?

This means that our identity and security are in Christ.  We don’t depend on the world to give us our identity.  But the world tries to tell us we can find our identity in other things, such as relationships, grades, achievements, and sports. Everyone is vulnerable to this, particularly children. Every day, we are bombarded with distorted messages about what is important in life.  

While we are hidden in Christ, our faith cannot be hidden.  We have to find entry points to share Christ with others.

Matthew 5:15-16 says, “Neither do people light a lamp and put it under a bowl.  Instead, they put it on its stand, and it gives light to everyone in the house.  In the same way, let your light shine before others, that they may see your good deeds and glorify your Father in heaven.”

We are shining a bright light into the lives of others to draw them to Christ.

But Paul says to set your minds on things above, not on earthly things.  It is easy to become distracted by life - by the game.  This is true for us all.

How do we avoid becoming distracted? We do this by remaining connected to Christ.  In John 15:5, Jesus said, “I am the vine; you are the branches. If you remain in me and I in you, you will bear much fruit; apart from me you can do nothing.”

Remaining in him through this intentional time of devotion and prayer keeps us hidden in Him - focused and securely attached to the vine - much like the ball is securely held in the glove.   

We put him first - grounding our day in Christ.  I pray that this dedicated time of devotion will be something each of us continues well beyond our time together here.  This is the example we are setting for one another and staying hidden in Christ in this way will yield fruit as we keep the “first thing first.”  There is a song by that title, whose lyrics illustrate this beautifully:

        I don't wanna love what the world loves

        I don't wanna chase what the world does

        I only want you

        I only want you

        First thing's first

        I seek Your will

        Not my own

        Surrender all my wants to you

        Keep the first thing first

        To live Your truth

        Walk Your ways

        Set my eyes

        Lord I fix my face on you

        All my desires reversed

        To keep the first thing first

In John 15 goes on to say, “This is my command, that you love one another.”  We will love one another and all those we meet by…

1. Staying hidden in Christ - keeping our identity in Him.

2. Staying connected to the vine - keeping distractions away.

3. Keeping the first things first in our personal prayer life.

4. Letting the light and joy of God shine through us.

1 John 4:19 says, "We love because he first loved us." If we remain in him, we will then pour from a full cup. We will love others well with the love he has given us, and everyone is lifted up to Christ.

Learning, Growing, and Healing Through Peer Mentoring

When I was a teenager, I vividly recall a tense conversation with my mom in which I was no doubt being self-centered and selfish. While the full context has long left me, one thing she said still rings in my ears, “Audri, you need to get over yourself - not everything is about you.” But I was a strong, independent young woman determined to make my own way or, maybe in that moment, get my own way. 

Like most Americans, I valued independence. And while independence can drive motivation, there are times when it can turn to isolation. Grief is one such time when insisting on “going it alone” can set us up for more difficulties by isolating us from others who could bear witness to our lives, speak into our struggles with wisdom, and provide encouragement and a listening ear. It may go against our culture to embrace interdependence, but I’m convinced that we are truly stronger together.  

When my husband Jason died, I tried to hold it, contain it, control it - my grief, that is, and all the turmoil it was creating. The inner chaos was like a hurricane pounding at my soul. So overwhelming were the unrelenting waves of conflicting emotions and sheer exhaustion, that I couldn’t begin to express what felt at the time to be an undefinable anguish. How could I allow, much less invite someone into that storm? Frankly, it didn’t occur to me that it would even be appropriate to share, so I held it close. It was my own personal burden. Besides, who in their right mind wouldn’t run away if I told them what was really happening to me on the inside? It might even be described as a kind of premeditated guilt I felt as I even considered leaning on a friend or anyone else, so I didn’t.

Eventually, when the tears would not stop flowing and it felt like I would not survive, I reached a point of surrender and cried out to God, “Please take this away from me. I can’t do this anymore.” A peacefulness filled the room and I looked over at something my casualty officer had given me - a TAPS card with the Helpline number. Without even thinking about it, I dialed the number, and though I was numb, the words purged out of my mouth to Bonnie Carroll on the other end of the line. As we shared those painful moments and bonded over our widow stories, I began to see the value of the “we” as opposed to just the “me.” While I cannot recall all the things we both said, I do recall saying, “If nothing else good comes from Jason’s death, this will be a way I can relate to someone else in the future and help them - and that will just have to be good enough.”  

Even then, I was a Peer Mentor in the making, though it took a few years of being on the receiving end before I felt ready to let my story be in the background enough to support other survivors. I had to reach a point where my compassionate curiosity outweighed my need to process my own grief. Once I was ready, embracing becoming a Peer Mentor was an active and intentional choice. Supporting others with military loss was the way I chose to create meaning from Jason’s death.    

