Hurting and Hurt

Not even 24 hours after  I had left my sweetheart in the mental health unit at the hospital. Not even 24 hours after I had walked out of those doors traumatized and broken...

Another deeply wounding experience happened in a place that should have provided solace...

I had asked for prayers for Grant, but the announcement was refused. Prayers for Hawaii, but not my Grant. A text asked again, still refused. My tears flowed and by the end of the meeting I was sobbing, uncontrollably. One saw my pain and apologized, but there was no undoing what had happened. I stood, desperately trying to escape my pew. I saw the one who had refused and lost it. Sobbing loudly "don't you ever talk to my family again.". In that moment I forgot the sanctity of that place... 

From there I ran, as fast as I could out, away ....

A friend drove me home. She sat with me while I sobbed. I sobbed for hours. Wounded. So wounded. 

The hurt burned hot and deep. I would find no rest that day

Once composed I walked through the security doors on the fourth floor and sat looking into the distant eyes of my Superman. The hurt of the last 24 hours was absolutely unbearable. 

Some did try to fix.

Yet others justified and excused only adding to my deep hurt.

Nothing could change the fact that it happened and should not have.

My heart was devastated that day.

The next Sunday, I squared my shoulders and lifted my chin and walked through the door and sat in that pew again.

I didn't want to be there. But my heart told me to go. I needed the blessings of the Sacrament. 

Many have provided succor since.

I still struggle with it all. The utter devastation I felt in that pew that Sunday will never be justified. I'm working towards peace and forgiveness, that takes time.

Through many prayers and pleadings a unique answer came. Until your heart is strong enough to find forgiveness you can borrow MY forgiveness for those who have hurt you.

Waiting

 

For every infirm man healed instantly as he waits to enter the Pool of Bethesda, someone else will spend 40 years in the desert waiting to enter the promised land. 

Twenty years ago we first prayed for a miracle, but healing did not come. There have been a few reprieves but illness was always lurking. For a decade now there have been no reprieves. For years daily prayers and pleadings for healing have been sent heavenward, but healing still hasn't come....

We sat in the psychiatrist office. The discussion is brutally honest, reaching the most tender corners of our hearts. It's difficult but necessary to hear: "we cannot fix this, we can try and manage it, but it is unlikely to really improve"

Deeply painful words said with the an unbridled amount of compassion. My heart had actually accepted these words years ago. I don't know the day my prayers changed from asking for miracles, to the asking of courage and that I would not be bitter.

Acceptance isn't giving up on faith, its a surrender to trust that the plan for us includes Grant's battle with severe, complex mental illness and always will. We will be guided through it, but not healed from it.

How's he doing?? I feel heartbroken when people ask this and even more devastated when they don't. He's not well. The depth and berth  of that statement is hard to explain. The intensity of illness can change from inconvenience to life threatening in a moment. Emotions are felt with ferocity that has to be witnessed to be believed. Rock bottom has a basement and functional looks like flying into the stratosphere.

Right now its most like standing on the beach and watching the fog banks roll about, sometimes there is a beautiful ocean vista, other times you can still see blue sky if you look straight up but most of the time the grey mist excludes your surroundings. It breaks my heart to acknowledge the depth of his suffering.

I walk a tightrope between adoring wife, caregiver and protector. His tightrope is much higher and thinner than mine. We both need help, but sometimes the price for that help is something we cannot afford. Unsolicited advice is always judgement. Ignorance can lead to misinformation and the perpetuation of stigma. No Karen, he is not a psychopath or sociopath. Confidentiality is paramount. It is our story to share, not yours to gossip about. If I have trusted you enough to stand on our sacred ground, please don't defile that.  We have been deeply wounded by this more often that I want to admit.

So here we are somewhere in the middle of our "40 years of waiting in the wilderness" just like so many of you. The instant miracle was not to be. So we walk on waiting on Him. Our faith isn't in a mighty miracle, its in the moments when we feel heard understood and included.

Elder Jeffery R Holland, A member of the quorum of the twelve apostles in our church recently said this in our General Conference.

