Passion for Liberty

Been feeling pretty heavy. Sometimes in moments. Sometimes in stretches. I have to take advantage of all the times the weight seems to lift, even a little.

So right now I want to exercise my mother’s right to brag. Charli has developed a passion for helping the people of North Korea. They are people just like us but who happened to have been born into an oppressive situation with, and this is a gross understatement, a scarcity of opportunities. Once when Charli was sharing about this with a peer, the response was, “If it’s so bad, why don’t they just leave?” Wow. That’s a brilliant idea.

Charli’s interest was piqued when she happened to watch a documentary on North Korea. She kept watching more documentaries and then started trying to teach herself the Korean language. In all her research, she came upon Liberty in North Korea (LINK), an organization dedicated to helping North Korean refugees. She contacted them and has been volunteering at their SoCal headquarters in Long Beach. Last week, she was one of the primary planners for an event aimed at raising awareness about the plight of the North Korean people. Two North Korean defectors shared their stories. My daughter came home more passionate about this cause than ever.

When something bigger takes hold of us, we are compelled to make a difference. I am grateful that Charli has found her “something bigger,” and I’m so proud of her for committing herself to it.

On another note, I was so bummed last night to hear that the new lights we put on the bike yesterday weren’t working. Today I had the great revelation that maybe there was an on/off switch that we missed. We stopped by after soccer, and Chip confirmed. Turns out, “on” is the magic ticket.

Woohoo--I just heard from my friend Kelly that the lights on the bike are shining brightly for Chandler tonight!

That makes me happy. A little bit lighter.

Today’s Chandler-ness:
3-31-98 Dad, you have to get me a drink when we get home so I don’t lose my drinking skills.

Bigger Than Me

It’s blurry, I know, but this picture says it all -- the big guys waiting to go down the big ramp at Vans Skatepark and little Chandler right beside them waiting his turn.

Fearless.

I used to take him to Vans on their “bike” night (usually it’s for skateboarders). He was in his element. It was common to hear, “Look at that little guy!” Sometimes I’d let him do double sessions. Parents know…there’s nothing that makes you happier than seeing your kid doing what they love.

I needed to see that picture tonight. I’m not feeling fearless.

Losing Chandler is bigger than me. I am the little guy…waiting, knowing there are lots of big obstacles in front of me.

What would honor Chandler? Tackling one at a time. Thanksgiving, December 15, Christmas, every damn day up until January 1. Then New Year’s. And beyond.

God, only with your strength and the support of family and friends can I tackle what’s to come. It’s bigger than me. But you are bigger than all. Amen.

Unconventional Pipo

I think every parent has experienced it. You buy your kid a new toy…they’re into it for a minute…then they spend hours playing with the box it came in. When the boys were little, Chip and I got ourselves a new toy – a big-screen TV. Chandler claimed the giant box as his own (actually, I think the boys fought over it a bit), and then he slept in it for three nights.

Age didn’t seem to change Chandler’s penchant for unconventional sleeping arrangements. Once when he was in junior high, we stayed in a hotel for his school’s basketball tournament. Before we knew it, he had made himself a comfy bed….in the closet.

Even as an adult, Chandler’s friends said they never had to worry about finding him a bed or a couch when he slept over. He crashed on the floor.

And the weekend music festivals he loved so much – those festivals were made for Chandler. No pillow-top mattresses to be found there.

Somehow my son managed to take the mundane routine of sleep and make it Chandler-shaped.

Today’s Chandler-ism:
3-15-2000 In your kindergarten journal, you wrote, “I like my pipo because I am a pipo.” I didn’t know what you meant until I saw the illustration you did to go with the sentence. It looked to be an anatomically correct person of the male gender. I saw the grin on your face. I believe you were using code language…

And Again...It is Well

Charli took this picture yesterday at school. It was the celebration of All Saints Day. Chandler knew three of those young men. I am sorry for each of those families who are missing their loved one, trying to figure out how to do life without them.

I’m sorry that among all the stressors of being a teenager with a packed schedule, a rigorous academic program, and now applying to colleges, my daughter has to add missing her brother to the list. She is not one to talk about feelings. She processes often through her writing. One of her college essays expressed with heart-wrenching eloquence the experience of being with Chandler on his last day and how her perspective on life has changed as a result. She will never be the same person. None of us will.

Today Chance played guitar at the memorial service for a friend of mine Diane DeZarn, also the grandmother of Chance’s good friend Andrew. One of the songs he played …it is Well With My Soul. I sat there praying for Chance. He was determined to keep it together. I’d already rehearsed keeping it together on Wednesday when we sang It is Well at Jen’s memorial service. We caught a bit of a break. They chose a version with different verses and melody. Eventually came the classic chorus – It is well….with my soul. It took some cognitive strong-arming to corral my thoughts into the space that is today as they insisted on visiting another day when Chance sang that song for his brother. I was proud of my son. It took a lot for him to do that today, and he did it because he wanted to be there for his friend.

