Friday, September 28, 2007
We always have to respond to a car accident once we are toned out for it, but sometimes people just get their car into a ditch, maybe deploy their airbags and are not really hurt, but it is always a good idea to just get looked over. We then advise them of their "rights" (no, not like Miranda Rights) tell them all of the possible things that could happen after a car accident, even if you don't feel bad then. Blah blah blah....
So, back to the thoughts/dreams/whatever..... I was talking to someone who had been in an accident and didn't want to go to the hospital and I was telling him how your brain will slosh around when you are involved in accidents like that. Your body is stopped by the seatbelt and/or airbag, but your brain has room to move (this would be the whole reason for "don't shake the baby....") so problems can become evident later. A few minutes after six our tones went off for a possible MVA and away I went. Half an hour later guess what I was doing? Yep, along with my team, explaining to this guy what his brain is like and what can happen with it. Huh.
One of the things that I have noticed is that many times I will be going about my day and the thought of getting called out will cross my mind or I'll just get this feeling that we will be called out sometime that day. When I do get that thought, we usually do get called out for something that day. So, I am thinking that those thoughts or feelings might be that "still small voice" from God. Now what? Am I just supposed to be prepared or is this something for me to be able to intercede for situations before-hand??
Saturday, September 22, 2007
And while we were downtown, Daddy Dearest bought a coke for JT and T to share. JT had a few sips and then handed the bottle to his Royal Sister and told her she could have the rest. Her response? "Sweet! Now I can back spit all I want!" Um, ew. I think I just threw up a little in my mouth.
Wednesday, September 19, 2007
I was throwing dinner together (literally) because I had to be out the door within 20 minutes to get to school on time. I had not previously planned dinner better because I spent the better part of the day curled on the couch wishing to just pass out because I felt so sick. My family was not willing to accept an icky tasteless frozen lasagna. No offense if that is what any of you serve. There is nothing wrong with them, they are just an inappropriate fare in this household of stay-at-home mom and stay-at-home-and-learn-about-life-including-how-to-cook children. Daddy doesn't go for it. Tacos it was....
I had eaten and just finished brushing my teeth and J had come in to kiss me goodbye when our tones went off.... I grabbed my school books while the pager was still beeping and started towards the door, an ear tuned to the speaker, figuring we would do the run quickly and then I would head to school.... The EMT instructor would surely understand that I was late for being on a call...... Then the words came through the pager and started that cut right into my heart: "....Two year old struck by a vehicle and is not breathing...." Any one of those is bad, but to hear all three together is something we pray NEVER happens. At the scene and in the ambulance I felt absolutely helpless but did me best to be of help in every way possible and to not be in the way. And, oh, did I pray. And I wanted so badly to be able to lay my hands on his tiny body and speak life into him. With every press to his chest that my co-worker administered and with every breath of oxygen that I pushed in I asked God to breath life into him, so unwilling to take no as an answer but knowing that without a miracle, this child was gone. We left him in the care of God (he was really already with Him) and the doctors and nurses at the hospital and went outside. There any professionalism I may have been showing started cracking and cracking quickly. I despise crying in front of most people so I did my best to pull it together again, appreciating so much the support of the guys I was with for me and for each other. Every one of the EMT's on our crew has told me "talk about it. You HAVE to talk about this." And I have even had the same support from one of the H City paramedics that responded. For that, I am grateful. It is good to know that I am not taking this hard just because I am a girl.
At home I hugged my children so tight and I lost all shreds of "professionalism" and composure and wept. I desperately needed my husband who was back on the scene keeping the road closed and helping the investigators piece it all together. I contemplated calling my mom but, while shaking like a leaf, told myself that she was needed at her own home with my dad and younger brothers. I wanted very much to hang up on the person who told me right after I returned home that I need to pull myself together, get over it and pray for the family. Pray for the family, check. Pull myself together, check... in a little while. Get over it? Some say you don't ever "get over it". I can still see his tiny body and brown eyes and hear the anguished screams of his family as they were told that this little boy was dead. I am afraid that they are right.... you don't forget. You don't "get over it". But, part of me doesn't want to. I always want to realize how precious life is and how precious my children are. I want you to realize that as well. Without the lesson.