Yes, God can provide miracles instantaneously, but sooner or later we learn that the times and seasons of our mortal journey are His and His alone to direct.” He administers that calendar to every one of us individually. For every infirm man healed instantly as he waits to enter the Pool of Bethesda, someone else will spend 40 years in the desert waiting to enter the promised land. For every Nephi and Lehi divinely protected by an encircling flame of fire for their faith, we have an Abinadi burned at a stake of flaming fire for his. And we remember that the same Elijah who in an instant called down fire from heaven to bear witness against the priests of Baal is the same Elijah who endured a period when there was no rain for years and who, for a time, was fed only by the skimpy sustenance that could be carried in a raven’s claw. By my estimation, that can’t have been anything we would call a “happy meal.”

The point? The point is that faith means trusting God in good times and bad, even if that includes some suffering until we see His arm revealed in our behalf. That can be difficult in our modern world when many have come to believe that the highest good in life is to avoid all suffering, that no one should ever anguish over anything. But that belief will never lead us to “the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.”

Listening to Elder Holland's words I felt heard and understood. 

Momma Bear Knows

After family dinner the kids shared all their favourite memes and tik tok videos with their slightly confused, often cringing parents. Who even are you? What even is this??  It had been three months and there was no shortage of content. Funny, edging on inappropriate and down right weird. Their infectious  laughter filled my soul with pure joy. Our kids are so funny.

Some how the conversation shifted: Remember when {so and so} sent me a message telling me I was going to hell...

Wait. What?

More of the story comes out...

Seriously??

Yup.

You're joking right??

Now all of their phones were pulling up messages....

Someone passes me their phone. I read and scrolled, read and scrolled. I swallowed hard trying not to cry. The actual words "You. Are. Going. To. Hell." were not there. But they were hidden in calls to repentance, in suggesting someone was abandoning ones family and on and on....

I'm now apologizing profusely...I'm so sorry. They had no right to send that...

Another lists several videos on repentance, they were sent with slightly varying  messages of "Saw this and thought of you..."

Why???

Turns out each one of my five have received messages of this nature over the years, as they have each chosen to no longer attend church, and  sadly more than once. Something they've mostly kept from us....

Before they left for the night, I tried as best I could to acknowledge their wounds and pour as much love into those wounds as possible. They knew I was upset and said they had mostly let the hurt go. But I know those kids and know when they hide pain to make me feel better...

I cried when the last one shut the door. My momma bear's heart brimming with hurt that felt a lot like anger in that moment. Why do people do that?? Their intent wasn't to cause harm...but when you send a message without an actual relationship built over a lifetime, without knowledge of the receivers deepest struggles and trials even the best intent is lost before the message is even comprehended. Even good intent can cause great harm. I know my kids and the mountains they have had to climb.

Grant and I have honoured our kids choices without an ounce of love or respect lost for them. No I have not failed and neither have they. Them not choosing church is not a heartache for us. Some may not believe this but for us its a non issue.

They are good and kind people and that is enough. Our relationship with them is my biggest treasure and I will protect that like a Momma bear protecting their young.

 Let's just love without condition and let God continue his miracles through us instead of us wasting time on misguided judgement....mmmmmkay. I still love all of you.

Simply Sacred

So many private tears as I've helplessly watched my Superman suffer. Suffering that feels unfair and unjust. I've spent days and weeks pleading for guidance .

Finally a simple thought. Send a letter to the doctor....

I searched for an email and couldn't find one. No send a letter, the old fashion way...

I spent a thoughtful few hours composing my concerns in letter form. One page conveying my deepest heartache. Will I be heard?

 I hung onto the letter for a day and then dropped it at the post office. I waited and wondered over the long weekend, praying I'd done the right thing. You can't un-send snail mail...

Our bishop stopped by over the weekend to give us the sacrament, something I hadn't really thought about, but I was grateful for a bishop who saw a need...

The Bishop arrived in shirt and tie and freshly washed hands and a sacrament tray. Grant was sitting on the couch a spot he had barely moved from in weeks, or is it months? He was in an old t shirt and sweat pants, paint stains and holes and all. Our bishop and I chatted for a few minutes and Grant hardly said a word, lost in his own world.