Almost everyone who spoke at the service today talked about how joyful and at peace Diane had been up until the very last breath. She had been fighting a long battle with cancer, so she had plenty of time to be afraid. She just wasn’t. That blows me away. The pastor doing the sermon today had asked Diane not long ago if she was afraid of what she was facing, the final passing from this life. She replied, “Not…one…bit.”

I want to be like that. I want to be so full of faith and peace and joy that I will view death as just another part of my life, and in fact, a threshold into a life like none I could have ever imagined here on earth.

I do know one thing. I hope it doesn’t offend the Lord, or Mama or Daddy, or any other person I love dearly who now resides in heaven. When I get there someday, the first face I want to see is that of my sweet Chandler, and the first words I want to hear are, “Hey, Mom.”

Real Shower AND....

Red letter day for Lisa!

I got to take a real shower for the first time since my foot surgery on October 14!

AND….I got a gently used iPhone 10, upgraded from my 8, that has portrait mode and doesn’t turn black when you flip it to take a selfie!

AND…my new Sidekick Morning Journal and my Clever Fox planner arrived this afternoon!

AND…my optometrist told me that my distance vision is starting to do what distance vision does when you become more mature. Not the milestone I wanted to reach today, but, oh well, thank the Lord for contacts and glasses.

AND…according to feedback from trusted friends and the lady at the optometrist’s office, I had a really good hair day!

AND…my house is clean—thank you, Becky!

AND…I made it through today.

I know that in these next months, I will not literally crumble into a million pieces. I will not disappear into a black hole, never to return. I will not cease to exist just because I am in pain. When I say, “I made it through today,” I mean that I am sitting here thinking rational thoughts, enjoying the sunset, and knowing I have a future and a purpose.

About a week ago, I realized I was scheduled to get my dental implant this morning at 8 am. I had to have my left bottom molar pulled on January 31, 2018. I imagined what it would be like sitting in that same aqua-colored dentist’s chair reliving everything, remembering that I had my tooth pulled just one day before I would not have Chandler with me any more. I decided to reschedule on a date that, as far as I can tell, has no hidden Chandler connections.

This morning as Chip was getting ready to transfer everything from my old phone to my new, I said, “I can’t lose my birthday voice message from Chandler.” I’ve never said anything with more conviction. I simply cannot lose Chandler’s voice singing happy birthday to me on July 12, 2018. We figured out how to send it directly to Chip’s phone, but we had to listen to make sure. My sweet boy singing to me. I just want to hear him say his infamous opener to countless dialogues, “Mom, uh….”

This afternoon in the optometrist’s office, as I put my chin on the machine that measures peripheral vision, I smelled Room 6, ICU, Mission Hospital. I reasoned….this is just plastic on vision testing equipment. Here and now. Here and now. The good news — I passed the peripheral vision test with flying colors. Don’t try sneaking up on me. I appreciated that Dr. Kostura began my exam by telling me how sorry he is for our loss. Dove Canyon Optometry sent us something — flowers or a plant — after Chandler died. It feels good to have your community behind you.

I have to take this a day at a time. I never know what a day will hold. I cannot allow myself to ruminate over what might happen tomorrow. In these next months, I don’t know what specific thoughts and fears my mind will wrestle with. I don’t know if or when my heart will race. I don’t know when tears will defy containment or measurement. I don’t know what image or smell or sound or memory will trigger a riptide that threatens to pull me under.

Aching to my core, white knuckles gripping the raft, missing my son with every fiber of my being…. I will not drown. I will not just survive. I will thrive.

Going Old School?

Today’s quandary – digital or old school?

Back in the early 90s when Franklin planners were all the rage, everyone at Newport-Mesa where Chip was a pastor got them. They even did the training on how to maximize productivity with their new leather-bound, zippered, git-‘er-done companions. Chip gave it the old college try, but it just wasn’t his thing. Lucky me! I inherited his like-new beautiful Franklin planner -- a huge step up from the dime store stapled calendar booklets I’d always used. From then on, whenever I would buy my pages for the new year, I would write in the front, “If lost, please call (my phone number) for a $25 reward.” Had I lost that planner, I would have been clueless as to which appointment or practice or party or school function any of the kids would have needed to be at on any given day of the week.

At some point, I switched to Julie Morgenstern’s planner. Then when I started working full time, I discovered that I didn’t need a planner. Monday through Friday – work. Soccer two nights a week. Weekends – laundry, clean house, church, soccer, groceries. Not much to plan there. My phone calendar, Notes, and the multiple magnetic notepads given so generously by neighborhood realtors were about all the tools I needed to keep all the balls in the air.