My mom came over yesterday and before she got there, I wanted to curl up on the couch, lay my head on her lap and have her play with my hair like she would when I was younger. When she got here I think I did the "pull myself together" thing again. I don't know why. I don't even think I realized I was doing it until I wanted to crawl right in her lap again the second she left. I did actually sleep last night, though, so that is good. I still woke up thinking about the boy and his family and the driver. Please, keep the family and the driver in your prayers. It was not the driver's fault. There was absolutely NOTHING that he could have done differently. Pray for the little boy's parents. He was in the care of his father at the time... Pray that his dad will not be beating himself up and overwhelmed with guilt. I have taken my two year old niece downtown, had her by my side, turned to push the unlock button and turned back to her to find her RUNNING and half way across the parking lot. It can happen to anyone. There is no blame. Pray for comfort and peace and healing. And hug the people you love. We really truly never know.
Tuesday, September 18, 2007
Wednesday, September 12, 2007
From the front lines,
Tuesday, September 11, 2007
It all began to make sense, the blank stares, the lack of response, the way one of the kids will walk into the room while I’m on the phone and ask to be taken to the store. Inside I’m thinking, “Can’t you see I’m on the phone?”
Obviously not. No one can see if I’m on the phone, or cooking, or sweeping the floor, or even standing on my head in the corner, because no one can see me at all. I’m invisible.
Some days I am only a pair of hands, nothing more: Can you fix this? Can you tie this? Can you open this?
Some days I’m not a pair of hands; I’m not even a human being. I’m a clock to ask, “What time is it?” I’m a satellite guide to answer, “What number is the Disney Channel?” I’m a car to order, “Pick me up right around 5:30, please.”
I was certain that these were the hands that once held books and the eyes that studied history and the mind that graduated summa cum laude -but now they had disappeared into the peanut butter, never to be seen again.
She’s going … she’s going … she’s gone!
One night, a group of us were having dinner, celebrating the return of a friend from England. Janice had just gotten back from a fabulous trip, and she was going on and on about the hotel she stayed in. I was sitting there, looking around at the others all put together so well. It was hard not to compare and feel sorry for myself as I looked down at my out-of-style dress;it was the only thing I could find that was clean. My unwashed hair was pulled up in a banana clip and I was afraid I could actually smell peanut butter in it. I was feeling pretty pathetic, when Janice turned to me with a beautifully wrapped package, and said, “I brought you this.”
It was a book on the great cathedrals of Europe. I wasn’t exactly sure why she’d given it to me until I read her inscription: “To Charlotte, with admiration for the greatness of what you are building when no one sees.”
In the days ahead I would read — no, devour — the book. And I would discover what would become for me, four life-changing truths, after which I could pattern my work: No one can say who built the great cathedrals– we have no record of their names. These builders gave their whole lives for a work they would never see finished. They made great sacrifices and expected no credit. The passion of their building was fueled by their faith that the eyes of God saw everything.
A legendary story in the book told of a rich man who came to visit the cathedral while it was being built, and he saw a workman carving a tiny bird on the inside of a beam. He was puzzled and asked the man, “Why are you spending so much time carving that bird into a beam that will be covered by the roof? No one will ever see it.”
And the workman replied, “Because God sees.”
I closed the book, feeling the missing piece fall into place. It was almost as if I heard God whispering to me, “I see you, Charlotte. I see the sacrifices you make every day, even when no one around you does. No act of kindness you’ve done, no sequin you’ve sewn on, no cupcake you’ve baked, is too small for me to notice and smile over. You are building a great cathedral, but you can’t see right now what it will become.”
At times, my invisibility feels like an affliction. But it is not a disease that is erasing my life. It is the cure for the disease of my own self-centeredness. It is the antidote to my strong, stubborn pride. I keep the right perspective when I see myself as a great builder. As one of the people who show up at a job that they will never see finished, to work on something that their name will never be on. The writer of the book went so far as to say that no cathedrals could ever be built in our lifetime because there are so few people willing to sacrifice to that degree.
When I really think about it, I don’t want my son to tell the friend he’s bringing home from college for Thanksgiving, “My mom gets up at 4 in the morning and bakes homemade pies, and then she hand-bastes a turkey for three hours and presses all the linens for the table.” That would mean I’d built a shrine or a monument to myself. I just want him to want to come home.
And then, if there is anything more to say to his friend, to add, “You’re gonna love it there.”
As mothers, we are building great cathedrals. We cannot be seen if we’re doing it right. And one day, it is very possible that the world will marvel, not only at what we have built, but at the beauty that has been added to the world by the sacrifices of invisible women.
Friday, September 07, 2007
Wednesday, September 05, 2007
I received a request for pictures of the kids' school area so I thought today would be the perfect opportunity. Don't they look like they are having a blast?? I thought so. :)
Sunday, September 02, 2007
People are stupid sometimes. That's all I can say.