It was time to administer the sacrament. "So do you want to bless the water, if I bless the bread? " our bishop said without hesitation. The invitation floored me for a split moment. as did Grant's "Well okay." We took the bread in the otherwise empty sacrament tray. And our bishop handed Grant his phone with the sacrament prayers cued, reference, if needed...

Grant's voice was clear but humble as he began the prayer....The spirit flooded our living room and I struggled to keep back my tears as I was reminded that no matter how sick my sweet Superman is he still is a worthy priesthood holder and that his spirit is NOT mentally.

Gratitude also flooded my heart for a bishop who saw past what I was unable to in the moment and extended a sacred invitation.

From that moment the constant prayer in my heart for the next several days was that Grant's doctor would hear me through that letter, I had dropped in the mailbox....

I was so concerned for my Superman as the severity of what I was witnessing was impossible to deny.

They got the letter the same day some pandemic restrictions allowing in person visits. The receptionist called me the minute the letter arrived...

I was told I didn’t have to put on a brave face anymore and I was totally allowed to ugly cry if I needed to. She offered Grant an in person appointment a day and spent the next several minutes talking about caregiver burn out and how hard it is, making she I was ok. Kindness I so needed.

Grant's doctor showed the same kindness. We spent an entire hour talking about some of life's darkest moments in the safety and dignity of understanding and compassion. Tough decisions, but a path forward was chosen.

I left that office with no doubt that his psychiatrist was inspired and truly cared. The road ahead is uncertain but we have help.

Our church family reached out with several acts of service in the week that followed and I felt a renewed courage and care.


A few dear friends listened for hours when I just needed to get it out....

A treasured gift came Sunday morning when a dear, talented, yet humble friend sent my three favourite hymns she had so beautifully sung.....

I've listed to these on repeat this week and each one have solace and a reminder that ....

He lives to guide me with his eye.

He lives to comfort me when faint.

He lives to hear my soul's complaint.

He lives to silence all my fears.

He lives to wipe away my tears.

He lives to calm my troubled heart.

He lives all blessings to impart.

Grant will deal with mental illness for the rest of his life, but our struggle is known to our heavenly father and it is through others that he makes sure we are cared for and loved, I am forever grateful for these angels on earth.

Mask Maker

It started six weeks ago. I made 4 masks, following a tutorial online. It was something to do to kill a Sunday evening. The tutorial was hard to follow and finicky and I wasn't all that impressed with the finished product. So I just threw them in our van for us.

A day or so later a couple of friends asked me to make masks for their families so I dug through my scrap buckets and made a batch of 25 and gave them away to friends, neighbors and people driving by.... They were all gone in hours.

CONFESSION TIME:

I hoard fabric (is it hoarding if its sorta organized?) But I've never spent more than a few dollars on each piece from the second hand stores. And in 10 years I've amassed quite the collection.

I am NOT a trained sower, unless you count the 6 weeks of sewing I was FORCED to take in JR High. I got a sewing machine after a  fight discussion in 2010.with my husband were I said I wanted a sewing machine. And he said, and I quote, like you'll EVER use it...GAME ON. I proved him wrong.

So its a pandemic  I had me my trusty sewing machine and tons of fabric and realized that the need/ want for masks was there. The only thing I didn't have was elastic, so a prayerful trip to the dollar store in the chaotic days of social distancing I saw hair elastics and thought if I make the masks a bit wider they will work. Problem solved.

So I went to work. And have spent some time each day making masks. My muscles are SUPER tight, at the moment because I can not have my botox treatments until some more pandemic restrictions. So I can only sew for about an hour before I need to take a break. 

But as of yesterday I've finished 204 masks. All given away and I'll just keep going until.

 Its been an awesome way for me to connect with people (from a distance). Most have picked them up from my mail box. I've had some wonderful conversations in my yard too.

 Grant's been so unwell and its given me something to do. A way to serve that has only cost me a few dollars in hair elastics. When the pandemic has left me home bound.