Things have changed.

Lately I’ve been toying with the idea of going back to a paper planner. Those who know me well would translate that to say — lately I’ve been obsessing and endlessly researching every planner ever created. I’ve read that writing things down in a journal or planner actually helps you remember them better. I could certainly use that. But there’s something else nudging me in this direction. Something I don’t even fully understand myself. I’m sure it has something to do with losing Chandler. Everything does.

I want to move beyond just typing sterile “to-do” items on my phone and viewing appointments as fixed, lifeless blocks on a digital calendar. Processing and planning electronically feels too cold and impersonal right now. Too confined.

I want my fingers putting pen-to-paper – filling in the blanks with intention, each day and week and month. As new goals take shape, I want to see them in my own (really bad) handwriting, broken down into action steps (like Step 1—take handwriting lessons). I want to be creative with stickers and washi tape and brightly colored gel pens. I want to integrate into one quaint space my daily gratitudes, my priorities, my activities, my affirmations, my meal plans, and my reflections. I want to appreciate the simplicity of slowing down enough to write…with…a….pencil.

Maybe the pull in this direction is because I know that intention, reflection, simplicity, and creativity will be particularly essential for me in the coming weeks and months. I know that if I’m not mindful, I will set goals that are peripheral to what I really want. I will fill chunks of time with activities that don’t leave space for my non-negotiables, those things that I need to fill my soul and keep me centered—good food, quiet time, moving my body, learning, and spending time with family and friends.

I don’t pretend to know all that God is up to. I do know my part is to remain open, listening, and available.

For that….I’m going old school.

She Won

Today I celebrated the life of Jen Haynes along with so many others who have marveled at her “grit and grace” throughout this past five years of fighting glioblastoma multiform, a type of brain cancer you don’t want to get. She won.

My heart hurts for her two kids and her husband. And her parents. When they got the diagnosis, they were propelled into a new normal. It’s been such a tough road, but they made sure there were plenty of cherished memories made along the way. Now they are figuring out another new normal…without Jen. To say that this will be difficult would be to minimize the immensity of what lies ahead of them. But they will be OK. I don’t say that flippantly. “OK” has lots of layers, and it is a process.

No less than in the decades before brain cancer, in these past five years, Jen’s heart exuded love for her God, for her family and friends, and for life itself. This is the legacy she leaves. Her family will follow Jen’s example and engage this grieving process, this finding a new normal, with “grit and grace.”

My friend who knows me so well asked as I hobbled to the car if I had stuffed down a lot of emotions during the service. Maybe she noticed me breathing out through pursed lips — the technique they told me would help me breeze through the pain of childbirth.

I was fine until the worship team started to sing “It is Well With My Soul.” Chance ended the song he wrote for Chandler’s memorial with that chorus. The movie played in my mind…my precious son pouring out his heart and soul to honor his brother. I pulled myself back to the moment. Here and now. Here and now.

Later they sang “Blessed be Your Name.” I sang. And then I couldn’t. And then I sang again. And then I wiped away tears.

Blessed be your name on the road marked with suffering
When there’s pain in the offering
Blessed be your name

When it hurts like hell, the best I can do is run to truth. God is omnipotent, good, loving, kind…WITH me. I choose to bless His name. There is nowhere else for me to go, no place else to run. This is my truth.

There were a couple of times when I thought, “Just leave now….you’re about to lose it.” That’s when I just stuffed it all. I don’t normally condone that. But in this instance, it was the appropriate thing for me to do.

Grief makes you selfish. OK, I’ll amend that to say grief makes me selfish. My mind instantaneously connected so many things that were said and sung today to my own experience of losing Chandler. I didn’t want it to be that way. It just was.

I understood some of what Jen’s daughter was going through during that service because of my mom’s funeral when I was 18. I remember thinking, “How can I go on without Mama?” And I understood some of what Jen’s mom must have been feeling, to have watched her sweet daughter fight so hard…and now to be unable to hold her and kiss her forehead.

Death is a reality. It is as much a part of life as being born. We will all lose someone we love. We will all pass from this earth someday. I love what the pastor said today in his message...death is just a shadow. It’s not the end.

Dear God, my mind can’t grasp the idea that Jen is now living in the same reality as my Chandler. It is too much for me, beyond anything I can comprehend. I am grateful beyond words for this reality, for their new normal that is marked by perfect wholeness and joy. God, help us, all of us who have lost someone dear, to move forward, finding our new normal empowered by and immersed in your strength, peace, grace, love, and goodness. Amen.