While I initially thought I would be helping others, I quickly realized how much being a Peer Mentor gave back to me - we call this “reciprocal peer support.” Because of my connection with Peer Mentors and others in the TAPS family over the years, I have gleaned three notable lessons about healing through grief.

1. Passive Healing: We sometimes need to choose stillness. We can’t control our grief any more than we can hold a storm in our hands. So rather than create more stress by actively resisting or stuffing it, we can try to relax into it or “make friends” with our grief.  

2. Active Healing: We sometimes need to move to think and heal. Being active requires our presence, participation, and commitment. Creating active distractions is a healthy tool we can use to combat unhealthy rumination.

3. Mindful Healing: Leaning into mindfulness - being intensely aware of what you're sensing and feeling in the moment, without interpretation or judgment - can help ground us when we are feeling out of control on the grief rollercoaster. This is especially helpful when we are feeling overwhelmed. Being grounded helps us reconnect with our mind and body and find more stable footing in the moment.

 

These lessons, and so many more, only came through engaging others as I explored the impact of Jason’s death. Loss, and having the support of a Peer Mentor as I navigated it, became a catalyst for change and growth. Learning about grief, and who I am in relation to it, will be a lifelong exercise. While I could have pushed on alone, reaching out to TAPS and receiving the compassionate support of Peer Mentors who knew how to meet me in my darkest moments has yielded wisdom, hope, and friendships I could never have imagined. TAPS allowed me to stop struggling against myself and relax into a community where I could learn to thrive again.

Over the years, my mom’s words have continued to ring true. While still certainly personal, in order to honor and remember Jason, I had to make my grief about more than just my own pain. Becoming a Peer Mentor opened the door for me to finding purpose in the pain. And there is a special kind of magic when you surround yourself with people leaning into their purpose.  

Peer mentoring is the perpetual gift that we give one another - the gift of grief companionship. TAPS will always need people like that who want to make a difference in another person’s life - and whether becoming or receiving a Peer Mentor - that person could be you.

Continuing the Legacy of Love

You may have heard it said that to love someone means to forever have a piece of your heart existing outside of your body. When that person dies, it can naturally leave us feeling a lack of wholeness. That hole in our hearts calls out to us and can only be occupied by the person who created it because it is shaped just like him or her. Honoring the love and life that created this space in your heart doesn't mean trying to fill it with other things. Our loved ones can still live on in that space, albeit in ways that are different than before.

Frequently, others tell us that we need to “let go”, sometimes making statements like, “Aren’t you over that yet?” Getting over the loss of someone so central to our existence is simply not realistic. They are inextricably linked to us - past, present… and, future. 

Within the TAPS family, we have always leaned into continuing bonds - acknowledging that while our loved ones are physically absent, they continue to be a powerful part of our daily lives, along with an enduring part of who we are and who we are becoming. It is in this spirit that we strive to know them in a new way and be their footsteps in the world. We are their legacy of love, even if the love we shared was complicated, as love frequently is.

It may sometimes feel scary when we let ourselves feel that love, as the pain can penetrate so deeply that it may seem hard to cope. TAPS founder and president Bonnie Carroll is often quoted as saying, “We only grieve because we love.” Special days such as birthdays, anniversaries, and Valentine’s Day can feel especially difficult, yet they provide natural opportunities to maintain a bond with our person through intentional acts of connection. Whether a special day or every day, we can reinforce this relationship in healthy ways.

What it means to carry on a relationship with a loved one who has died can (and should) look different from person to person, as we all have a unique bond and experiences with our loved one. Much like snowflakes, no two relationships are alike. 

WAYS TO REMAIN CONNECTED TO YOUR LOVED ONE

There are many ways to approach remaining connected with that person you loved so dearly… and always will.  We share a few of those for helpful consideration below.

- Seek out others who knew your loved one and would like to share the stories of who they knew them to be.

- Display a favorite picture, artwork, or quote loved by your person. 

- Volunteer for a cause that was close to their hearts and commit your time in their name.

- Engage in an activity your person loved or finish a project they started.

- Wear a favorite item of their clothing or a piece of jewelry that holds special significance.

- Make their favorite meal or eat at your loved one’s favorite restaurant.

- Write them a letter to share about recent events and how they were remembered or their presence was felt.

- Use pieces of your loved one’s clothing to have a special item created (quilt, bag, doll, etc.). 

- Find ways to say their name and bring them present into your day.     

- Establish a new tradition with your person in mind.

- Create a peaceful outdoor space where you can go to process your thoughts and even speak thoughts out loud to your person.

- Build a memory container to hold special items and plan time to visit those memories.

- Schedule time to connect with memories around your loved one. It is helpful to schedule a follow-on activity, as well, to help you transition out of memory mode to the next thing you will do to step forward in your day.