I'm doing it because it just feels good. A simple need I can fill. I am not making any kind of statement about whether or not you should wear them or the critical climate we live in. (why do people have to criticize each other??)   You do you, mmmmkay.  

If you need a mask I am happy to make you one just message me and if you want to sew one I broke it down for you below....

Man I look tired. I am. Pandemic hair and care giving will do that.

 1. You need a piece of 100% cotton fabric measuring 10" x 14" (10" is the measurement across the face, you can adjust this an inch bigger or smaller to fit accordingly)

2. Fold in half, right side to right side, folded measurements are now 10" x 7"

3. Straight stitch the long seam closed, no need to back stitch.

 4. Turn right side out.

 5. Press with an IRON( sorry millenials and hippies you need an iron here)

 6. Pleat, this is a little tricky. An inch from the top pinch an inch of fabric an each side and fold down and press.

7. Pin pleat down. Place pins towards the centre, so you don't sew over them. Unless you love bending needles, thanks Marilyn for the tip and the new needles.

8. Repeat two more times, press and pin. (for a total of 3 pleats)

9. Elastics, elastic has been in short supply around here, so I resorted to using thin hair elastics from the dollar store. (50 for $2) You need two for each mask. Cut each elastic where it is glued together.

 10. Straight stitch the elastic to just below the  upper corner and just above the lower corner.

 11. Make sure to back stitch over each elastic end.

 12. Also hold down each pleat corner as the presser foot passes over it.

 13. Remove the pins.

 14. Trim all threads and fabric ends 1/4" from the right of the straight seem.

 15. You now need 2 small rectangles of fabric approx. 2" x 5".  I measure the 5" off each mask side because they do vary. It needs to at least an inch longer than the side of the mask,

 16. Centre the small strip on the back of the mask (side without the elastics)

 17. Fold down in the top and the bottom of the strip so the line up with the top and bottom edges of the mask. Straight stitch together.

 18. Flip mask over, lay flat and pull the sewn strip out

 19. Fold strip in, and fold in again.

 20. Straight stitch strip down. Repeat 16-19 on the other side of mask. 

 21. Trim treads.

22. Finished. The side of the mask with the elastics is the FRONT and faces out. The side of the mask without the elastics is the BACK of the mask and goes against the nose and mouth.

Sustaining Superman

Things haven't been particularly fantastic, but suddenly they were desperately awful.

 His facial expressions or really the lack of them. The way he walks, shoulders rolled forward, feet dragging. Distracted, distant, sinking. Unable to carry a conversation. Days go by with few words. The words that do come are hopeless, despondent.  Everything brings frustration and anger. Sitting on the couch blankly watching six movies at once.

He's in trouble and I know it.

A conversation with his Psychiatrist. An urgent med change needed, now. Practicing psychiatry over the phone, in the middle of a pandemic frustrating for all off us. Nothing changes. Watchful waiting.

We are in mental illness HELL.

Superman's middle of the night, tear filled and frustration filled pleas, brutal. The intensity of his hopelessness, desperation is frightening for both of us. Will he withstand the torments of the storm, this time?? I honestly wasn't sure.

I laid there beside him for nights, pleading silently for respite from the storm, begging for heavenly guidance in what to say, One night the words eventually came, a question, not my words, but from my heavenly father. From that question Superman expressed the true depth of his suffering. His reality sobering. For a moment I had a glimpse of the tremendous strength it takes for my sweetheart to battle this cruel illness every single day of is life. It was a sorrow filled and sacred moment for me.

For nights the storm raged on. For nights I prayed just for tomorrow.

I don't know if we've just found the eye of this storm or if its abating. Its been a day or so of "relative" stillness.

I'm guessing the psychiatrist's decision on the med change was the next right thing. For know we can only hope.

I never imagined we'd be here and most likely here for the rest of our lives. Severe, debilitating mental illness robbing my sweetheart of so much. Accepting that healing is not ours to decide. Some days dealing with the stigma of our illness harder (at least for me) than dealing with the illness its self.