Remembering Jojo

First, I want to thank my mother for these bulging blue pipelines coursing through my body. Like mother like daughter. They may not be much to look at, but when you’re getting bloodwork or an IV, they’re so money. I don’t like to brag, but when I had my foot surgery two weeks ago, they told me I had great veins. Ironically, the reason I had foot surgery is that I also inherited my mom’s bunions.

Next, I want to talk about my really cool lime green wristband.

Just a couple of days ago in Healing After Loss, I read, “Remember how it is when you meet someone who has had a loss similar to yours? The instant bond, the acknowledgment in the other’s face – I know you. I know what you’re going through. And your own feeling, which is almost a physical lightening of the burden, that there is someone who understands.”

That’s how I felt the first time I sat down face to face with Monica a few months ago. Her little boy Jordan (Jojo) passed away last year from mitochondrial disease.

Today is Jojo’s birthday. As soon as I woke up, I began praying for Monica and Jojo’s dad and brothers. My heart is especially heavy for Monica. We share a common pain. It is not deeper or worse than any other. It is simply a specifically mom-shaped pain.

To remember Jojo today, many of us wore our #livelikejojo wristbands or t-shirts and did things that were very Jojo-like….eating Cheetos, watching American Ninja Warrior, using eyedrops, or having a dance party. My personal pick today, since I won’t be dancing for a few more weeks, was eyedrops.

As I carried Jojo’s family in my heart today, I was reminded that in God’s great compassion and love, He has prompted others to carry the Espinozas in their hearts. Folks we know and folks we don’t.

In the worst of times, I have found these words to be true:

When it seems that our sorrow is too great to be borne, let us think of the great family of the heavy-hearted into which our grief has given us entrance, and inevitably, we will feel about us their arms, their sympathy, their understanding. Helen Keller

Almost One of Those Days

Today was an entirely uneventful, relaxing day…mostly on the couch.

The morning started in bed watching a sermon streamed live from a local church followed by a spinach almond butter smoothie. I read, watched TV, did some writing, spent time with my kids and my hubby, made some lunch, and washed our sheets – go me!

The lunch part was quick and easy. I tried Hello Fresh for two deliveries with a half-off special and free shipping. It is SO easy and tasty! You get recipe cards and all the ingredients for the meals, pre-measured and ready to throw together for a healthy meal. Too bad the regular cost is so expensive. I cancelled yesterday.

I remember in the first days after losing Chandler wondering if I would ever have a day like today — no punches in the gut, no waves of grief, no heavy insights or revelations.

Until a few minutes ago.

I was scrolling through Instagram and saw a post by Ocean Roulette, one of Chandler’s favorite DJs. The club was jumping and the lights flashing, and I remembered that this time last year Chandler was there busting his signature Chandler moves. That’s how this is. You have an entire day of easy and unremarkable. Then one image, one sound, pierces your heart.

Until the Instagram post, there was simply an awareness that I don’t have Chandler here. Especially when Chance and I talked about him this morning. Chance was telling a Chandler story and at one point spoke in present tense. He quickly corrected himself -- “Chandler was…”

Then I heard from another good friend of Chandler’s, just checking in. Tomorrow, October 28, was his last text from Chandler. It’s hard to hear these things, but I would not have it any other way. We need to remember together, to hurt together, to keep honoring Chandler together.

I hear that this everyday awareness of absence and emptiness will eventually subside, and there will be days when I don’t think about it. That time’s not here yet. And honestly, I can’t imagine it to be possible. I see our family pictures around the house, and my internal voice says, “How can he not be here? This can’t be real.”

God, thank you for a really good day complete with a streaming sermon, a working fridge, a comfy couch, a remote that I’ve finally figured out, and some yummy, healthy food. Tonight I’m reminded how much I miss my boy and that others miss him too. And I’m thankful that he danced. Amen.

Mom's Day Out

My first outing since surgery! Woohoo!

The only place I’ve been since October 14 besides home is the doctor’s office and my office at work for just a few hours this week. Oh, and I did step into Nekter to pick up the cold-brew protein smoothie that propelled me on a caffeine trip to Hyper-World.

Charli had soccer today, and oh how I love to watch her play. I thought it would be good for me to sit in the sun and catch some vitamin D. Only a few steps from the car to the field, and I was able to prop my foot up on an extra beach chair.

It occurred to me as I was gathering my things (book, glasses, sunscreen, blanket) that usually when I am at the field an hour early with Charli for pre-game, I go for a run or try to get an errand or something productive accomplished. That’s not a bad thing at all. But today I realized that given my current circumstance, I had permission — in fact a mandate — to just sit and read. For an entire hour!

It was glorious.

Then I got to watch my girl nail her free kicks and her team win their game 2-0.