- Live our best lives in tribute to them.

Giving ourselves the freedom to show love for our person in new ways can keep them close to us, helping us remember and honor everything that made them the incredible people we have known. They are part of the fabric of our being, intricately woven into the beautiful and complex tapestry of who we are. They lived remarkable lives, left indelible marks on those who loved them, and will live on through each of us as we remember and continue to embrace them.

LOVE LIVES ON.

Falling in Love with Karate

Wado Ryu Karate is a journey I started back in 2007 while living in Yokohama, Japan.  My son was 8 years old and I was looking for a physical activity for him to get him moving and active.  There was an advertisement on the Navy base for a karate class, so I decided to go check it out.  I expected to enroll him in the class and let the shuttling commence.  To my surprise, I found there was only one student.  My son joined the class and the sensei invited me to join them as well.  I "tried out" the class and found I really enjoyed it.  Being there to encourage my son was awesome and it felt like something we could grow in together.

The man who taught our class was Sensei Obuaki Ohta.  Ohta-sensei was only about as tall as me and was probably 55-65 years old.  He only spoke basic English terms, most of which were limited to "kick" and "punch."  He would model the kata movements and I would follow after him.  I spoke some Japanese and was able to ask him if I was doing it okay.  Invariably, I was certainly not doing it okay.  He would come over and move my arm, push me into a deeper stance, or adjust my hand or foot placement.  

One day, Ohta-sensei watched me run through my kata and he made a correction to one part.  Focusing intently on that one correction, I tried again.  When I got through, I had corrected that deficiency, only to have him come to me and slightly adjust my thumb.  At that moment, I realized I would never arrive.  Suddenly it became clear to me how a person could work their whole lives to perfect their craft and never fully master it.  This commitment to craft and perfection approached with humility, reached deep into my soul.  

I felt an intense connection and respect for my sensei.  Attending class excited me and I pushed myself.  He invited me to test on two occasions during my time in Japan.  Both times, my son and I were the only non-Japanese people in the whole auditorium.  We were not fluent, so we depended on non-verbal cues and our limited Japanese skills to follow the flow of the students and the guidance of the judges.  We were thrilled to be a part of the culture, both of the country and the sport.  

Unfortunately, our time was too short.  When I was 8 weeks pregnant with my twins, I took my 2nd test but was not allowed to spare for obvious reasons.  By 10 weeks, I had to stop my karate lessons and wound up moving to Okinawa to be near the neonatal intensive care unit in case I had pregnancy complications.  Leaving my training behind was difficult and I longed to return.  Trying to juggle the demands of twins, homeschooling my then 10-year-old son, caring for three dogs, and dealing with everything while my husband was deployed left little time for karate, so I wound up not returning to my beloved sensei and the sport I loved so well.  When the twins were 7 years old, we wound up moving back to the United States.

Back in North Carolina, I searched for a dojo in the Wado style, with no success.  There simply was no option anywhere near us.  I considered another school of karate and opted not to pursue that.  My heart was with Wado.  Children, family life, homeschooling, graduate school, and military retirement kept me busy.  Eventually, I became a working mom as well.  Like this, life continued, and ultimately we relocated back to Texas to finally be closer to family after 25 years away.  

Landing in Dallas, Texas, with twins who were now 9 years old, I began to wonder if we might be lucky enough that there would be a dojo near us that taught Wado.  A quick Google search revealed the Academy of Classical Karate in Plano.  With tremendous excitement, I dove into their website and made a plan to visit. 

Walking into the dojo felt a bit like going home.  I was beyond excited and as I stepped into the class, I felt some muscle memory dusting off the cobwebs.  Because the kids were in the youth class, I was able to join the parents' class and wound up surrounded by others who were equally invested in their kids and karate.  These were not your run-of-the-mill parents.  I had not trained with others my age and it was thrilling to be a part of a larger training group, though I honestly had no real idea of what I was getting us into.

Our dojo is the best dojo in the United States.  I didn't know it at the time but two of the twins' instructors were soon to be members of the first USA Olympic Karate Team.  From the excellence in athletes that the dojo produces, to the world-class coaches, to the opportunity to be a part of the WIKF Texas team, our dojo is firing on all cylinders.  All of this said, what speaks to me most is how committed the coaches are to developing athletes of character.  

The Academy of Classical Karate has 5 Traits of a Karate-ka: Humility, Integrity, Self-Control, Courage, and Courtesy.  I'm so grateful to have others reinforcing this in our kids as well.  We used to stop at the dojo door after every class and I would make the kids recite these principles before leaving for the day.  These are excellent concepts I know will continue to grow in them as they train and deepen their love of both karate and their dojo family.  Many of the people who have been training here have invested 20-25 years of their lives doing so.  The roots go deep and the branches are broad.  I'm thrilled to be a small part of such an incredible group of people.