Tears have flowed often these last few days. The reality of what we go through hit like a ton of bricks....

How much sicker does my Superman have to become, before I get to stop explaining why he deserves the same compassion, prayers and understanding and reaching out for his suffering as others get without explanation?? Even now I type this through tears. It is something I will never understand, but face often. Mental illness stigma breaks my heart.


I feel this immense need to continually sustain and protect my Superman. It will always be a challenge to be that gatekeeper. Who will help and who will harm?? it seems to always surprise me.

Now to try and catch up on some much needed sleep.   Zzzzzzzzzzzzzz....

Who Pandemic-ed Better?? Please Stop.

This Pandemic gets me to thinking a lot....



To start, I need to go back to a time long before I was born. My Dad had an older sister he never knew. She died just days before her 14th birthday, and 14 months before my dad was born.. Ollie Jean died of a suspected case of Rocky Mountain Spotted fever. It was a time before antibiotics and other medical advancements were available that would likely have saved her life.

The grief and trauma of Ollie Jean's death has reverberated through the Merrill family for decades. My Grandma Beena would weep when telling us anything about her only daughter. I came across Ollie Jean's death certificate not long ago, Seeing her time of death, the funeral home she was taken to and my Grandfather's signature. I wept too. Their grief so tangible even 85 years later.

As if by some cruel twist of fate the summer my dad was 14, he contracted Polio, during the Polio epidemic. My Uncle Bob shared the experience of watching  my dad leave in the family's Studebaker, headed to St. Benedict's hospital in Ogden, Utah.  Uncle Bob was sure he would never see my Dad alive again. It was so traumatic for all of them. Dad spent the entire summer there and almost didn't survive a choking incident while there.  He would struggle with polio's aftermath the rest of his life, I remember countless occasions watching my dad choke because polio had affected his ability to swallow.

It was the summer of 1996. Holly, Bailey and Madison were exactly 31 months, 18 months and 5 months old, respectively. We had just returned from a family vacation in Alberta. Holly and I woke up the next morning with Chicken Pox. We had attend a family reunion in Alberta where someone thought it was no big deal to bring all their kids who had Chicken Pox to the event. Ten days after Holly and I came down with it Bailey and Madison now had it as well.

I called the doctor very concerned about how young Madison was. We were told to watch her closely but not worry too much. A few days later on a Sunday I changed Madison's diaper and noticed an extra angry sore on her thigh. She was miserable and nothing settled her. An hour later I changed her diaper again and the angry redness covered her entire thigh.

I called Grant at work and he immediately rushed Madison to the hospital. I wasn't able to go with them because I was still contagious. Grant called an hour later saying they were admitting Madison and her fever had spiked to 105 F. She was critical. I was terrified we were going to lose her and I couldn't even hold her. My heart broke. Grant held her as she screamed through that night. After a few days on IV antibiotics she turned the corner and was eventually able to come home. She was not left unscathed. Her optic nerve in her left eye was damaged, leaving no functional vision in that eye.


So much grief, trauma and heartache for conditions that are now treatable and even preventable.
Antibiotics saved Madison's life. Alex and Dallyn were given a vaccine that was newly  available for them to avoid repeated misery.


So why tell you my family's story??

We now sit in the middle of a world wide pandemic. Something I never imagined happening. There is no vaccine, only supportive treatment and people are dying.

What I have been surprised by the most is the public pandemic shaming that seems to be escalating....

That if I express worry or concern and choose to wear a mask, gloves or make masks for my friends I'm overreacting and being too cautious by those who feel differently.

All I can say is you do you and I'll do me. You pandemic your way and I will pandemic my way.

My life experiences simply lead me to take the precautions I feel necessary. I know the feeling when statistics that seem to be in everyone's favour, suddenly are not in yours. I know the lasting trauma that can destroy families following the death of a child. I know the fear of waiting, hoping and praying hoping your child survives..

And now I will do what ever makes me feel safe during a pandemic and so will you. Let's just stop shaming each other. There is no reward  at the end of all of this for who Pandemic-ed better.