Being more or less immobile these past two weeks has given me a bit of insight into myself. Of course, that I have an abundance of energy to burn and, in the words of Stuart Smalley, “That…is OK. “

But also that after all these years, I still haven’t learned to really listen to what my body, mind and soul need most at any given moment. Take today. Had I not been left-footless, today would have been a day when I would have gone for a run even though everything in me wanted to soak in the sun and devour my book. If going for a run is the thing I need most, fantastic. But if there’s an inner voice saying, “Be still,” I need to listen.

How Could I Forget?!!!

I had no clue I was forgetting to celebrate International Mole Day yesterday. How did that one slip past me?!!! I wouldn’t have even remembered had I not received a text this morning from Faith, one of Chandler’s friends.

I meant to text you yesterday but the whirlwind of midterms was a doozy. Yesterday was International Mole Day! No, not the beauty mark, not the double agent, and not the cute little fuzzy animal…Mole Day is a chemistry holiday celebrating Avogadro’s number (6.02x10^23). The day I turned 18, I got this number tattooed across my feet. People often asked about it, and when I explained its meaning to them, they gave me the “oh…cool…” Chandler, on the other hand, insisted that I teach him everything about Avogadro and give him a full-blown chemistry lesson after seeing it. He was always doing that whenever I came home from college for the holidays.

It made my day to read this. Chandler was always full of curiosity. And he cared about the things his friends cared about. You love chemistry? I want to hear about it.

Faith, thank you for the reminder. Next year I will not forget to throw my epic annual International Mole Day shindig.

And thank you for bringing a smile to my face today. It makes me happy to hear stories about Chandler. To know that he is remembered. Especially on International Mole Day.

Swamp Is Drained

The swamp has been drained. Literally, a swamp of nasty was lurking in the bottom drawer of my now defunct freezer. Slimy spinach that I’d previously frozen for my smoothies floated in a coffee brown liquid along with part of a chip clip, small pieces of plastic, and various and sundry chunks of unidentifiable food and non-food matter.

You know someone is your friend when they volunteer to clean out your hot fridge full of rancid, reeking food. Thanks to Elaine, tonight the inside of my refrigerator looks like the day we bought it.

It’s not fun hauling bags of food from your fridge to the trash. I guess I should say, it’s not fun watching someone else haul your food to the trash outside. Elaine ordered me to sit on my butt with my foot propped up.

All the waste! And the tortillas!!! There must have been over 350 of them!!! We have a tortilla hoarding issue.

Luckily, LG said they would reimburse us for food loss. I took pictures before unloading, but I have no idea how to estimate the cost of the Hagen Das bars, salmon, numerous condiments, meats, cheeses, and on and on.

Once I’m able to stand for any length of time and start cooking again, I’m envisioning a series of scenarios in which I open the fridge to grab a staple ingredient for a go-to recipe – baking soda or chicken bouillon – and it won’t be there. I’m starting from scratch.

It feels good to start with a sparkling, clean fridge and to know that all the food that will go in it after Thursday’s repair will be fresh, not like the smushy cucumber and slimy green onions that seem to always hide in my produce drawer. No cheese with hard corners. No crusty goo on the rim of the salsa jar.

My empty refrigerator awaiting its new contents reminds me how grateful I am for plenty of food to eat. For friends who have filled that refrigerator with meals and kombucha during the hardest time of our lives. For friends who have been the hands of Jesus in the most practical, meaningful ways. So grateful.

I Blame the Refrigerator

I had caffeine today. I told Charli when she got home from school. She said, “I would have guessed if you hadn’t told me.”

I blame the refrigerator.

The day started with a slower-than-molasses process of getting ready for work. Boot on to walk to the bathroom and brush my teeth, boot off to take a sponge bath (“Do NOT get your bandage wet,” warns the doctor), boot on to walk to the closet for clothes, boot off to put on pants, boot on to do my hair and makeup. Finally, I grabbed a microwavable frozen beans-rice-cheese burrito from the garage freezer (day four with no refrigerator) to warm up for breakfast at work.

I parked where I’m not supposed to park, but I think I have a pass this week. It was so good to see my peeps and feel the energy of our team.

I’m actually being very good and following doctor’s orders—“minimize walking…keep your foot propped up.” What I realized quickly after arriving at work is that it is physically impossible, unless I’m comfortable in a sustained “Twister” position, to work on my computer and have my foot propped up due to the configuration of my desk. After a few hours, my foot announced adamantly that it wanted to be properly elevated.

On the way home, I stopped at Nekter for a protein smoothie. Again, four days with no refrigerator means no fresh groceries and no way to keep leftovers for later. A smoothie would be perfect. I knew I shouldn’t have done it, but that cold-brew smoothie with 12 grams of protein was calling my name. In retrospect, I realize it was saying, “Hey, genius, why don’t you drink me and get all hyper and jittery and maybe even suffer some gut distress!”