Finding Hope in 2021

Rolling into a New Year tends to stir a heart to contemplate new beginnings. We consider all the history of our past year and ponder what lay ahead. The last year has certainly been a difficult challenge for us all and we look forward to better times. Before we move too quickly into the New Year, it's important to consider one lesson isolation taught us in 2020 - we need each other.

The TAPS family has always said “we are stronger together” and it is true.  Going it alone at the most difficult times of our lives puts more strain on us, robbing us of encouragement that could soften the journey.  We draw strength from one another, sharing the burdens of our hearts, and in doing so, begin to believe we can make it through - and hope is born.  

We begin to expect with confidence that our days will get easier, in part because we see others overcoming similar circumstances and they are still standing and striving.  That model of survival and resiliency is at the heart of TAPS.  It is a gift that we receive and what we each hope to someday give away - the belief that we each will endure.  

Hope is powerful and reciprocal.  We receive it and we ultimately reach a point where we can give it as well. Often these are happening at the same time as we grow in relationship with one another.  When you are down in the throes of grief, there is no better person to have as your company than someone who has also navigated these paths.  This is true in life and in loss.  TAPS Peer Mentors offer you the healing hand of friendship, bearing witness and encouraging you along the way. And they receive a beautiful gift in return, as we search for meaning after loss and often find purpose through lifting others up.    

As you move into 2021, know that sharing your story and your struggles allows others to join with you in a way that deepens our bonds as a family of survivors.  Perhaps you are new to your loss and would like companionship to keep you company as you heal. 

Maybe you are feeling stronger now and are ready to “pay it forward” by supporting another person with the same support you have received.   

Wherever you find yourself at this moment, you are a vital part of the TAPS family and we invite you to connect with us in a deeper way in the new year.  Together we will step into 2021, keeping hope alive.

She Scratched Me!

Just a moment ago, my husband and I heard a rather blood-curdling scream coming from our 3 year-old twins' bedroom.  They were supposed to be going to sleep.  Daddy ran up the stairs and burst into the room in time to hear our son say, "She scratched me!"

My husband looked at our daughter, whose bed is across the room from her brother's, and said, "How did you scratch him from your bed?"

Our daughter didn't skip a beat when she very confusedly said, "I didn't scratch him with my bed."

I love my kids' language skills!    

Cornyhorn

The twins were lying down to take their naps when there was a brief discussion about a pink pony one of them received for Christmas.  My son was feeling sad and I held the pink pony up to his face and pretended it was licking him.  He began to feel better, so I turned my attention to my daughter.  As I was tucking her in, she said, "Mama, I thought it was a cornyhorn."  I chuckled and smiled so big that I nearly teared up.  She did the same and I gave her sugars.  I said, "Do you mean unicorn?"  We chuckled together for a few moments and the moment passed.  I don't know how many more of those I have, but I don't want to miss any of them.   

Preparing for IVF: 16 Days and Counting

We are starting the IVF process again to try and have a sibling for my niece.  It worked out so beautifully the first time.  God truly blessed my sister and brother-in-law with a beautiful little girl inside and out.  She's such a happy girl.  I'm going to do my best to document the process, hopefully even better than I did the last time.

About two weeks ago, I began birth control pills (Reclipsen) so that I would have a period and the clinic could put me on a proper medication schedule.  After nine days, I developed a severe headache and nausea related to the Reclipsen and our doctor took me off the meds.  The clinic told me to inform them if I had a bleed anytime within the following week.  Turns out we didn't wait long - two days later I started my period.  That was three days ago.

After starting my period, I began applying estrogen patches to my abdomen, which have to be changed every other day.  The patches will increase in number over the next two weeks as we near the transfer date, but I will need to use them for a total of 64 days.  The transfer is 16 days from now and counting.

We aren't just counting the days down - there is much to do!  My sister is working on all the legal details and travel plans.  She is preparing all the paperwork the Jones Institute requires to do the IVF: contract, consent forms, etc.  It is quite a process.  She and my brother-in-law, and my husband and I all have to be HIV-tested as well.  Though we haven't had to go through a psychological evaluation this time around, the first time before becoming pregnant with my niece, we all had to sit down together and interview with a psychologist, who then had to send a psychological fitness report to the clinic.  Thankfully, the whole process this time is easier, especially since we no longer live in the Norfolk area where the clinic is located.

With homeschooling the kids, my husband in school and working, and me also in school, the time is sure to fly by.  I hope to still have plenty of time to share meaningful moments, details of IVF surrogacy, and any challenges along the way.