It was so icy cold and good. Then it kicked in. Me stranded on the couch full of caffeine is an unfortunate thing.

It’s starting to wear off a bit now, for which I’m grateful. By the time Charli gets home from soccer, I may be normal. Or at least, back to my usual self.

A couple of times today, the words “after Chandler died” came out of my mouth. It feels like I’m saying something that’s not true. It seems like they are just words and that he will come home from a trip soon. I chose not to open the self-dialogue of convincing, embracing, accepting, dissecting, absorbing. I just let it be.

Hopefully tomorrow will bring a return phone call from the LG repair people saying they are going to come and resurrect our refrigerator. It is starting to reek and is serving no purpose whatsoever except storing a bunch of rapidly spoiling, gross food that will have to be thrown away.

Well, for tonight, at least I have a cold kombucha about to come out of the freezer.

Me and Hammy

I’ll start by saying I’m probably an enneagram type 7. The fact that I say “probably,” leaving the door open for other options, is further evidence. If you’re at all familiar with the enneagram, you know that Type 7s love embarking on novel experiences and adventures, learning and trying new things, and fully engaging with life on every level.

I’ve done every personality assessment ever devised. Human behavior and personality fascinate me. And, like every human, I’m obsessed with myself. Why did I do that? What possessed me to say that? Why is this a pattern for me and how do I change it? When I discovered the enneagram, I began to understand more about my deepest motivations and what my resulting behaviors look like when I’m moving in health versus un-health.

A couple of days ago, Charli asked me, “Mom, have you had caffeine?” I had not. When she asks me that, it means I’m talking quickly, using lots of words, and hopping from one topic to the next in rapid-fire succession. Picture Hammy on Over the Hedge.

I asked myself, “Why do I seem like I’m under the influence?”

It dawned on me – I have a lot of energy. Chance’s reaction to my new revelation….“Mom, that’s pretty obvious to everybody.”

I’m not sure why this was such an “aha” moment for me. Maybe because I know that a common struggle for 7s (and probably for everyone to an extent) is a need to keep moving in order to avoid any feelings of internal discomfort or pain. In my younger days, this was definitely the case. It was an unexpected, welcome flash of insight for me this week to realize that now I move simply because I have lots of energy — as a way to engage with life and feel fully myself, not as a detour around negative feelings.

With age, experience, growing self-awareness, and the kind hand of the Lord at work in me through the years, I have learned (and am still learning) to sit with the pain of life rather than to run from it or avoid it. Pain is growth hormone for the soul. A uniter of human-kind. A path to awareness that God is here, now, with me.

Thank you so much, God, for allowing me through this simple “aha” moment to see how I’ve grown. To more fully appreciate who you’ve created me to be. Thank you for teaching me it’s all about balance – a time to move and a time to be still. Most of all, thank you for being my faithful companion on this journey.

Amen.

Good News, Bad News, Helpless

I put on real clothes today!

This morning was my follow-up with the surgeon. Being out in public for the first time since Monday morning, I thought it would feel nice to spiff up a bit. I’m under strict orders not to get my bandages wet, so yesterday Anita washed my hair in the utility sink, and today I utilized the pack of body wipes I found in my bathroom drawer (no clue why we have them, but they’re coming in handy this week). It did feel good to be out and about and to not look like a post-op “what to expect” poster.

The really good news — bone placement looks great and no signs of infection. I enthusiastically told the doc about my research, “I read something that said I can do the elliptical, rower, or recumbent bike at three weeks!” Before I could even finish, his response was a firm, “No, none of that.” Orders remain — take it easy, minimize walking, keep the foot elevated, keep the bandages dry. I promised him I would be good. I didn’t undertake this surgery only to screw it up by getting impatient. Plus, I’m highly motivated to “keep the foot elevated” by the intense throbbing that ensues when I’ve been up for just a few minutes. Elevated with ice is my happy place.

The bad news, not really bad in the big scheme of things, is that our refrigerator, not just the freezer, is broken. It’s only two years old and is under warranty, but we have to wait until Monday for an authorized LG repair person to come. Meanwhile, my frozen spinach and bananas for smoothies is in a disgusting, mushy puddle at the bottom of the freezer, never to be used.

Perched in my customary position on the couch this afternoon, I had the chance to listen to a song sent to me by my friend Becky this morning — “The Father, My Son, and the Holy Ghost.” Every word hit home. I cried and clenched my fists. The missing, the pain, is intense, too deep to feel all at once. Maybe clenched fists can contain some of it. It cannot be true that I will never touch Chandler’s sweet face again. I feel it and let it pass. I know there’s nothing I can do to change a thing. Helpless. I listen again to the words…

I know my boy ain’t here but he ain’t gone
Go outside, sit by myself but I ain’t alone
I’ve got the Father, my son, and the Holy Ghost

Amen.

Ice, Ice Baby

Theme of the day…ice.

I realized this morning that my ice packs were squishy. Then when I tried to get ice from the ice maker, it was mostly water with a few frozen shards mixed in. How could I possibly drink my fresh-brewed iced tea with no ice?!

Joni came to the rescue with ice for my tea — “Friends don’t let friends drink tea with no ice.” Later Kelly stopped by with a bag of ice to put in the garage freezer. I have a thing about cold drinks. I want ice in them. I start the day filling my thermos with ice and water to sip on for the next 15 hours or so. I’m so happy I won’t wake up with ice anxiety tomorrow.

Oh, ice is also what was running through the veins of the AAA employees who insisted today that we pay Chandler’s AAA bill that was apparently past due. When Chip explained the situation and that he had personally taken the death certificate in to AAA in January to cancel coverage, they said, “We are sorry for your loss. We need you to send us the death certificate.” Does he have any clue what it’s like to touch that piece of paper, to look at it, to present it as proof of our nightmare? Chip was nicer than I would have been. I wanted to call them back and say, “This whole thing about our son dying is a load of crap. We just want to try and screw you guys over somehow.” Another AAA agent back in January had said we could just let the service lapse and not pay the bills when they came. That’s a really good option. What a treat to open the mailbox and pull out an envelope each month addressed to Chandler Espinoza. People can be dumbasses.

Lying here this evening with my best friend, the ice pack, I googled how long before I can start exercising again. I told Charli, “Looks like in three weeks I can do the elliptical, the rower, and the recumbent bike!” She replied, “Mom, it’s been four days.”

Totally unrelated to ice — tonight Chrissie brought me homemade broccoli cheese soup in a bread bowl for dinner! I polished off almost the whole thing, bread bowl included. Here’s the thing about that soup. Chrissie knew Chandler from Board & Brew, and they shared a love for soup. This was his favorite. She brought it to him, and he drank it right out of the container….still hot! Burned his throat. This was not unusual for Chandler. When he was little and we had first moved to Dove Canyon, we went out for breakfast. The server said, “Be careful. The hot chocolate is very hot.” You guessed it.

Returning to our “ice” theme…after the hot chocolate incident, Chandler had to suck on ice all morning to cool his scorched tongue.

Breaking Bad, Healing Good

No pain meds today at all! Throbbing but not too much to handle. But I’m thinking there may be a pharmaceutical ingestion in my immediate future, probably right before bed. The nerve block is all worn off now, so I’m feelin’ it all.

Got some work done today on my computer, but the greater accomplishment — I finished Breaking Bad tonight! It took me several episodes to get into it, but because of its critical acclaim, I stuck with it. It’s definitely graphic and intense, but the character development and writing is genius. If you’d told me someone could weave a semi-believable, engaging story about a high school chemistry teacher who stumbles into a lucrative meth cooking business, I never would have bought it. Here’s the moral of Breaking Bad — if you are a really skilled meth cook, don’t let word get out. You’ll be pigeon-holed for life.

While watching the last few uber-intense episodes, I decided to be creative and do some coloring. Chip laughed. I was watching people get shot left and right while cheerfully coloring my groovy snails.

So another day on the couch comes to a close. I’m doing fairly well with not being up and about for the time being. Only because I know the end goal is that after healing, I can get back to all the things I love doing, but without the nagging pain. I’ve heard the healing time from bunionotomy is slow and lengthy, at least to full recovery — no swelling or soreness and return to full activity. I’m trying hard to patiently settle into that reality.

God, you are brilliant. Thank you for creating our bodies with the miraculous ability to heal. Even now, my bone is doing the work of mending itself. I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Amen.

The Foot Situation

The day started early — left at 6:15 for the surgery center. Lovin’ me another EARLY morning after a late night. Highly motivated though, as these past days walking around New York were inescapable reminders of WHY I signed up to have this surgery.

Probably the most exciting part of the prep time was getting to wear the sexy, backless, blue flower-print gown and the sheer cafeteria lady elastic cap. Chit chatted with my nurse about plantar fasciitis, vegan/vegetarian/keto/paleo matters, and post-op instructions, including stool softeners. You have to mention stool softeners at least once when you’re wearing a backless gown.

Once I was wheeled to the OR, I remember them saying they were going to put something in my IV to relax me. Hmmmm. Usually when I’m relaxed, I can recall my experience of relaxation. I think a better descriptor might be “knocked out.”

Chase picked me up at about 10:30. As he stood there waiting to take me home and take care of me for the morning, I remarked to the nurse, “Talk about role reversal.”

I could play the sympathy card and say I’m in excruciating pain but choosing to stay strong and not take any pain meds. Or I could tell the truth and say that ever since the loopiness of the anesthesia wore off this morning, I haven’t had to take a thing for pain. I’ve felt good enough to go for a run. But, of course, I won’t because I can’t feel my foot due to the nerve block, I’m in a big clunky boot, and the doctor told me in no uncertain terms not to run any time soon.

A relatively easy surgery with no pain thus far isn’t the main reason today was just a really good day. It occurs to me as I write, I got to spend time with every one of my kids today. That always makes it the best kind of day.

Thanks to Mahsan and Kelly, we have some delicious, homemade, healthy food for the week. Thank you to everyone for checking in and sending your prayers.

Thank you, God, for as good a day as you can possibly have when it begins with a surgery. Amen.

Day 3 — Vassar and Home

Breathtaking.

That’s the first word that comes to mind to describe the sights that met our eyes this morning when we drove onto the Vassar campus. Many more follow — gorgeous, tranquil, pristine, inviting, autumnal, picturesque…surreal actually.

While Charli reveled in a day at soccer camp, I strolled about the fall-colored campus, wide-eyed, muttering over and over,”Beautiful...just beautiful!” 

I don’t know enough about architecture to adequately describe the stately structures scattered across the campus.  The library, crafted of grey stone with spires reaching to the sky, hosted three floors of warm, rich spaces in which to study poetry, art, science, mathematics...or just become engrossed in a novel, as I saw one student doing. The sun shone in through stained glass onto rich tapestries hanging in the domed entryway. Along with more modern literature were older volumes with aged covers and spines. I felt smarter for just having walked around in there.

I spied a sign posted in one of the study areas — After-Hours Study Spaces 12 am - 8 am. They were speaking Charli’s love language right there. 

I grabbed a hearty breakfast at Julie’s Cafe. Perfect over-easy eggs, sausage links, home fries, and whole wheat toast (to sop up the egg yolk). Later I enjoyed a tropical green tea from a local coffee shop. So refreshing!

Back at soccer camp, I watched Charli in skills drills and finally a scrimmage on one of the most perfectly manicured fields you could ever imagine, surrounded by a white wooden fence and golden, red, and green foliage. The soccer field is always home to her, wherever she finds one. I loved watching her play and knowing how appreciative she is of the opportunity to be at this camp.

Quick change after camp, and we headed to the Newark airport. If you’ve ever ridden in the car with sweaty shin guards, you know what an act of love and sacrifice it is.

We got to the airport on time, but it was close. I just couldn’t bring myself to pull Charli from the game early.

Standing in line to board, I kept singing an Ariana Grande song. Then after making a comment about sitting in the middle seat, I improvised a catchy remake of Maren Morris’ “Baby, why don’t you just seat me in the middle, in the middle.”

Remember that green tea? I usually avoid caffeine because, among other undesirable side effects, it revs me up...in an annoying sort of way. As we stood in line to board, I wrote a little Maren Morgan remake about our seating placement. “Baby, why don’t you just seat me in the middle...I’m losin’ my mind just a little, just a little.” Charli asked, “Mom, did you have caffeine?”

About to take off. Writing on the runway.

Tomorrow...BYE, BYE bunion and plantar fasciitis! OH, there’s an N Sync remake just begging to be written!

Day 2 — Mercy, NYC & BT21

This will be short and sweet. Or maybe just short. We left the hotel at 8:40 this morning and just got back at 10:30 tonight. Tomorrow we leave early for Vassar soccer camp.

Today’s highlights — touring Mercy College and watching their soccer game on a gorgeous field overlooking the Hudson River. I don’t think a soccer venue could be more beautiful. They won 2-0.

After the game, we boarded the train for Grand Central Station. In NYC, we visited Rockefeller Plaza, Time Square, the famous Macy’s, and Line Friends. Only a select population understands the magnitude of visiting Line Friends, namely BTS fans like Charli. Each BTS member created a cartoon character, and this store carries all their paraphernalia that goes by the brand name BT21. Charli was as elated to get the plastic shopping bag with the characters on it as she was to get the character socks that went in the bag.

I had to take her to Taco Dumbo, one of our favorite restaurants when I came with the girls a few weeks back. The coconut soft-serve with cacao did not disappoint.

We decided since she’s playing soccer tomorrow, we should hit the bed at a decent hour, so we caught the train at 9:20, showered, and are now fading fast.

Thank you, God. It was a beautiful day. Just beautiful. Amen.